and down the hallway, and quiet footsteps whispered past Ali’s closed door.
“That was the call to prayer,” she told B. “Since I’m not a Catholic, Sister Genevieve gave me a pass on prayers, but she said if I wanted breakfast, I’d better be in the refectory at six-thirty.”
“So it’s a good thing I rousted you out of bed.”
“Yes,” Ali agreed. “It’s a good thing.”
“How’s your friend doing?”
“That’s another long story. Jose’s condition has been upgraded, and he’s out of the ICU. His wife had her baby-an emergency C-section. And their two girls are currently staying with Haley Marsh.”
“One of the Askins girls?’
“That’s right. I needed someone to take care of two ankle biters, and Haley was a likely prospect. She doesn’t have classes during the day today, so she’s looking after them until this evening.”
“So it’s all good?”
“Not all. Jose and Teresa are being investigated for possible drug dealing by the cop who’s supposed to be investigating Jose’s shooting.”
“And who’s the flower guy?” B. asked. “Stuart told me something about helping you track down a delivery guy.”
“Turns out he’s Border Patrol.”
“How’s he connected to Jose Reyes?”
“He’s not,” Ali said. “He’s connected to Sister Anselm’s patient, Jane Doe. You’re going to have to call me when we have more time. This is way too complicated.”
“All right. Here’s my hat; what’s my hurry?” B. said. “But I do need to go. And so do you, if you’re going to make it to breakfast.”
“Have a good meeting,” Ali said. She was on her way to the bathroom with her phone in hand when it rang again. “I’m sorry I threw you under the bus at dinner the other night,” Edie Larson said. “Since I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I’m guessing you’re still mad at me. But we’ll be signing the paperwork later this morning.”
“I’m not mad,” Ali said. “I’m in Tucson, and I’ve been really busy. But if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I acted like a spoiled brat. There’s no one more deserving of retirement than you and Dad. I was way out of line not to be more enthusiastic that you’ve found some qualified buyers. I guess I was surprised more than anything, but since I don’t ask you about every decision I make-including my trip to Tucson-the reverse should be true. So I’m sorry.”
“Not telling people in advance was selfish on our part,” Edie said. “And I had no business embroiling you in that mayoral discussion before I spoke to your father about it. Besides, if I’m expecting to have a future in politics, I need to put on my big-girl panties and fight my own battles.”
Ali laughed at that. “Dad was probably caught as flat-footed on that as I was on your selling the Sugarloaf. You can’t blame him. It’s a lot of change to take on all at once.”
“Your father has plenty of outside interests,” Edie said. “He’ll probably spend more time with that damnable Blazer of his than he will with me. And when he doesn’t have to go to the restaurant every day, I’m sure he’ll spend a lot more time on his homeless outreach.”
Ali suspected that was true. For as long as she could remember, Bob Larson had spent every spare hour away from the business providing all kinds of essentials-from food to used furniture to firewood-for the homeless and working poor in the area.
“Once the Sugarloaf is gone, I’ll be the one with no outside interests,” Edie Larson continued. “I’m not about to take up golf or bowling at my age, but I don’t want to sit around reading trashy novels and eating bonbons, either. I’ll go completely stir-crazy. It’s like that friend of yours Sister Anselm. She does twice as much as people half her age. It’s what keeps her going. Running for office here in town is something I can do to make a difference.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Ali told her. “Including serving as your campaign manager.”
“Really?” Edie asked.
“Really. We’ll have our first strategy meeting as soon as I get back from Tucson.”
“Good,” Edie said. “That’ll give your father a little longer to get used to the idea.”
“So what are you doing down there anyway?” Edie asked.
“Helping a friend,” Ali said. She would have said more, but Edie cut her off. “Oops,” she said. “Customers. Gotta go.” And hung up.
When Ali had packed to come to Tucson, she’d expected to stay at a hotel where the bathroom would be included inside the room. At All Saints, there were two bathrooms, one at either end of a long hallway. Sister Genevieve had loaned her a bathrobe for that reason. Showered and dressed, Ali showed up at the refectory breakfast and found herself in the presence of a dozen nuns in habits. Accustomed to Sister Anselm’s mostly business casual attire, Ali was surprised by the traditional dress. She was also surprised by the congenial atmosphere, the easy laughter, and the good food.
Over tea and leftovers the night before, Sister Genevieve had recounted a little of All Saints’ history. The main building-the one with the kitchen, refectory, chapel, and Sister Genevieve’s quarters-had once been the ranch house for the old Coughnour Ranch, which stretched from the Tanque Verde River bottom to the foothills of the Catalinas on Tucson’s far east side. The ranch had been established by a man named James Coughnour in the early part of the twentieth century. As the second son in a wealthy East Coast shipbuilding family, James had headed west with his newly inherited share of the family fortune as well as a pair of badly damaged lungs. He had bought up huge tracts of land along the Tanque Verde River and turned it into a thriving cattle ranch that had morphed into one of Arizona’s primary meatpacking companies.
When James’s only heir, his beloved daughter, Caroline, expressed an interest in becoming a nun, James had come up with a plan that allowed her to have her way without his necessarily losing her. He agreed to let her go and to use his considerable fortune to create a sanatarium for lung-damaged patients so long as she joined an order that would take charge of running the facility. Caroline had gone on to join the Sisters of Providence. What had once been the main ranch house was transformed into the All Saints Convent. Caroline, renamed Sister Antoinette, had lived there for the remainder of her life.
Eventually the sanatarium was purchased by a group of physicians and turned into Physicians Medical Center, a hospital where most of the sisters of All Saints worked as nurses. Sister Anselm had first ventured into the community in her role as a counselor to troubled nuns when Sister Genevieve’s predecessor as reverend mother slipped into age-related dementia. Ever since, All Saints had served as Sister Anselm’s Tucson home away from home.
Breakfast was delicious, with slabs of warm homemade coffee cake and mounds of freshly scrambled eggs. Coffee was hot and plentiful, as was grapefruit juice from fruit that had been picked that morning from trees growing on the grounds. Sitting there with the congenial group of breakfasting nuns, Ali felt totally at home, benefiting from the fact that any friend of Sister Anselm’s was a friend of theirs.
The meal was winding down when Sister Anselm put in an appearance. She looked more tired than Ali had ever seen her. Sister Lucille, the cook, immediately bustled around, bringing her breakfast.
“We had another tough night,” Sister Anselm said in answer to Ali’s question. “But she’s sleeping, so I’m going to grab some sleep, too. In an actual bed. They’ll let me know if anything changes.”
“No word from her family?” Ali knew that healing broken families was as much a part of Sister Anselm’s mission as healing broken bodies.
The nun shook her head. “I was hoping we’d hear from them, but there’s nothing so far, and that’s probably just as well. She’s too fragile to deal with the added stress. What about you? What’s on your agenda?”
“I’m going to go check on all my charges-Haley and Lucy and Carinda. I’m hoping to locate some help for Teresa when she’s released from the hospital and goes back home. And Juanita Cisco wants me to look into Jose’s situation at the sheriff’s department and find out why his fellow officers are treating him as a leper as opposed to a wounded hero.”
Sister Anselm nodded. “I wondered about that, too.”
