Rueful Death

Chapter Fourteen

It was my alarm clock, not the fire bell, that jarred me out of a sound sleep at first light the next morning. I got up, pulled on my sweats, and took a brisk walk along the river. I surprised a white-tailed doe drinking at the water's edge and startled a great blue heron, statuesque in a quiet pool, waiting for a silver minnow to dart out from under a rock. He lifted heavily into flight, flapped across the river, and dropped into another pool, where he fixed a suspicious eye on me. The wind had swung back around to the southwest again, and it was warming up. It was going to be a cool, crisp day, one of Texas's January jewels.

Back at Jeremiah, I grabbed a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, feeling virtuous for having fended off temptation the night before. I pulled on cords and a sweater and set off for breakfast, ready for whatever fireworks Sadie Marsh might launch at the board meeting.

As I passed the green Dodge truck in the parking lot on the way to the refectory, I patted it affectionately. Given its performance in the Lone Star parking lot last night, I'd been a little worried about the twelve-mile drive from Carr to the monastery. I hadn't relished the idea of getting stranded and having to hitch a ride to St. T's from some

colorful local character on his way home after a hard night's drinking.

But the truck behaved and the only person 1 met was hardly colorful. At the turnoff to the monastery, I encountered a Honda. It came from the opposite direction, made a sharp left in front of me, and stopped at the gate. Somebody-it was too dark to see who-got out hurriedly, retrieved the key and opened the gate, then drove through, leaving it open. I drove through, closed it, then drove fast to catch up, curious to know which of the nuns was out at this late hour. I pulled into the lot behind Sophia just as the driver, dressed in dark slacks and a dark jacket, got out.

"Sister Olivia!" I said, surprised. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

She recognized me and stiffened. "My plans changed," she said, taking a small suitcase from the backseat

I thought of my list of questions-Mother Hilaria's hot plate, Father Steven's scar, the letters. "Now that you're back, I'd like to make a time to talk. It really is important that I ask you about-"

She slammed the car door and locked it. "No," she said. She came around the car and the light fell on her. Her face was a white mask, her eyes two dark smudges.

"I don't mean that we have to talk right now," I persisted. "How about after breakfast tomorrow?"

"No," she said again. Her voice was rising, frantic, half-hysterical. "I have nothing to say to you. Nothing at all, do you hear?" She pushed past me into the dark. I could hear the staccato tattoo of her heels on the cement sidewalk.

"Good morning," Maggie said cheerfully, interrupting my thoughts as I came around the truck. "It's a pretty day, isn't it?" She gave me a quick glance. "How'd it go last night?"

"How'd it go?" I repeated, still wondering why Sister Olivia had been so anxious to escape from me. She had been almost running.

The corners of her mouth twitched. ' 'You know. Your date. With Tom."

"Oh, that." I grinned. "It was okay."

She held the door open as we went inside Sophia. "What? No champagne and roses?" Her mouth twitched. "No propositions?"

"There was a proposition," I said offhandedly. "I just said no."

The twitch became a smile. ' 'You see? Never underestimate the power of prayer."

"Oh, so that was it," I said. We went into the refectory, and I sniffed appreciatively. Fresh cinnamon rolls this morning. Ah, yes.

There was ample time between breakfast and the board meeting to talk to Olivia and get straight on what she knew about the letters and the fires. But even though I waited until the last sister had come through the refectory door, Olivia didn't show up. She wasn't in the office in Sophia, either, or in the chapel, in her room, or with Regina in the infirmary. And Mother Winifred, who was doing some paperwork at the desk in her cottage, couldn't suggest where else I might look.

"I didn't even know she'd returned from the mother-house," she said, sounding slightly miffed. "In the old days, nobody went anywhere or came back from anywhere without asking Mother's permission." She straightened a sheaf of papers and stuck them into a file folder. "But Olivia is a law unto herself, and I'm a very lame duck. Reverend Mother General will probably call today and tell me when to schedule the election." She put the papers into a drawer and looked at the clock on the wall. "It's almost time for me to be off to the board meeting."

"I'll be there too," I said. "I saw Sadie yesterday and she asked me to come. She wants legal counsel, I gather."

From the look on her face, Mother was not pleased. "I love Sadie dearly," she said with irritation, "but she has the capacity to do the order a great harm. We've got enough

difficulty on our hands without her stirring up trouble."

There wasn't anything I could say to that, but I did have a question. "Before we go to the meeting, there's something else I want to ask you about," I said. "I gather that a number of the sisters here did their novitiate together under Perpetua. Ramona mentioned that Olivia and Regina knew one another even then."

"And Ruth, as well," Mother said. She took a navy sweater off a peg on the wall and pulled it on. "I was at the motherhouse when that class came through, and I remember the three of them. Regina and Ruth were good friends, always getting into some sort of mischief. Olivia felt she had to stand up for them. She showed quite a bit of leadership capability, even in the novitiate."

"She stood up for them?"

"Oh, yes. You wouldn't know it to look at either of them now, because they've both settled down and become quite serious. But Ruth and Regina were once quite fun-loving. Mischievous, really. They enjoyed little pranks." She smiled. "One or two of their practical jokes got them into trouble with Perpetua, as I recall."

"I see," I said, thinking that I was beginning to see a great deal. "Do you think Olivia would talk to me about some of those pranks?"

"I don't see why not," Mother said. She stepped in front of a mirror on the wall and ran a comb through her white hair. "Or you could ask Ruth or Regina directly. But why do you want to know about all that old business?"

I wanted to know because I was beginning to make some connections between what had happened at the novitiate twenty years before and what was happening here now. But I wasn't comfortable sharing my thoughts with Mother Winifred until I had talked with Olivia and sorted it out some more-especially after having been so wrong only yesterday.

I glanced at my watch. "If we're not going to be late to

that meeting, we'd better go. Shall we walk to Sophia together?"

The board meeting was held in a long, narrow room adjacent to the monastery office. It was high-ceilinged, wood-paneled, and bare of decoration, except for a painted statue of Mary in one corner, a heavy dictionary on a wooden stand in another, and a pendulum clock on the wall. Its hands showed nine fifty-five.

Three of the board members were already in the room when we got there. Tom got up from the head of the table, where he was sorting through a stack of papers, and came to greet us. He was wearing a suit and tie, and he looked tired, as if he hadn't slept very much. He shook Mother's hand and gave me a quick nod. His eyes slid away. I thought I understood. He was embarrassed about last night.

"Is your dad here?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Something came up at the last minute and he couldn't make it."

Mother Winifred tugged at his sleeve. "May I have a word with you, Tom?"

I went around the table and sat down beside Sister Ga-briella, who was talking to a plump, brown-haired woman in a too-tight lipstick-red suit with a fussy blouse and pearls. She turned out to be Cleva Mason, the one who had missed the last four board meetings. She slanted a glance around the table, licking her lips with a nervous tongue.

There was a stack of papers in the middle of the table, probably the board's agenda. Tom finished talking to Mother Winifred, looked at his watch, then at the clock. He seemed unusually jittery. He glanced around the table and cleared his throat.

"If everyone's ready…" he said.

"Sadie's not here," Sister Gabriella said.

"Oh, okay," Tom said, and I had the impression that he'd been hoping to start without her. He looked at his watch again. "I guess we'll have to wait, then."

"There's plenty of coffee," Mother Winifred said, gesturing to a table at the end of the room where coffee and cups had been set out. "She'll probably be here in a few minutes."

But at ten-fifteen, we were on our second cup of coffee, we'd almost run out of small talk, and Sadie still hadn't arrived. Tom was more tense and withdrawn than I had seen him, with a wary, nervous look. I wondered once again whether he knew what Sadie was going to bring up this morning. From the look of him, I'd have said yes. But how had he learned it? Sadie had kept her intentions to herself.

Gabriella touched my arm. "It's not like Sadie to be late," she said quietly. "She had a lot riding on this meeting."

"Maybe we'd better call her," I said. "She might have slept through the alarm."

Gabriella left the room. A few minutes later, she was back. To Tom's questioning glance, she said, "Nobody answers the phone."

"She's on her way over, then," Tom said. He shuffled the papers, obviously anxious to begin. ' 'There are several information items on the agenda. We could handle those first. She'll be here by the time we're ready to get to the substantive issues."

But the information items-mainly having to do with paying the legal bills in the aftermath of the lawsuit-were read and discussed by ten forty-five, and Sadie still hadn't arrived. Tom looked up at the clock again. He seemed to be debating what to do. "I think we should go ahead without her," he said finally.

I pushed back my chair. "Sadie has some vital information to present. She'd be here unless something happened. It is okay if I borrow the truck again, Mother Winifred? I'll drive over and see what's keeping her."

Tom licked his lips nervously. "It's not a good idea to drive that old truck over there," he said. "If it didn't start, you'd be stranded. We'll take a break, and I'll drive you."

I frowned. At best, being alone with Tom would be uncomfortable.

Gabriella leaned toward me. "Go, please," she urged in a low voice. "Sadie wouldn't be late if she could help it. I'm afraid something's wrong over there."

Tom's cream-colored Chevy Suburban made the trip in something under ten minutes. We didn't encounter Sadie along the way. We didn't say much to one another, either. Tom's face was set and his jaw was working, and I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't lead us back to the subject we had closed last night. Anyway, I shared Gabriella's apprehension about Sadie. She had planned carefully for the board meeting, and she'd been looking forward to it. She wouldn't have missed it unless-Unless what? What was wrong?

The M Bar M was deserted when we drove in. Sadie's blue Toyota was parked on the gravel apron in front of the house, so she was still around, somewhere. Without a word, Tom and I got out, went up to the front door, and knocked; then knocked again.

Nothing.

Tom tried the knob, but the door was locked. We went around to the back door, which stood partly ajar. I stepped inside and called, but there was no answer. A couple of minutes' searching was enough to convince us that Sadie wasn't inside. We started for the outbuildings, calling as we went. Tom strode ahead, moving fast. I had to run to keep up with him.

The metal-roofed barn was a long, narrow building, lined up on a north-south axis, with double doors at both ends. The floor was hard-packed earth. The west side of the barn was stacked to the roof with baled hay and feed sacks. The east side was lined with a row of wide stalls that opened at the back into the fenced paddock. Three of the stalls were occupied, two by decorous paint ponies that thrust out their noses inquisitively, looking for carrots. The third contained

a brown horse with a silky dark mane, wearing a leather bridle. The horse was skittish, prancing, his eyes rolling.

"Goliath," Tom said over his shoulder. "Sadie's horse."

We found her in Goliath's stall. Her jeans-clad, denim-jacketed body was sprawled facedown on bloody straw, head twisted unnaturally to one side, steel gray hair matted with blood. One arm was pinned under her, the other flung out. Goliath tossed his head with a shrill whinny and shied away from us against the fence.

"Jesus," Tom breathed out.

He shoved the gate open, rushed in, and grabbed the horse's bridle. As Goliath reared, he yanked. "Out of the way," he gritted. "I've got to get this killer out of here."

While Tom was locking the horse into the next stall, I ran in, knelt in the straw beside Sadie, and felt at her neck. A moment later, Tom joined me.

"Is… is she alive?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "There's a pulse. Not much of one, but a pulse."

He rocked back on his heels, his face blanched. "She's alive," he whispered, as if he were dazed. "What'll we do?"

"We've got to get help." I yanked off my jacket and spread it over Sadie. "Give me your coat. There's got to be a phone in the house. How quick can the EMS get out here?"

Tom didn't answer. He seemed dazed. He dropped his head into his hands. "She's alive," he whispered again. "Dear God, she's-"

"Tom!" I shook him. "Get the EMS! Tell them we've got a head injury here, possible brain trauma. Tell them she was kicked in the head by a horse."

His head came up swiftly, and his staring eyes connected with mine. "Yeah," he said. He swallowed. "Yeah, right." He scrambled to his feet, energized, peeling off his suit

coat. "There's a phone by the barn door. I saw it when we came in." He tossed me the coat.

I turned Sadie on her side, rolled Tom's coat into a pillow, and propped up her head, touching her wound. She had sustained two crushing blows to the head, one above her ear and slightly forward, the other lower, behind the ear. The blood was dark and crusty; the edges of the wound were dried. Her face was drained of color, the leathery skin slack and gray and very cold. She'd been lying there for some time-how long, it was hard to tell. I stared down at her, feeling a sharp, poignant sadness. All her schemes and dreams, all her passion, all come to nothing. All come to this.

Tom was back. "They're on their way," he said. He glared at Goliath, who was standing, head hanging, in the nearby stall. "I ought to shoot that animal. He's always been vicious. Don't know why Sadie keeps him around."

Sadie moaned and stirred and I bent over her. "Sadie," I said into her ear. "Just be still. Help is on the way. You're going to be all right."

Her eyelids nickered. She tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. Her eyes closed.

Tom dropped to his knees and took her hand. "How is she?" he asked.

"She came around for a minute, but she's out again."

His face tensed, jaw muscles working. "Did she say anything?"

I shook my head and stood up. "She's in shock. We need blankets."

"You go," he said. "I'll stay with her." Holding her hand, he bent over her. "Sadie," he whispered urgently. "Sadie, can you hear me? You're safe now. The horse can't get you."

I sprinted. In the bedroom, I tossed aside a purple bathrobe and grabbed two blankets off the unmade bed. I was on my way back through the kitchen when I saw the white envelope on the table. I grabbed it and jammed it into the

pocket of my slacks. Then, just outside the door, I saw something lying on the ground and picked it up. It was a white and blue rectangle, immediately recognizable. It was an airline boarding pass with Olivia's name on it.

I stared at it. When I'd first seen Olivia driving die Honda last night, turning into St. Theresa's lane a little after ten, she had been coming from the direction of the M Bar M. In the parking lot, she had been frantic, half-hysterical. She'd practically run away from me. And now I knew why.

I knew that Olivia had been here last night, with Sadie. She had come here straight from the airport and fresh from her discussion with the Reverend Mother General. And I knew what the two women had said to one another. I could see them sitting at the kitchen table talking, could imagine Olivia's pleas for time, her desperate efforts to persuade Sadie not to reveal the deed restrictions. I could hear her begging Sadie to give her a chance to work out some sort of deal.

And I could imagine Sadie's response. She'd have been impassive and poker-faced at first. She'd have hidden her enjoyment of Olivia's frantic pleas. But in the end she wouldn't have been able to conceal her triumph at having Olivia and the order exactly where she wanted them. I could see, as clearly as if I'd been here, Olivia's fear, her tightfisted anger, and finally her fierce, uncontrollable outrage. I could hear Sadie's chuckle, spiraling into a derisory laugh, and picture Olivia's face, wrenched with passion-

But could I imagine Olivia following Sadie out to the barn? Could I picture her smashing her victim in the head, then dragging her into the stall? Could I see her, ignited by a compelling sense of purpose and inflamed by a vision of-

Yes, I could. Bloody hands have administered the sacraments and bloody hearts have ruled the Church. Bloody murders in the name of all that's holy are woven into the history of Christianity. It didn't take much imagination to

see Olivia transfigured, in a moment of raging impotence, mto an instrument of vengeance.

But neither this boarding pass nor my testimony about Olivia's behavior in the parking lot would be enough to convince a jury that a woman who had spent her life serving God had suddenly gone berserk and attempted to murder her neighbor. Evidence that she had been in her victim's kitchen wasn't enough. Evidence that she had been in the barn with Sadie-that was what I needed.

Back in the stall, I spread the blankets over Sadie's motionless body. ' 'Any change?'' I asked breathlessly.

Tom shook his head, his face strained, eyes shadowed. "Her pulse is erratic. Her breathing's shallow. She'll be lucky to pull through. Damn horse-I'll see that he's shot!"

I pulled the blanket up and turned her head slightly. 'Tom, look," I said. "Sadie is taller than I am, and Goliath isn't all that big. Could he have inflicted these wounds?"

"He could have if she was down." He nodded toward a bucket of half-spilled oats in the corner. "See? She came in here to feed him and bent over with the bucket. Something spooked him and he reared up. Sure, he could kill her. Those forelegs are like sledgehammers."

"But if he'd got her down, would he have stopped at that?" I asked. "She was helpless, bleeding. He'd surely have trampled her. But there's not another mark on her body. And when we came in, the horse was as far away from her as he could get, at the back of the stall."

Tom's face was grim. "Are you suggesting it wasn't the horse?''

I got to my feet, opened the gate, and went into the paddock. Goliath was calmer now, standing beside the fence, his head hanging. As I approached he nickered, an anxious, questioning sound. I don't know much about horses, but this one didn't look like a killer. Frightened, yes, sides heaving, eyes rolled back. But not savage, not vicious. Not like a horse who had tried to kill his owner.

Tom scrambled up. "Stay away from that animal," he cried. "He's dangerous!"

"I don't think so," I said. I made a soft noise in my throat and reached up to stroke Goliath's neck under the long, rough hair of his mane. "That's a good boy. Steady now." I stood for a moment rubbing his shoulder, then slid my hand down his leg until I was kneeling and looking closely at his left foreleg, his hoof. I ducked in front and examined his right foreleg, his hoof. Then the hind legs, the hind hooves.

What I saw confirmed my suspicions. There was no blood on the horse, no physical evidence that he had touched Sadie. It wasn't proof that Olivia had struck her down, but the knowledge moved me one step closer to that conclusion.

"Damn it, China!" Tom had opened the gate and was coming at me. "Do you want the horse to kick you too?" At the sound of the loud voice, Goliath snorted and shied. I backed away, and Tom grabbed my arm.

"Damn bullheaded woman," he muttered. "That's all I need, to have you trampled by a killer horse."

I pulled free. "He's not a killer, Tom. If the horse did it, there'd be evidence embedded in the wound-dirt particles, straw, stuff like that. But it's clean, as clean as those hooves. The horse didn't do this. Somebody tried to kill her."

Tom gave a harsh, strangled laugh. "That's crazy, China."

I heard the wail of a siren. The ambulance was coming up the lane.