False Witness (13 page)

“No way,” Sister Agatha replied first. “I mean, I suppose it’s possible, but then we’d be talking about a kid who’s adult size, strong, and very cool under pressure. Pax isn’t fooled easily as you know, and he somehow managed to trick the dog and shut him inside that room,” Sister Agatha said, pointing.

Tom checked it out. “He must have thrown something in there. The dog went after the sound and got locked in.”

Chuck retrieved a can of cola out of the fridge and held it up to the back of his head. “I’d offer you one, Sister, but this is the last of the batch, and my head’s going to explode without it. Wish we had some ice trays in there.”

“You should get that looked at, Moody,” Tom said.

“Nah. It’ll be fine once the swelling goes down. I’ve taken worse knocks.”

“Okay. Then let’s take a look around. I need to know what—if anything—was taken,” Tom said.

Chuck led the way through the remaining rooms, then at long last shook his head. The gesture made him wince. “He didn’t take anything important or I’d have noticed. I don’t think he had time, and, remember, he was operating in the dark when he sneaked in.”

“Wait.” Sister Agatha walked to the printer beside Janice’s computer. The output tray was empty. Ducking quickly beneath the desk and finding nothing there, or anywhere on the floor, she stood back up. “He grabbed the printout of an article I’d found with Angie Sanchez’s photo. I can print another one so it’s no big deal, but that sure seems like an odd thing to take.”

“No one touch the machines. Maybe he left some prints,”
Tom said quickly, then in a thoughtful voice added, “But this really doesn’t add up. He went to all the trouble of breaking in here just so he could take a printout of an article he could have dug up at, say, the library?”

“It takes a subscription fee and a password, but, yes, anyone could have accessed the information,” Chuck said. “Maybe he thought you were printing out something really important, Sister, so he grabbed it.”

“Maybe he followed me here wanting to know what I was up to,” Sister Agatha suggested.

“Did you see someone tailing you again?” Tom asked.

“No, but the Harley was parked out in front. It’s bright red and hard to miss under the floodlights.”

“I’m going to have my deputies do a little digging and see what they can turn up on the monastery’s enemies.”

After she gave him her statement, Tom began a search for prints. Knowing she was no longer needed, Sister Agatha said good-bye and drove down the road to the Siesta Inn. She needed to talk to John Gutierrez.

After parking, she motioned to Pax. “Okay, boy. Out. We have to make this a quick visit, so let’s get a move on.”

Less than five minutes after leaving
The Chronicle
, Sister Agatha sat on a chair facing John’s bed while Pax remained at “sit and stay” near the door. Ralph Simpson, who’d let her in, sat back in a corner chair, not taking part in the exchange.

Sister Agatha told her ailing client what she’d learned about Angie Sanchez—the trial witness. John sat up, very interested, nodding his head with each new detail. When she finished her report, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes for several moments.

At long last he opened them again. “It’s the same Angie, Sister. When that story broke it made all the regional newspapers,”
he admitted slowly. “I tried desperately to contact Angie back then, but I wasn’t able to do it. The private investigators I hired couldn’t track her down, either. I let it go, figuring law enforcement people would be keeping her safe.” He paused, then reluctantly added, “I was also convinced that she’d eventually call and ask for my help. But she never did. Then, when I learned that my time was running out, I knew I had to find her. Only by that time, the trail was stone cold.”

“The problem is that she may not
want
anyone to find her, and that’s going to make it a lot tougher. She’s been covering her trail, no doubt, and is probably using an alias,” Sister Agatha answered.

“That’s why you’re the best person for the job. She’s more likely to trust a nun than some private detective,” he said, then in a strong voice added, “Find her for me, Sister Agatha, so I can die in peace.”

“I’ll stay on it,” she said, standing up. “But you should have mentioned the criminal trial to me before. Is there anything
else
you’re holding back?”

“No,” he said softly. “You know everything I do now.”

“Then we’ll talk again soon.”

Pondering all the recent events, she and Pax returned to the monastery. Sister Agatha unlocked the parlor door, and, as she stepped inside, saw Sister Bernarda placing a small thermos on the desk.

“It’s past seven and we’re all at recreation,” Sister Bernarda said, “but Sister Clothilde wanted to make sure you ate something. She saved some hot soup for you.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her. I’m freezing.” Sister Agatha poured the creamy tomato soup into the cup and sipped it gratefully. Nights were getting cold now, and riding in the motorcycle after dark just seemed to drain the heat from her body.

“While you’re warming up, I’ll take Pax into the kitchen for his supper,” Sister Bernarda said, signaling the dog.

Sister Agatha had just finished her soup when Sister de Lourdes walked past the parlor’s grille, saw her, and came out of the enclosure to talk. “We’ve had more problems in the scriptorium.”

“What’s going on?”

“When Merilee compared our e-mail files with NexCen’s invoices to verify that all the orders were getting through now, she found the messages from ‘Wilder.’ The name immediately caught her eye. It’s one of the characters in a role-playing computer game that NexCen has been involved with recently.”

“What’s the game about?”

“A pig in battle gear who goes on quests. But it’s not for young children. I saw parts of the game, and it was very violent. Merilee told me that the earlier versions of Wilder’s Quest had some bugs in it, and that a lot of people got angry with NexCen. Some of the users had to buy new video cards in order to play the game.”

“Interesting. Anything else?”

“She also told me in confidence that NexCen is very focused on their bottom line, and unless things start running more smoothly for us, they’ll give the mail-order contract to another company after our trial period is over.”

“That’s hardly fair! If we’re getting outside interference from one of NexCen’s disgruntled customers, the monastery’s not to blame.”

“I pointed that out myself, but she said that if we couldn’t fix the problem—meaning her and us—we’d both suffer. Her job’s at stake, too, so she’ll be checking with us periodically.”

Still annoyed at the news from NexCen, Sister Agatha
went to the kitchen, rinsed out the thermos, and left a thank-you note for Sister Clothilde. The small, unselfish acts, like making sure an extern had something warm waiting for her after she returned from town, helped define their monastery and what they stood for. Here, time wasn’t measured in dollars and cents. It was measured in good deeds and blessings. When everything was done for God’s glory, life all of a sudden became easier.

As she walked outside past the kitchen into the garden, Sister Agatha saw Sister Bernarda sitting alone on the bench near the statue of St. Joseph and went to join her.

“Are you all right?” Sister Agatha asked her softly.

“Of course,” Sister Bernarda replied, too quickly to be convincing. Realizing it, she shook her head. “No, not really. I’ve spoken to Reverend Mother, and after Compline I’m going to stay in chapel for as long as it takes. I know that becoming a bride of Christ was the right decision for me. I chose God and continue to choose Him. Yet I still can’t get this sadness out of my head.”

“So Reverend Mother knows what’s been bothering you?”

Sister Bernarda nodded. “She said to give it time, and to not be afraid to discuss my feelings with the sisters who have already gone through the change.” She paused for a long moment. “The worst part of all this is the feeling deep in my gut that I’m falling short of what He expects of me.”

“No, you’re falling short of what
you
expect of yourself. But every day is a new day. And, if you fail to master your feelings today—and remember a lot of those are based on your body’s chemistry, not your heart—there’s always tomorrow. A contemplative’s life is all about patience.”

Hearing the bell announcing Compline, Sister Agatha bowed her head and followed Sister Bernarda inside to chapel.
Sister Agatha remained with Sister Bernarda in chapel long after Compline and the start of the Great Silence. In the quiet that surrounded and protected them, she joined her prayers to those of her fellow extern.

It was around ten when the dull throbbing in her joints reminded Sister Agatha that she’d forgotten to take her arthritis medication again. She closed her eyes in prayer, trying to shut out the pain, and reached out to her Lord, asking for His help for both herself and Sister Bernarda.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Sister Agatha looked up and saw Sister Eugenia motioning for her to follow. Sister Agatha went with her, knowing Sister Eugenia would have her pills close by. Just as she stepped out of the stall, Reverend Mother came in to take her place. Sister Bernarda wouldn’t be alone tonight. The spirit of the monastery would enfold her gently and lead her into the arms of God.

A
FTER MASS AND MORNING PRAYERS, SISTER AGATHA
went straight to the parlor and found it more crowded than usual. Sister Bernarda was there wearing a leather tool belt, sitting on the floor working on one of the outlets. Sister de Lourdes was manning the parlor’s desk, her breviary open before her.

“Reverend Mother told us that your work for the monastery will require you to be away for irregular periods of time these next few days,” Sister de Lourdes said, looking up. “I’ll be taking your place as portress so you can be free to come and go.”

“Will you be able to handle both scriptorium work and parlor duties?”

She nodded. “So far today, everything’s running smoothly. The computer records and saves the orders, and I can process them later and print out the invoices and labels. And if I get into a jam, Sister Bernarda will help me.”

“We’ve got it covered,” Sister Bernarda said.

“We’ve got some good news, too,” Sister de Lourdes added. “The workmen arrived early and are making great progress on our wall.”

“That’s wonderful!” Sister Agatha said, taking a quick look out the front window. “Everyone’s hard at work, so it’s time for me to do the same. I’ll see you two later.”

Sister Agatha stepped out of the parlor and whistled for Pax, who came running immediately. Sister Agatha smiled. The dog took the job of escorting her to town very seriously.

A short time later, Sister Agatha drove out of the monastery, passing the repair crew at the wall. Step by step, God would help them find solutions to all the challenges they were facing. Holding on to that thought, Sister Agatha drove on to Bernalillo and the Catholic Charities office, praying all the way there for guidance.

An idea had come to her late last night after night prayers. She’d been trying to remember who in town drove a silver Toyota or a Kia. That’s when she’d recalled Terri Montoya, the caseworker at Catholic Charities. A silver Toyota had been parked in one of the staff slots when she’d visited with Terri there a few days ago.

The more she considered it, the more convinced she’d grown that it was a lead worth pursuing. Even if Angie Sanchez had put on a lot of weight and dyed her hair, one thing would have remained constant—the shape of her eyes. That slightly oriental tilt was striking, and unusual in a Hispanic woman. Now, Sister Agatha prayed that she was tracking down Angie, not just the woman Paul remembered stopping by for gas.

When they arrived at the Catholic Charities tiny office, Sister Agatha was disappointed to see that the silver Toyota
had been replaced by another vehicle in the staff parking spot. Father Rick Mahoney, the monastery’s chaplain, was standing in front of a desk talking to Lucinda Gomez, one of the caseworkers, as she walked in. Before becoming a priest, Father Rick had been a pro wrestler who used the stage name “Apocalypse Now.” Although that had been at least ten years ago, Father Rick still retained his bulging muscles and heavy frame. He worked out daily because, as he said, a priest needed to remain fit to do God’s work.

“Hey, Sister Agatha.” He greeted her.

“Hay is for horses, Father. Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Hello, Sister,” Lucinda said with a bright smile. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“I was looking for Terri. Do you know where I can find her?”

“She’s visiting Mrs. Griego this morning,” she answered. “Is there something I could help you with?”

“No, I really needed to talk to her,” Sister Agatha answered. “When will she be back in the office?”

“Probably not until tomorrow. She has several other stops to make after Mrs. Griego’s. Today’s her turn to be out in the field. We alternate manning the office and going on calls. You want her to call you when she checks in?”

“No, I’d rather talk to her in person. If you’ll give me her address, I’ll try to meet her there at lunch or after work.”

The woman hesitated, then shook her head. “I can’t. We have a very strict policy against giving out employee information. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sister Agatha said, and managed a smile. “If there’s anyone who can understand adherence to a rule, it’s a
nun. I’ll just keep a look out for her silver Toyota and catch her here when she returns.”

“That would be fine,” Lucinda responded.

“I’ve always felt that rules should be tempered by common sense,” Father Mahoney said, giving Lucinda an engaging smile.

Lucinda shook her head. “Father, if God had given the ten commandments to you instead of Moses, you’d have negotiated Him down to five.”

Father Mahoney laughed, then, his own business apparently completed, walked back outside with Sister Agatha. “You look worried about something, Sister. Is there something I can do?”

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “Maybe you can,” she added, then explained in confidence why she’d come, wishing aloud that she had a copy of the newspaper article to show him.