Thief in Retreat
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Praise for Aimée and David Thurlo's Novels
Thief in Retreat
“Sister Agatha . . .may make you a believer.”
—Baltimore Sun
Enough twists and turns and ghosts to keep it fresh.”
—New Orleans Times-Picayune
Bad Faith
“Beguiling.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Solid, realistic.”
—Baltimore Sun
“The Thurlos write with the same grace, savvy, and sense of place that make the Ella Clah mysteries so absorbing.”
—Booklist
“Fascinating . . . [a] thoughtful mystery novel.”
—Dallas Morning News
“Sister Agatha is . . . one of the most original and interesting characters in the mystery field today . . . Reading about Sister Agatha and following her exploits in Bad Faith almost makes me wish I had a vocation so I could move into her convent and spend time with her . . . Of course, the fact that she has help from above to solve the case gives a delightful extra dimension to the story. I look forward to [her] next adventure with much anticipation. Until then, 111 have to comfort myself with thinking holy thoughts.”
—Carolina Garcia-Aguilera,
Shamus Award-winning author of Bitter Sugar
“You have to read Bad Faith and meet Sister Agatha. She loves being herself—logical, witty, sometimes a bit stubborn, but always willing to take a risk and try again . . . Oh, yes, she solves her first mystery, too.”
—Joan Wester Anderson, bestselling author of Where Angeb Walk
“If there was ever a nun born to raise hell, it's Sister Agatha. Let's hope that [she] returns soon—this is one nun who could become habit-forming.”
—William Rabkin, executive producer of Diagnosis: Murder
Also by Aimée and David Thurlo
The Sister Agatha Series
Bad Faith
The Ella Clah Series
Blackening Song
Death Walker
Bad Medicine
Enemy Way
Shooting Chant
Red Mesa
Changing Woman
Tracking Bear
Wind Spirit
Thief in Retreat
AIMÉE AND DAVID THURLO
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be
aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold
and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the
publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
THIEF IN RETREAT
Copyright © 2004 by Aimée and David Thurlo.
Excerpt from Prey for a Miracle © 2006 by Aimée and David Thurlo.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address
St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2004051199
ISBN: 0-312-93865-9
EAN: 9780312-93865-9
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin's Press hardcover edition / December 2004
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / May 2006
St Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth
Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Peggy Chauvet, the best of buddies. Since we
end up trading everything from household goods to
clothing, I'm glad you have impeccable taste.
Authors’ Note
Many of our readers have written wanting to know how our daily lives influence our characters and stories. Hopefully, this new Sister Agatha novel will give everyone a glimpse of the day-to-day craziness of a writer's world—the agents, the competition, the demand to produce, and the passion that drives us to write.
Aimée's tribulations when she began her career are typified in the trials of the romance writer in this story, and the setting, a mountain retreat with a ghostly legend, reflects one of David's most memorable experiences early in his teaching career.
Thief in Retreat showcases another one of our interests— Southwestern folk art. Of course, at the heart of the book is Sister Agatha and her love for God. He is the center of her world. That, too, is a part of us.
To all the readers who wanted to know more about how authors’ lives translate into the stories they read—this one's for you.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks go to Diane Uzdawinis. Your help has been absolutely invaluable in creating this series.
1
THE SUN WAS STILL HIGH IN THE CLEAR NEW MEXICO sky as Sister Agatha pressed the candy—apple—red Harley for a little more speed. She was determined to finish her tasks and make it back to the monastery before None, which started at 3:00 P.M. sharp. As an extern nun at Our Lady of Hope Monastery, Sister Agatha wasn’t required to celebrate the liturgical hours with her cloistered sisters, but she never liked missing None. The ninth hour of prayer commemorated the Passion of Our Lord, and after all he’d done for mankind it seemed practically sinful not to honor that time with prayer.
With Sister Bemarda, the other extern at Our Lady of Hope, acting as the monastery’s gatekeeper today, Sister Agatha had left to run errands in town. As usual, she was behind schedule and feeling the pressure. She glanced to her right at Pax, who was riding in the sidecar. The white German shepherd, her ever-present companion whenever she was away from home, was resting his muzzle beside the small windscreen as he watched the landscape whizzing by. He seemed perfectly content to enjoy each moment as it came and looked to be completely at peace. Sister Agatha sighed, remembering the Bible quote from Job that read, “But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee.” Pax’s needs were simple, and he could find peace and contentment no matter where he was.
After a short ride, Sister Agatha pulled into the parking lot of Panza Llena, a family restaurant at the north end of Bernalillo, not far from the main intersection of their small town. The owner, Mrs. Chavez, had placed a collection box near the cash register to help the parish raise funds for Arturo Mendoza, a local boy who needed a kidney transplant. Part of Sister Agatha’s job today was to pick up the money raised at the various sites around town.
Sister Agatha climbed off the Harley and removed her red helmet. Once Pax was at “stay“ on a patch of grass in the shade of the building, she reached into the pocket of her habit and pulled out a doggie biscuit. “I’ll be right back.”
As she stepped inside the restaurant, Sister Agatha was immediately struck by the silence. She’d been here a couple of times before on monastery business, and she couldn’t remember it ever being so quiet.
She looked around, noting that there were a dozen or more diners seated at the tables. Though most had food before them, none appeared to be eating. As she shifted her gaze, Sister Agatha saw the cook out front by the counter, and the two waitresses standing beside him. No one was making eye contact with the tall Anglo man standing in front of the cash
register, not even Mrs. Chavez, who was working as cashier today.
Something was very wrong. As her gaze swept around the room again, Sister Agatha noticed that everyone was watching her—except the man in front of the cash register. He seemed to be watching everyone else.
Sister Agatha took a moment to study him. He had pale blond hair, needed a shave, and was wearing a loose blue windbreaker made out of nylon, and worn jeans. His hands were in his pockets, and he was shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. She was just about to say something to him when she noticed that the cash register drawer was open and Mrs. Chavez had a fistful of bills in her hands. The special collection box for the Mendoza boy was also open, and had obviously been emptied.
She’d walked in on a robbery. Despite the large repertoire of prayers she’d learned as a Catholic—both before and after becoming a nun—the only thing that came into her mind now was the most basic of all pleas—Oh Lord, help!
Sister Agatha forced herself to smile at Mrs. Chavez, then reached into her pocket, pretending to be searching for something. “1 was just about to buy myself a slice of your wonderful pie, Mrs. Chavez, but I left my wallet in the saddlebags of the bike. I’ll be right back.” With an apologetic smile, Sister Agatha nodded at the man in the jacket, then turned to leave. She’d only taken one step when his voice cracked through the air like a whip.
“Stop!“ he ordered.
As she turned around, she saw he’d pulled out a small silver pistol. Pointing it at her, he motioned for her to move behind the counter. “Nice try, Sister, but you’re a lousy poker player.” He then turned to Mrs. Chavez. “Hand over the cash. And don’t forget the big bills under the drawer.”
Mrs. Chavez, a well—rounded woman in her late fifties with salt—and—pepper hair and large brown eyes, did as he ordered. “That’s all we have.” Her hand was shaking as she handed him the money. “Now go and leave us alone.”
The man jammed the bills into his jacket pocket and glanced at the nervous customers watching him. A big construction worker resting one massive arm on the hard hat on his table had his hand curled into a fist. Lastly, the man focused on Sister Agatha again. “Let’s go, Sister. You’re coming with me.”
“Where, and why? Don’t you think kidnapping a nun is a little conspicuous? I’ll just slow you down.”
He looked over at the construction worker, who had reached for his steak knife. “Put down the knife,” he said, then turned back to Sister Agatha. “You’re my insurance.”
“Do as he asks, Sister,” Mrs. Chavez pleaded.
The man glanced at Mrs. Chavez and the others. “If anyone moves, or the police show up, Sister’s a goner.”
Mrs. Chavez made a sign of the cross. “There won’t be a place on Earth you can hide from God if you hurt Sister Agatha.”
“I’m not worried about God—just the police.” Grabbing her arm and tugging, he added, “Let’s go.” As he passed by one of the customers, he let go of Sister Agatha just long enough to grab the woman’s cell phone off the table and jam it into his pocket.
Sister Agatha led the way outside, prodded by the barrel of the thief’s gun. Just as they stepped through the doors, she saw Sheriff Tom Green and Deputy Joshua Riley walking toward them from across the street.
Sister Agatha’s heart leaped to her throat. “They’re probably just coming over for some pie and coffee,” she whispered quickly to her captor. “Didn’t you notice that the sheriff’s station is practically across the street?“
“If they make a move, you’re going to be the first one to get shot. Don’t make eye contact, just keep going.” He looked around. “Where’s your car?“
“I don’t have one. I came on the Harley,” she said, pointing.
“Then that’s our ticket out of here.”
“Bad idea. They’ll be after us within a few minutes, and a nun on a bright red motorcycle with a sidecar won’t be hard to trail.”
“All I need is a good head start. And don’t try to signal them. I’m watching you like a hawk.”
She stopped at the motorcycle, with the robber close behind her, trying to resist not looking toward the sheriff. Tom Green was a very old friend, and she knew he’d never let her leave without coming over to say hello. But that would undoubtedly spook the gunman into doing something really stupid. It was up to her to take action—now. Fortunately, she had a lethal weapon currently on “sit“ and “stay.”
As she reached into her pocket for the keys, she turned slightly, making sure Pax could see the thief’s pistol aimed at the small of her back. A twitch of the dog’s ears as they suddenly stood straight up told Sister he’d spotted the weapon.
“Careful, Sister. Act natural,” the robber muttered, still watching her instead of the dog, which was exactly what she’d prayed he’d do.
Pax was at least ten feet away, but he was already a tensed-up mass of muscle and fur just waiting to cut loose. Sister Agatha took a half-step to the side and signaled Pax, who launched himself for-ward like a thoroughbred out of the starting gate. While still in midair, Pax clamped down on the robber’s gun hand, teeth sinking in just above his wrist. There was a sickening crunch and the gun-man screamed as the force of Pax’s attack spun him like a top, then threw him forward onto the asphalt, the one-hundred-pound German shepherd still attached to his arm.
Howling in pain, the robber threw a wild punch with his free hand. He missed as the big dog stretched back, working his teeth deeper into the man’s muscle and twisting his gun hand in a frightening game of tug—of—war.
Scrambling to his knees, the man gave up on his weapon and let it fall, lunging forward instead of pulling away. Groping desperately with his other hand, he managed to grab Pax by the collar. “Got you now, you worthless …”
Sister Agatha had seen enough. Drawing back her fist, she punched the lowlife squarely in the nose as hard as she could.
The robber toppled forward onto the pavement, and this time the one-hundred-pound dog hanging onto his arm kept him down.
Sister Agatha heard approaching footsteps and knew help had arrived.
“Out!“ Sheriff Green ordered Pax as he and the deputy came running up, armed and ready. But the dog was growling now and was either too focused, couldn’t hear them, or both. “Sister, give him the command.”
“Pax, out!“ Sister Agatha ordered, cradling her aching hand.
The dog released the man’s arm and backed away a step, still growling and barking fiercely.
“That dog almost tore my arm off! And then the nun punched me! I’m bleeding!“ The man raised up from his facedown position, trying to get to his knees with just one arm for support. Pax moved closer, his teeth bared.
“Lie down, or the dog will attack again. Your throat is still intact, so quit whining,” Tom Green said, handcuffing the thief. “We’ll have a doctor look at your injuries once you’re in lockup.”
Sister Agatha looked at the robber and struggled not to cringe. There was more blood coming from his nose where she’d punched him than from the arm Pax had bitten, or perhaps his torn sleeve hid most of the damage. Guilt made her insides hurt nearly as badly as her fingers did.
“Nice jab, Sister Agatha,” Tom Green said. “Remind me never to get you angry.”
Sister Agatha exhaled softly and muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have hit him. I just wanted to protect Pax.” She looked down at her sore knuckles.
“Insider tip, Sister. You might want to put some ice on those knuckles before they start to swell,” Tom said, a smile touching the corners of his mouth.
Mrs. Chavez came rushing out of the restaurant. “Sister Agatha, you were wonderful! I wish I had a punch like yours. You and your dog stopped him in his tracks.”
Sister Agatha gave the restaurant owner a thin smile. Her hand hurt like the devil now. Maybe that was her punishment for resorting to violence.
Forty—five minutes later she and Pax arrived at the monastery. The robbery and its aftermat
h had made it impossible for her to complete the rest of her errands. She needed to report the incident to Reverend Mother as soon as possible.
Sister Agatha passed through the open iron gates that allowed entry to the walled compound, and drove slowly around to the side of the former barn where she normally parked her motorcycle. To her surprise, she found a long black sedan nestled there in the shade. Curious to see who’d come, she left Pax outside and hurried in through the back door.
When she finally reached the parlor, Sister Bernarda closed the book she’d been reading on the life of Saint Teresa of Avila and met her gaze. “I’m glad you’re back, Your Charity,” she said. “Reverend Mother has been asking for you. Archbishop Miera is here.” Her Marine drill sergeant tone was a little more subdued than usual.
“And they want to talk to me?“ She wondered if Reverend Mother had already heard about the incident in town. But then again, that didn’t explain the archbishop’s presence. His residence was too far away for him to have come to the monastery for that.
“I’ll go right now.” Sister Agatha handed Sister Bernarda the list of places that had donations for the Mendozas ready to be picked up. “Could you call these businesses and let them know that one of us will be by tomorrow to pick up the money?“
“I’ll take care of it,” Sister Bernarda said, then, looking worried, added, “Not long after His Excellency arrived, I was asked to pack up your things. Your bag is behind the desk over there, all ready.”
“Ready for what? Where am I going?“ She didn’t like this at all.
“I have no idea, but you’ll find out when you see Reverend Mother.” When Sister Agatha didn’t move, the older nun added, “Right now would be a good time.”
Dread filled her as she went down the silent corridor of the enclosure to Reverend Mother’s office. In times of need, any sister could be asked to go and become part of another monastery, and their vow of obedience would make refusal out of the question. But even the thought of leaving Our Lady of Hope filled her with sadness. Our Lady of Hope was a vital part of her—and she of it. She belonged here.