The Prodigal Nun by Aimée Thurlo Read Free Book Online

local state senator, Dwight Holman, as he stepped out of the passenger side. She should have expected this. Wherever reporters gathered, Dwight Holman was sure to be.
    He made a show of coming toward Sister Agatha with a somber, concerned expression on his face and then shook her hand. Shifting slightly so the cameras could have a better angle, he gave her his most sympathetic smile.
    “I heard what happened, and rest assured that all the sisters here at Our Lady of Hope have the support of my state officebehind them,” he said in a voice loud enough to be picked up easily by the microphones. “My prayers are also with the family and friends of the victim of this senseless act. This community is my community…the people, my people. We’ll stand as one and bring whoever did this to justice.”
    The photographers went crazy for several seconds. At long last Sister Agatha gently extricated her hand from Senator Holman’s cold, dry grip. The man never missed a photo op and the chance to land a sound bite on the evening news, but she didn’t want to be part of his reelection campaign.
    “We’re a community of law-abiding citizens,” he said, facing the reporters and stepping away from her so he could command their attention exclusively. “Attacks on our centers of worship, the very heart of our religious freedoms, will
not
be tolerated. We
will
find the person who committed this crime, and he will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
    She wasn’t needed here now, so Sister Agatha walked back toward the parlor entrance. Holman was welcome to the media attention. She wanted no part of it.
    Before she could get far, a reporter shouted a question at her. “Sister Agatha, in your own words, what happened here earlier this morning?”
    She recognized the man as a reporter from the Albuquerque morning paper. Years ago, he’d taken one of her journalism classes. “You’ll have to get the details from the sheriff’s department. It’s their investigation,” she answered.
    “Do you believe that the monastery is a target now?” another reporter asked.
    “As I said, you’ll have to speak to Sheriff Green about all that. But let me offer one word of caution. Be
very
careful about printing any speculation that may be in conflict with the facts.”
    Of course, the nuns didn’t have the funds to sue anyone for anything, nor would they. Still, it couldn’t hurt to give the media a little wake-up call. Almost as if to emphasize what she’d said, Pax stood, edging closer to Sister Agatha, and growled.
    “Maybe you should put that dog inside your compound,” one of the reporters said.
    “It’s a monastery, not a compound, and absolutely not. This is
his
home. He goes where he will,” she said, deliberately sending out the one message she hoped they’d print. “Just be aware that he’s a former police dog and very protective of our monastery.”
    The man moved away from her, then started taking photos of the Antichrysler’s door.
    Several moments later Sister Bernarda came out to join her. “Everything under control?” she asked in a whisper.
    Sister Agatha nodded and filled her in quickly on Sister Jo’s experience at St. Charles. “We’ll have to keep an eye on her. Sister Jo is nothing if not high profile in town. Her energy and enthusiasm always draw people to her.”
    “We should start traveling in pairs while making the meal deliveries,” Sister Bernarda said.
    “That’s a good idea. I’ll also be sure to tell the principal about our concern for her safety. He’ll probably hear about the threat soon enough.” Sister Agatha pointed to the door of the Antichrysler.
    Sister Bernarda nodded.
    The reporters’ attention shifted once again as yet another car pulled up. A heartbeat later, Louis Sanchez stepped out. The driver, a woman in her twenties, followed.
    “Family?” Sister Bernarda whispered to Sister Agatha.
    “Jane’s husband, and maybe their daughter,” she said and went over to