Rueful Death (23 page)

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.

I ran out of the barn, waving at the orange and white EMS ambulance. A few minutes later, two uniformed attendants, their faces grave and intent, were working swiftly and competently, taking Sadie's vital signs, starting an IV, conferring by cell phone with the hospital. In another couple of minutes, they were easing her onto a gurney. While I watched, I saw something small and silvery fall from her clothing onto the straw. I bent over to reach for it at the same moment that Tom did. I clasped his hand.

"Don't touch it," I commanded.

He froze, immobile, his eyes locked on mine. I let go of his hand and stood up. The attendants were watching us curiously. "Do you have a piece of paper?" I asked.

One of them fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a card with carr county hospital printed across it. As they began to maneuver the gurney out of the stall, I knelt and slid the card under the object. It was a small silver cross- not a pendant, but a lapel pin-with some sort of emblem in the center. It was what I needed. The evidence that proved that Olivia had been in the barn with Sadie.

Tom glanced at it and looked away again. "It's just…" The words stopped. His mouth was drawn tight and I couldn't read his eyes. He cleared his throat as I folded the card into a square packet and put it carefully into the pocket

of my slacks. "It's just Sadie's cross. Why… are you going to all that trouble?"

"Because it might not be Sadie's cross. And the owner might have left prints on it." Confronted with the cross and the boarding pass I had found in the kitchen, maybe Olivia would confess.

One hand steadying the IV, the chief attendant turned. "We're ready to roll. Are you two riding with us?"

Tom scrambled to his feet. "We'll follow in my car."

I shook my head. "You follow. I'm going to notify the sheriff's office. I'll stay until Walters gets here."

Tom opened the gate and stood back so I could step out of the stall. His jaw was tight. "You're making more out of this than it is, China. Accidents happen all the time in ranch country. Walters isn't going to drive out here just to look at the place where Sadie got kicked in the head by a horse."

I stayed firm. "This is a crime scene, and that's how I'm going to report it. Walters needs to get his butt out here and do a search. There may be other evidence that could identify Sadie's attacker."

We reached the ambulance just as one of the attendants was climbing into the rear with Sadie. As the other closed the doors, I heard a cell phone buzz. The attendant spoke into it, listened, then turned to Tom. "If the dispatcher got the name right when you called in, you must be Tom Rowan?"

"Yeah. I'm Rowan."

"That was the hospital calling. You need to come with us, sir. Your father's just been admitted."

Tom looked as if he had been struck by lightning. ' 'Dad? But how… why…?"

"Sorry, sir. I don't have any details. We'll be running the lights and the siren. Stay with us."

Impulsively, I reached out to Tom. "Oh, Tom, I'm sorry. Your father's a fine man. He-"

"Yeah, sure." He pushed me away.

The attendants were already in the ambulance, revving the motor. Tom sprinted for his car and was gone.

When I got through to Stu Walters, he answered with gruff irritation. Being wrong about Dwight had obviously earned me no brownie points.

"What is it this time?" he growled.

"I'm at the M Bar M. Sadie Marsh has been attacked."

That got his attention. "Attacked?" I heard the scrape of a chair being shoved back. "Who attacked her?"

"Hard to say. Tom Rowan and I found her a little while ago, in a horse stall in the barn. Head wounds, serious. Tom says her horse kicked her. I think she was bludgeoned. EMS is taking her to the hospital now. The crime scene needs to be secured. And it would be best to have a forensic physician examine the wound before it's cleaned up and-"

"This ain't Houston, lady," he said, with barely disguised sarcasm. "We ain't got no forensic-"

I cut in. "Then tell the doctor who treats her to inspect the wounds carefully, save samples of any debris he removes, and be prepared to testify in court to the nature of the instrument used in the attack."

He was heated. "Now just a goldurned minute here! Who do you think you are to-"

"Excuse me, Deputy Walters," I said crisply. "I don't have time to argue this matter. I've found evidence that suggests that one of the sisters at St. Theresa's may be involved. I'd like your permission to talk to her informally and see if I can determine the extent of her involvement."

When he spoke at last, Walters was incredulous. "You're sayin' that one of them nuns bashed Sadie Marsh over the-"

"That's what I intend to find out," I said. "Unless, of course, you want to handle the questioning yourself. In that event, I'll be glad to arrange it." I paused, giving him time to catch up. "I'll stay with you while you interrogate her.

Of course, Mother Winifred will also want to be there, so she can report your questions to the Reverend Mother General. And perhaps we should tape the interview, just in case the bishop has any concerns." I paused again. "Although, come to think of it, the bishop will probably want to send one of his lawyers."

"His lawyers?"

"Of course. You don't think the bishop will allow a nun to be questioned by the police without-''

He interrupted. "Sounds to me like this mighta been an accident. 'Round here, folks is alius gettin' kicked. An' don't forgit that you screwed up that Dwight bidness, and you was real positive 'bout him."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, but I have physical evidence that a certain nun was here last night."

"Well, it's yer hide."

"You're saying that I have your permission to question the woman?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. But hey, I don't want you thinkin' that you're-"

"I know." I sighed. "I'm not officially on the team, untrained and a woman and all that. If I got hurt, I might sue the county."

"Took the words right outta my mouth," he said.

When I got back to St. Theresa's it was almost noon and the board-what was left of it-had adjourned to the refectory for lunch. I took Mother Winifred out into the corridor and gave her Tom's version of what had happened to Sadie.

"Why, that's impossible!" she whispered, distraught. "Sadie trained Goliath herself. He'd never hurt her, or anyone else."

"I said it was Tom's theory," I reminded her. "When I examined the horse, I couldn't see any evidence that he had kicked her. And there's nothing about her wound that suggests an accident with the animal."

There was a silence. Mother's eyes were enormous with shock and bewilderment. "But if not the horse, then-" She shivered with a sudden chill. "Who did this awful thing, China?"

"I need to talk to Olivia, Mother."

Her hand went to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. ' 'But you can't believe that
she
-"

"I think it's better if I don't try to explain it just now," I said gently. ' 'But I have two pieces of physical evidence that prove she was with Sadie last night. I would like you to be present when we talk. And I must tell you that I have Deputy Walters's permission to question her."

"To… question her? Olivia, of all people! She can't be involved in-She couldn't have-"

"I'm sorry, Mother Winifred. We need to talk to Olivia, and quickly. Where do you think we might locate her?"

Dominica was the one who finally found her, a half hour later, in the chapel. Olivia had apparently been there for several hours, for when she came out of the dim fight, her veil was askew, her habit was wrinkled, and she was blinking behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She seemed confused and disoriented. I had expected her to refuse to talk to me, or at least to put up some resistance. But the middle-aged nun who stood before me, head bowed, shoulders sagging, was nothing like the iron-willed administrator I had met my first day at St. T's. When I told her we needed to talk, she agreed submissively and almost, I thought, with relief.

A few moments later, Olivia, Mother Winifred, and I were in Mother's cottage with the door closed and the kettle heating on the hot plate. Olivia sat at the table, knees and feet together, hands tightly clasped in her lap. The skin under her eyes was pouchy, her nose red, her cheeks blotched. She had been crying.

I spoke quiedy. "There are a great many secrets at St. T's, Sister, and you seem to be at the heart of all of them. But we can't afford secrets any longer. There is too much at stake, too many people being hurt."

She didn't answer.

"On your way back from the airport last night, did you stop to see Sadie Marsh?"

A tic appeared at the corner of her compressed lips. She bowed her head, staring down at her locked hands, folded as if in prayer. Her knuckles were white.

I tried again. "When you went to the motherhouse this weekend, did the Reverend Mother General tell you about the deed restrictions that Sadie had brought to her attention?"

Mother Winifred put the tea things on the table and sat down beside me. "Deed restrictions?" she asked, perplexed.

I spoke to Olivia. "Knowing that Sadie was the main obstruction in your plan, you stopped by her place last night to change her mind. Isn't that true?"

Olivia looked up as if she were about to speak, but she continued to cling to her silence.

I took the boarding pass out of my pocket and laid it on the table in front of her. She glanced at it. A moan escaped her lips and her face went white.

"I found this at Sadie's," I said. "Just outside the kitchen door."

"Yes, I was there," she said, almost inaudibly. I could hear Mother's sharp intake of breath.

"Thank you," I said gently. "Now, tell us what happened."

Olivia was chewing on her lower lip. The silence thickened. Outside the window, a chickadee piped his penetrating four-note whistle. On the hot plate, the kettle was beginning to hum.

Mother Winifred spoke, her voice calm and unexpectedly firm. "You must tell us what happened, Olivia, and what you know. Answer the question, please."

Olivia glanced at Mother with faint surprise. She hesitated, then lifted her head. "It wasn't quite the way you say." Her voice was taut with the effort required to keep

it from trembling. "I know Sadie Marsh. I know that when she says something, no matter how stupid, she sticks by it."

"So you weren't trying to change her mind," I said.

"I told Reverend Mother General that seeing Sadie wasn't going to do any good, but she instructed me to try to talk reason into her. I obeyed. But Sadie had already made up her mind. She wouldn't listen."

Mother Winifred had sat forward on the chair. Both of us were totally captured by Olivia's thin, reedy voice. "What time did you arrive?" I asked.

"I flew into Austin about seven-thirty and telephoned to make sure she would be there. I drove straight from the airport. I got there about nine-thirty. She was ready for bed."

Beside me, Mother stirred. The kettle was beginning to whistle faintly, but I don't think she heard it. "What time did you leave?" I asked.

She moistened her lips with her tongue. ' 'About a quarter to ten. It didn't take long for her to make her position clear. I could see that nothing I could say would change her mind." The blotches grew brighter, and color suffused her neck. "But I had promised Reverend Mother General to give it my best effort, so I did."

"What did you say?"

Her voice seemed to strengthen. "I tried to get her to see that she was making a mistake. I told her that the retreat center would bring a new life to St. Theresa's, that it would contribute jobs and revenue to the local economy." She stopped, cleared her throat. "I told her to think carefully before she closed off those possibilities, because once closed, they couldn't be opened again."

"How did she respond?"

"How do you think?" she asked bitterly.

"Just tell us, Sister," Mother said.

"She laughed." Olivia looked down at her clasped fingers and loosened them until they began to shake, then

pressed them tight again. Her voice had thinned to a thread, each word pulled out of herself with an obvious effort. "She said that after the board meeting there'd be no hope of developing a retreat center here. She said that… the only way to stop her was to… kill her."

Olivia's last sentence paralyzed Mother Winifred and me in absolute, horrified attention. Into that frozen silence, the kettle poured its shriek like the cry of the dead. Blindly, Mother Winifred got up and groped toward it.

I spoke, not so much from a desire to hear the truth as to get the awful, bloody business done with. "What happened then?''

"Then?" Olivia looked at me, her eyes opaque, staring, behind her glasses. "It was over. I left."

"You… left?"

"Yes, I left. What else could I do?" She raised her clasped hands to her breast, speaking with weary despair. "I drove back here."

"That's when I saw you?"

"Yes. I went to my room and tried to sleep, but I couldn't. When everyone went to breakfast, I went to the chapel to pray."

"For forgiveness, I trust." Mother Winifred's voice was ragged. Her hand shook as she poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot.

"For forgiveness?" Olivia cried wretchedly. Half-imploring, half-rebellious, she lifted her eyes toward heaven. "I was praying for guidance! What in the name of Christ am I to do with my life? Does He mean me to dig in the dirt for the rest of my days?" Her voice shattered and she wrapped her arms around herself, bending forward, rocking back and forth. "If anyone should pray for forgiveness, it's Sadie Marsh. She thwarted God's plan for this place!"

"Olivia, Olivia," Mother remonstrated softly. "Only human plans can be thwarted.
His,
never."

Olivia raised her head. Her eyes were filled with tears and her chin was trembling. If I had not seen that bloody body lying in the straw, had not seen how ruthlessly Sadie sad been struck down, I would have felt pity for her. She seemed so utterly destroyed, less a criminal than a victim jf her own high expectations, her hopes for a dream that – ould never be real.