Alibis & Angels

by Olivia Matthews

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind, and I’m not going to.” Shari’s chuckle sounded natural. It lifted Chris’s spirits, breathing new life into his hopes for their future.

  “Oh, come on, Shari.” He tried a cajoling tone, hoping it would prove more effective than his efforts with logic. “Do you really want me to attend this formal community event by myself?”

  “You won’t be alone. Sister Lou’s going to be there.”

  “You know I’m just going to keep asking until you change your mind.”

  “You’d only be wasting your time. Do I seem like the kind of person who enjoys formal events? Unless I have to cover it for the paper, I’m not going.” Shouted conversations in the background almost drowned Shari’s response. It was only nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, but already the Telegraph sounded to be in full deadline panic mode.

  “Exactly how many formal events have you attended?” Chris’s mind raced for persuasive arguments.

  “None.”

  His lips curved into a reluctant smile. That was Shari all over. She personified the term stubborn. “Then how do you know you don’t enjoy formal events if you’ve never attended one?”

  “I just know.” There was a shrug in her voice. “I don’t have to staple my tongue to the roof of my mouth to know that I wouldn’t enjoy that experience, either.”

  Although Chris could sense his defeat, he had to make one last effort. “Why don’t you attend this one before making your final decision? You might surprise yourself and enjoy it.”

  “I doubt that, but I hope you and Sister Lou have a nice time.”

  “All right. You win. I won’t bring it up again.”

  “Thank you.” She sounded relieved. “I’ll call you after the council meeting tonight.”

  “I’d like that.” Chris rang off, barely convincing himself not to ask Shari for the hundredth time why she was becoming so distant. Instead he cradled the receiver and prepared himself to “set her free.”

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday evening, Shari scanned the crowded auditorium in which the Briar Coast Town Council held its meetings. She’d practically inhaled her dinner to arrive early and still the place was packed. No one could accuse Briar Coast residents of lacking a sense of civic duty. Was there even one unclaimed seat?

  Shari noticed a few empty chairs in the front of the audience section near the walnut wood gate. She’d heard it was the same way in church. Most unclaimed spots were in the front of the sanctuary closest to the Mass’s celebrant.

  She moved forward down the center aisle with its threadbare raspberry carpet. The air was musty with age as though the building was even older than the town. The smell made her nose itch. What she wouldn’t do for one of Sister Lou’s bowls of potpourri. Maybe she’d recommend that to the council.

  As Shari made her way to the front of the auditorium’s public section, she exchanged nods of greeting with several Briar Coast residents with whom she was familiar. This included Owen Rodney who was sitting with Wesley Vyne. Was their joint appearance an attempt at a show of force to intimidate Heather? If so, they were already underestimating their opposition.

  The mayor’s executive team was in attendance also: Arneeka, Yolanda, Tian, and Penelope. Where was Kerry?

  “Shari.” Someone called to her as she marched past the rows of raspberry upholstered theater seats.

  Shari turned to find the source of the greeting. Speak of the devil. Kerry had settled onto the aisle seat in a fully occupied row toward the center of the room.

  Shari walked back toward Heather’s administrative assistant. “Hi, Kerry. I was wondering where you were.”

  “Here I am.” The younger woman giggled. Her eyes sparkled and her face glowed. “This is my boyfriend, Jefferson Manning. Jeff, this is Sharelle Henson. She’s a reporter with the Telegraph.”

  Shari took in Jefferson’s golden good looks and expensive clothing. She offered him her hand. His skin was rough and cool. His grip was limp and loose. “It’s nice to meet you. We’ve spoken on the phone.”

  “Have we? I don’t recall.” His smile was charming at first glance, but there was a coolness in his manner that gave Shari pause.

  Shari released his hand. “Yes, you called the Telegraph’s offices five days ago to ask about our election ballot issues.”

  “Sorry.” Jefferson shrugged. “I make so many calls like that to other jurisdictions. I can’t remember all of them.”

  It hadn’t even been a week. Jefferson couldn’t have forgotten that call. Why was he pretending that he had? He and Hal had planned that caper to give Harold time to speak with Sister Lou without Shari being present. Why?

  Shari gave Kerry’s boyfriend a measuring look. “What made you decide to attend our town council meeting?”

  Jefferson’s smile remained in place. “I wanted to spend time with Kerry, of course.”

  At Jefferson’s words, Kerry gave her boyfriend a look of pure adoration. It was sweet, but it also was a little disconcerting. Shari was happy for the younger woman, but she couldn’t shake her unease. She wished the couple a good evening before continuing her search for a seat.

  Shari settled onto a chair three rows behind the wooden bar railing that separated the residents of Briar Coast from their public servants. A microphone stood in front of the railing for the public to use for comments and questions.

  From the corner of her eye, Shari saw someone following behind her into the row. She looked up to find Harold taking the seat beside her.

  “Are you going to tell me what you and Sister Lou are working on?” Harold’s question was low as though he was afraid of being overheard.

  “Why did you have Jefferson Manning call me?” Shari sensed Harold stiffen beside her. She could smell his fear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? Then there’s nothing more to say.” By denying their roles in the subterfuge, Harold and Jefferson had confirmed Shari’s suspicions. The two obviously were friends, and Jefferson was doing Harold a favor. Shari filed her knowledge of the duo’s connection for future reference.

  Beyond the bar railing, members of the town council and the mayor entered the room through the secured side doors. Ian Greer, the town council president, entered first. Heather and the remaining four council members followed him.

  Ian walked briskly to his chair at the top of the horseshoe-style seating arrangement. Each seat had a nameplate. Three council members sat with their nameplates to the left of Ian. The remaining member, the mayor, and the committee’s administrative assistant sat behind their nameplates to the right of the council president. After a few opening remarks to the residents in attendance, the meeting began.

  Shari observed Ian even as she took notes on the meeting. Could she detect a clue to the council president being Heather’s stalker in the way he moved or his tone of voice, or perhaps in the way he interacted with Heather? Shari would bet good money that Sister Lou could. Shari flexed her right hand before returning to her notes.

  The council concluded the formal part of the meeting in a little more than an hour. Shari flexed her hand again as they invited questions and comments from the public. Harold popped off of his seat and stepped over to the microphone. His prompt reaction made Shari think he’d been waiting all night for the invitation to address the council. This couldn’t be good.

  “What are you doing?” She hissed the question.

  Harold waved her off. “Harold Beckett, The Briar Coast Telegraph. This question is for Mayor Stanley.”

  Heather’s curious eyes moved from Shari to Harold. “What can I do for you, Mr. Beckett?”

  Harold’s expression became smug. “You can tell me why our town’s super murder sleuth, Sister Louise LaSalle, has been spending so much time with you at town hall. The public has a right to know.”

  Shari’s blood boiled. Her heart pounded in her ears. She wanted to snatch Harold away from the microphone and smack some sense—any amount of sens
e—into him. Repeatedly. Instead, she knotted her hands together and waited with great trepidation to see how the mayor would get out of this one.

  Heather’s finely arched dark eyebrows knitted in seeming confusion. She tilted her head in question. “Have you been following Sister Lou? Do you have so little to do, Mr. Beckett, or is spying on pillars of our community part of your assigned beat?”

  A smattering of chuckles came from the audience. Several of the council members fought losing battles with their own amused smiles.

  Harold’s smugness evaporated. His face filled with ruddy color. He seemed both startled and embarrassed. “I—I’ve . . . seen Sister Lou a few times at town hall,” he mumbled into the mic before shuffling back to his seat.

  Heather nodded in understanding. “Those must have been the few times she came to discuss the Mayor’s Charity Spring-Raiser. The Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Hermione of Ephesus sponsors many of the causes the town’s residents support.”

  Shari leaned toward him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Satisfied now?”

  Harold was unresponsive as he slumped farther down his seat.

  The rest of the public questions were uneventful. After the meeting, Harold hustled out of the auditorium as though he had a full bladder. He left without a look or a word to Shari. Shari smiled cynically as she tucked her notepad into her tote bag. She stepped out of her row and turned to follow the rest of the attendees from the room.

  Heather’s voice stopped her. “Shari, can you give me a few minutes?”

  Shari stepped out of the moving crowd and back into the row. She took the same seat she’d just vacated and waited while Heather settled onto the seat Harold had claimed earlier. “I didn’t tell Hal anything about our project.”

  Heather shook her head. “I know. That’s not what I want to talk with you about. I saw the look on your face when Hal stepped up to the mic.”

  Shari frowned. “What look?”

  “Panic and insecurity. I often saw that look in my mirror when I was about your age.”

  Shari stared at Heather. Once again the mayor had caught her off guard. Denial tripped easily off her tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Heather gave her a knowing look. “All right, but I’ll give you a piece of advice. You’re a da—darn good reporter. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise or make you feel as though you aren’t as good if not better than them. Diego’s lucky to have you. Any newspaper would be.”

  Shari’s mind was swimming in confusion. She could have sworn the mayor didn’t like her. “Thank you. I appreciate your saying that.”

  “I’m only speaking the truth.” Heather squeezed her shoulder. “Harold Beckett is trying to get into your head. I know the type. Don’t let him. Stand your ground.”

  Shari frowned. “How do I know whether it’s my ground to stand on?”

  “The better question is why would you doubt it?” Heather held Shari’s gaze. “If you stake your claim, then that ground is absolutely yours.”

  She watched Heather walk away. Everyone at the Telegraph knew that the mayor wasn’t a fan of the fourth estate. Nevertheless, she’d just encouraged Shari to stake her claim and continue her reporting.

  When she got back to the newsroom, Shari would check the headlines. The end times must be near.

  * * *

  Chris’s phone rang shortly before ten o’clock Thursday morning. The caller identification displayed Shari’s phone number at the Telegraph. Was she going to back out of another lunch date? Between his donor luncheons and her civic meetings, it was getting harder for them to find time together.

  Chris took a deep breath and answered her call. “Please don’t tell me you’re canceling lunch again.”

  A startled pause greeted him. “Hi, honey. How are you today?” Strangely enough Shari’s flippant sarcasm was comforting.

  Chris smiled into the phone. “All right. I’ll play along. I’m fine, honey. How are you?”

  “I’m great.” Shari sounded less pressured than she’d sounded in some time.

  But Chris was still suspicious. “Then why are you calling me now when I’m going to see you in two hours?”

  Shari laughed. “Actually, I was anxious to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about the Mayor’s Charity Spring-Raiser. I’d like to go with you.”

  “Really? That’s great.” Chris loosened his grip on the receiver. “I’m glad to hear that, but what made you change your mind?”

  “I decided not to look at it from the perspective of attending some stuffy formal event with a bunch of strangers. Instead I’m going to consider it an opportunity to spend more time with you.”

  She’d scrambled his brain. Chris exhaled, closing his eyes in gratitude before trying to bring his thoughts back together. “I agree. Thinking of the fund-raiser as an evening with you is a lot more appealing than the idea of being stuck in a room full of stuffy strangers.”

  “Great. I’ll see you in two hours.”

  “Shari, wait!” Chris tried, but still couldn’t shake the sense that there was something—probably a lot of somethings—that she was keeping from him. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Like what?”

  Tread carefully. “I have the feeling that you’ve been trying to avoid me.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Shari’s voice rose at the end as though she was asking a question. That was less than encouraging.

  “I waited for your call last night.”

  “I’m sorry, Chris. I needed to go back to the paper to file my story last night, then it was so late when I got done . . .”

  “I understand.” No, he didn’t. “I’m glad you changed your mind about the fund-raiser. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Chris cradled his receiver and stared blindly at the phone. He couldn’t fix their relationship if he didn’t know what was wrong with it—and he desperately needed to fix this. If he didn’t, he’d lose her.

  * * *

  “Let’s go to my office.” Ian Greer spoke over his shoulder.

  Sister Lou followed the Briar Coast town council president to his office at Greer Accounting Group Inc., the accounting firm he’d founded. Shari walked beside her. It was only eight thirty on Friday morning. Ian’s firm had been officially open for business for only half an hour, but the activity among his small staff was feverish. The sounds of ringing phones and clacking keyboards trailed Sister Lou down the wide, blue carpeted hallway. When had Ian’s team started their day?

  At the doorway to his office, Ian stepped aside and gestured for Sister Lou and Shari to precede him across the blond wood threshold. He smoothed his old gold tie, which was held in place by a sterling silver clip.

  As Sister Lou stepped across Ian’s office threshold, a wall of cold air almost pressed her back into the hallway. She shrugged deeper into her brown wool winter coat. There was no way she was taking off the garment.

  “Wow, it’s freezing in here.” Shari paused just inside the office. She tightened her emerald green winter coat around her. Was her friend shivering?

  “It keeps me alert.” Ian maneuvered around Shari. He strode to a two-drawer walnut wood lateral file cabinet on which stood a small coffeemaker. “Would you like a mug of coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Sister Lou joined him at the coffee station.

  “Definitely.” Shari followed them, tugging back on her emerald knit gloves and buttoning her coat. “Maybe it will help to unthaw me.”

  “It’s not that cold.” Ian regarded the reporter with mild concern as he handed Sister Lou her coffee.

  Yes, it is.

  While she and Shari were shivering in their winter coats, Ian stood calmly beside them in his shirtsleeves. His crisp pine green shirt complemented his dark brown skin. His gray suit jacket was hanging over the back of his red faux leather executive chair.

  Sister Lou cupped the full mug, letting its heat reactivate the blood flow in her palms. The steam floating up
from the cream coffee mug carried the strong aroma of the dark brew and warmed Sister Lou’s face. She ignored the creamer powder, but used a plastic stirrer to mix in one of the mini packets of sugar.

  She stepped back so that Ian could offer Shari her mug. She watched in amusement as Shari added three packets of sugar and covered the surface of her coffee with the powdered creamer. She avoided eye contact with Ian, but sensed his surprise as he refilled his own mug. The council president took his coffee plain.

  Sister Lou settled onto one of the two red cloth–upholstered visitor’s chairs in front of Ian’s white modular desk. Her gaze dropped to the top of the desk. Several files were labeled with a canary yellow sticky note and arranged in a horizontal row across its surface. It seemed an organized—if obsessive—way to approach his day.

  “Thank you for meeting with us.” Sister Lou sipped her coffee. The hot brew helped to chase away the chill.

  Shari collapsed onto the matching chair. “And thanks for the coffee.”

  Sister Lou watched Ian cross to his desk. Despite a slight limp, he moved with a loose-limbed grace that reminded her of a modern dancer. His easy gait, smooth skin, and clean-shaven head made his age difficult to determine. Based on his salt-and-pepper goatee, however, Sister Lou estimated Ian to be in his mid to late sixties.

  “You’re welcome. What can I do for you?” A look of satisfaction settled over Ian’s distinguished features as he took his first sip of coffee.

  The words were barely out of the council president’s mouth before Shari answered him. “Rumor has it that you’re going to primary Mayor Stanley. Since you’re in the same party, won’t a challenge to her reelection hurt both of you?”

  “Your sources are wrong.” Irritation replaced Ian’s satisfaction. “I’ve told the mayor that I’m not going to primary her. You can quote me on that. Is that all?”

  “Far from it.” Shari’s smile was pure challenge.

  Sister Lou searched Ian’s dark gaze as she swallowed another sip of the hot, strong coffee. “Is it true that you want to be mayor of Briar Coast?”

  Ian’s expression morphed from irritation to exasperation. “Mayor Stanley and I disagree. Frequently. Our governing philosophies are very different. She wants to spend money we don’t have and I want to be fiscally responsible.”