She hadn’t read the Telegraph since.
Autumn found her voice. “Your pregnancy doesn’t have any effect on the amount or schedule of the alimony payments.”
Isabella’s contented smile disappeared. “This is ridiculous. Why do you even need that money?”
“Because I earned it.” Autumn clenched her teeth.
How dare the other woman question her right to alimony payments after all she’d sacrificed to ensure Roy’s happiness? Who was going to ensure her happiness? For that, she was on her own.
“What are you doing with the money?” Isabella spread her arms, looking around the office. Her voice was a sneer. Her pretend accent gone. “Are you dumping it into this place? What a waste.”
It felt as though Autumn were grinding centimeters from her teeth. A pulse drilled in her temple. “This is my place, and that’s my money. I’ll spend it any way I choose.”
“Stop wasting your time—and my husband’s money.” Isabella crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Sell this place. It’s not worth your time.”
“Neither are you. Get out.” Autumn jerked her chin toward her door.
“Sell your business.” Isabella rose, placing both palms on the surface of Autumn’s desk. “You’ve already received a generous offer for it. Much more than this dump is even worth. You’d be doing yourself a favor by selling it.”
Autumn unclenched her jaw. She rose, leaning in toward Isabella and forcing the other woman to take a step back. “Did Rita tell you about the offer we received from Crane Enterprises?”
Isabella’s expression said it all. Yes, Rita had told her—and probably Roy—about Crane Enterprises’ interest in her resort. Sadly, Autumn wasn’t surprised by this betrayal. Since Rita wasn’t a fool, Autumn surmised that she’d told Isabella not to let Autumn know that she was aware of the business offer. It’s too bad that Isabella didn’t have the wits to follow that simple instruction. Autumn would have a talk with her business partner later.
She stood. “Tell Rita and Roy, and anyone else who’ll listen, that I will never, ever sell this resort while I still have breath. Please also remind Roy that my alimony check is due at the end of the month. You can check the divorce decree if you want to verify the due dates. I’m sure Roy has a copy that he can share with you.”
“Why can’t you understand that we need that money for our child?”
“You need more money? Get a job.” Autumn viewed Isabella through a red haze of anger. “While I was married to Roy, I had two, and I still found time to help him build the company that’s now supporting you. Who knows? Maybe some direct-mail catalog will finally hire you. You can model maternity clothes.”
Isabella clenched her fists. Her face reddened with fury. “You’ll regret your words. I won’t allow you to threaten my child’s security.”
“And I won’t allow you to rip me off. Roy will pay every cent of the alimony he owes me for the rest of my life. And on time.”
“I hate you! I wish you’d drop dead!”
“Get in line!”
Isabella whirled and stormed across the room. She threw the office door open, allowing it to slam against the inside wall. That probably left a dent.
Autumn collapsed onto her chair. With luck, that was the last of the drama for the week.
Chapter 6
“You may’ve been right.” Shari strode into Diego’s office at the Telegraph the afternoon of the last Friday in October.
“Of course.” Diego hit a couple of keys on his board before spinning his chair to face her. He planted his large hands on his beige modular desk. “What about?”
It was a pleasure to enter the editor’s office now that it had a new—or relatively new—occupant. Shari no longer felt under attack by piles of... stuff. Diego had cleaned out the filth and confusion his predecessor had sheltered. Diego must have worked mornings, nights, and weekends to transform that chaos into a spotless organizational hub so quickly. He’d even gotten rid of the stench of burnt coffee and old newsprint and reintroduced the concept of fresh air.
His faded gray–cushioned desk chair no longer squealed with its every move. Weeks-old copies of newspapers from nearby community and metropolitan areas no longer grew along the beige walls in stacks almost as high as the conference desk. Now each publication was reviewed that morning. Relevant articles were distributed to the section editors with requests to look into Briar Coast connections. Instead of being swollen with press releases and news clippings, the black metal in-box on the corner of his walnut wood desk was empty. For now.
“That the town council and the mayor’s office may be covering up a potential scandal.” Shari stood behind the two faded gray chairs in front of Diego’s desk.
Her editor seemed disappointed to have been right. “What’s the scandal?”
“I persuaded a source to speak off the record. According to my source, the Briar Coast town council president’s planning to challenge Mayor Stanley in the next election.” This information would be important to her readers. Those who supported Mayor Stanley’s policies would have to make sure to vote. Those who wanted a change would have a choice.
Judging by the concern in Diego’s eyes, he could be a Mayor Stanley supporter. “Ian Greer wants to run against the mayor? They’re in the same party.”
“I know. If Ian Greer chooses to run, he’d force a primary.”
“How well do you know this source?”
“Not well.” Shari was impatient to build solid relationships with quality sources but she’d need more time. That was one of the reasons she was so cautious with her research. “We’ve only known each other about a month, but this information gives me a direction to do more digging.”
Diego’s coffee brown eyes remained troubled. “If the information’s correct, we’ll need to understand Greer’s motivation, the effect his decision will have on the party, and the impact of this primary election on the town’s budget.”
“Right.” Shari glanced at the notes she’d scribbled onto her notepad during her lunchtime meeting with her confidential informant. “My source doesn’t know whether the mayor intends to run for office again or whether the mayor knows that Greer’s considering challenging her in the election.”
“Heather definitely has plans to run for reelection. I’m sure of it.”
Heather? “How well do you know the mayor?”
Diego seemed distracted. “Good work on digging up this information, Shari.”
“Thank you, but you were the one who clued me in to a scandal in the mayor’s office. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch.” Diego shrugged his broad shoulders. His lavender shirt and black tie warmed his café mocha complexion. “There’s always a scandal brewing in a mayor’s office.”
“I don’t buy that.” Shari gave him a skeptical look. She channeled her inner Sister Lou, calling on the Catholic sister’s impressive insight to try to glean Diego’s secrets. “You were anxious for me to investigate Mayor Stanley’s office and the council. Did you see something—or hear something—that tipped you off?”
Diego leaned back on his seat and linked his fingers over his flat stomach. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you start to smell where the bodies could be buried.”
“Fine, keep your secrets. For now.” Shari checked the time on her black cellular phone. “I’ll try to get a meeting with Mayor Stanley to ask her about her plans for reelection.”
“Don’t question her directly. She’ll just dodge you. Get her on record with something about the successes and challenges her administration has had so far. Try to get a sense of how she thinks her administration is working with the town council and whether she’s feeling any pressure or frustration.”
“Good advice.” Shari called over her shoulder. She was already leaving his office. “I’ll keep you posted.”
She’d also look into Diego’s past.
What isn’t he telling me? And why?
* * *
&
nbsp; “The congregation has selected your menu recommendations, according to the survey responses.” Sister Marianna spoke as though she were delivering the medical results of a malignant contagion rather than the retreat meal selections.
It was the first Friday morning of November. Sister Lou, Sister Marianna, and Autumn were meeting in the resort owner’s office more than a week after their last meeting. Sister Marianna had tallied the survey responses several times, each time getting the same results. She’d eventually accepted the survey’s validity, although not graciously. Judging by the waves of displeasure Sister Lou sensed from Sister Marianna, who was seated beside her, she hadn’t come to terms with what the results meant.
“Thank you for letting me know. We’ll move forward with our preparations.” Autumn wore a simple black scoop-necked jersey.
She didn’t display any reaction to the meal decision. Still, the cedar-and-pine-scented air in Autumn’s spacious office crackled with tension as always. Sister Lou took in the walnut wood walls and abstract-patterned area rug. Would changing their meeting venue make a difference? Probably not.
“The sisters should have chosen the healthy meals.” Sister Marianna was firm in her judgment. “Good nutrition is a vital ingredient for a healthy body. Obviously, the survey results—if they’re even accurate—reflect very poor decision-making on the other sisters’ part.” She gave Sister Lou a pointed look.
It had been difficult admitting to her retreat planning partner that she’d been one of the sisters who’d voted for more appealing meals.
Autumn broke the awkward silence. “I’m sure you double-checked the results.”
“Yes, we did.” Quadruple-checked. Sister Lou avoided Sister Marianna’s accusatory eyes.
Autumn spread her hands. “Then I’m sure your results are correct and the sisters know what they want.”
“Apparently, they don’t.” Sister Marianna tugged the black, gray, and red silk scarf from her neck.
Sister Lou didn’t bat an eyelash at Sister Marianna’s assertion. She was used to the other woman’s stubbornness. Autumn wasn’t.
The resort owner uttered a short, sharp laugh of disbelief. Her eyes shifted from Sister Lou to Sister Marianna. “These are mature, responsible women, just like you. They know what they want just as well as you do.”
Sister Marianna worried the scarf in her hands. “I want the healthy food choices for the retreat.”
Autumn began shaking her head even before the final words had left Sister Marianna’s mouth. “No, a deal’s a deal. We agreed to conduct a survey. You did that. Now we have to abide by the results.”
“Then we’ll do another survey. And this time, I’ll coordinate it.” Sister Marianna’s grip tightened on her scarf.
Autumn sighed. “We don’t have time for another survey. Your retreat is in three weeks. Frankly, we should have decided the meals before today.”
Sister Lou raised a hand to step in. “Ladies—”
Sister Marianna interrupted her. “I’m the client.”
“Yes, you are.” Autumn gave a jerky nod as though she was exerting restraint on her muscles and her temper. “And you told me that you wanted the congregation to take a vote on the menu items. So you did.”
Sister Lou tried again to be heard. “I have—”
This time, Autumn talked over her. “Now that the results aren’t what you expected—or what you wanted—you’re trying to change the rules.”
Sister Marianna tugged on the scarf between her hands. “I want this event to be perfect.”
“So do I.” Autumn’s voice was tightly constrained.
Sister Lou raised her voice and both hands. “Everyone, take a breath.”
Shocked silence descended on the office. Sister Marianna and Autumn turned to Sister Lou with almost identical wide-eyed, openmouthed expressions.
“Louise!” Sister Marianna recovered first. “What on earth has gotten into you?”
Sister Lou frowned. “I’ve been trying to get a word in, but the two of you are more interested in arguing with each other than working on a solution to something that really shouldn’t even be a problem.”
“It is a problem.” Sister Marianna’s scowl was darker than anything Sister Lou could attempt. “I want to do what’s right. Autumn wants to do what’s popular.”
“We agreed to abide by the survey results.” Autumn waved a hand between Sister Lou and Sister Marianna. “The survey wasn’t even my idea. It was yours.”
“Listen to me.” Sister Lou lifted her voice again. This time, neither Autumn nor Sister Marianna was surprised. “There’s another solution.”
“Tell me,” Sister Marianna demanded.
“What is it?” Autumn spoke at the same time.
“The menu could be popular recipes that are still healthy.” Sister Lou turned to Autumn. “Your chef could make the menu items the congregation chose, but cook them in a healthier way. Cut back on the salt. Reduce the fat. Substitute chicken or turkey for beef.”
“That’s an acceptable compromise.” Sister Marianna turned to Autumn.
Autumn nodded. “We’ll do that.”
Sister Lou allowed herself a brief sigh of relief, but she kept her wits at the ready. They’d resolved this dispute, which allowed them to move on with the retreat planning. But with Sister Marianna’s penchant for arguing and Autumn’s tendency to respond with equal and opposing enthusiasm, this wouldn’t be the only conflict she’d have to mediate. She didn’t think the event was out of the woods yet. Pun intended.
* * *
“How’s your apartment search going?” Sister Lou’s question carried back to Shari as she followed the older woman to an empty table near a window toward the center of the Briar Coast Café Friday afternoon. Her lunch companion’s multi-fabric skirt suit was a calming tan that matched her sedate cream flats.
“I haven’t found anything that I can see myself staying in for a whole year.” Shari took a deep breath of the intoxicating aromas that were a part of the café: fresh bread, confectioners’ sugar, and strong coffee.
They settled at a recently vacated pale wood table. Shari bowed her head and waited for Sister Lou to say the grace over their meal. Before meeting the Catholic sister a little more than two months ago, Shari had never said grace over her food, not even when she’d lived with the religious fanatic foster mother. Now, she couldn’t imagine eating a meal without giving thanks.
Sister Lou sprinkled the serving of vinaigrette dressing over her house salad. “It’ll take some time. You’ve only been looking for a few weeks.”
Shari nodded as she considered her friend seated across the table from her. Sister Lou’s black eyebrows arched above calm, almond-shaped onyx eyes. With her smooth, gently rounded cinnamon cheeks, delicate chin, petite nose, and full pink lips, she appeared at least a decade younger than her sixty-three years. Must be all that chai tea and her regular morning jogs with Sister Carmen.
Shari’s gaze dipped to her lunch tray: house salad, chicken and wild rice soup, and fresh lemonade. She was eating healthier meals now, too. Her new friend was a powerful—if subtle—role model. Shari also started on the salad first, pouring a generous amount of honey mustard dressing over the bowl of vegetables. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”
“Did you make a list of the features you want?” Sister Lou asked between forkfuls of salad.
“Yes, I’ve even watched some of those house-hunting shows.” Shari shrugged a shoulder. “I just don’t know what I want.”
She glanced out the window beside their table. It was a bright autumn day. The sky was a cool blue liberally dotted with fat clouds. A few red, orange, and yellow leaves clung determinedly to the trees that edged the sidewalk. Despite the day’s cheery appearance, her spirits were flagging.
Shari ate a forkful of her salad. She couldn’t see her sage green car in the parking lot. She’d pulled into a space too far away. But she spotted Sister Lou’s sedan. She considered the vivid orange compact before
shifting her attention to her friend’s tan skirt suit and the crimson Timex watch on her wrist. Her friend had a lot of hidden depth.
“You were right when you suggested I spend time learning more about myself.” Shari stabbed her fork into her salad bowl, picking up more lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, and celery.
“What have you discovered?” Sister Lou started on her chicken and vegetable soup.
“I can play well with others, at least when I try. That was a surprise.” A reluctant smile curved her lips.
The lights in Sister Lou’s onyx eyes danced with amusement. “What else?”
Shari glanced around the café as she considered her answer. As usual, the establishment was packed with customers either dining in or collecting takeout. Small groups gathered around the pale wood tables lined up across the café’s white-tiled flooring. Their animated conversations and boisterous laughter filled the room. A few solo customers were reading the Telegraph or working on their computer tablets.
She split her attention between Sister Lou and her bowl of soup. “I’m finding out what I want and what I don’t want for my future. Where I am and where I want to go.”
“Good for you.” A glint of admiration lit Sister Lou’s eyes. “But before you start planning too far into the future, you should come to terms with your past. Take time to appreciate who you are and how you got here.”
Shari felt the weight of her friend’s advice. “This is all new territory for me. I have a lot of questions.”
“I might be able to help with some. What are they?”
Shari’s attention dipped to the blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross pinned to Sister Lou’s suit jacket lapel. “How do I know whether the Telegraph’s where I’m supposed to be?”
The pause that followed her question was several seconds longer than Shari had expected.
Peril & Prayer Page 5
