Bad Samaritan Page 8

  “No, not at all,” Sister Agatha assured her quickly.

  “Good,” she answered, relieved, “because Cruzer’s our resident miracle worker, Sister.”

  “That’s quite a title,” Sister Agatha said.

  “He’s earned it. One ten-year-old girl who had her arms crushed in a car accident came in so depressed she’d even stopped eating. Cruzer showed her how to paint by holding the brush in her teeth. That slowly brought her out of her shell, and now she’s like a regular kid again. I actually heard her laughing with some of the other art students yesterday in the hall.”

  Sister Agatha’s opinion of Cruzer suddenly went up several notches. Even cruising through life, the man was doing God’s work.

  “Those cinnamon rolls sure look good,” Chuck said and sighed wistfully, seeing the half-full box on an unoccupied desk.

  Tina laughed. “You’re as subtle as a freight train, Chuck.” She picked up the box and brought it over to Sister Agatha. “You get first choice, Sister. I baked them earlier this morning for the staff, but as usual I made way too much.”

  “Thank you,” Sister Agatha said, picking up a roll.

  “You’re very welcome,” Tina said, then held out the box for Chuck, who promptly took two.

  “I need to make copies in the other room,” she said. “Enjoy!”

  Although there were no class bells, it wasn’t long before children’s voices filled the outside hall and people began to pass by.

  “See him?” Sister Agatha asked, joining Chuck at the doorway.

  “There he is. He’s got thin red hair and is wearing a tie-dyed shirt. And there he goes. I think he saw your habit.” Chuck hurried out into the hall. “I’m going after him. Go out the door we came in and circle around the building, toward the west side—where the employees park. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch him between us.”

  Sister Agatha hurried out, Pax at her side, then headed west. Just as she reached the corner, she saw a man fitting Chuck’s description of Cruzer coming down the sidewalk.

  Cruzer stopped in midstride and stared at her in surprise.

  “Hello. You must be Cruzer,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Sister Agatha from Our Lady of Hope Monastery.”

  “Nuns . . . I should have known I couldn’t ditch you,” he muttered with a scowl. “You guys have always been able to read my mind. Ever since high school. Spooky—real spooky. Is this about that donation I was going to make for Father Rick’s chapel project? Things are really tight for me this month—”

  Sister Agatha held up one hand. “That’s strictly between you and Father Rick.”

  “Oh, good,” he said, visibly relieved.

  Seeing Chuck come out the front door, Sister Agatha waved at him.

  “Yo, Cruzer,” Chuck said, joining them.

  “Hey,” he muttered as the two greeted each other with fist bumps. “You with Sister A?”

  “Yeah, she’s the one I told you about, remember? The ex-journalist. Sister Agatha basically saved my life a few years back when I got into trouble with the wrong people.”

  “I’m impressed. Good for you, Sister A. So what’s going down?” he asked, looking back at Chuck.

  “We just wanted to ask you a few questions about stuff you might have seen on the Fourth,” Chuck said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Here we go. This is about the hot dogs again, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at Chuck, then back at Sister Agatha.

  “Hot dogs?” Sister Agatha asked, more curious than ever. “What do you mean?”

  “The deputies and that state cop have been questioning everyone who worked the booths on the Fourth. If I’d known that Mayor Garcia and his bean counters were going to have their eye on every bleeping hot dog . . .” He looked at the ground and shook his head.

  “What exactly have they been asking you?” Sister Agatha pressed, keeping her voice as casual as possible.

  “They want to know who ordered hot dogs, who was watching the condiments, and if we saw anyone tampering with the food, or maybe just hanging around. Like that.” He graced them with a martyred sigh. “So okay. Call the law. I confess. I gave a few hot dogs away. Scout, that homeless guy who hangs around, kept looking at people stuffing their faces, then going back to the trash and looking for food there. After a while I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I took him a bag of unopened hot dogs. There were plenty to go around. No one went away hungry. The Garcias in particular stuffed themselves silly, taking away four or five at a time. RJ, the son of the guy who ended up dead, came by three times.”

  “Is that what you think this is about—hot dogs?” Chuck asked him, surprised.

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  Sister Agatha didn’t answer. “Did you talk to him? Scout, that is.”

  “Talk?” He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I spotted him hanging out behind the trash cans, and Mike Herrera, who was working the concession stand with me, saw him, too. He tossed me the pack of hot dogs and told me we could afford to lose a bag. I went over to where Scout was to hand it to him, but as I got close, he gave me this panicked look and started backing off. I knew he was about to bolt, so I broke eye contract, placed the bag of hot dogs on the trash lid, and walked off. When I looked back, Scout and the hot dogs were gone.”

  “I’m glad you were both watching out for him,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Mike and I figured that the town wouldn’t miss one bag, but judging from the way the cops have been coming down on everyone, I guessed wrong. Who’d have thought our city would actually try to track down a few hot dogs?” He shook his head. “Look, Sister, all this is penny ante, if you ask me, but I really need the job here at the center. If you turn us in, Mike and I will probably get fired. Mike will be okay, but I need the money. Summer jobs are hard to find this year, and tuition’s going up again.”

  “You help us, and we’ll help you,” Chuck said, taking over. “We actually need a line on someone who’s dealing drugs on the side—date-rape drugs, stuff like that, nothing hard-core. Most likely an amateur. Can you nose around and see what you can find?”

  “Anything specific—Rohypnol, GHB, or ketamine?” Cruzer asked.

  “Huh?” Chuck asked.

  “Sorry. I have fifteen hours in chemistry, and those are three of the most common benzodiazeprines—date-rape drugs.”

  “Now we’re on the same wavelength,” Sister Agatha said with a nod.

  “So that’s what this is all about? Someone drugged one of the ladies the other night and tried to get personal? That makes a whole lot more sense than the township getting sore over some hot dogs.” He glanced at Sister Agatha, then back at Chuck, and nodded. “Yeah, sure I’ll help you.” Cruzer paused, then added, “Hey, you don’t think Mike had anything to do with drugging some babe’s hot dogs, do you? If you do, that’s way off base.”

  “Why’s that?” Sister Agatha asked, allowing Cruzer to think they had something other than Robert Garcia’s murder in mind.

  “Mike’s not only got a sweet deal with his rich new wife, but he actually loves the girl. He’d never even think of cheating on her. Besides, his father-in-law, el mayor, would come unglued. JD told Mike he’d bury him alive if Mike ever hurt his daughter in any way. He wasn’t kidding.”

  “Could be that one of Mike’s friends drugged the hot dogs,” Chuck suggested, not correcting any of Cruzer’s assumptions. “Or maybe put stuff in the mustard.”

  “No way. I was standing there almost all the time, and when I wasn’t, there were dozens of other people around us keeping watch. The mayor insisted we follow all local ordinances. We had to wear hats or hairnets, those stupid latex gloves, and keep the water at just the right temperature. He made it crystal clear that nobody was going to get sick and blame the Garcia administration.”

  “Yet you still managed to grab some hot dogs for your welfare operation,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Slipping away with a bag of hot dogs from the cooler is a lot easier than drugging a hot dog on the produ
ction line. Everyone’s watching you there, giving you instructions on how much mustard they want, hold the onions, more ketchup, stuff like that. You couldn’t fiddle around with the food once it was on the counter, either. Half a dozen people would see you for sure.”

  “Okay, Cruzer, we believe you,” Sister Agatha said. “Will you keep an eye out for anyone who’s dealing and pass on any information you get?”

  “Sure. I’ll do my best to get a name to you in a few days.”

  As they headed back to the newspaper office, the roar of the chopper would have made conversation impossible even if they hadn’t been wearing helmets.

  Sister Agatha parked a short time later, and Chuck climbed out of the sidecar. “Sister Agatha, I’ve been giving this some thought, and I’m going to stay away from you at the funeral tomorrow. Marquez is bound to be there, and it’ll be better if he doesn’t link us.”

  “Good thinking—and thanks for your help today, Chuck.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thank you, too, for not correcting Cruzer when he misinterpreted why we were interested in the drugs,” she added, revving up the engine. “Information like that is better off staying between us for the time being.”

  “I figured that,” he said, petting Pax one last time. “Where are you off to now?”

  She hesitated. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  He gave her a somber nod. “Just be careful, Sister. You don’t want to end up becoming the killer’s next target.”

  “I’m pretty sure God has other plans for me, Chuck. Don’t worry.”

  8

  SISTER AGATHA DROVE DIRECTLY TO TOM’S HOUSE NEXT. It was time for them to speak privately. She was certain that he was holding something back, and that wouldn’t do him or his case any good.

  As she pulled up, Sister Agatha saw the living room curtain move back slightly and caught a glimpse of Tom standing to one side. Sister Agatha waved at him just as Gloria opened the front door and came out, purse in hand.

  “I’m off to the store, Sister, but I should warn you that Tom’s behaving like a caged bear today. We had a visit from Detective Marquez, and Tom’s mood went downhill after that,” she said, slipping inside her car. “One more thing—I heard Detective Marquez say that he’d hang your hide and habit to the wall if he caught you interfering with his investigation.”

  “Then I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t catch me,” Sister Agatha said with a quick smile.

  As Gloria drove away, Tom met Sister Agatha at the front door. “I hope you’ve brought me some good news,” he said, bending down to scratch Pax between the ears.

  “Actually, I’ve come because you and I need to talk. I know you too well, Tom, not to notice you’re holding something back,” she said, following him into the kitchen side of the great room. “With Gloria out shopping, it’s just you and me, so let’s stop wasting each other’s time. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve told you everything that pertains to the murder. You have my word on that.”

  She leaned back in her chair and gave him a cold glare. “That’s not good enough, Tom. There’s something else going on beneath the surface, and in murder investigations, things like that often hold important clues. You know that as well as I do. Stop playing games.”

  She was about to say more when they both heard a car pulling into the driveway. It was followed immediately by the sound of a second approaching vehicle.

  Seconds later, Gloria came back into the house, empty-handed except for her purse. Officer Sanchez, a deputy with the sheriff’s department, was directly behind her.

  “Tom,” Gloria called out as she crossed the room. “There’s someone here for you.”

  Gloria took a seat at the kitchen island beside Sister Agatha as Tom greeted Sanchez with a nod. “What brings you here, Deputy?”

  “Sheriff, I’ve owed you one for a long time,” the tall, lean uniformed officer said. “That’s why I stopped your wife down the street. I wanted her to tell you that I’ll be working on your defense off duty, but she suggested I come by and tell you myself,” he said. “If you need any legwork done to clear your name, count me in.”

  “Thank you, Louis,” Tom said. “You put your job at risk coming to tell me that, and your loyalty’s appreciated.”

  “There’s something else,” Sanchez said. “Detective Marquez ordered me to tail you whenever you left the house—particularly if Sister Agatha was with you or had come by recently. Of course, I can’t be watching everywhere at once, can I?” he added with a grin.

  Tom shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Deputy, but follow your orders. The charges against me are false, but if I end up going down, I’m not taking anyone else with me.”

  “But Sheriff—”

  “No. If I need you to help me locate a witness or do some legwork, I’ll give you a call. Meanwhile, when you’re on duty, follow your supervisor’s orders.”

  “All right, Sheriff. Listen, though—you’ve got friends in the department who know you’re not guilty. We’re all working behind the scenes to find out who killed Garcia and set you up.” He started to the door, then stopped and glanced back. “If you need anything in the meantime, I won’t be far.”

  After Deputy Sanchez left, Gloria looked at Tom, then at Sister Agatha. The lines on her face revealed her weariness. “Is he for real, or is this a Marquez type of setup? If you do something stupid and interfere with the case, or try to corrupt a witness, Marquez could throw you in jail, right?”

  “Yes, he could, but I don’t think Sanchez is playing us. I did save his butt once, and I can understand why he might feel that he owes me.”

  “He might owe Marquez, too,” Gloria said.

  “I don’t think Frank Marquez is out to get anyone,” Sister Agatha said. “I’ve known him since we were in our teens, and he’s always been a stand-up guy. From what I’ve seen so far, I think he just wants to do the job he’s been given, close the case, and go back to Santa Fe.”

  “Probably, but don’t underestimate Frank,” Tom said. “As a law enforcement officer, he’s extremely driven. He’s got an impressive conviction record and usually closes his cases—one way or another. I’ve heard that’s the reason Mayor Garcia requested him specifically. JD’s hoping Frank will go with the easy answers instead of drawing things out. If that’s the way it goes down, then I’m going to be left twisting in the wind.”

  “You’re both police officers. He’ll want to make certain you get a fair shake,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Normally that would be true, but the circumstantial evidence is against me, and when it looks like an officer has gone bad everyone closes ranks,” Tom said, shaking his head. “We come down even harder on our own because it makes us all look bad.”

  Sister Agatha waited, hoping Gloria would leave and go finish her errands, but no one moved. As minutes ticked by, Sister Agatha became acutely aware of the tension between Tom and Gloria. It resonated in the silence between them, breathing with a life of its own.

  Knowing Tom wouldn’t speak freely now that Gloria had decided to stick around, Sister Agatha stood. “Pax and I better get going.”

  Tom walked her to the door. “What’s next on your agenda?”

  “I’ve got to go back to the monastery and help Sister Bernarda pack up more of our scriptorium equipment.”

  “Are you shutting down the scriptorium?” Tom asked. “I thought you were still making money off of that.”

  She’d spoken without thinking and now regretted her lapse. Recovering quickly, she answered, “We’ve decided to get some of our older computers and other hardware out of the way for now.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

  His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “What else is going on over there?”

  “I’ve heard some interesting rumors,” Gloria said, coming up behind them.

  “Like what?” Sister Agatha asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  “A few days ago, a white car with a
nun at the wheel went past Mrs. Santeiro’s house on its way to the monastery. Then, about an hour later, the car drove back out, but that time there were two more nuns inside. At first Mrs. Santeiro figured it was probably all part of a doctor or dentist visit. What she couldn’t figure out was where the white car had come from, since she’d never seen it before.”

  Sister Agatha knew Mrs. Santeiro well. She lived up the road from the monastery, close to the highway. She’d often wondered how the woman ever got anything done, always looking out her front kitchen window.

  “A few days later, Mrs. Santeiro went to the monastery to ask Sister Clothilde if she’d be willing to bake some Cloister Cluster Cookies or make that new wonderful fudge recipe of hers—Sweet Habit—for the annual senior center fund-raiser. Sister Bernarda told her that Sister Clothilde was taking care of other responsibilities and their new cook wasn’t up to the job,” Gloria said. “So what’s happened to Sister Clothilde? Did she and some others get transferred out, and will more follow?”

  Keeping a secret in a community as small as theirs was nearly impossible, Sister Agatha realized. As her gaze settled on Tom, another much more encouraging thought came to mind. Maybe that would ultimately help Tom out.

  “Sure sounds like something’s going on,” Tom said, his laser-sharp gaze on her.

  She considered telling him what was happening, but why add another worry to what he was already shouldering? Once the monastery shut its doors, whether or not the case was closed, she’d still have to leave, and that would mean he’d have one less ally working to clear his name.

  “This isn’t something I can talk about yet, but as soon as I can I’ll fill you both in,” she said at last.

  He nodded once, his expression hard. He’d never liked surprises.