Mayhem & Mass

by Olivia Matthews

  Ted joined them at Fran’s desk. He read the brief note over his partner’s shoulder. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who want you to stop playing sheriff’s deputy.”

  “I wish you’d stop playing at it, too.” Sister Lou channeled her inner Shari.

  “Ted! Have you considered that these meetings would be more productive if you’d stop baiting her?” Fran glowered at Ted before redirecting her attention to Sister Lou. “Have any of the sisters made any negative comments about your investigation?”

  An image of Sister Marianna’s expression of pinched displeasure flashed into Sister Lou’s mind. Just as quickly, it disappeared. Sister Marianna wouldn’t send an anonymous threat. She would revel in making Sister Lou aware that the warning and its stated consequences were coming from her.

  Sister Lou shook her head. “None of the sisters would have sent that note.”

  Fran set the baggie of evidence on her desk. “Sister, I’ll take these to our crime lab to be dusted for prints. Other than that, without any leads, there’s not much we can do.”

  “Why do anything?” Ted rested one hip on Fran’s desk. “The note’s clear: stop meddling in the investigation. If you do that, you’ll be safe.”

  “Ted, get off my desk. Get off.” Fran reached out and slapped her partner’s arm. Once he stood, she turned back to Sister Lou. “I hate to agree with Ted, but he has a point, Sister. You shouldn’t be involved in this investigation. It’s too dangerous.”

  Sister Lou looked at Ted, then away. “I have a theory.”

  Ted gave a humorless laugh. “I should’ve known.”

  “Besides members of the congregation, my nephew, and the Telegraph reporter, the only people who know about my investigation are the people I’ve interviewed, and you.” Sister Lou drew the list of interview subjects she’d made from her purse and offered it to Fran.

  Fran reviewed the short list. “You think one of these people put the note in your mailbox?”

  Ted crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest. “All you have to do is stop doing something you’re not supposed to be doing anyway. Then you won’t have anything to worry about.”

  Sister Lou had had enough. “If the situation were reversed, Deputy Tate, and Maurice Jordan had been your friend, would you stay out of the investigation?”

  Ted held up his hands, palms out. “I’m not you, Sister. I don’t have any trouble letting professionals do what they’re trained to do.”

  Fran laid the paper on her desk. “We’ll increase the patrols around the congregation, Sister, but Ted’s right. Leave the crime solving to us.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Cole. Extra patrols would allay my concerns for the congregation.” Sister Lou adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she turned to walk away.

  Leave the crime solving to them? She couldn’t do that, not after the killer had assured her through that note that she was on the right track with her own investigation.

  * * *

  “Chris LaSalle? Any relation to Sister Louise LaSalle?” Goodwin Barrow scrutinized Chris from where he stood on the other side of his beige modular desk. The Catholic Corner editor tucked his hands into the dark blue slacks he wore with his gray polo shirt.

  Chris took a brief scan of the office. Three words came to mind: messy, smelly, and old. In here, Goodwin was surrounded by photos of himself with high-ranking officials of the Buffalo diocese.

  He turned his glare on Goodwin. “I’m her nephew.”

  “Nephew.” Goodwin inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I don’t usually accept unscheduled meetings, but I recognized your family name. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to warn you.” Chris walked farther into Goodwin’s office. “If you threaten my aunt again, bad things will definitely happen to you.”

  “Wait. Did she tell you I threatened her?” Shock made Goodwin’s voice several octaves higher.

  “This morning, you were in the congregational offices.” Chris’s hands fisted as he imagined how the man in front of him had threatened his aunt. “This afternoon, my aunt found a note in her mailbox, threatening her life. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Goodwin shook his head in disbelief. “Is this a family hobby? Do you and your aunt go around Briar Coast, accusing people of murder and attempted murder?”

  “Not without good reason.” Chris was confused by Goodwin’s response. The other man had gone on offense instead of defense.

  And what was that smell? Was it camphor and menthol?

  Goodwin laughed his disbelief. “Do you really think that my being in the congregational offices this morning is enough evidence to make me the number one suspect for threatening your aunt?”

  “That’s not the only reason.” Why am I on the defensive? Goodwin was the one standing under a cloud of suspicion. “I want to make sure that we’re clear.” Chris narrowed his eyes at Goodwin. “If anything happens to my aunt—anything at all—I will come looking for you.”

  Goodwin blew out an irritated breath. “I didn’t threaten your aunt. I don’t have any reason to do that.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling the truth.” Goodwin spread his arms. “I didn’t kill Maurice, so why would I threaten your aunt?”

  Why indeed? “I’m not convinced that you’re innocent.”

  “Well, I am. If you want to protect your aunt, go find the real killer.”

  Chris hated to admit it, but Goodwin made good arguments. Although he still had suspicions about the theologian, his aunt thought Goodwin was innocent primarily because of his arthritis. But if Goodwin hadn’t threatened his aunt, who had?

  * * *

  “I want you to stop investigating Maurice’s murder.” Sister Lou made her declaration to Chris and Shari, who’d joined her in her sitting room Thursday evening. She waited for their pushback.

  “What about you?” Chris’s opposition came immediately. He sat on the sofa in casual clothes—gray khakis and a loose-fitting amethyst jersey.

  “Are you going to stop investigating, too?” Shari’s question came almost at the same time as Chris’s. Her burnt umber blouse and pale gold walking shorts were almost as bright as the loveseat’s brilliant, sky-blue fabric.

  “This has been a very trying time for me.” That was an understatement. “I appreciate all of your help—the information you collected for me and your emotional support. But I need you to step back now. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to either of you.”

  What if they’re already in danger because of me? The thought made Sister Lou queasy. She’d have to do all that she could to protect them now.

  “You’re worried about us?” Shari pressed a hand to her chest. “We didn’t get the death threat.”

  Chris leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “You’re the one who should back away from this case.”

  So much fear and pain filled Chris’s onyx eyes, Sister Lou was overwhelmed. She hated putting her nephew through this. She prayed the investigation would conclude soon, and that it would end well. She wanted to know who had killed someone who was so important to her and why. But she didn’t want anyone else she cared about to get hurt in the process.

  “I have to see this through.” Sister Lou’s thoughts went back to the man she’d called her friend. “I won’t be able to rest until Mo’s killer is brought to justice.”

  “That’s what we want, too.” Shari waved the first two fingers of her right hand between her and Chris.

  “The risk is too great. You didn’t even know Mo.” She could take a greater chance because she had a greater investment, more than forty years’ worth.

  “You’re right. We didn’t know Maurice, but my commitment is to you.” Chris looked just like his father when he became stubborn.

  “At first, for me, it was a story.” Shari’s tone was pensive. “Now that I know you, it’s more than a story.”

  Chris looked pleased by Shari’s response.
“The note was addressed to you, but the threat affects all of us. When we find Maurice’s killer, we’ll also find the person who threatened you. That’s important to me.”

  “And me,” Shari added. “Accept it, Sister Lou. You’re stuck with us for the duration.”

  Sister Lou tightened her grip on the arms of her cushioned chair. She had severe misgivings about allowing them to continue working beside her, but their stubborn expressions convinced her that any further pleas would be ignored.

  She was as frustrated by their obstinacy as she was moved by their caring. “We’ll need to be careful.”

  “You shouldn’t go anywhere alone.” Chris pinned her with a direct stare. “At least one of us should accompany you when you meet with someone about the case.”

  “He’s right.” Shari nodded her agreement. “Speaking of which, what did the deputies say?”

  “They told me to stop investigating Mo’s murder.” Sister Lou tilted her head at the irony.

  Shari exchanged a look with Chris, as though she also recognized the incongruity of the situation. “Well, then, moving on. Where are we now?”

  Chris sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I confronted Goodwin Barrow about the note. It was too much of a coincidence that you found an anonymous note in your mailbox after his visit to your office this morning.”

  “What did he say?” Sister Lou didn’t expect that he’d admit to putting the note in her mailbox, but his response could give them insight into the case and his role in it.

  Chris spread his hands. “He said that since he didn’t kill Maurice, he wouldn’t need to threaten you.”

  Good point. “What do you think?” Sister Lou believed Goodwin, but she wanted to hear Chris’s perspective.

  Chris lowered his gaze to the vibrant abstract-patterned rug beneath the coffee table. “He didn’t seem to care whether I believed him or not. I had the sense that he was more interested in understanding why I thought he was responsible for the threat than he was in convincing me of his innocence.”

  “That’s a good observation.” Sister Lou let it sink in. “I don’t think he killed Mo, so he wouldn’t have reason to threaten me.”

  “Why are you so certain that he didn’t kill Maurice?” Chris asked.

  “Goodwin has arthritis.” Sister Lou touched the Hermionean cross she’d pinned to her blouse as she thought about her response.

  “Then he probably didn’t leave the note.” Shari crossed her arms over her chest, settling even deeper into the corner of the loveseat. “Even though being fired because of his opposition to Maurice’s religious research is a great motive.” She sounded almost wistful.

  “I must have received the threat because we’re getting closer to finding Mo’s killer.” Just saying those words strengthened Sister Lou’s resolve.

  “All right.” Chris looked from Shari back to Sister Lou. “What’s our next step?”

  Sister Lou took a deep breath. “All roads seem to lead to Kevin. We’ve got to speak with him, even if that means we have to show up on his doorstep.”

  Chapter 30

  Shari tapped the PAGE DOWN key on her laptop computer as she sat at her kitchen table Friday morning.

  Am I desperate enough to apply to any of these lame-sounding business communications positions? Not yet, but I’m getting closer every day.

  Her kitchen was now Job Search Central. She was keeping to her regular schedule, rising early to exercise and dress. But afterward, instead of going to work at the Telegraph, she began her hours-long, cross-country search for another newspaper job. She’d already been at it for almost an hour this morning. Her favorite morning news program played from the radio on top of her olive-green circa 1957 refrigerator. It was too early for a break, but if Shari didn’t find a promising position to apply for soon, she might do something nutty, like throw her laptop through the window.

  The ringing of her telephone was like an answer to a prayer. She didn’t entertain the fantasy of a callback from one of the job applications she’d submitted. It was too soon. But the interruption was welcome all the same. Shari stood, causing her unbalanced yellow plastic-and-metal seat to rock. Four steps transported her from her kitchen into her living room.

  She lifted the receiver on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Good morning. This is Diego DeVarona. Is this Shari Henson?”

  Shari recognized Diego’s voice right away. He sounded so happy and confident, energetic and optimistic. She wanted to hang up. “How did you get this number?”

  “We journalists have ways of obtaining information. You know that.”

  “‘We journalists’? Is that your best attempt to create a bond between us?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Too little, too late. How’s the new job?” Shari sank onto her lumpy, secondhand sofa.

  The thrift shop that must have provided this sickly green-and-black plaid sofa to her landlord should have thrown it out. On the other hand, what did it say about her landlord that he’d paid actual money for this piece of crap?

  “I haven’t started yet.”

  “Why not?” Shari heard muted voices in the background, then the chords of a familiar musical jingle. Was Diego listening to the same morning news radio program she enjoyed? Another bond. She vowed not to allow it to soften her heart toward the traitor.

  “I’m waiting for Perry to leave. The new publisher is making the announcement this morning.”

  “Have I stumbled into someone else’s conversation? What are you saying?”

  “Another company bought The Briar Coast Telegraph.” Diego said it like he was making a victory speech. “The sale will be final today. The new publisher will relieve Perry of his position and make me the new editor in chief.”

  Shari closed her eyes, straining to tamp down on her boiling frustration. She and Diego had lost their jobs because of the article she’d written on Maurice’s murder. However, while she was combing through mind-numbing job openings on employment websites, Diego had somehow orchestrated a triumphant return to the Telegraph as its new editor in chief.

  Shari opened her eyes and unclenched her teeth. “So this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  “It was one possible outcome.”

  “How did you arrange it?”

  “It’s a long story.” He sounded as though he was smiling. Shari ground her teeth. “Let’s just say that when the Telegraph’s previous publisher died, his heirs wanted the income but not the responsibility of running the paper. When they realized how much money the paper was losing, they were more than willing to sell.”

  “It must have taken a while to plan all of this.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “Congratulations. I’m glad I was able to help.” Yes, she was bitter. Very, very bitter. “I don’t know who I’m more envious of. You, for creating the opportunity to fix the Telegraph, or my former coworkers, for getting an editor with real newspaper instincts.”

  “Thank you for your compliment.” There was sincerity in Diego’s tone and perhaps a touch of relief. “I have exciting plans for the paper. I’m getting rid of the fluff pieces and focusing on hard news and human-interest stories, things that impact our readership.”

  In the background, Shari heard metal striking against porcelain. Diego must be stirring his coffee. She could use a cup herself. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’ve heard that you left the Telegraph. I’d like you to come back. I’m going to need strong reporters to make this work.”

  Shari stared back at the blank beige wall facing the sofa. Returning to the Telegraph meant she wouldn’t have to leave Briar Coast. The little town was beginning to feel like the home she hadn’t known she’d been searching for, or maybe that was Sister Lou’s and Chris’s influence. Either way, she’d love the opportunity to remain in this community—with Sister Lou and Chris—at least for a while longer.

  Excitement was starting to build in her, then her suspicious nature reass
erted itself. “In what role?”

  “What role do you want?”

  This is beginning to sound too good to be true. “I want to report on news that the public needs to know, like the news article on Doctor Jordan. I want to write stories that make a difference for the community.”

  “That’s what I want all of my reporters to do.” There was the sound of metal meeting porcelain again. Was Diego playing with his coffee again?

  Shari couldn’t deny her craving any longer. She returned to her kitchen and poured herself a fresh mug of coffee. “That’s the right answer, Diego, but how do I know you’ll keep your word? You have a history of keeping me in the dark about your plans. How do I know you’re not withholding information right now?”

  “I understand your caution, Shari.” Diego’s energy and enthusiasm were getting to her again. “I told you that I want the Telegraph to go back to its glory days of actually being a newspaper. That’s the way Perry’s predecessor had run it. Then the publisher died, leaving the paper to his children. As you saw, they aren’t newspaper people.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Diego chuckled. “The first thing the publisher’s son did was fire the previous editor and hire Perry, his college friend.”

  “That explains a lot.” Shari paused. She was tempted to leap before she looked and take the offer Diego was making. But she’d been disappointed before—many, many, many times before. “What assurances do I have that I’ll be able to write the types of articles I just described?”

  Diego was silent for a brief moment. “If I go back on my word, not only will I give you a glowing professional reference, but I’ll also help you find a new job.”

  Shari’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s quite a money-back guarantee.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you put down roots? Before Briar Coast, you never stayed anywhere longer than eighteen months.”

  “I see you’ve read my résumé.”

  “I’m not asking you to give me your soul. I just want you to give yourself a chance.”