Alibis & Angels

by Olivia Matthews

  Chapter 24

  “Our long Saturday runs make these five miles seem like nothing.” Sister Carmen’s voice bounced with enthusiasm Monday morning.

  “You were right about our taking yoga classes, too.” Sister Lou smiled as she jogged beside her friend. “Even though we’re the oldest yogis in the class,” she added dryly.

  “Age is just a number.” Sister Carmen spread her arms without breaking stride. “We’re young at heart, Lou. We’re young at heart.”

  That description definitely applied to Sister Carmen. Her friend and longtime jogging companion’s positive energy—and her fuchsia running wear—made the cold, dark predawn hours much more palatable. It was the final Monday in February, almost two weeks after Ash Wednesday.

  Sister Lou tugged on her black knit hat, pulling it down over her ears. They started to warm again immediately. Ah, the little things.

  They continued their five-mile jog from the congregation’s motherhouse and around the campus of the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus, skirting the mounds of melting snow that crunched under their feet and masked the lawns beneath. Thick evergreen trees and boxy evergreen bushes valiantly strove to add color to the dauntingly gray and white grounds. Lights glowing in the old-fashioned lampposts that outlined the campus added magic to the otherwise depressing tableau.

  Sister Lou breathed in the scent of pine and cold. They were so alien to the smell of warm sand and surf from the beaches she used to jog along in Southern California where she was born and raised. Still she much preferred jogging outdoors.

  “We’ve cleared all of the people on our suspect list, every one of them.” Sister Lou’s comment shattered the thick silence. The impatience she felt sharpened her tone more than she’d intended.

  “How can you be sure?” Sister Carmen’s eyes narrowed with confusion. Her words slipped out on cold breaths of air. Her electric blue insulated vest and golden tights seemed to beat back the predawn darkness.

  “Heather was right.” A steady, crisp breeze pinched Sister Lou’s cheeks. “Her staff is committed to her and to Briar Coast. They’re convinced that Briar Coast’s future well-being is dependent on the mayor being elected to a second term.”

  Sister Lou considered the lights that glowed from a smattering of dorm room windows in the residence halls. Those must be early risers, like her and Sister Carmen. Sister Lou adjusted her gait as she and Sister Carmen jogged away from the residence halls and toward the campus oval.

  “What about the people who don’t like her?” Sister Carmen broke the companionable silence that had carried them through most of their first lap around the oval.

  Sister Carmen adjusted her knit hat over her ears and thick, curly hair. The hat was almost a twin to Sister Lou’s in style only. Sister Carmen’s hat was a startling citrus orange compared to Sister Lou’s black yarn.

  “Heather’s most outspoken detractors are the town council president, Ian Greer, former mayor Owen Rodney and Mister Rodney’s biggest campaign donor, Wesley Vyne.” Sister Lou matched her gait to Sister Carmen’s as they started their second lap around the campus oval. “I don’t think any of them are behind the threats to Heather, though.”

  “Why not?” Sister Carmen’s question forced Sister Lou to take a harder look at the reasons she’d initially crossed those three men off of her suspect list.

  “Owen and Wesley are excited by the prospect of campaigning against Heather.” Sister Lou listened to the silence on the campus grounds as she and Sister Carmen continued their second lap around the oval. It was almost surreal. “Wesley is confident that Heather won’t win reelection, and Ian doesn’t want to force a primary with Heather because he thinks it would hurt their party.”

  “It probably would.” Sister Carmen fell silent again beside Sister Lou.

  Sister Lou allowed herself time to reflect as they moved around the oval. Sister Carmen was right. The physical challenge of their long weekend jogs had made their regular runs during the week even easier. In keeping with their training schedule, they’d run twelve miles last Saturday for their longer run. In addition, the Friday morning yoga classes worked wonders in stretching their muscles.

  “Keep running, Sisters!” The familiar chorus of well wishes came from the women’s track and field runners.

  Sister Lou greeted the young women as they raced past her. Sister Carmen gave them her standard parade wave and camera-ready smile.

  “If no one has a motive to threaten Heather, then how do we know someone’s really threatening her?”

  Sister Carmen’s question confused Sister Lou. What was her friend implying? “We’ve seen the letters that the stalker sent to her.”

  “How do we know that Heather didn’t write those letters herself to make us think that someone’s threatening her?”

  Sister Lou’s confusion cleared. Sister Carmen must have been watching the mystery movie channel again. The theory may seem farfetched, but Sister Lou wouldn’t dismiss it. “If we believe Heather wrote the letters herself, how then would we explain the attack against her while she was jogging?”

  “That’s right, she’s a fellow jogger. That makes me less likely to believe she’d do anything shady.”

  “Focus, Carm.”

  “Maybe she tripped.” Sister Carmen shrugged. They were approaching the end of their second lap around the oval.

  “That’s plausible.” Everything Sister Carmen was saying was plausible. Still, as with the list of obvious suspects, they were missing a viable motive. “Why would Heather feign these threats? Why would she go to all of that trouble?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to run again.” Sister Carmen shook her head. “If that were true, why wouldn’t she just say that she wasn’t running for reelection? We’re missing something.”

  Sister Lou frowned. “Or someone.”

  * * *

  “You had a job interview this morning? With whom?” Chris sat across the table from Shari during their lunch at the Briar Coast Café Monday afternoon. He sounded as though he was trying to mask his shock. He wasn’t succeeding.

  Shari lowered her soupspoon. She’d miscalculated Chris’s reaction. She thought he’d be curious or even interested. Shari hadn’t expected the tension she sensed rushing out of him like a faucet.

  She inhaled, hoping the scents of pastries, soups, and coffee would calm her. They didn’t. “Buffalo Today.”

  “The job’s in another city?” Chris seemed even more agitated.

  “There’s only one newspaper in Briar Coast. I have to look outside if I want another job.”

  “I thought you liked working for the Telegraph.”

  Shari lowered her eyes to her colorful salad, which was swimming in honey mustard dressing. “I like to be aware of other opportunities so that I can be prepared in case of . . . anything. The managing editor at Buffalo Today has been trying to bring me over for about three months.”

  The silence between them was strained. The bursts of laughter and happy chatter around the café seemed to mock their sudden tension. The care and feeding of personal relationships remained a mystery to Shari. She resisted with all her might the urge to squirm on her chair. Her gaze returned to her chicken and dumpling soup. It was growing cold. Chris’s beef and vegetable soup was probably cooling, as well. Neither of them seemed to have much of an appetite anymore.

  “I wish you’d told me sooner.” There was disappointment in Chris’s voice. That was worse than his shock. “I would have liked advance notice that my girlfriend was thinking of leaving town.”

  Shari had objected to the “girlfriend” label the first couple of times Chris had used it, but now the term was growing on her. At least she liked it in reference to their being together.

  “Who said I was leaving Briar Coast?” Shari sampled a spoonful of her soup. She frowned. As she’d suspected, it was lukewarm. “Buffalo Today’s offices are less than forty-five minutes away. Besides, I just signed a one-year lease on a new apartment.” The thick slashes of Chris�
�s eyebrows leaped up his forehead. Some of the tension seemed to drain from him. “You’d commute between Briar Coast and Buffalo? That’s a long drive, back and forth for five days a week—or more.”

  Shari thought about her drive to the job interview this morning. Compared to her ten-minute jaunt to the Telegraph’s office, the almost forty-five-minute sojourn to Buffalo Today had seemed like a punishment. But her travel times in Chicago had been even more painful and she’d survived them.

  “I’ve had worse commutes. At least this one would be worth it—if I decide to take the job.” Shari offered Chris a smile and felt rewarded when he gave her a genuine smile in return. “Did you really think I was breaking up with you?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.” Chris finished his soup, then picked up his roast beef and cheddar sandwich on whole grain bread. His appetite appeared to have returned. “How was your interview?”

  “It was okay.” Shari shrugged a single shoulder as she moved her salad around its bowl. “The people were nice, but they always are during the job interview. They don’t start showing their real personalities until about six months after you’ve taken the job.”

  “That’s a cynical perspective.” Chris’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “I’m speaking from vast experience.”

  “I agree that it’s a good idea to be aware of other job opportunities, but you don’t sound enthusiastic about this one.”

  Shari let her gaze wander to the scene outside their window. It was just after noon. What remained of the snow that storekeepers had shoveled a week or so ago ringed the sidewalk and glittered in the midday sun. Maple trees lined the curb. They were bare and swaying in the stiff wind.

  “Buffalo Today’s office is in great condition. It’s newer and much more modern than the Telegraph’s building.” Shari looked at Chris again. “Unlike the Telegraph, their carpeting is thick. The walls have fresh paint, and the kitchen has modern appliances. It even smells better.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Shari hesitated. “It’s not the Telegraph.”

  Chris inclined his head. “I understand. I’m glad that you’re happy at the Telegraph. You’re right that it’s good to have options, but for purely selfish reasons, I hope you don’t have to add to your commute.”

  At least one of them had shaken off their tension. Shari was still spinning her wheels. Should she stay with the Telegraph or should she go? Should she wait until they asked her to leave or should she make a dignified retreat?

  Shari returned to redecorating her salad. “Let’s hope Diego doesn’t decide to cut me loose.”

  Chris gave her a bewildered look. “Why would he?”

  An image of Harold—annoying, obnoxious, and normal—came to mind. “I just want to be prepared.”

  Chapter 25

  “Can you prove that someone’s trying to kill you?” Shari asked Heather late Monday afternoon.

  Sister Lou winced beside Shari as they sat in front of Heather’s desk. As she’d driven Shari to the Briar Coast Town Hall, Sister Lou had shared with the reporter the conversation she’d had that morning with Sister Carmen. Sister Lou hadn’t dismissed Sister Carmen’s theory, but she wasn’t convinced it was valid. She wanted to approach it with caution. On the other hand, Sister Carmen’s proposal excited Shari. The possibility that Heather had written the threatening letters to herself intrigued her.

  Heather gave the reporter a questioning look from the seat behind her desk. She tilted her head, causing her thick fall of chestnut hair to slide across the left shoulder of her violet suit jacket. “How would I prove that?”

  Sister Lou interceded. “You were right, Heather. It doesn’t appear that any of the individuals on our initial suspects list have a motive to want you to leave Briar Coast. We don’t believe any of them is behind the threats to you.”

  Heather switched her troubled gaze to Sister Lou. There were circles under her eyes. Was the mayor having trouble sleeping? A fresh mug of coffee sat wrapped between her hands on the table. She’d offered Shari and Sister Lou a cup when they’d arrived. Sister Lou had declined, but Shari was always game for more caffeine.

  Heather expelled a sigh of frustration—and fatigue? “Well, someone’s writing them. Contrary to what our intrepid newswoman thinks, I’m not sending them to myself.”

  Shari gestured toward the mayor with her white porcelain mug of java. “Can you prove that?”

  Heather turned to Shari. “Why would I threaten myself?”

  Shari placed her elbows on the wooden arms of the cushioned chair and balanced her coffee mug in both hands. “To make us think that you’re being stalked. Sure, your job approval rating is at a historic high for an incumbent Briar Coast mayor, but your popularity rating is dismal. Maybe you don’t want to run for reelection or maybe you want to get sympathy votes from people who believe someone’s trying to kill you. Their sympathy could boost your popularity numbers.”

  Sister Lou felt the anticipation rolling from Shari like ocean waves. Hearing Shari verbalize Sister Carmen’s theory convinced her even further that the notion, though creative, wasn’t valid.

  Heather looked amused by Shari’s premise. “If I didn’t want to run for a second term, I’d simply say so. I wouldn’t concoct some elaborate scheme, then inconvenience four other people by asking them to investigate it for me. If you believe that I have a problem speaking my mind, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  “That’s true.” Shari sounded disappointed. She seemed to consider Heather’s point as she drank her coffee. “You never hesitate to speak your mind, even when other people aren’t interested.”

  “We have that in common.” Heather didn’t sound offended. “Regarding the so-called sympathy vote, that doesn’t make sense, either. If I’d wanted sympathy, I’d at least tell the deputies and the media that I was being threatened. Counting myself, you’re only one of seven people who know about the letters and I’ve asked you not to report it.”

  Shari lowered her mug and settled back on her chair. “That’s a good point.”

  Heather held Shari’s gaze. “And my popularity numbers may not be great, but they’re not dismal. I resent that.”

  Shari inclined her head. “I apologize.”

  Heather took another sip of coffee. The caffeine didn’t appear to be helping her. The mayor seemed tired. “We either have to find other suspects or take a harder look at the ones we have.”

  “The usual suspects aren’t working.” Shari looked at Sister Lou before turning back to Heather. “Your opponents are excited to run against you. Your staff admires you, and your party supports you. We need new, more viable names.”

  Sister Lou caught Heather’s eyes. “Is there anything that you’re not telling us that could possibly help identify your stalker and the reason for these threats?”

  “The reason is clear.” Heather’s voice was tight with frustration. “He wants me to leave town.”

  Sister Lou searched her mind for everything she knew about the mayor from what she’d read and what others had told her. “Could it be someone from your past?”

  Heather set aside her porcelain coffee mug. “Everyone from my past is either in El Paso, Texas, or Norman, Oklahoma.”

  Shari shrugged. “We’ve talked with most of the people in Briar Coast who don’t like you. Maybe a frenemy from out of town has caught up with you.”

  Heather looked wryly amused. “I can’t think of anyone I’ve offended so terribly that they would carry a grudge for all these years, then travel thousands of miles for revenge.”

  “It’s a theory.” Sister Lou spread her arms. “If we can’t identify a suspect from your present, we have to think about your past.”

  “I’m feeling desperate, too.” Heather unlocked her bottom desk drawer and retrieved her purse. From the front compartment of her black faux leather handbag, she pulled out a plain white business envelope. “I received another letter this morning. I was going to show it to you tonigh
t.”

  Sister Lou accepted the plain sheet of copy paper from Heather. She leaned toward Shari so they could read the anonymous message together.

  Outsider, don’t fool yourself. My threats are

  real. Call off the investigation with Sister Lou.

  Leave office and Briar Coast. You know I’ve

  killed before. I can kill again.

  Sister Lou trembled with apprehension. The stalker’s rage and hate were undeniable. She sensed it with each word in his latest threat. Beside her, Sister Lou felt Shari’s shiver.

  “He’s getting chattier.” Shari’s voice was hard with anger. She sat back on her chair. “It might be time to go to the deputies.”

  “His messages have grown even more ominous.” Sister Lou handed back the note to Heather. “Shari’s right. We need to ask for the deputies’ help.”

  “No.” Heather shoved the letter back into its envelope. She hid the threat inside her purse and locked her purse in her drawer again. “I’m not going to the deputies. I will not allow this psycho to intimidate me.”

  “Well, he’s intimidating me and I’m not the one getting the letters.” Shari gestured toward Heather. “And your calling him a psycho makes me think he’s having some kind of an effect on you.”

  Sister Lou silently agreed. “Since you refuse to go to the deputies, what would you recommend we do next?”

  Heather pulled her chair farther under her desk and folded her hands on its surface. “My next step is to formally announce my reelection campaign.”

  “What?” Sister Lou heard Shari echo her reaction. She took a settling breath. “Are you certain that’s a wise next step?”

  “I’m certain it’s not,” Shari insisted.

  Sister Lou nodded in the direction of the drawer that hid Heather’s purse. “Your stalker has threatened to hurt you—”

  “To kill you,” Shari interrupted.

  Sister Lou continued, “—if you campaign for reelection.”