Mayhem & Mass

by Olivia Matthews

  With the money Maurice had inherited from his very wealthy parents, he didn’t have to work, but he loved to. And it showed in the way he talked about his projects. He enjoyed the research and the lectures he attended as well as the ones he gave.

  He sat across from her. A manila envelope lay on the table beside his left arm. “You’re right. We have the whole evening to get caught up. So tell me what’s new.”

  Sister Lou wished she had something exciting, or even interesting, to tell her jet-setting friend. She racked her brain, but in contrast to his adventures, her life was routine.

  “I’m looking forward to your presentation tomorrow.” It was the best she could come up with on short notice.

  “Me, too, especially since I don’t have to get on a plane.”

  Sister Lou smiled. “The reception we’re hosting before your presentation is scheduled from eleven-thirty to one. Your lecture starts at one-thirty. Could you arrive early, perhaps at eleven? I’d like to give you a short tour of the motherhouse before we greet our guests.”

  “I’ll be there.” Maurice paused as their server asked for their drink and dinner orders.

  Once the young man had left, Sister Lou picked up their conversation. “You’ll be speaking to a nearly packed auditorium.”

  “Packed, huh? It must have been the free tickets you offered.” Maurice’s smile almost reached his tired blue eyes.

  “You’re underestimating your celebrity, Mo.”

  “I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think my work will be the death of me.” His laughter sounded like an afterthought.

  A chill crawled down Sister Lou’s spine. What an odd thing to say. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just a figure of speech, Lou.” Maurice waved a hand. He’d been biting his nails, a nervous habit she’d noticed when they were in graduate school.

  “You seem a little tired. Perhaps you’re pushing yourself too hard.” Sister Lou felt a stir of concern.

  “I’ve been traveling a lot. Much of it’s been overseas: research, conferences, presentations. And more research.”

  “That sounds exhausting.” Just thinking about it drained her.

  “Speaking of which, this is the draft of an article I’m writing for a theology journal. I haven’t shared it with anyone.” He slid the large manila envelope toward her. “Could you read it? I’d really like your impression.”

  “Of course.” Sister Lou accepted the package with a thrill of anticipation. His topics were always fascinating. “I have to review a report tonight, but I can read this tomorrow.”

  “That’ll work. I’ll be here through the weekend.”

  Sister Lou frowned. Why wasn’t he going home after the presentation? “Hopefully, you’ll be resting.”

  “If I don’t fall out from exhaustion, Jess will probably smother me in my sleep.” Another forced laugh. Maurice and Jessica, his wife, had recently celebrated their thirty-third wedding anniversary.

  Their server returned with their drinks, iced tea for Maurice and ice water for Sister Lou.

  “How are Jess and Nestor?” It had been years since she’d seen Maurice and even longer since she’d seen his family: Jessica and their twenty-nine-year-old son, Nestor.

  “Everyone’s healthy. Jess is looking forward to retiring in three years, and Nestor earned a promotion at the bank.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” Sister Lou took a drink of her water. The glass was cold and wet against her palm. “I thought they might be here with you. You don’t usually lecture this close to home. It’s a rare chance for them to see you in action.”

  Maurice seemed to avoid her eyes as he stirred sugar into his unsweetened drink. “It didn’t make sense to pay for a hotel for the whole family. Buffalo’s just an hour away.”

  Then what are you doing here, Mo?

  Sister Lou tried another smile. “Why do I have the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

  “I’m just tired. My traveling’s taken a toll, not just on me, but on my family.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for you to slow down. Neither one of us is young anymore.”

  He gave her a much more natural smile. “I’m not, but I think time has a particular fondness for you.”

  Surprised laughter rolled out from Sister Lou.

  Their server returned with their entrées. Maurice had ordered pork chops with mashed potatoes. She’d asked for chicken with a baked potato, just butter and chives. They paused to say grace before diving into their meals.

  “Put your family first for a while.” Sister Lou sliced into her potato. “Life is too short. We don’t have time for regrets.”

  Maurice nodded as he swallowed a bite of pork chop. “I know. That’s the reason I’m taking time off from the lecture circuit. I’ll be able to spend more time with my family—and on my finances. I’m going to work on that video series I’ve been telling you about.”

  “That business partnership with the video production company? It doesn’t sound like a project that would let you slow down.” Sister Lou swallowed a piece of broiled chicken. It was good, although not as spicy as she would have liked.

  “No, but I wouldn’t have to travel as much.” Maurice didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  “That’s good news. I’m sure this series will be wildly successful because you’re associated with it.”

  Maurice winced. “That depends on who you believe is doing more to build my name recognition—my critics or my supporters. I seem to have an equal amount of both.”

  Puzzled, Sister Lou lowered her knife and fork. “What makes you say that?”

  Maurice offered her another smile. This one didn’t look as natural as the last. “It’s probably burnout. I’ll shake it off. I want to give your audience a great presentation, something that’ll keep them uplifted and hopeful for the future.”

  “I’m sure your lecture will be profound and thought provoking, as always.”

  “Enough about me. How’s Chris?”

  She appeased her friend with news about her nephew and anecdotes about her congregation. But Maurice’s strange comments and the clouds in his tired blue eyes still troubled her.

  What secrets are you keeping, Mo, and why?

  * * *

  The day of the presentation had arrived, Thursday, August thirty-first. In the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus’s auditorium, the air snapped with anticipation and excitement as the sisters prepared for Maurice’s lecture. Chris fed off of their energy after a morning of back-to-back meetings. Each meeting had been longer than the last, and all had been longer than they should have been. He rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck.

  Housed in Rhoades Hall, the administration building, the auditorium was the pride of the college. Its recent renovations had repaired the wear and tear of time without diluting its charm. Just beneath its vaulted blond-wood ceiling, large, gothic stained-glass windows had been carved into its cream-colored walls. The choir balcony nested high above the back of the room. The dark wood stage sat before him. In a little more than two hours, the public would almost fill its six hundred chestnut chairs, which had been reupholstered with sapphire velvet cushions.

  Chris continued down the aisle. Someone had cranked up the air-conditioning, and the space was pleasantly cool. Two members of the congregation were roping off the last few rows to dissuade attendees from sitting in the back. Four sisters stood in front of the stage, folding the single-sheet programs in half. One sister stood at the podium for the sound check.

  Where’s Aunt Lou?

  Chris approached Sister Katharine “Kathy” Wen, one of the four women folding programs. “Good morning, Sister Kathy.”

  The older woman’s ebony eyes pinned him through her round, pink-rimmed glasses. They twinkled with humor. “It won’t be morning much longer. It’s almost time for the reception.”

  “Yes, Sister. Have you seen my aunt? She wasn’t in the banquet room.” The congregation was hosting the reception in its b
anquet room although the presentation would be held in the college’s auditorium.

  “You just missed her. She and Carm left to get our guest speaker. They’ll be back soon.” Sister Katharine referred to Sister Carmen Vega as she kept folding the sheets of paper.

  “I thought Doctor Jordan had a car.” Chris took half of the programs to lend a hand.

  “He does. Lou’s worried because she hasn’t heard from him all day.”

  From what his aunt had told him about Maurice, it did seem unusual for him not to have contacted her on the morning of his presentation. Still, wasn’t it premature for her to be so concerned that she’d drive out to meet him?

  Chris looked up. The two sisters who’d finished roping off the back rows were now on stage, helping to arrange the dignitaries’ chairs. “How can I help?”

  “Could you go back to the banquet room and help greet our guests?” Sister Katharine gave Chris a warm smile before turning back to continue folding the programs. “Lou will be back soon, but until then, you’ll be a more than adequate substitute.”

  “All right.” Chris walked back up the auditorium’s rising concrete aisle. At the top of the slight incline, he paused to admire the interior once more.

  “Excuse me. Where would I find Sister Louise LaSalle?”

  Chris turned at the woman’s voice. His gaze locked with reckless cocoa eyes. A mass of raven hair framed a heart-shaped, cinnamon face, before tumbling in unruly waves to her narrow shoulders.

  This must be what it felt like to have someone take your breath away.

  Chapter 2

  “Sister Lou has stepped out. Is there something I can do for you?” Chris’s voice sounded normal, much to his relief.

  The woman’s bow-shaped lips curved into a sassy smile. “Nice try, Slick.”

  A flash of humor erased his fatigue. “I wasn’t trying to be slick. I was trying to be helpful. Enjoy your afternoon.” Still smiling, Chris stepped around her and continued toward the auditorium’s exit.

  The tapping of her silly stilettos echoed behind him. “Wait. Please.”

  He stopped and faced her again. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry. Could we start over?” A faint blush dusted her high cheekbones.

  “If you’d like.”

  “I’m Sharelle Henson but you can call me Shari. I’m a reporter with The Briar Coast Telegraph.” She offered him her right hand and an unrepentant grin.

  Chris took her hand. Her skin was soft against his. But it wasn’t her touch as much as her announcement that distracted him.

  He released her. “The Telegraph has never covered any of the congregation’s events. Why are you here?” Did he really need to ask that question? The most media coverage the Telegraph ever gives the congregation is when the newspaper buries the congregation’s press releases.

  “To cover this event.” Shari shrugged. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Chris LaSalle.”

  “LaSalle?” Shari’s catlike eyes shone with curiosity. “Any relation to Sister Louise LaSalle?”

  “I’m her nephew.” He slid his hands into his front pockets.

  “How nice. I’d like to get a couple of quotes from your aunt as the event’s organizer.”

  The muscles in his shoulders knotted. What would the reporter ask his aunt? How would she twist his aunt’s words?

  And what had made the Telegraph find religion?

  It was losing subscribers to the bigger newspaper outside Buffalo. Did the publisher hope sensationalism would resurrect its sales? After the event, he was going to make a few phone calls.

  Chris nodded toward the sisters who were preparing the room. “This is a congregational event. Any of the sisters can answer your questions. However, they’re busy right now.”

  “If it’s a congregational event, why is it being held in the college’s auditorium?”

  “The congregation founded the college. We cohost a lot of events.”

  “We?”

  “I work for the college.” Chris checked his silver Timex. It was eleven fifteen. “I have to get to the congregation’s banquet room. Our guests will be arriving soon.”

  Shari looked over her shoulder at the sisters bustling around the auditorium, then back to Chris. “I’ll join you. I can interview Sister Louise after the presentation—unless you’d be willing to answer a few questions? You said the college is cohosting this lecture.”

  “The congregation has the lead on this event.” Chris escorted her from the room. He led her down the main stairs to the first-floor lobby. “I hope the Telegraph plans to take this presentation seriously.”

  “You mean you hope I plan to take it seriously.” Her eyes laughed at him. “You don’t think much of reporters, do you, Interim Vice President for College Advancement Christian McMillan LaSalle?”

  Startled, Chris froze on the steps. “How did you know my full name and that I’m an interim vice president?”

  “I did my research.” Shari arrived at the first floor and crossed the lobby.

  Chris’s long strides brought him back to her side. She pushed through the main entrance of Rhoades Hall. Outside, a late-summer breeze warmed him uncomfortably. The sun shone in a nearly cloudless blue sky. The forecast called for rain, but he wasn’t worried. He had better odds with the state lottery than the weather.

  “Are you telling me that our guest speaker’s controversial reputation doesn’t have anything to do with your being here?”

  Shari turned in the direction of the motherhouse with an assurance that revealed she’d been there before. “Does the reason I’m covering the presentation matter? Shouldn’t you just be glad that your aunt’s congregation is getting some publicity for its event?”

  “That’s not the kind of publicity they’d want. The event is more than a lecture. This feast day honors the courage and sacrifice of the congregation’s patron saint.”

  “How do the sisters get between the congregation’s buildings and the college?” Shari sounded breathless.

  “They walk.” Her non sequitur caught him off guard. Is she even listening to me?

  “On these hills?” She panted the question. “They must be in great shape.”

  Chris looked around at the rolling green landscape dotted with trees and bushes that were thick with deep green leaves. He’d walked this path so often that he no longer noticed how steep the hills were. A faint smile conquered his frown. Perhaps he shouldn’t tell her that his sixty-three-year-old aunt and her sixty-one-year-old friend jogged it almost daily.

  He was surprised the rolling landscape posed a challenge for Shari. Chris’s eyes traveled over her crimson blazer and turquoise pants, which matched her stilettos. She seemed fit. Perhaps her change of subject was deliberate.

  “What do you know about Saint Hermione?”

  Shari seemed to take a deeper breath. “Saint Hermione was born in Palestine. She’s a holy martyr, revered by the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. She claimed Christ gave her the power to heal the sick. She was murdered during the Christian persecutions in the second century.” She paused to give him a direct look. “Did I ace your pop quiz?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t want to be impressed.

  Shari had sounded as though she’d been reciting something she’d read in a reference book or online, but Chris couldn’t deny that she’d done at least some homework. Her skepticism had been as thick as his running socks, though.

  “Good.” Her tone was smug. “Now I have a question for you.”

  Chris’s frown returned. “What is it?”

  “Why did you leave a university in Southern California and accept a pay cut for a job at Saint Hermione?”

  Chris looked at her with new eyes. “You have done your homework.”

  * * *

  “I don’t mind driving you around.” Sister Carmen Vega pulled her car out of the motherhouse parking lot on her way to Maurice’s hotel late Thursday morning. “But I’ll be so glad when you get your license ba
ck.”

  “Me, too.” Sister Lou breathed deeply, trying to ease her irritation. “I don’t like depending on other people to chauffeur me around.”

  “Then you must stop with the speeding.” Sister Carmen’s lyrical voice chided her as she maneuvered out of the motherhouse’s driveway.

  “I don’t even realize I’m doing it.” Sister Lou responded absently as she checked her watch again.

  Where is Mo? She had a laundry list of tasks she should be doing in preparation for the lecture rather than chasing after a delinquent speaker.

  “Then you must pay closer attention. Although I suppose it’s to be expected.” Sister Carmen shrugged. “You follow the rules in every other part of your life. Your rebellious nature is bound to show up sometimes.”

  “I’m not rebelling.” Sister Lou gave her friend a puzzled look.

  Sister Carmen had come to the congregation from a small town outside of San Diego. Sister Lou was drawn to the younger woman’s joy and her usually insightful nature. But she was wrong about Sister Lou having a rebellious side.

  “But of course you’re rebelling.” Sister Carmen checked the traffic before turning onto Main Street.

  Was Carmen right? Is my speeding a form of rebellion?

  “That’s ridiculous.” Sister Lou scowled.

  Sister Carmen shrugged again. Silence settled into the car, giving Sister Lou’s aggravation room to grow. This wasn’t Maurice’s first presentation. She’d confirmed his arrival time yesterday. And now, the day of his presentation, she hadn’t heard from him. She checked her cellular phone again. Still no messages or texts from her friend. Her watch showed eleven fifteen, minutes before the reception and a little more than two hours before the presentation. She’d expected him fifteen minutes ago. Actually, she’d expected him by ten fifty. He was always early. This wasn’t like him.

  Sister Carmen followed the same route to Maurice’s hotel that Chris had taken last evening. The hotel was the only full-service option in Briar Coast. Not for the first time, Sister Lou wondered why Maurice had chosen to stay in a hotel, much less a full-service one, since he and his family were only an hour away in Buffalo.