Celtic Sister (16 page)

“This is interesting,” Sam said. “Eight times ten plus one. Eighty-one divided by the square root of eighty-one. That’s nine.”

Amy wasn’t listening. She was pointing at the picture on the left. “I know this. I just saw this.” She disappeared for a moment and returned with the Irish folklore book. “Look.” She pointed to an identical drawing in the book. “It’s a trinity knot, a Celtic symbol that also means eternity.”

Sam examined the pictures and read a passage out of the book. “Christians believe it represents the Holy Trinity.”

“Another religious reference.”

“We’re getting closer,” Sam said. “The math problem translated to nine. But I also find it intriguing that the number eighty-one appears twice as you solve the problem. Once on top when you finish the top line. And once on the bottom before you take the square root.”

“The moon could mean month. September? Maybe the crime happened in September.”

“Or she wanted me to meet her in September.”

“During a crescent moon. Waning I think. Give me a second.” When Amy walked back into the kitchen, she had her nose in the Astronomy book. “Yes, crescent on the left means waning. We can look up the approximate date of the waning crescent moon in September of the year she disappeared.”

“But if the moon is waning, it is not growing. See the poem.
Moons will grow.
Maybe we’re supposed to flip the moon to a waxing crescent.”

“That’s getting complicated.”

“This whole thing is complicated,” Sam cried in despair.

“Another possibility is for you to meet her nine months after the day she disappeared… Maybe nine months during a waxing or waning moon. When did she disappear?”

“June.” He thought about the date for a moment. “Oh my God. Fifteen years ago today actually.”

Amy did a quick calculation. “June plus nine months is March. Could also refer to the first day of spring. The spring reference. Let me look something up on your computer.”

“This is getting too complicated.” Sam walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Roxy followed at his heels, her tail wagging. “Time for a walk, girl?” Sam sighed. “I’m sure ready for a walk.”

“Let me look this up and I’ll join you.”

Amy caught up with Sam and Roxy as he was walking out the door. She grinned. “Get this. There was a waxing crescent moon on the first day of spring the year after Emma disappeared.”

Sam groaned. “It’s all too much, Amy. It could be anything.”

“That’s why we have to see where the clues overlap. If it was as easy as writing a poem, she could have skipped all the drawings. Spring in the poem, first day of spring. Growing moon. Those overlap.”

They walked into the park. Sam frowned and rubbed his head. “I feel like it should be simpler.”

“All the spring and well references overlap. That’s simple.”

“I guess.” Sam stopped abruptly and asked Roxy to lie down. She complied. A man hurried by them.

“Roxy didn’t like him either?”

“Nope.”

“Any idea why?”

“She’s a good judge of character.”

Amy looked at the man’s retreating form. “Should we be worried he’s one of the Richardsons’ minions?”

“I doubt it. We’ve seen the quality of persons Brent engages. And as far as we can gather at this moment, his parents are totally unaware of what we’re up to.”

“Still makes me nervous.”

“Roxy will take care of you.” He bent over and patted her on the side of her flank, his dark cloud finally dissipating. “Let’s get back home, girl.”

They walked in silence.

“There’s one more picture in the notebook, I believe,” Sam said.

“Oh?”

“Might as well add it to the growing pile of clues.”

They sat down at the table and looked at the final clue. Simple and almost disappointing. It was just a three-leaf clover.

They stared at it, almost overwhelmed by its simplicity after all the other clues.

“A patch of clover grows over the grave of Pat?” Amy suggested.

Sam sat back and gazed at the ceiling. “The birdhouse,” he mumbled. “We should have taken apart the whole thing. It was covered with a clover pattern. Maybe more clues.”

“Let’s go to your folks’ house.”

“It’s probably already back in the tree.”

“I doubt there are any nesters in it yet.”

“I can’t go back there now, especially after realizing it’s the fifteen-year anniversary of Emma’s disappearance. I don’t know if my mom takes note of that. As sheltered as she tries to appear, I’m sure that date is etched into her mind.”

“That’s okay,” Amy said. “It seems too circular anyway. A book of clues hidden in a birdhouse referring you back to the birdhouse to look for more clues.”

“I wouldn’t doubt any possibility at this point.”

Amy jumped up. “I know.” She grabbed the Ireland book again and flipped through its pages. “The three-leaf clover also symbolizes the Trinity. It could be just an echo of the trinity knot.”

Sam’s face brightened. “That would certainly be helpful. A birdhouse covered with a clover pattern and a clover in the book. More overlap to make a point. Eternity. Trinity.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted already. It’s only three o’clock.”

“I’m exhausted as well,” Amy said. “And I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I can solve that problem,” Sam said. He jumped to his feet. “I’ll make some pasta.”

***

After a quiet meal, Sam drove Amy home. They dropped off the original notebook with Raksha. Sam was a little anxious to let it go, but he seemed to relax after Raksha placed it near her heart.

“We’ll keep it very safe,” she had said.

Amy took a long nap after Sam left. When she woke up, she visited the Patels. Their son, Abheek, said his mother went to the bank. Amy presumed Raksha was putting the notebook in the safe-deposit box. She felt blessed to have such a reliable friend.

“Do you have a computer I can use, Abheek?”

He looked at her as if she came from Mars. “Of course we have a computer.” He led her into the office and set her up with an open browser.

“Thank you.”

Amy spent a couple of hours researching famous, influential people named Pat and came up with very little. Then she researched cities outside Colorado with the word Springs in their name. She came up with too many possibilities to digest.

In Florida there was Bonita Springs, Coral Springs, Tarpon Springs, and Altamonte Springs. Louisiana had a Denham Springs. Texas, a curious Dripping Springs. In Georgia she found a Powder Springs and a Sandy Springs. Santa Fe Springs in California. Saratoga Springs in New York. Ocean Springs in Mississippi. And Harbor Springs in Michigan.

Amy examined the list and sighed. Maybe one of those cities was founded by a Pat something or other. It would be Pat’s realm.

Then she sat up with a renewed vigor and typed in
nunnery springs.

Three results popped up. One in Tibet, a Buddhist nunnery Amy suspected. One in Colorado Springs.
Would she really stay that close to home?
It would be easy enough to drop by and see. It was a cloistered community.
She may well be able to disappear there.
Finally, there was a nunnery in a city that had not appeared in her original search – Borrego Springs, California.

“That’s enough for today,” Amy whispered. She thanked Abheek, returned to her room, and crashed.

As she drifted off to sleep she became aware of a fact that made her proud.

I made it through a day without alcohol.

Chapter Seventeen

Amy called Sam at 7:30 a.m.

Tit for tat,
she thought when he answered in a groggy voice.

“I’ve done some research,” she said, and she launched into a full story about the lack of intriguing Patricks, the cities with the word Springs, and the two most hopeful nunnery spots.

“Man, I doubt she’d try to disappear so close to home, but it wouldn’t hurt to visit the nunnery in Colorado Springs. I’ll call and make an appointment.”

“Okay. I have to work today. Let me know if you figure anything out.”

A couple of hours later, Amy was back to scrubbing grease out of obscure corners of the kitchen she’d missed on her first go-around. Sam called.

“We’ve got an appointment at four thirty,” he announced.

“I work until four. You’ll have to go on your own.” Amy was disappointed, and she immediately wondered if Sahil would be willing to allow her to take off early.

“I kind of need you, actually.”

“Why? Are you afraid of nuns?”

“I didn’t actually tell them what I was up to.”

Amy sat on a stool. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a cloistered community. I thought if I told them I was looking for someone they might politely decline. Perhaps some women go there to get away from people who are looking for them. I would guess the sisters would want to protect their own.”

“So what did you tell them?”

There was a short silence before Sam said, “I told her I had a friend who was in trouble, someone who needed help urgently.”

Amy groaned. “You lied to a nun? You didn’t.”

“Well… uh… yeah I did.”

“So you’re not getting past the front door without a damsel in distress by your side?”

“Something like that.”

“Let me talk to Sahil. I’ll call you back.”

***

They were on the road, headed to the Carmelite Monastery of the Sacred Hearts, by 3:06 p.m.

“We won’t find her at a monastery,” Amy said.

“Actually, that’s what they call it. The use of nunnery must be archaic. I don’t know, but this is the community for the nuns. The priests are at a different location.”

“Oh.” She thought about this new information. “I’m not going to lie to the nuns.”

“You won’t have to. The mother prioress will talk to us privately, I’m sure. As soon as we sit down, I’ll tell her I’m looking for Emma. I have her picture, the article, and” – he handed Amy a makeshift notebook he had clearly made with scissors and tape – “the clues. I’m sure she’ll hear me out once we’re all together.”

“Good.”

That information satisfied Amy’s skepticism. She decided to think about the clues during the drive. People were driving like maniacs, so Sam had to stay focused on the traffic. Amy tried to quiet her brain and let it drift over the clues, hoping she had better ideas just below the overanalytical part of her thinking process. Since the real notebook was now in the Patels’ safe-deposit box, Sam had turned one of his copies into the exact three page configuration of the original. Amy thumbed through it absentmindedly, but she felt edgy. It was as if someone were poking her with needles randomly all over. She finally admitted to herself that her body was protesting the lack of alcohol. This fact greatly concerned her, but the obsession nagged her all the same.

The Carmelite Monastery was located in the northern region of Colorado Springs to the east. They drove through a flat area – large properties with very little vegetation, a few developments, a trailer here and there. It was nothing like the western part of the city, which was nestled in the foothills, but it had a quiet, unhurried quality.

The monastery was modest on the outside, a small brick building on a property with many trees. It was peaceful. Just inside the door, the artwork and architecture was more elaborate, with beautiful paintings and sculptures in addition to a vaulted ceiling.

Soon a woman in her fifties, wearing the traditional garb one might expect of a nun, greeted them and introduced herself as the mother prioress. The twinkle in her eye and a sense of joy in her temperament made Amy feel at ease. They exchanged pleasantries before she led them down a hallway. She brought them to a small office, indicated they could sit, and offered them water.

“No thank you,” Sam said, and he got down to business, producing Emma’s photo and the mock notebook.

The mother prioress’s expression changed slightly from candidness to caution.

“I’m looking for my sister,” Sam explained. He handed her the photo. “Her name is Emma.”

The sister examined Amy. “You’re not in trouble, seeking refuge?”

Amy shook her head and looked at her lap.

Sam persisted. “We’re just trying to find my sister.”

“Mr. Foster, I cannot give you information about our members. Many wish to maintain their anonymity. They come here to turn away from the business of the outside world and dedicate themselves to prayer.”

“I understand that, ma’am, but my sister, she wants to be found. Look. She left me this notebook with clues. We were wondering if there was ever a mother prioress named Patricia.”

The sister gave him a slightly amused look as she reached out to accept the notebook. “I’ve been here for thirty years, and I’ve yet to meet a Patricia. I wasn’t always the mother prioress, of course, but we definitely didn’t have one named Patricia.”

“Okay, no worries. That’s still a puzzling clue, but look at her drawings.”

The mother prioress examined the book and read the poem. “I see no indication she was planning to join an order. In fact, there is nothing here that speaks of an interest in Christianity.”

Sam became frustrated. “The trinity knot, the clover, and her reference to eternal love. I know she was a Christian when she disappeared. I think it’s possible she became a nun based on the things she said to me.”