Mayhem & Mass

by Olivia Matthews

  Sister Lou shook off her sticker shock and turned toward the escalators. She’d forgotten Chris had never met Jessica’s lover. He’d only seen the older man from a distance during Maurice’s wake. “Yes, that’s him.”

  This time, Emmett wore a grass-green jersey, black running pants, and gray sneakers. His attire resembled some of the styles Sister Lou had admired in the shop’s window. Just how much of an employee discount did he get, or had Maurice’s money paid for his outfit?

  “It must be nice to be able to dress that way for work.” Chris’s wistful tone made her smile. Shari had made a similar comment.

  Emmett stopped in front of Sister Lou. He jerked his chin toward Chris. “Who are you?”

  Before Sister Lou could blast Emmett for his rudeness to her nephew, Chris stepped forward and offered his hand. His smile was debonair with a touch of a taunt. “Chris LaSalle.”

  Emmett frowned at Sister Lou. “Is he your son?”

  “He’s my nephew.” Sister Lou struggled not to roll her eyes. What does Jess see in him? He didn’t seem smart enough to plan a murder, but then again, Maurice’s murder hadn’t been planned. “Jessica sent us. We need to speak with you in private.”

  “About what?” Emmett’s irritation was transparent.

  The weather. Good heavens.

  It was getting harder not to roll her eyes. “The deputies think Jessica killed her husband.”

  “What?” Emmett turned his wide-eyed stare first to Chris, then back to Sister Lou. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course, we’re serious.” Chris seemed confused by the question. So was Sister Lou.

  Emmett looked around the lobby. Sister Lou’s patience was beginning to strain when he turned on his heels and led them to the escalator.

  Emmett’s office was on the second floor of the metal and glass building. Everything was gray—walls, carpeting, furniture—and cluttered. Stacks of files grew from his desk, the surface of each filing cabinet, and the floor. Old newspapers congregated on his conversation table. Were they the source of the faint moldy smell in the room?

  Sister Lou rubbed the tip of her nose, trying to mask her discomfort. How could anyone function in such confusion? She watched in near horror as Emmett closed his office door, trapping them in the stench and disorganized mess.

  Emmett lifted the overstuffed notebook binders from both of his guest chairs and placed them on the floor beside his desk. “Take a seat.”

  Chris held the back of one of the chairs for Sister Lou before taking the seat beside her. Emmett circled his desk, then collapsed onto the gray executive seat behind it.

  “The deputies took Jessica in for questioning last night.” Sister Lou got right to the point. “They also searched her house.”

  Emmett’s jaw dropped. “Why would they think Jess killed her husband?”

  A buzzing sound interrupted them. Sister Lou glanced at the telephone partially buried on Emmett’s desk. Then she noticed his gray gaze drop to the cellular phone beside it. He slid the mobile device closer to him, reading the screen. A faint smile curved his thin lips.

  “Do you think she could have killed him?” Chris’s question reclaimed Emmett’s attention.

  “No way. That’s insane.” Emmett waved his hands as though batting away the idea. He paused to send a text message. “Jess could’ve never killed Maurice.”

  “Why not?” Chris persisted.

  “Why not?” Emmett straightened on his seat. His eyes shifted right and left. Was he stalling while he searched for his reply? Sister Lou doubted he’d find anything in his surrounding mess. “Jess loved Maurice. Isn’t that obvious? Why else would she stay with him?”

  If Emmett truly believes that, he doesn’t know Jess at all.

  Emmett’s cell phone buzzed again, distracting him a second time. His expression softened as he tapped something onto the screen. He was texting in the midst of a discussion about the sheriff’s deputies suspecting his lover of murder.

  Incredible.

  “Did you want her to leave Maurice?” Sister Lou wanted to grab his mobile device from him.

  “Sure.” Emmett shrugged. “I mean, if she wanted to.”

  Well, that isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of their love. What’s truly going on here?

  His cell phone buzzed a third time. Whatever was on his screen elicited another soft smile and a quick response.

  Chris stepped in. “Where were you the night Maurice was killed?”

  “Me? You think I could’ve killed Maurice?” Emmett’s gaze once again bounced between Sister Lou and Chris. “That’s crazy. Why would I?”

  Chris tackled that question. “You’re in a relationship with his wife. She’s giving you his money.”

  Emmett’s pale cheeks flooded with embarrassed color. He pointed a finger at Chris. “I never asked her for that money. Never.”

  And yet she gave it to him. “Where were you that night?” Sister Lou held on to her patience with both fists.

  Emmett set down his cell phone and turned his frown on her. “Are you asking me for an alibi?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking for.” The heat of her temper went up a few degrees.

  “I was with Jess.” Emmett’s tone was smug.

  “That’s not true.” Sister Lou tightened her grip on the arms of the guest chair. Why would Emmett lie? “Jessica told us she didn’t know where you were that night.”

  His cell phone buzzed again. This time, Emmett ignored the summons and looked up at Sister Lou. “I wasn’t with Jess that night? Is she sure?”

  “She’s very sure.” Sister Lou angled her head. “Why aren’t you?”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Emmett looked and sounded like a petulant child.

  Sister Lou nodded toward the cellular phone beneath Emmett’s fingertips. “Who’s texting you?”

  Emmett seemed to stiffen. “A friend.”

  The slight smiles. The immediate replies.

  “Is this the same friend you were with the night Maurice was murdered?” Sister Lou sensed Chris’s surprised reaction beside her.

  Emmett’s lips parted in shock. His cheeks filled with more color. His gaze circled the room before sliding back to Sister Lou. “Yes.”

  “You’re seeing someone while you’re sleeping with a married woman?” Chris was incredulous.

  “They’re both married.” He said that as though it made everything all right. Emmett leaned into the table and grabbed Chris’s gaze. “You married?”

  “No.”

  “Smart.” Emmett collapsed back against his chair. “Listen, buddy, I’ve been divorced three times. Three.” He held up three fingers. “Do you think I want to shell out more dough to do that again? Those trips to the altar were starting to feel like dead man walking.”

  A difficult thought occurred to Sister Lou. “Does Jessica know about your other affair?”

  Emmett scrubbed his hands over his face. “No—and I’d like it to stay that way.”

  “How long have you been seeing the other woman?” Chris seemed to be growing angrier as they learned more than they wanted to know about Jessica’s cheating lover.

  Emmett expelled a deep breath. “About a year.”

  A year?

  Sister Lou regarded Emmett with incredulity. “This might be a good time for you to break up with Jessica.”

  * * *

  “That was a lovely Mass. Thank you for joining me.” Sister Lou let Chris into her apartment Sunday morning. He’d joined her for the congregation’s early service, then taken her to the Briar Coast Café for breakfast. He’d made her Sunday morning sublime.

  “You say that about every Mass.” Chris chuckled as he wandered over to her sofa and took his usual spot in the corner.

  “And I’m always right.” Sister Lou curled up in her armchair. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome.” Chris set his right ankle on his left knee. “Now you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  S
ister Lou released a deep sigh. “Sometimes it’s annoying how well you know me.”

  “You have only yourself to blame.”

  “All right.” She sighed again. “Wanda McClane called me yesterday morning to ask about our investigation into Mo’s murder.”

  “Wanda McClane?” Chris’s eyebrows knitted. “You’ve spoken with her before. Isn’t she Maurice’s greatest fan?”

  “That’s right.”

  Here was another example of Chris’s great memory, which served him so well in his job. Sister Lou took a moment to revel in the pride she felt for him. That always lifted her spirits.

  Chris shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday you’d heard from her?”

  “I’ve been contemplating my conversation with her, filtering it to determine how much of what she said is credible and how much is her speculation.”

  “What did she say?”

  Sister Lou settled back on her chair. “Wanda believes Kevin Appleby is a key suspect in Mo’s murder.”

  “So does everyone else: Jessica, Justin Carr. Beatrix hasn’t come right out and accused him, but she’s hinted at it.” Chris’s tone was dry. “I thought we also agreed that Wanda was a suspect. Don’t you think it’s odd that one of our suspects is casting suspicion on another suspect?”

  Sister Lou agreed with everything Chris said—except the part about Wanda misdirecting them.

  Something else was going on.

  “I want to meet with Wanda to further discuss her theory and her suspicions about Kevin. We’re having lunch tomorrow afternoon.” Sister Lou tilted her head. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Why does Wanda believe Kevin killed Maurice?”

  Sister Lou met Chris’s troubled dark gaze. “Wanda said we should ask Kevin whether he and Maurice had signed the second contract before he died.”

  Chris’s eyes widened with interest. “That’s a really good question.”

  “I thought so, too. But there’s an even better question.”

  “What?”

  “How does Wanda know about the second contract?”

  Chapter 23

  “How is your investigation going?” Diego DeVarona lowered his melodious voice as he stepped into Shari’s spacious cubicle first thing Monday morning. He’d chosen a pale pink shirt to go with his black tie. The color combination made Diego look edgy.

  Shari’s scarlet pantsuit matched her mood. “It’s all I could think about this weekend, the investigation.”

  It was a lose/lose proposition. If she covered Maurice’s murder, Diego could lose his job for helping her. If she didn’t write the story, she’d lose her self-respect. Shari hadn’t felt this out of control in more than a decade.

  She never wanted to feel this way ever again.

  Diego leaned his left shoulder against her cubicle’s threshold. He held his mug in his right hand. “Do you have enough to write your story?”

  “Are you nuts? I’m calling it off.”

  Diego didn’t show even a flicker of reaction. His coffee brown eyes remained steady on hers. “Why?”

  “We could both lose our jobs, that’s why.” Shari lowered her voice to a hiss.

  Diego sipped his coffee. A casual observer would think they were discussing a book review. His voice was soft and slow. “I thought you had more courage than to back away from a challenge.”

  “That was harsh.” Shari swiveled her padded gray chair to face the news editor. She crossed her right leg over her left. “If I lost my job because of this article, it would be worth it. It’s your job I’m worried about.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Shari wiped imaginary dust from her hands, then raised them, palms out. “Problem solved.”

  Diego’s almond-shaped coffee eyes twinkled at her sarcasm. He spoke with infuriating calm. “Sometimes the consequences are worth the risk. This is one of those times. This isn’t about you. It’s not even about me. It’s about what’s right for our community. We can’t continue to keep these good people in the dark.”

  These were the same arguments she’d had with herself over the weekend. Still . . . “Maybe this isn’t the right battle to fight. Maybe we should wait for another story.”

  Diego shook his head. “This is the first time you’ve been faced with this choice, but I’m tired of waiting for the next story. Or the one after that. Do what you think is right, and do it now.”

  “You’re saying that because you know that I believe writing this story is the right thing to do.”

  Diego’s chiseled features softened to what could be the hint of a smile. He held her gaze in silence as he sipped his coffee. Shari’s gaze dipped to the image displayed in the center of his coffee mug. It was the logo of the Toronto Raptors professional basketball team.

  Shari nodded toward the mug. “You must be from Toronto.” Why else would he support the team?

  “No, I lost a bet.” Diego’s smile disappeared behind another drink from the mug.

  She’d let that go for now. “The right thing would be to not jeopardize your job.” How could she live with herself if Diego lost his job, and he and his family—did he have a family?—ended up on the street? She knew what that was like.

  Shari resented Diego being so calm while she wanted to pull her hair out. She twisted her torso to claim her Styrofoam cup of coffee from her desk behind her. She drank deeply. It didn’t help. She still wanted to tug out her hair. By the roots.

  Diego cradled his mug in both hands. “I’m not worried about my job, but I understand if you’re concerned about yours.”

  Shari lowered her eyebrows at him. “I don’t want to be the one who gets you fired.”

  “I told you. I’m not worried about that.”

  “I am.”

  They regarded each other for several silent moments. Diego studied her with such intensity, it was as though he was either trying to read her mind or see into her past, or both. Shari broke eye contact as she sipped more coffee. It still didn’t make a difference.

  Diego gestured toward her with his Toronto Raptors mug. “You know the difference between us?”

  “I haven’t lost my mind.”

  He laughed as though he was genuinely amused. Maybe he was crazy. “No, the difference is that I believe in you.”

  Shari stiffened. “What does that mean?”

  “You have what it takes to be an excellent journalist. You’re interested, engaged, and smart.” Diego regarded her with somber eyes. “Don’t let people stand in the way of your telling the truth.”

  Diego’s comment took her back to the weekend. Sister Lou’s voice sounded in her mind. I believe your charism is to expose the truth.

  “I . . .” When was the last time she’d been speechless? Never.

  “Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you.” Diego straightened from her cubicle wall, then strode away.

  In the entirety of her twenty-six years of life, no one had ever said anything like that to her. Now, in the past three days, she’d been on the receiving end of that encouraging sentiment twice.

  Maybe Sister Lou and Diego were right. It was time to take a leap of faith—in herself.

  * * *

  Warm breads. Fresh vegetables. Well-seasoned meats. The scents cast a spell over Sister Lou the second she walked into the Briar Coast Café Monday afternoon. She stopped beside Chris to survey their surroundings. The café was crowded and noisy as usual. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to meet with Wanda here.

  Too late!

  Wanda was already here. Sister Lou spotted the other woman waving to her from a table toward the back of the establishment.

  Sister Lou waved back, pointing her out to Chris. “Wanda’s already here.”

  The customer order line moved quickly. After placing their requests for soups and sandwiches, they joined Wanda.

  “Thank you for getting a table for us.” Sister Lou took the seat to Wanda’s right. “This is my nephew, Christian LaSalle.”

  “It’s ni
ce to meet you.” Chris offered Wanda his hand.

  She beamed as she shook it. “Oh, he’s a handsome one.”

  “Have you ordered?” Sister Lou wanted to change the subject.

  “I already ate. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help myself. Everything here smells so great.” Wanda shrugged her shoulders under her grape-colored dress. Either she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that the color clashed horribly with her vibrant red hair.

  “Would it bother you if Chris and I ate?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all.” Wanda waved a hand that was burdened with rings and bracelets. “I’m fine with my coffee.”

  Wanda joined them in saying grace over their meal.

  “Have you spoken with Kevin and Goodwin?” Wanda cradled her coffee mug between her pale palms. “What did they say?”

  Kevin hadn’t been in his office the last time Sister Lou had gone to see him. Had he left Briar Coast? She filed that worry away for now.

  Sister Lou swallowed a spoonful of her chicken and vegetable soup. “We wanted to get more information from you first.”

  “Sure, what would you like to know?” Wanda shared a look between Sister Lou and Chris.

  Sister Lou lowered her glass of water. She took a steadying breath, then held Wanda’s gaze. “How did you know that Maurice and Kevin had a second contract?”

  Wanda paled. Her lips parted. Her mouth opened, then closed. Sister Lou was prepared to wait as long as it took for a coherent thought to cross Wanda’s lips. The café had an excellent dinner menu.

  “I don’t understand your question,” Wanda stammered.

  Ah, the old I-don’t-understand-the-question response. It brought back fond memories of her years teaching elementary school. And junior high school, high school, and even college.

  Sister Lou was prepared to refresh her memory. “When you called Saturday, you suggested I ask Kevin whether Maurice had signed their second contract before he died. How did you know there was a second contract?”

  Wanda looked from Sister Lou to Chris, then dropped her gaze to their table’s blond wood surface. “I hacked into Spreading the Word Productions’ iCloud account.”

  “How did you hack their iCloud?” Chris looked at Wanda as though she’d announced her plans to fly to the moon in an air balloon.