Mayhem & Mass

by Olivia Matthews

  “Let’s hope it’s the former.” Sister Lou spread the table napkin on her lap, then paused to say grace before she and Sister Carmen began their meal. “You’d think having two people helping me would be enough, but I feel so overwhelmed between that project and launching this outreach program.”

  Sister Carmen sipped her ice water. “You’re still identifying the tools and specifics of the plan. It’s an ambitious project. It will take a lot of time and effort to develop it properly.”

  Once launched, the outreach program would identify and provide social and educational assistance for in-crisis youth, intervening before they’re placed in government programs.

  “Marianna doesn’t believe the project will work.” Sister Lou pushed her asparagus around her plate. “If it doesn’t start on time—or even if it falls behind schedule—she’ll condemn the whole thing as a failure and recommend that we scrap the project.”

  Sister Carmen buttered her whole wheat roll. “What makes you think you won’t succeed?”

  “Searching for Maurice’s killer is taking time away from this project.” Sister Lou met Carmen’s gaze from across the small circular table. “It’s been a week, and the deputies still haven’t even identified a suspect.”

  “Why don’t you share your theories with them?”

  Sister Lou shook her head. “I have to bring them more than hunches. Suppose I’m wrong about Emmett and Jess? Once their neighbors find out that they’re murder suspects, they’ll never be able to get out from under a cloud of suspicion. I can’t do that to them. I have to be sure. I have to have more than a theory.”

  “You’ll find a way to get everything done. Just have faith.” Sister Carmen returned to her meal.

  Sister Lou admired her friend’s serenity. She wished she had such confidence. “No, Carm, I should give up the investigation. Who am I kidding? I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have the time. I should leave this to the professionals.”

  Sister Carmen lowered her fork. “Lou, you have to do this, not only for your peace of mind but for justice for Maurice. I can help you with the outreach proposal.”

  Justice for Maurice. He was her friend. If not her, then who? And as far as the outreach program, it was her responsibility. She’d proposed it. She couldn’t shift the workload onto someone else. That would be unprofessional.

  “I appreciate your offer, Carm, but I’ll find a way to make it work.”

  She had to. If the program didn’t launch successfully, she wouldn’t get another chance to make it right.

  * * *

  “Thanks for meeting me.” Shari spoke over her shoulder to Chris as she navigated a course around the little tables in the Briar Coast Café.

  She’d called him earlier to invite him to lunch. Imagine her surprise when he’d accepted. The Briar Coast Café was close to the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus, allowing them more time to talk, and more time for Shari to persuade Chris to tell her why he hated reporters.

  “Thank you for the invitation, but you didn’t need to pay for my meal.” There was a trace of irritation in Chris’s tone.

  Shari settled her tray, which bore a bowl of New England clam chowder, an apple, and a diet soda, on a table next to the side windows. She smirked, recalling how she’d paid for their lunch and refused to let him pay her back.

  She settled onto her seat and watched as Chris lowered his long, lean form onto the chair opposite her. “Are you one of those guys who doesn’t want a woman paying when you’re out together?”

  “Yes.” His stark response wasn’t what Shari had expected.

  “OK, the next time we have lunch, you can pay.”

  His hesitation was barely perceptible, but Shari perceived it, and it worried her. She was starting to like Sister Lou. Would the older woman stop working with her if her nephew didn’t like her?

  Chris managed a reluctant smile. “All right, but I’ll choose the place.”

  Shari quietly exhaled. “As long as you’re paying.”

  “Would you mind if I say grace?”

  “Go ahead.” Shari bowed her head as she’d seen Sister Lou and Chris do before. After the grace, she noticed that Chris moved his hand around his head and shoulders. She’d ask Sister Lou about that later. There was so much to take in. Chris was different than the men she was used to. He was so close with his aunt, he prayed, and he was respectful—

  “Are you a virgin?” The breath caught in Shari’s throat. Where on earth had that question come from? She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the last ten seconds hadn’t really happened.

  They had.

  Shari opened her eyes and found her gaze locked with Chris’s. The look he gave her stripped the moisture from her mouth. It was intensely piercing, faintly dry, and wickedly amused.

  He lifted his glass of ice water. “I don’t think you invited me to lunch to ask me that.”

  “I’m sorry. I have an unfortunate habit of saying whatever I think.”

  “You reporters think you have the right to ask anyone anything.” Chris took a long drink of water, making Shari thirsty.

  Shari sipped her diet soda. “Why do you hate reporters?” She didn’t want to believe it was personal.

  “You just can’t stop asking questions, can you?” With a deliberate motion, Chris looked away from her and pushed his spoon into his bowl of beef vegetable soup.

  “Is it in any way connected to the reason you left Los Angeles?” Shari dug her spoon into her bowl of soup.

  Chris’s onyx eyes snapped with irritation. Shari stilled with her spoon halfway to her mouth. She braced herself for the explosion brewing in his dark gaze. But as quickly as the storm had amassed, it blew away.

  Chris lowered his spoon and leaned back on his chair. His eyes cooled as he studied her from the other side of the table.

  “You’re very persistent.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “How else am I supposed to get my way?”

  He inclined his head as though conceding the point. “That’s important to you, isn’t it, getting your way?”

  “It’s important to you, too.” Shari gave a quick chuckle. “You were persistent in your opposition to your aunt investigating her friend’s murder.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t get my way.”

  “Yes, you did.” Shari grinned. “You’re still protecting her, just in a different way.”

  Chris’s eyes widened as though he was surprised by her perception. Shari’s grin deepened. She swallowed the spoonful of chowder.

  “All right.” Chris sighed again. “If you want me to tell you something about myself, first tell me something about you.”

  “Clever, very clever, to turn the tables on me that way.” Shari considered her options, then she made her decision. “I became a reporter to give a voice to people who don’t have one.”

  “That’s very noble.” His words were kind, but Chris didn’t look or sound impressed.

  “Don’t get it twisted, Slick.” Shari gave him an arrogant smile. “I’m not making a claim for nobility.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  Shari considered his question. “Every time I speak for someone who can’t speak for herself or himself, I’m knocking out the teeth of the people who prevented me from speaking up for myself.”

  Chris raised his eyebrows. “Their teeth, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good for you.”

  A slow smile lifted a corner of Shari’s mouth. “Your turn. Tell me something about yourself.”

  Chris held onto Shari’s gaze. She wouldn’t back down; she wouldn’t look away. A deal was a deal.

  Finally, he spoke. “I don’t hate all reporters. I don’t hate you.”

  Shari smiled. “Well, that’s a start.”

  Maybe next time, she’d convince him to tell her why he hates some reporters, and why he left Los Angeles.

  Chapter 16

  Sister Lou glanced toward her office phone on its second ring. The caller
identification screen read UNKNOWN. Should she answer it? She’d been on a roll with the proposal for her outreach program until the noise broke her concentration.

  I should have forwarded my calls to voicemail.

  She grabbed the receiver to stop the noise. “Sister Lou LaSalle.”

  “I have information about Doctor Jordan’s murder.”

  Sister Lou spun her blue padded chair away from her computer monitor. “Who is this?”

  “My name is Wanda McClane.” The woman’s voice was soft, high, and urgent. “I saw you at the wake last night. You were talking to the wrong people.”

  “What do you mean?” Sister Lou glanced at her wristwatch. It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon. The first Wednesday of September was proving to be full of twists and turns.

  “I know you’re trying to find Doctor Jordan’s killer. I saw you chasing Emmett Wagner out of the funeral home. He’s not who you’re after.”

  Sister Lou pressed the receiver more tightly to her ear. “Who killed Maurice?”

  “I have information.”

  Sister Lou felt a chill of excitement, a thrill of hope. “Have you spoken with the deputies?”

  “I gave them my information, but they weren’t interested. They barely listened to me.” Wanda’s voice rose. “They want hard evidence before they’ll follow up on anything I told them.”

  Her hope dimmed. “If the deputies aren’t willing to follow up with your information, what is it that you think I can do?”

  “You have to talk to the deputies.”

  “Me?” Sister Lou’s eyebrows jumped up her forehead. “What makes you think they’d listen to me?”

  “I saw you with them during the wake. I could tell they respect you.” Wanda’s words sped up. “They were listening to you. They were talking to you. That’s a heck of a lot more than they did for me.”

  Sister Lou glanced at her computer monitor and the electronic file she’d been developing before this interruption. “All right, give me your information, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Great. Thank you, Sister. Let’s meet in twenty minutes.”

  “What? Wait.” Sister Lou stared at the hallway through her open office door. “I can’t meet with you now. I’m in the middle of a project on a very tight deadline. Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”

  “I can’t. We have to meet right away. It won’t take long. I promise. I’ll even come to you.”

  Sister Lou’s jaw dropped in horror. No. Wanda couldn’t come to the congregational offices. All she’d need would be for Sister Marianna to see her conducting interviews for the investigation in her office. Sister Lou squeezed her eyes shut, straining to banish from her mind the image of Sister Marianna’s reaction. Besides, she’d spent most of the morning on Maurice’s murder. She had to get back to work.

  Don’t I?

  “Wanda, I’m sorry. I can’t meet with you right now. Can you give me an idea of this information you have?”

  “No, I absolutely can’t discuss this over the phone. We need to meet.” Wanda’s voice was growing increasingly tense.

  Sister Lou was losing patience as well. How could she be sure Wanda had anything pertinent to share about Maurice’s murder? The deputies didn’t give her any credence. This could all be a waste of time.

  Or it couldn’t.

  “Meet me at the Briar Coast Café in twenty minutes. But this has to be fast. I’m on deadline with a project. How will I recognize you?”

  “I’ll know you.” Wanda hung up.

  Sister Lou checked the time again. Chris had a two o’clock meeting. He couldn’t go with her. She dialed Shari’s work phone number. Her call went into the reporter’s voicemail.

  Sister Lou massaged her forehead as she waited for Shari’s recorded message to end. “Shari, it’s Sister Lou. It’s about two-fifteen. I’m on my way to the Briar Coast Café. I’m meeting Wanda McClane, who claims to have information about Maurice’s murder. If you can, please join me. If you can’t, don’t worry. I’ll fill you and Chris in later.”

  She cradled the receiver, grabbed her purse, and hurried to her car.

  * * *

  The woman waiting near the entrance to the Briar Coast Café seemed to relax as Sister Lou crossed the parking lot toward the establishment. Sister Lou knew who she was right away.

  “Sister Louise? I’m Wanda McClane.” She was a tall, full-figured woman with very thick, very curly, very red hair. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  “Sister Lou, please.” Sister Lou accepted Wanda’s proffered hand. “I don’t have much time, but I want to hear what you have to say.”

  Upon entering the café, Sister Lou was assaulted by the sweet fragrance of warm pastry. A smattering of after-lunch patrons lingered in the dining area. Several small groups chatted around the dark wood tables. A few single customers read or worked on laptops.

  Wanda made it to the cashier first and bought them each a small cup of coffee. They filled their white porcelain mugs at the coffee station before choosing a café table.

  From this angle, Sister Lou could see her little orange car through the window beside her. “What information do you have about Maurice’s murder?”

  Wanda leaned into the table and pitched her voice so low that Sister Lou could barely hear it. “First, you have to understand what Doctor Jordan was researching.” Wanda paused as though for dramatic effect. “He was exploring the role of Mary Magdalene as the Apostle of Apostles, and the notion of her being the First Preacher of the Resurrection.”

  Sister Lou could only stare at Wanda in disbelief. How did the other woman know this? “I wasn’t aware that Maurice’s latest research project was public knowledge.”

  In fact, she knew it wasn’t.

  “I’m a really big fan of Doctor Jordan’s work. I tried to stay on top of his research projects, what he was working on, what he was looking into. That sort of thing.” Wanda lowered her eyes.

  Sister Lou noted the blush on the woman’s otherwise pale rounded cheeks. Was it modesty or guilt?

  Wanda’s sudden inability to meet Sister Lou’s eyes gave Sister Lou the uncomfortable feeling that Wanda was much more than a “really big fan.”

  Her grip tightened around her warm mug. “How did you manage to stay on top of his projects?”

  “You can decipher a lot from the references that people make on their blogs and social media accounts.” Wanda’s voice sped up. “It was a lot of fun, trying to connect the dots to see where the doctor was going next, and what he was looking into.”

  “I imagine it would be.”

  “You and he have been close friends for years, haven’t you?” Wanda’s hazel eyes brightened with respect. “He mentioned you and your congregation a couple of times.”

  Sister Lou blinked. “I wasn’t aware of that. He never told me, and I’m not on social media.”

  Wanda stared down into her coffee mug. Her voice was heavy with grief. “I went to the college to hear his speech on Saint Hermione of Ephesus. I was stunned when I found out he’d been killed the night before.”

  “It was a great loss to so many people in so many ways.” Sister Lou swallowed a mouthful of coffee, hoping to dislodge the lump of emotion that felt like a rock in her throat.

  “It certainly was to Kevin Appleby. Doctor Jordan was going to let Kevin use his research on Mary Magdalene to launch his video series.” There was censor in her tone. Wanda held Maurice in the highest regard. She didn’t hold Maurice’s business partner in the same esteem.

  “Wasn’t that the reason they were going into business together, to base the videos on Maurice’s research?”

  Wanda had started nodding her head while Sister Lou was still speaking. “A lot of people disagreed with Doctor J’s decision to get involved with Kevin. Kevin’s in it to make money—by any means necessary. Doctor J was in it for the truth.”

  “How do you know that people didn’t want Maurice to work with Kevin?”

  “Are you kid
ding me? It was all over social media. When Doctor J made the announcement, people posted their objections on his blog, his Facebook page, and his Twitter account. Some people even emailed him directly. A lot of people, including me and Goodwin Barrow. In fact, Goodwin encouraged people to contact Doctor J with their objections.”

  Goodwin Barrow was a well-known and well-published conservative theologian, but his most successful venture was in the role of Maurice’s most vocal critic. Using Maurice’s name kept Goodwin in the public spotlight.

  Sister Lou allowed her anger to be heard in her voice. “Goodwin Barrow objected to everything Maurice wrote, said, and did. What would make these objections particularly noteworthy?”

  “You know why this is different.” Wanda gave Sister Lou a cynical smile. “Goodwin probably spent a lot of sleepless nights thinking about the broad distribution of DVDs that supported a woman so prominently positioned in the church. Imagine that challenge to the role of women in the Catholic hierarchy.”

  Wanda had a point. Goodwin Barrow didn’t see the bible as a living document, one that could be better understood and even enhanced by research. That was the greatest difference between him and Maurice.

  “Are you accusing Goodwin of killing Maurice?” Sister Lou couldn’t wrap her mind around that idea. It seemed too fantastical.

  Once again, Wanda had been shaking her head as if in anticipation of Sister Lou’s question. “No. Well, not exactly. I’m giving you a motive behind Doctor J’s murder.”

  “That Goodwin killed Maurice to keep Kevin from distributing an in-depth documentary about Mary Magdalene being the First Preacher of the Resurrection?”

  “Something like that, right.”

  “Is this the motive the deputies didn’t believe?”

  “That’s right.” Wanda drained her mug of coffee. “The deputies want evidence against Goodwin, and anyone else, before they’ll even hear me out.”

  Sister Lou held Wanda’s theory in her mind, looking at it from different angles. It was worth exploring. Why did the deputies dismiss it?

  “Have you spoken with Goodwin?”

  Wanda’s expression of despondency shifted into horror. “No. I thought you’d do it since the deputies won’t.”