Alibis & Angels

by Olivia Matthews

  Shari checked the time on her silver smartphone. It was just after two o’clock. “Sure. I’ve already filed my story.”

  “I noticed your victory lap.” Poppy stepped back, clearing Shari’s path to the guest chair.

  Shari settled onto the thick cream tweed seat. “Victory lap?”

  Poppy returned to her gray cushioned desk chair. “That’s what I call the bathroom break I finally allow myself after filing my story. I took my victory lap right before you did.”

  Shari tilted her head. “I don’t know whether to feel exposed or amused that you pay such close attention to my bladder.”

  The education reporter’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Her fine honey blond bob swung as she shrugged. “That’s what happens when your cubicle’s right next to the bathrooms. You get to see everyone’s victory laps.”

  “You have a point.” Shari gave in to amusement.

  A few of their coworkers found Poppy to be abrasive, bordering on obnoxious. Shari thought the other woman was hilarious. She considered the knickknacks on display in Poppy’s cubicle. What would Sister Lou deduce about Poppy based on these trinkets?

  Today, a red-haired troll doll stood on the gray metal shelf above Poppy’s desk, clutching a big red heart. It was a holdover from yesterday’s Valentine’s Day greeting. The Christmas greeting had come from a purple-hair troll in a red Santa Claus suit. A few of their scrooge-like coworkers had not seen the humor.

  A creepy, little wind-up toy in the shape of a bloodshot blue eye on oversized orange feet paced next to her beige telephone. A large coffee mug with the phrase I SEE STUPID PEOPLE stenciled on it made its statement beside her computer monitor.

  Shari turned her attention back to Poppy. It was several degrees warmer inside the reporter’s cubicle than out. She identified the source of the extra heat as the space warmer beneath Poppy’s desk. Shari was convinced human resources would have an objection or two about that. “What did you want to ask me?”

  “It’s about Hal.”

  Shari flashed a grin. “You know he doesn’t like to be called that, don’t you?”

  “Who cares?”

  That’s why she liked Poppy. “What’s your question?”

  “What’s Hal’s problem with you?”

  That wasn’t even on the list of things Shari had expected her coworker to ask. Her defensive walls—never far away—rose. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on.” Poppy crossed her right leg over her left. She wore comfortable-looking but unremarkable tan ankle-high boots. “We’ve all noticed it. He’s been trying to get information from us about your partnership with Sister Lou.”

  Shari made an effort to contain her stirring temper. “He’s questioned all of you? What have you told him?”

  Poppy gave her a wry look. “We don’t have anything to tell him. Besides we don’t like him so we tell him to ask you.”

  “Thanks for that.” According to Poppy, their Anti-Hal Contingent was in the majority, so what had Perry seen in him—and why had Diego kept him on staff?

  “Yeah, well, he just complains that you aren’t forthcoming with information.” Poppy snorted. “As though you owe it to him to tell him anything. The kid has a misplaced sense of entitlement.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Shari exhaled. She caught the scent of tomato sauce, garlic, and oregano. Poppy must have had pasta for lunch. “I’ve told Hal to worry about his own beat, but he won’t listen.”

  “Be careful around him, Shari. That kid is bad news.”

  “I agree.” Shari considered Poppy. “I’m curious. Why are you all so concerned for my professional safety?”

  “You’re so blunt. I love that.” Poppy chuckled. “We know how hard you work and how much time you’ve put into helping to raise the Telegraph’s profile in the community. Our subscription rates are up, even in the neighboring areas.”

  “That’s because of all of us.”

  Poppy shook her head, setting her honey-blond bob in motion again. “You and Diego stuck your necks out to get the Telegraph back on track. Now this rookie thinks he can show up and take over your beat. That’s not right.”

  Shari flexed her shoulders with a mixture of irritation and impatience. “Does he think I’m just going to hand over my sources and let him take my bylines?”

  “He thinks your beat’s easy because you make it seem that way.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t have a clue.”

  “I don’t know what Perry was thinking when he gave Hal a full-time job here.” Shari scowled at the thin gray carpeting. The sounds of an impending deadline—shouting, cursing, running—echoed just outside of Shari’s awareness. “Hal never did any work as an intern. What made Perry think he’d be any more productive as a reporter?”

  “I’ve got a better question.” Poppy spread her arms. “Why is Diego keeping Hal around?”

  Shari wished she had an answer. Instead she felt compelled to defend the editor. “Diego’s only been in charge for four months.”

  “What’s he waiting for?” Poppy shrugged. “All I’m saying is that Diego was the news editor before he became editor-in-chief. He knows what Hal’s like.”

  “I can’t explain it, either.” Shari stared at the thin gray carpeting, trying to fit together imaginary puzzle pieces that didn’t have anything to do with each other. “At the very least, Hal needs a work performance plan.”

  “As long as Hal’s with the paper, we’d all better watch our backs, especially you.” Poppy crossed her arms. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Hal has a hard-on for your news stories, but I don’t think any of us is immune from his backstabbing.”

  “Thanks for the head’s up, Poppy.”

  Shari rose and walked out of the education reporter’s cubicle. Firing someone was easier said than done, but why wasn’t Diego doing something—anything—to hold Harold accountable for his work? And why was Harold so determined to find out what Shari and Sister Lou were working on? If he wanted to cover crime stories, why didn’t he hound the sheriff’s deputies? Why was he fixating on Sister Lou’s amateur sleuth team?

  * * *

  Heather froze in the doorway to her office. She sensed Sister Lou come to an abrupt stop beside her.

  “What are you doing in my office?” Heather gritted the question through clenched teeth. A quick breath drew the strong scent of her third and final coffee for the day. She clutched the hot mug between her palms.

  “I’m glad I caught you, Mayor Stanley.” Wesley Vyne circled her desk. He hesitated when he spotted Sister Lou with Heather. “Who are you?”

  Heather bristled at his tone. She crossed into her office, ready to teach Wesley some manners, but Sister Lou spoke first.

  “Wesley Vyne, isn’t it?” Sister Lou stepped forward with a polite smile. “You’re the president and chief executive officer of the Briar Coast Insurance Corporation.”

  Sister Lou managed to sound at the same time gracious and chiding. How did one accomplish that? It was as though she was gently taking their uninvited guest to task for his rudeness.

  And it worked. Wesley appeared disconcerted. He stood in front of Heather’s desk, a tall, middle-aged white man with a sad salt-and-pepper comb-over. The cut of his expensive Italian navy suit only masked so much of his beer belly.

  Wesley sent Heather an uncertain look before addressing Sister Lou. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  “Most people do.” Heather marched past Wesley, ignoring the flash of irritation in his brown eyes, and stood behind her desk. “This is Sister Lou LaSalle. She’s a member of the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Hermione of Ephesus.”

  Wesley tossed a brief look toward Sister Lou before focusing again on Heather. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

  Heather scowled toward the source of her disappointment. “You can speak freely in front of Sister Lou. She’s a member of a religious order, for pity’s sake.”

  “Thank you, Mayor Stanley, but I’m happy to give you some privacy.”
Sister Lou turned back toward the door. “It will give me a chance to stretch my legs.”

  Translation: Sister Lou needed a bathroom break. Heather could use one as well before she and Sister Lou drove back to the motherhouse. Heather watched the older woman stride past Wesley on her way out of the office. Sister Lou had left behind a very definite chill. The older woman didn’t appear to think much of Wesley. Heather gave her points for good judgment.

  The area outside of Heather’s office was much quieter now. Most of her staff had gone home for the day. Heather would leave as soon as she’d packed the documents she needed to review tonight, Sister Lou returned—and Wesley left.

  She shifted her attention to the unwelcome visitor. “What can I do for you, Wesley?”

  Wesley made himself comfortable on a guest chair. He steepled his fingertips in front of his mouth and gave Heather a considering look. “One of the state senators is willing to retire her seat for you.”

  Heather schooled her features to mask her emotions, chief among them anger and surprise. “Did this come up in conversation?”

  “I promised to support her campaign for state’s attorney general.” Wesley drilled his gaze into hers as though trying to read her mind. If he succeeded, what he found would hurt his feelings.

  Heather folded her arms and locked her knees as her body began to tremble with anger. “I appreciate your thinking of me, Wes, but I’m not interested in running for a state office.”

  “Why not?” Wesley lowered his hands as his voice rose in surprise. “It’s a much higher profile position, and you’ll have the power to make decisions that affect the entire state.”

  Heather narrowed her eyes. “You want me to run for state office because you don’t think I’d win. You’re hoping that if I lose at the state level, I won’t return to politics.”

  “You sound paranoid, Heather.” Wesley gave her a curious look. “Don’t you have any ambition beyond my little town?”

  Heather didn’t miss the implication that she was the outsider in his little town. “I’m quite happy serving the residents of our little town. I’m sorry that you wish that someone else was in this office.”

  “This town needs fresh ideas.”

  “Like the tax abatement?”

  Wesley frowned. “That policy is too shortsighted. What about the businesses that have been here the whole time? Don’t we also need tax relief?”

  “What about the residents who depend on the revenue from those business taxes to support their public services? They’re your neighbors as well as your customers.”

  Wesley stood. “If I were you, Heather, I’d consider running for the state senate seat. I have a feeling the mayoral race will be too challenging for you.”

  “What makes you think that, Mister Vyne?” Sister Lou’s question came from the doorway.

  It was Wesley’s turn to be startled. He spun to face Sister Lou. “It doesn’t take a great intellect to realize that Heather’s dismal popularity rating will make things difficult for her campaign.” He held Heather’s gaze over his shoulders. “Think about my offer.”

  Heather watched the businessman leave her office. “My popularity isn’t great, but it’s not dismal,” she muttered. “I resent that.”

  “This has been a very long day.” Sister Lou crossed to Heather’s conference table. “How many of your days are as bad as this one?”

  Heather chuckled without humor. She rose to pack several of her manila folders into her briefcase. “A lot of my days in this office are as bad as this one and quite a few are worse.”

  Sister Lou paused in the process of packing up her notes and her laptop. “You have days that are worse than this? I can’t imagine that.”

  Heather’s laughter was more natural this time. “It’s true.”

  “Then why do you do it?” Sister Lou turned to face her. “What makes you so willing to take on this stress and conflict to be mayor of Briar Coast?”

  Heather considered Sister Lou’s question. She took her time, trying to make sense of what motivated her. “At first, I got into politics for the power, the influence, and the prestige. I wanted to work with people to affect policy. It was exciting.” She continued packing her briefcase. “But the thing is, once you start talking with the people who’ll be impacted by those policy decisions, you realize what it means to be a public servant.”

  Sister Lou nodded as though in approval. “Is that the reason you’re so adamant to remain in the mayor’s office?”

  “Yes, it is.” Heather crossed to the silver-and-black coat tree to collect her coat. “I’ve found that the real excitement is taking on the people who have the power, influence, and prestige in an effort to help those who don’t.”

  “I sense that you love what you’re doing, but is it worth your life?”

  Heather held the older woman’s gaze. “I won’t be intimidated.”

  “That’s your ego talking. Are you running for reelection for your ego or for the community?”

  “Today wasn’t exactly conducive to my ego, so I must be running for the community.” Heather led the way out of her office. She was keenly aware of the target on her back. Someone in the community she loved wanted her out—dead or alive.

  Chapter 16

  Who made this pot of coffee?

  Shari stared into her porcelain mug, barely suppressing a tremor of disgust. Its contents looked like coffee. It smelled like coffee. But despite the four packets of sweetener and generous helping of almond creamer she’d stirred into the brew, it tasted like diesel fluid. Even so, she couldn’t imagine giving up coffee for forty days . . .

  “Do we need to talk?”

  Diego’s puzzling question drew Shari’s thoughts away from the coffee impostor. She turned to find him standing with his right shoulder braced against her cubicle threshold.

  It was the end of a long Thursday. Yet, as usual, Diego looked as fresh and crisp as a new morning. His dark gold crewneck knit sweater and chocolate brown pants were casual elegance. In lieu of his usual coffee mug, Diego was carrying a transparent, teal, thirty-two-ounce water bottle, a signal that he was wrapping up his day.

  “You must think so, otherwise you wouldn’t ask.” Shari set down her mug. She hit a couple of keys on her keyboard to save the notes for her latest story, then turned to Diego. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Direct as always.” Diego’s brown eyes twinkled with humor. He crossed into Shari’s cubicle and settled onto the guest chair at her small conversation table. “Harold has been asking about your investigations with Sister Lou.”

  Shari hoped she masked her surprise. “How do you know that?”

  Diego’s full lips curved into a half smile. “I can’t reveal my sources.”

  Shari was more puzzled now than she’d been when Diego had asked if they needed to talk. “Why are you asking about Harold? Are you concerned that I’ll tell him about our latest case?”

  “I know you wouldn’t do that.” His tone was chiding as though he was disappointed that she’d think he would doubt her discretion. Diego took a deep drink from his water bottle.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m concerned about you.” He spread his arms. “I’d considered speaking with Harold on your behalf, but I didn’t think you’d want my interference.”

  “I can handle Harold.” Shari crossed her arms. “I’m glad other people have noticed his obsession with my partnership with Sister Lou. I was starting to feel paranoid.”

  “You’re not paranoid. He’s asked several reporters and a couple of copy editors about your working with Sister Lou. He’s even asked me.”

  “You?” Shari’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “That’s pretty ballsy. What did you tell him?”

  “Apparently, we all said the same thing . . . that he should ask you.”

  Happiness wrapped around Shari like a warm blanket. She’d never before experienced this level of support from coworkers. She was used to fighting her own battles.

  �
��Thank you.” The words didn’t feel like enough, but they were all she had.

  “I don’t want to lose one of the best reporters on my staff.”

  The blanket got a little warmer. “Thanks.”

  Diego swallowed another deep drink from his water bottle. “Harold’s supposed to be covering the election. He shouldn’t have time to nose around your beat or anyone else’s. He’s supposed to be writing about the election issues, the candidates, and the candidates’ positions on the issues.”

  “I know.” Shari arched an eyebrow. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Not well.” Diego scowled at the thin gray carpeting. “He’s had to rewrite every story he’s submitted at least once.”

  “That explains why I haven’t seen many of his bylines.”

  Diego sighed. His expression was as tense as Shari had ever seen it. “He definitely has a problem with deadlines, which is one of the reasons I can’t trust him with time-sensitive news.”

  “A newspaper reporter who can’t make a deadline?”

  “I don’t know what persuaded Perry to hire Harold for the paper.” Diego’s voice crackled with irritation.

  “Harold was a lazy intern. Now he’s one of the laziest reporters I’ve ever worked with.”

  “I agree.”

  Shari’s thoughts scattered. “Then why is he still here? Perry’s not in charge anymore. You are.”

  “I don’t want to give up on him.” Diego’s tone was simple.

  Shari thought of all the people who’d given up on her, foster families, teachers, and employers. “I wish I’d had an employer like you when I first started out in the business.”

  “If you had, you may not be the excellent reporter you are today.” Diego stood. “Are you sure you don’t need me to talk with Harold?”

  Shari shook her head. “I’ve got this. If I can’t warn Hal off of my beat, he’ll always see me as a target.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” Diego turned to leave. “I’ll see you later tonight when the team meets to discuss the case.”

  “Diego.” Shari stopped him with her voice. “Is there any reason you wouldn’t want Heather to run for reelection?”