Thief in Retreat Read online

  As she drew near Reverend Mother’s door, Sister Agatha froze, unable to take another step. What if she never came back?

  A minute went by before Reverend Mother came out into the hallway. “I thought someone was out here,” she said, then added, “Child, what on earth are you doing just standing there?“

  Reverend Mother called each of the sisters “child“—the age of the person made absolutely no difference. Elderly Sister Clothilde was “child“ to Mother just as much as their young postulant, Celia.

  “I heard footsteps, but when no one knocked or came in, I began to wonder if someone had ascended,” she said with a smile, clearly trying to put Sister Agatha at ease. “Come in. There’s nothing to be uneasy about.”

  Sister followed and, obeying Reverend Mother’s gesture, sat down.

  Archbishop Miera had made himself comfortable in one of the larger oak chairs across from Reverend Mother’s desk. He seemed very relaxed, sipping a cup of the monastery’s special blend of tea. The small plate beside him held several of Sister Clothilde’s famous Cloister Cluster cookies.

  “I have some very exciting news for you, Sister Agatha. Our archbishop has come here specifically to ask us for your help.”

  Curious, Sister Agatha’s gaze turned to the archbishop. His Excellency was a tall man, around six-two, and he was fit for a man in his mid—sixties. Today he was dressed in a black suit with a clerical collar, but even in this simple, familiar setting, Archbishop Miera projected authority easily, like most men who wore the mantle of responsibility with grace.

  “He would like you to travel to the former Monastery of Saint John in the Pines,” Reverend Mother continued. “There’s a problem there that requires your unique background and skills.”

  “1 would be honored to help His Excellency,” Sister Agatha answered formally. “But I’m not familiar with that monastery. You said it closed down?“

  “Yes, Sister,” the archbishop answered. His clear, demanding voice made a person want to listen. “The few remaining brothers there were sent to another community, and the Church sold the monastery property two years ago. The new owners subsequently turned it into a private inn called The Retreat, which is becoming a popular site for hosting workshops. But the Church retained one connection to the place.

  “The owners, you see, wanted to maintain the feel and look of an old monastery, so although the amenities have been modernized, the place hasn’t changed much to the casual eye. And that, in a roundabout way, is why Pm here. You helped the monastery and the diocese a few months ago with a very serious matter. I’m told you have excellent investigative skills, and I now need you to put those skills to work for the Church again.” He looked somberly at Reverend Mother, then at Sister Agatha. “Everything I say from this moment on has to be kept in the strictest of confidence.”

  Of course, Your Excellency,” Reverend Mother replied quickly.

  Sister Agatha nodded and waited. What an interesting day this was turning out to be!

  “Ernesto Luna, the owner of The Retreat, is having a problem— which has become ours as well. Statues and folk art of a religious nature, some made by the monks who used to live there, have apparently been disappearing—and reappearing—at The Retreat.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Why is this the Church’s problem? And did you say ’apparently’?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  He nodded. “Although we sold the monastery, the Church has allowed Mr. Luna to rent the artwork and display it because some of the statues were objects of great devotion for the parishioners in that area. We kept up the insurance costs, of course, but those have risen dramatically in the past few months, so we’d made plans to donate the collection to the local college’s museum. But Ernie thinks that some of the art has been replaced with very good copies, and now isn’t sure which of the pieces are authentic. We discussed the problem, then decided to call in an expert and verify the authenticity of the entire collection. Professor Richard Lockhart, who’s the curator of the museum, asked for permission to take a few pieces back to his lab for testing. But he disappeared, along with the items in his possession, after leaving The Retreat. His car was found abandoned by the side of the road not far from there and he hasn’t been seen for two days.”

  “The police are searching for Professor Lockhart, I assume?“ Sister Agatha asked. Then, seeing him nod, “Do the authorities know about the problem with the art collection?“

  “Only that Lockhart had two pieces with him when he disappeared,” the archbishop said. “But Sheriff Barela, who’s handling the case, apparently has his hands full just trying to locate the missing professor. He hasn’t mentioned the collection to me at all, so I don’t know what’s on his mind.

  “At this point, I’m not sure what to think,” he continued. “While the sheriff searches for the professor, we need to find out what’s really going on at The Retreat. We have to protect the remaining artifacts, and if Ernie’s suspicions are right, we have to recover the pieces that have already been stolen. Barela is concentrating on finding Professor Lockhart. That’s the reason I’d like you, Sister Agatha, to look into this and see if you can learn something about the missing art.”

  “But will Sister Agatha be safe?“ Reverend Mother asked, concern wavering her voice slightly. “A man is missing. He may have been kidnapped—or worse.”

  “Sister will be staying among the guests, not driving down a lonely mountain road at night. But I’d like her to take the monastery’s police dog with her for protection. There’ll also be an undercover officer there on site as well. He’ll make himself known to you when circumstances permit.”

  Sister Agatha nodded, glad that Pax would be able to go with her. Undercover officer or not, Pax was a good ally to have close by.

  “Does Mr. Luna know I’m coming to investigate the thefts?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  Archbishop Miera nodded. “Yes, he, his wife, and the undercover officer. To the staff and guests you’re there solely to catalog and evaluate the contents of some crates that were recently discovered at The Retreat. They appear to have been left behind by the monks when the monastery closed.”

  “What’s inside these crates?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  “I have no idea, but we do need those items inventoried, so the timing’s perfect,” he answered. He remained silent for a moment, as if still trying to make up his mind about something.

  “I’ve got a feeling there’s more …something you’re reluctant to mention …,” Sister Agatha prodded softly.

  “Your journalistic instincts are right on target, Sister,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s time for me to tell you about—the ghost.”

  Reverend Mother and Sister Agatha exchanged wary glances. “Excuse me, Your Excellency,” Sister Agatha said. “Did you say ghost?“

  “That’s what I’ve been told, but you can consider me a skeptic. Personally, I think that the stories of a resident spook at The Retreat have been—shall we say enhanced?—by the staff in order to book more workshops. Still, you need to be aware of the story. A shadowy young woman is supposed to wander the corridors at night, moving objects around and frightening guests and staff. You’ll hear all the hair-raising details, I’m sure, within a half hour of your arrival.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Your Excellency,” Sister Agatha answered. “This sounds like a challenge I’m going to enjoy. When would you like me to get started?“

  “You’re to leave right away, child,” Reverend Mother added. “Your bag has been packed.”

  “Then will you give me your blessing, Mother?“ Sister Agatha asked, and when the abbess nodded, she knelt.

  Reverend Mother took out a vial of holy water she kept in her pocket and, moistening her fingertips, blessed Sister Agatha with a sign of the cross.

  Sister Agatha looked at the archbishop. “And yours, Your Excellency?“

  The archbishop stood up and made a sign of the cross over her. “I bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Hol
y Spirit.”

  As she rose to her feet once again, the archbishop spoke. “Work with Ernie Luna, Sister, but remember to be very discreet. It’s for your own safety.”

  “Is Mr. Luna expecting Pax?“ Sister Agatha asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “Normally The Retreat allows only service dogs, but if Mr. Luna objects, just tell him that I requested that Pax accompany you for security reasons. He’ll understand,” Archbishop Miera assured.

  Sister Agatha went to the door, then stopped and turned around, suddenly remembering the incident that had brought her back to the monastery ahead of schedule. “Before I leave, Reverend Mother, may I have a moment with you?“

  Reverend Mother stepped out into the hallway with her. “I’ve already heard about what happened in town, if that’s what’s on your mind. For the most part, you did a good thing, child—but we’re supposed to turn the other cheek, not punch someone in the nose.”

  “I know,” Sister Agatha mumbled guiltily. “I would have gladly accused myself at our weekly Chapter of Faults, but I won’t be here,” she said referring to their regular meetings.

  “Say a rosary and ask Our Lady to help you. Now go and do what the archbishop has asked—without resorting to any more violence.”

  Sister Agatha breathed a silent sigh of relief, bowed to Reverend Mother, then hurried away.

  “I was wondering how long you’d be in there,” Sister Bernarda said as Sister Agatha joined her in the parlor. “Is everything all right?“

  “Yes, but I have to leave right away on business for the archbishop. Pax will be coming with me, so I’d better stop by the kitchen and get his food and dishes.”

  “How long will you be away?“

  She shrugged. “As long as it takes, I suppose,” she said, wishing she could say more.

  Sister Bernarda nodded, understanding.

  Just then Sister Clothilde came rushing down the hall and placed a small paper sack in Sister Agatha’s hands.

  Sister peeked inside and saw a half-dozen cookies. “Oh, Your Charity, thank you!“

  As Sister Clothilde smiled and walked away, Sister Bernarda remarked, “She must have taken those from the stash of Cloister Clusters she keeps on hand for Reverend Mother and special guests like the archbishop.”

  “She’s such a dear woman,” Sister Agatha said. “We’re very lucky to be part of this community,” she added with heartfelt emotion.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Sometimes people think that just because we take vows of celibacy we live loveless lives. But that’s so off the mark! There’re so many ways other than the physical to show love,” she said, holding up the bag of cookies as an example.

  “Take care of yourself,” Sister Bernarda said with a nod of agreement. “I’ll be praying for you every day until you return.”

  Bag in hand, Sister Agatha went outside, found Pax, and gave him a hug. “You’re going with me, pal. Ready for a road trip?“

  Pax barked, then walked at heel with her to the Harley. Sister Agatha placed her bag in the faring, the nose of the sidecar, then went to retrieve Pax’s kibble bag and dishes while he waited by the motorcycle. She’d be taking the bike today, since the aging station wagon, known by the sisters as the “Antichrysler,” would have to remain at the monastery. Pax jumped into the sidecar, then barked, signaling that he was ready to leave.

  Sister Agatha said a quick prayer that Sister Bernarda. would remember all she’d taught her. Skill, prayers, and a well-equipped toolbox were all needed to handle the minor repairs the old car would need daily just to keep running. Placing her thumb on the electric starter, Sister Agatha gave the Harley a little gas. The powerful engine sputtered to life, then rose to its characteristic low rumble.

  Even with Pax sitting proudly in the sidecar he’d come to think of as his, leash, bag of kibble, and food and water dish in a zippered barracks bag on the floor, leaving the monastery was difficult for her. Fastening her helmet—adorned with the white outline sketch of a nun on a motorcycle and the words “Heaven’s Angels“ above it—Sister Agatha put the bike in gear and roared through the entrance and down the gravel road.

  2

  SISTER AGATHA ARRIVED AT THE OLD MONASTERY IN THE mountains not far from Las Vegas, New Mexico, after a two-hour drive, much of it along cool forest roads. The Retreat, as the carved wooden sign leading up the graveled lane announced, was located at an elevation of 6,900 feet. Passing through the gated entrance in a high adobe wall, she drove past a small gatehouse or caretaker’s home, then approached the adobe-and-wood buildings clustered within a large meadow surrounded by tall ponderosa pines.

  After pulling into the closest parking space, a slot at the end of a second row of vehicles in front of the largest adobe structure, Sister Agatha climbed off the Harley stiffly and removed her helmet. “Okay, Pax, we’re here. You can get out, just don’t wander off.”

  The big shepherd jumped out of the sidecar easily, then began sniffing around a juniper bush that bordered the parking area. Just then a slightly overweight man wearing a cowboy hat and overalls waved at her from the side of the building. Sister Agatha smiled and waved back. Dealing with the public had taught her that people reacted in one of two ways when they saw a nun in a black habit riding a cherry-red motorcycle. Either they disapproved or they became instantly friendly, figuring correctly that she had to have a sense of humor.

  “Sister Agatha, I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, leaving the wheelbarrow by a storage shed, then hurrying over to greet her. “Archbishop Miera called and told me to expect you,” he said, removing a dirt—encrusted glove to shake her hand. By then Pax had finished his business and returned to her side. He sat, his eyes on the newcomer.

  “Mr. Luna, I presume?“ He was a Hispanic man in his late forties with a deep tan, thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a pleasant smile.

  “Yes, Sister, but call me Ernesto or Ernie. Everyone else does.” He glanced down at himself. “And forgive the way I’m dressed. Although we’ve been open for a little over a year, there’s always another job to be done, so I wear a variety of hats. At the moment, I’m the landscaper, pulling up weeds.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ernie. This is Pax, my companion. His Excellency suggested I bring him along. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “He’s big, isn’t he? I suppose the archbishop wouldn’t have told you to bring him if he didn’t get along with people, but how is he around cats?“ Mr. Luna’s eyes narrowed.

  “He’s very well trained, and won’t harass any cats or other animals you may have around, though he’s tempted at times to chase a cottontail if one crosses his path.” Sister Agatha looked down at Pax and, from his cocked ears, knew that the animal understood he was the topic of discussion.

  “Well, then, I have no objections, Sister, as long as you don’t let him wander around loose. Some of our guests might not be as trusting as you and I.”

  Sister Agatha nodded. “I understand.”

  Another man came out of the storage shed just then, and walked over to join them. “This is Bill Miller,” Ernie introduced. “He’s our handyman and jack—of—all—trades. He can fix practically anything.”

  Sister Agatha shook hands with Miller, who noticed Pax watching, though he didn’t comment. The man was of medium height and built like a runner. His eyes were an unusual amber brown, and his thin black hair was beginning to show a little gray at the temples. She figured Miller was in his early forties, maybe a bit more.

  Ernie turned to Bill. “Can you finish checking the emitters on the drip system? I’d like to help get Sister Agatha and her dog settled in.”

  “Not a problem,” Miller answered. “Enjoy your stay at The Retreat, Sister.”

  Ernie glanced at the Harley and smiled. “I’d heard through the Catholic grapevine that you ride a motorcycle. But tell me, Sister, how do you manage that wearing a skirt?“ Ernie asked, taking the inexpensive canvas valise from her, then grabbing the barracks bag containing Pax’s provisions
.

  She smiled and hiked up her skirt just a bit. “Sweat pants.”

  He laughed. “Basic black as well, I see. Practical.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Is this all you brought?“ he asked, looking inside the sidecar.

  “That’s it. Nuns travel light,” Sister Agatha said, glad he’d taken the bags from her, especially the food bag, which weighed at least thirty pounds. Her arthritis hadn’t bothered her much lately because it had been a dry year, but the long hours she’d spent on the bike today and her impulsive punch earlier had combined to make gripping anything uncomfortable now.

  Sister Agatha looked around and, as soon as she was sure Bill was no longer within earshot, added, “His Excellency told me about the losses you’ve been experiencing here. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do first?“

  “Why don’t you mingle with the staff and guests and see what you can find out? They probably won’t be so guarded around a nun. Most people assume that you’re harmless. With luck, that will work to our advantage.”

  She nodded. “All right, but remember that I’m also here to sort through the crates the monks left behind. That’s my cover.”

  Ernie nodded. “Of course. For your convenience, we’ve moved the containers to the library in the main building, where you’ll have plenty of room to go through them and can work at your leisure. The library hasn’t been renovated yet, but we’ve done our best to make sure it’s clean, and we’ve moved a desk in there for you. We hope you’ll be comfortable. It was the only place where we figured the crates would be safe and secure and still be out of the way of our guests.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sister Agatha said.

  It was close to sunset as they made their way across the front garden, which was landscaped with various shades of gravel and flowering Southwestern plants. As they drew near the building, she noticed a familiar-looking vehicle parked at the far end in one of the reserved parking spots. It was a white Sheriff’s Department patrol car with a deep dent in the rear bumper.