The mayor stopped beside Sister Lou’s desk. “I want you to investigate Opal’s death.”
Sister Lou’s eyes stretched wide. Her lips parted. “Me? No, Mayor—Heather. If you suspect Opal was murdered, you should inform the deputies of your concerns.”
“Why? You’re the one who investigated the last two murders in Briar Coast.”
Sister Lou ignored the mayor’s comment. “Who informed you of Opal’s death?”
“Deputies Cole and Tate came to my office.”
“There you have it.” Sister Lou spread her hands. “Those deputies investigated the last two murders as well. You should speak with them.”
“Let’s not be coy. If it wasn’t for you, the wrong person would have been charged with murder in both cases.” Heather spun away from Sister Lou to resume her pacing. “The truth is you’re a much better investigator than our sheriff’s deputies.”
“I disagree.”
“Besides if I go to the deputies, news of these threats will spread all over the sheriff’s department and then all over town.” Heather stopped to stare out of the rear picture window. She hugged her waist as though trying to hold herself together. “People will think that I’m weak for letting these cowardly threats rattle me.”
“You won’t appear weak.” Sister Lou was appalled by Heather’s suggestion. “If there’s any question that Opal’s death wasn’t an accident, you should insist that the deputies do a thorough, professional investigation.”
Heather turned away from the scene beyond the window to confront Sister Lou. “Why won’t you do the investigation? You did the other two.”
Sister Lou swallowed a frustrated sigh. She empathized with Heather’s grief. She was still coping with the very recent death of one of her dearest friends. But she wasn’t a detective. She was a sister and a community organizer. Wasn’t that enough? “I looked into those two cases because the deputies believed the congregation was involved in both murders. I needed to prove that we weren’t.”
“Those cases prove that you have better instincts for solving homicides than the deputies.”
Sister Lou held up her right hand, palm out. “It proves that I know the members of my congregation.” She lowered her hand to her lap. “And may I remind you that, on more than one occasion during my investigation of Autumn’s murder, you insisted that I let the deputies do their job.”
Heather dragged her right hand through her hair. “I was wrong then. I’m asking for your help now.”
“This is out of the realm of anything I’ve been involved in before. I’m not a trained investigator. I’m sorry, Heather, but I must insist that you involve the deputies.”
An expression of disappointment flashed across Heather’s face before she masked it. She crossed to the guest chairs and collected her purse. “Thank you for hearing me out, Sister Lou. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Sister Lou caught Heather’s hand as the mayor reached to retrieve her coat from the back of Sister Lou’s chair. “Are you going to speak with Deputy Cole and Deputy Tate?”
“No, I’ll handle it myself. Thank you.”
Sister Lou watched the mayor march out of her office. She was concerned about Heather’s dilemma, but what could she do to fix it—short of getting involved herself?
Chapter 6
“What are you doing?” Shari crossed the motherhouse parking lot Monday evening to confront Harold Beckett. The Telegraph’s rookie reporter was tracking her movements like gum on her shoe.
Harold’s knee-length black Burberry cashmere coat probably cost more than Shari made in a month. He leaned back against his BMW sports car. Light from the nearby parking lot lamppost glinted off its silver paint.
He crossed his legs at the ankles and his arms over his thin chest. “I’m joining you and Sister Lou for dinner.”
His confidence stole Shari’s breath. Her palms itched to smack the smug expression from his face. She thrust her fists into the pockets of her winter coat to minimize temptation. “Why?”
“I want to meet your friends.” Harold sounded so reasonable as though he had the right to expect the introduction.
Shari’s hot temper protected her from the cold. If only she had a way to protect herself from people like Harold; people who used their false entitlement to make others—like her—feel small. After decades of searching, she’d finally found a place where maybe—just maybe—she could fit in. A place where she felt wanted. And normal. Now here comes another Harold, trying to take it away from her. This time, she wouldn’t let him. This time, she’d hold her ground.
“Go home, Hal.” Shari relished the flash of irritation in his brown eyes at her use of his hated nickname. “I’m not playing your games.”
A chill wind blew past her, seeping into her emerald green wool coat and ruffling Harold’s dark hair. The quiet winter evening carried the scents of pine trees and the smoky hint of wood burning in a nearby fireplace.
“Where’s your sense of Christian charity?” Harold’s grin split his face, but never touched his eyes. He reminded Shari of a silent movie villain. “Now that I’m a full-time member of the Telegraph’s staff and not just an intern, I should familiarize myself with members of the community that we report about. And I thought that Easter would be the perfect time to meet members of the Briar Coast religious community, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Shari stepped back. She didn’t want to catch any of his crazy. “You can’t invite yourself to dinner at someone else’s home, especially not at the last minute. That’s rude.”
“They’re not going to turn me away.” Harold shrugged. “What about that line in the Bible, ‘I was hungry and you fed me’? If we walk in together, it’ll be fine.”
Who did Harold think he was toying with? The sisters wouldn’t be so easily duped. They’d take one look at his salon-styled hair, cashmere coat, and Italian wingtip shoes and know that Harold wasn’t in need of their charity.
Shari adjusted the strap of her brick red handbag on her shoulder. “I’m not walking with you into the motherhouse.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like you.”
They locked gazes. Shari matched her grit against his ego. She sensed that Harold wasn’t willing to give in. Neither was she. Shari’d had enough of people using her. Her series of foster parents had used her for money. Former coworkers had used her to do their work. Previous bosses had used her ideas to make themselves look good. She was done with all of that.
Harold broke the standoff. “Did you use Christian LaSalle to get close to his aunt?”
Shari stretched the fingers of her right hand in her pocket. She turned away before temptation got the better of her. “Go home, Hal.”
She kept a brisk pace as she walked to the motherhouse’s front door but strained to hear any movement behind her.
What if Harold followed her inside? What if Sister Lou didn’t turn him away? What if Harold started spending time with the congregation and the college? With his traditional upbringing, it would be easy for Harold to find a place among the friends Shari was starting to consider family. They would see that he was normal. And they would realize she was not.
Shari let herself into the motherhouse, relieved that Harold hadn’t followed her. She greeted the sister at the front desk before signing the visitor’s log. As she made her way to the dining room, Shari replayed that day’s various encounters with Harold. If he wanted to cover local crime, why wasn’t he harassing the deputies? Why was he fixated on Sister Lou and her team?
* * *
“You said no to the mayor?” Sister Carmen Vega’s incredulous tone made Sister Lou feel worse.
Dawn was more than an hour away. Sister Lou jogged beside her good friend and exercise companion from the motherhouse to the grounds of the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus on what must be the darkest and coldest morning of the year. It was even darker and colder than it had been yesterday.
But Sister Lou still preferred to jo
g early in the morning. She loved the faint metallic smell of winter and the scent of pine from the nearby tree line. She could hear the deep silence of the season and feel the moisture in the chilled early Tuesday morning breeze.
Tuesday. Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras. Carnival. The day observant Catholics—and their not-so-observant friends—indulged injudiciously in their favorite foods and beverages in preparation of the Lenten fast, which would begin the next day, Ash Wednesday. Sister Carmen considered it her Christian duty to partake of as many pastries as possible. In support of her friend, Sister Lou planned to join Sister Carmen on a lunchtime bakery shopping spree at the Briar Coast Café.
Sister Lou looked at her friend, noting how vivid Sister Carmen’s lime green insulated vest and teal tights appeared in the light from the lampposts that tracked the campus. As usual, Sister Carmen’s eye-catching outfit contrasted sharply with Sister Lou’s choice of slate gray vest and black tights.
“If Mayor Stanley’s right and someone murdered Opal Lorrie because he mistook Opal for the mayor, then the mayor’s life is in danger.” Sister Lou’s words generated puffs of air that floated like smoke in front of her. “If that’s the case, Heather doesn’t need an amateur sleuth. She needs professional protection.”
“‘Heather’?” The lampposts caught the twinkle in Sister Carmen’s coffee brown eyes as they laughed at her from beneath the fold of her knitted orange winter hat.
Sister Lou’s cheeks grew warm in the cold breeze. “She asked me to call her that.”
“Can I call her ‘Heather’?”
“I don’t know, Carm. I’ll ask her.”
At the base of one of the vintage lampposts that ringed the college oval was the familiar feline figure of Unnamed Calico Cat. She’d finally returned to the campus. Sister Lou was almost weak with relief. She’d begun to worry when she hadn’t spotted the calico during the winter months. How was she finding food? Where was she staying warm? Sister Lou should have realized the cat could care for itself. It was a survivor.
As Sister Lou drew closer to the calico, she realized the cat was grooming herself. She waited until she was in the cat’s line-of-sight before nodding her head in greeting. She waited a beat for a similar gesture from Unnamed Calico. Instead the feline gave her a look of shock and outrage. She rose to her paws and stalked back across the oval, weaving her way around the mounds of unmelted ice on the grass. Sister Lou couldn’t blame the feline. One’s toilette was a private occasion.
“You’re right, Lou.” Sister Carmen tugged her hat more firmly over her ears and her riot of curly raven hair lightly threaded with strands of gray. “Mayor Stanley would need professional protection if she’s in danger, but you won’t know for certain unless you investigate.”
“I’d rather concentrate on our marathon training and on my community outreach program—on almost anything other than amateur sleuthing.” Perhaps she was exaggerating, but she’d made the right decision in turning down the mayor’s request.
Hadn’t I?
“Speaking of our training, we’ve got our second long run this Saturday, eleven miles.” Sister Carmen’s observation made Sister Lou groan. Sister Carmen laughed. “The ten miles we ran Saturday for our first long run wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Yes, actually. Yes, it was.” Sister Lou crested the incline as Sister Carmen kept pace with her. “Ten miles is double our usual distance. Saturday will be even farther.”
“Only one mile farther. You can handle it.” Sister Carmen’s laughter was breathless.
“I suppose I could.” I have to stop underestimating myself.
They were gaining ground on the college’s residence halls. The trio of redbrick Federal-style buildings circled an asphalt parking lot. Most of the windows were dark but a few students were getting an early start on their studies.
Sister Lou blew into her black fleece gloves. “At least I’m enjoying our Friday morning beginner yoga classes.”
They’d committed to a fifteen-week training schedule in preparation for their Memorial Weekend marathon. Sundays through Thursdays, they continued their daily five-mile jogs. They’d registered for the free beginner yoga classes the college offered every Friday morning at five thirty. Saturdays were for their long runs. It was a well-planned if ambitious routine.
After jogging around the residence halls, Sister Lou turned with Sister Carmen toward the oval at the center of the college. Stately trees and academic buildings in the same architectural style as the residence halls outlined the campus’s well-manicured lawns and pedestrian walkways.
On the second of their three laps around the oval, Sister Lou watched as a familiar group of female student-athletes appeared. The nine young women, members of the college’s track and field team, ran in a tight formation. Sister Lou greeted them with a sedate wave and a warm smile. In response, the runners cheered and waved with exuberant support.
“Keep training, Sisters! Good luck on the marathon!” The chorus of well wishes came as members of the team raced past Sister Lou. Their voices echoed around the oval, shattering the cold silence with warm enthusiasm.
Sister Lou smiled at their cheers and whoops of encouragement. She watched as Sister Carmen gave the student-athletes her usual red carpet wave and paparazzi smile. The St. Hermione students had nicknamed her and Sister Carmen the Running Sisters. News that they were training for their first marathon had spread like wildfire from the motherhouse to the college. Sister Lou gave Sister Carmen a suspicious look. She knew at least one of the sources of that leak.
“It’s not so bad being the only old ladies in the yoga class.” Sister Lou watched the student-athletes race toward the dirt path that led to the center of Briar Coast. “Everyone is so encouraging and supportive. It probably helped that you told all of the other participants that we’re taking the class as part of our marathon training.”
“Probably.” Sister Carmen was unrepentant. “I think you should reconsider helping Mayor Stanley.”
Sister Lou blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “Why?”
“This case could give you a chance to save a life.”
Sister Lou felt a wave of sorrow sweep over her. She and Sister Carmen started their third lap around the oval. “But if Heather’s right, it’s too late to save Opal.”
Sister Carmen slowed as though she also was weighted by grief. “I know and I’m so sorry about that. But, Lou, the mayor’s still alive.”
* * *
Shari sighed as she settled onto her chair at her tan modular desk in the Telegraph’s office early Tuesday morning. She savored the first sip of her third cup of coffee and waited for her computer to wake up. She’d had two cups of caffeine before she’d stepped foot outside of her apartment. How could Chris even consider giving up this pleasure for forty days and forty nights? Shari still couldn’t wrap her mind around that rash decision. Was he having second thoughts now that Ash Wednesday was less than twenty-four hours away? Shari snorted. Probably.
Her ringing telephone interrupted Shari in the middle of her musings. She secured her ceramic coffee mug in her right hand before leaning forward to answer the summons. “Telegraph. Sharelle Henson.”
“Good morning, Sharelle. It’s Becca Floyd.” The voice of the managing editor of Buffalo Today, one of their rival newspapers, had become familiar.
“Hi, Becca. You’ve started your day early.” Shari’s gaze swept to the clock in the lower right corner of her computer monitor. It was eleven minutes before eight o’clock. Becca must be really dedicated to her job. Or was the managing editor checking in with Shari to see whether she was just as committed? Shari swallowed a bark of laughter with her next sip of caffeine.
“I read your article on the death of Briar Coast’s finance and management director.” Becca’s voice carried a trace of synthetic commiseration. Middle managers often manufactured various emotions to bond with the rank-and-file. Shari gave this particular middle manager points for effort.
“Opal Lorrie.” Shari wanted
Opal’s name to be remembered. She’d done too much for their community to be reduced to a title.
“Yes, the poor woman. What a terrible way to go.”
Shari felt another cloud of grief roll over her. “Briar Coast is mourning Opal’s death. It shook a lot of people in the community, especially since it was so sudden. I knew her personally and liked her a lot.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line as though Becca was distracted by something else. “Well, I just wanted to compliment you on another solid article. It was well reported.”
“Thank you.” Shari shifted on her gray cushioned swivel chair.
Things could get awkward if Becca continued to call every time Shari had a byline in the Telegraph. What if she had a byline and Becca didn’t call? The thought made Shari’s mind stutter.
“Are you going to investigate it?” Becca’s question was a good one.
“I don’t know yet.” Shari took another sip of her coffee. She frowned. It was starting to get cold. Bummer. “It depends on the results from the sheriff’s deputies’ final report on the scene.”
“Well, I look forward to reading whatever you find out.”
A movement in Shari’s peripheral vision drew her attention. She glanced over her shoulder to see Heather Stanley march past her cubicle like a vengeful wraith. The mayor’s movements were stiff with anger as she stormed down the hallway. Was she on her way to confront Diego over whatever she’d interpreted as the latest challenge to her authority? Poor guy.
Shari returned to her conversation with the Buffalo Today’s managing editor. “Becca, I’ve told you I’m not interested in leaving the Telegraph. Although I’m flattered by your attention, why do you keep calling me?”
Becca’s low chuckle traveled down the phone line. “You’re direct. I like that.”
Alibis & Angels Page 5
