Bad Samaritan by Aimée Thurlo

still believe Sheriff Green is innocent?”
    â€œYeah, I do, but the Garcias make a lot more noise.”
    â€œNow that the coast is clear, do you think you can find any of those boxes for us?” Sister Bernarda asked.
    Kris smiled and nodded. “Sure. Just go out back to the loading dock. They’re there against the wall, folded, stacked, and tied together with twine.”
    Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha drove the Antichrysler to the back loading dock and saw Kris’s teenaged daughter, Jaime, waiting at the door.
    While they worked getting the boxes into the back of the large station wagon, Jaime didn’t say a word. Sister Agatha wondered about it, but trying to load all the boxes became quite a chore. It wasn’t until Sister Agatha went up the steps one last time to ask Jaime to thank her mother that the girl finally spoke.
    â€œWe depend on this city’s business to stay open, Sister Agatha. Please don’t put my mom on the spot again by asking for help. Okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Jaime closed the door behind her.
    â€œSister Agatha, you need to see this,” Sister Bernarda said. “Can you come over?”
    Sister Agatha joined her by the driver’s side door. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œThis was on the seat,” she said, handing Sister Agatha a scribbled note that read,
Answers come at a price
.
    â€œExactly what do you think that means?” Sister Bernarda asked. “Are they telling us to stop asking questions, or offering to sell answers to us?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” Sister Agatha answered.
    â€œShould we stop by the sheriff’s department and turn it in?”
    Sister Agatha considered it, then shook her head. “No, there’s no direct threat involved, and right now they’ve got their hands full. Let’s hang on to it, though.”
    â€œAll right, then. Let’s go home.”
    â€œExcellent idea,” Sister Agatha answered.
    Long after the Great Silence had begun, Sister Agatha sat alone at one of the few computers that hadn’t been packed away. With so much going on, she hadn’t even bothered to check e-mail. Despite the long list of ads that still managed to slip past their antispam software, one e-mail caught her immediate attention. It was from State Police Detective Frank Marquez.
    As she opened it, Sister Bernarda came into the scriptorium wordlessly. Sister Agatha nodded to her, turned her attention to the letter, and gasped. Instantly, Sister Bernarda came over and began reading over her shoulder.
    Frank’s letter—what he was calling a “courtesy” to Kevin’s sister—let her know that news that Tom’s hand had tested positive for gunpowder residue had been leaked to the press.
    Sister Agatha considered it in silence. Either someone at thesheriff’s department couldn’t be trusted, or the information had come from the killer himself.
    She sat back. The person who’d framed Tom knew about forensics, so it was likely that he also knew the damage that leaking incriminating information could do. The frame was on, and Tom was being tried in the courts of public opinion.
    Sister Agatha fought to keep her spirits up. Maybe Tom’s blood had been tested by now. If he’d been drugged, as they suspected, those positive test results would add credence to his own explanation—that of a third person at the scene. That extra footprint and confirmation of a knockout drug in his system would mean that there were at least two irrefutable facts in his favor.
    One question, however, continued to gnaw at her. Would she be able to prove his innocence before it was time for her to leave New Mexico?
    As if sensing her thoughts, Sister Bernarda pointed to the quote from Matthew that had been embroidered on white linen, framed, and hung on the wall.
With God all things are possible.
    Drawing strength from the words of the apostle, she walked out of