Free The Prodigal Nun by Aimée Thurlo Page A

Charles School took less than fifteen minutes. As they neared the grounds, they saw kids in uniform warming up on the soccer field.
    “We’ll drop you off, deliver the wine, then come back and pick you up, Sister Jo. If the match isn’t over, we’ll wait,” Sister Bernarda said.
    “Thanks,” Sister Jo responded. After giving Pax a quick hug, she climbed out of the station wagon and jogged toward the grass field.
    As they headed out of town, Sister Agatha studied her aching hands. Her joints were swollen today and hurt like crazy. “I won’t be of much use to you unloading the wine, so when we get to San Rafael, do you mind if I go talk to the workers? They’ve got a crew plastering the wall.”
    “Go right ahead. I’ll concentrate on the delivery,” Sister Bernarda answered.
    “Thank you, Your Charity.”
    San Rafael Church was an old New Mexican-style church with two small white bell towers, only one of them finished. The church, formerly in a rural area, had been absorbed into the urban sprawl on the northern outskirts of Albuquerque.
    It was only a bit past four, but the crew was already calling it a day, cleaning their tools and policing the work area. Sister Agatha wandered over casually, and before long she spotted Juanita. The young woman was an
enjarradora
—a specialist in the art of
enjarrando
, the craft of plastering with adobe. Juanita had been one of the experts who’d worked on the wall that encircled the monastery.
    “Sister Agatha,” she greeted. “I heard the news about the murder. I hope the sisters are getting through that okay. It’s got to be hard on them.”
    “Do folks think that visiting our monastery is too dangerous now?” Sister Agatha asked.
    She nodded. “A lady got robbed and killed there. It doesn’t get worse than that. I keep saying that there’s no proof the monastery is dangerous. For all we know, Mrs. Sanchez cut off the wrong guy in traffic on the way to church, so he followed and shot her. But most people don’t care about the reason. All they know is that someone was killed there, and the killer’s still at large.”
    Sister Agatha waited while Juanita took a long drink of water from a small bottle she’d attached to her tool belt.
    “Have you heard any other theories about Jane Sanchez’s murder?” Sister Agatha asked.
    “Not me, no. But Dolly Wheeler could probably give you an earful of them. Do you know her?”
    Sister Agatha thought about it and then finally shook her head. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
    “She and Evelyn, Jane’s daughter, were tight at one time—maybe still are. If anyone knows some serious behind-the-scenes type of stuff, like who might have had it in for Jane, it’ll be Dolly.”
    Sister Agatha and Pax rejoined Sister Bernarda moments later. “Do you know Dolly Wheeler?”
    “Sure.” Sister Bernarda said as they climbed back into the Antichrysler. “She works at St. Charles. She’s Mrs. Harper’s, the new principal’s, administrative assistant.”
    Sister Agatha pictured the office staff one by one, but Dolly Wheeler’s face remained a mystery. “When we get to school, I’m going to the office. I’d like to meet Dolly and ask her a few questions.”
    “Good luck with that. Dolly’s an irritating woman.”
    “You’ve dealt with her before?”
    “Yes, during last year’s Fall Festival I helped her run the school’s booth at the fair,” Sister Bernarda said. “She’s the kind who complains about everything.”
    Sister Agatha said a prayer, asking to find a way to approach Dolly, one that would enable her to get her cooperation.
    They arrived at the school about a half hour later, slowed by commuter traffic heading out of the metropolitan area, and parked in a space beside the big trash bins across from the soccer field. From there, they could see Sister Jo striding back and forth down the sideline, coaching the girls and shouting encouragement.
    “She’s a natural leader,” Sister Agatha said,