Peril & Prayer

by Olivia Matthews

  “Yeah. Thrilled.” Paul made a grumpy Kris Kringle. He’d never enjoyed small talk. In contrast, his wife of nearly sixty years could get through an entire evening on it.

  Chris swallowed another bite of the moist, sweet cinnamon roll. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from dedicated supporters like you.”

  Peg sipped her cocoa. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  Paul grunted, dragging his thick fingers through his mane of silver hair. “He’s here because he doesn’t want us to jump ship after that article in Tuesday’s Telegraph.”

  “The cinnamon rolls are nice, too.” Chris winked at Peg.

  She giggled her pleasure. “Thank you, dear.”

  “But you’re one-third right, Paul.” Chris met the other man’s piercing blue gaze. “In addition to enjoying our visits and Peg’s homemade pastries, I’m here to allay any concerns you might have about the college.”

  “For the record, I baked the rolls.” A hint of humor eased Paul’s stern features. “Peg made the cocoa.”

  “I stand corrected.” Another cautionary tale against judging people based on appearances. Paul looked more inclined to wrestle bears than bake pastries.

  “You’re a straight shooter, Chris.” Paul drained his cocoa and set the empty cup on the decorative table between them. He wiped his heavy silver mustache with the napkin Peg passed to him. “That’s one of the things I like about you. So I’ll give it to you straight as well. The college is gonna have to separate from the congregation if it wants to retain donors like us.”

  Was Paul serious? Chris glanced toward Peg, who responded to his unspoken question with a smile. He turned back to Paul. “Neither the college nor the congregation has had anything to do with any of the murders that have occurred in Briar Coast. Ever.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Paul looked incongruous on the fluffy love seat. “They’ve been connected with both. And we’re not the only donors who’re concerned.”

  Chris frowned. “There’s no reason to punish the students for other people’s misperceptions.”

  Paul’s intense scrutiny took Chris’s measure. “Real or imagined, we’re not gonna be associated with organizations that are connected to criminal activities. You’ll find a lot of us feel this way.”

  The insult stung. “I’m sorry for that, Paul. We were founded by the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Hermione of Ephesus.” He made the declaration with pride in the history behind the words. “The sisters gave us our roots, our identity, and our mission. We’re not going to disavow them.”

  Silence stretched between Chris and Paul as they held each other’s gaze. Finally, Paul spoke. “Neither of us is giving ground.”

  Chris stood. “I’m sorry for that. I hope we stay in touch.”

  Paul stood with him. “What would be the point?”

  The older man’s words closed the door on Chris’s appeal, but the smile that twinkled in Peg’s green eyes kept a window open. She gave him hope that someday, sometime down the road, this donor relationship could be healed. Chris shook Paul’s and Peg’s hands, then walked with the couple to their front door.

  Paul claimed that other donors shared his view. How many others would present him with this ultimatum? The congregation was the college’s compass. The school couldn’t turn its back on its roots. Chris refused to allow that to happen.

  He unlocked his bronze Toyota Camry and settled behind his car’s steering wheel. He closed his eyes for a silent moment. I’m open to other options.

  * * *

  The prioress needed Sister Marianna out of the way.

  Since the deputies had stretched credulity by implying that Sister Marianna was a person of interest in Autumn’s murder, Sister Barbara thought it best to separate Sister Marianna from planning the congregation’s annual Advent retreat. Instead, she asked Sister Lou, who had planned the event several times before, to continue the project on her own.

  I’m glad Barb didn’t ask me to sit in on that meeting. Sister Lou shivered at the thought.

  She parked her orange compact sedan in the Briar Coast Cabin Resort’s lot shortly before nine a.m. Wednesday. Sister Lou collected her manila project folder from her passenger seat before climbing from her car. Her steps were hesitant as she crossed the few yards to the main cabin. She tightened her grip on her folder before mounting the three oak steps to the cabin’s wraparound porch. Two short days ago, she, Rita, and Kelsey had found Autumn dead in her office. Sister Lou took a moment to prepare herself for her return to the crime scene.

  Two men stood close together at the reception area. They leaned against the counter, whispering with Kelsey, Autumn’s administrative assistant. Both men appeared to be in their early to mid-fifties. The trio abruptly stopped speaking as Sister Lou approached.

  “Sister.” Kelsey’s voice was several octaves higher than usual. Was it nerves? “Good morning. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Good morning, Kelsey.” Sister Lou inclined her head at the two men beside her before turning back to the administrative assistant. “I have an appointment with Rita.”

  “Are you Sister Louise LaSalle from the congregation?” The gentleman standing closest to her looked like a spokesmodel. His double-breasted blue pinstripe suit went well with his artificial tan and perfect golden hair. His black Italian shoes looked expensive.

  “You have me at a disadvantage.” Sister Lou switched her folder to her left hand and offered the stranger her right. She managed a polite smile despite her brittle nerves.

  He shook her hand. “I’m Gary Hargreaves, director of finance. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Sister Lou offered her hand to the quiet gentleman beside Gary. “And may I ask who you are?”

  “Urban Rodgers.” His handshake was firm and brief, just like his introduction. His tall, muscular form was clothed in black jeans and a black jersey. His youthful dark skin belied his salt-and-pepper, close-cropped hair.

  Standing together, Gary and Urban were complete opposites. Gary’s polished appearance and manner made Urban’s black jersey and dark jeans appear even more rough and casual.

  A brief, involuntary image of first Gary’s then Urban’s large hands wrapped around Autumn’s neck shuffled across Sister Lou’s mind. She suppressed another shudder.

  Sister Lou turned back to Kelsey. “Is Rita available?”

  “Sister Louise, what do the deputies have against your congregation?” Gary’s question caught Sister Lou by surprise.

  Kelsey gasped. “Gary, how could you be so rude?”

  Sister Lou’s hand clenched the strap of her dark blue shoulder bag. “What makes you ask that?” As though she couldn’t guess.

  “They asked a lot of questions about you.” Gary scanned her features.

  What was he looking for?

  Urban nodded. “They wanted to find a motive for the congregation.”

  “I didn’t have that impression.” Kelsey lifted her hands. The nails of her long, thin fingers were neatly trimmed and accented with silver polish. The color contrasted nicely with her ice-blue sweater.

  Gary leaned his side against the registration desk. His green eyes were intent on Sister Lou’s face. “What did you do to get on the deputies’ bad side?”

  “I don’t know what’s in the deputies’ hearts.” Although I can guess: bitter disappointment and destructive revenge fantasies.

  The sisters hadn’t done anything wrong, but Sister Lou was convinced that the deputies’ obsession with their grudge was the reason they considered Sister Marianna a person of interest.

  Gary jerked his chin toward Urban and Kelsey. “The deputies asked us so many questions about you. They were really interested in you and your retreat. They acted like they’d hit the lottery when Kelsey told them about Sister Marianna’s arguments with Autumn.”

  Kelsey glanced toward the door. “Is Sister Marianna joining you today?”

  “No, she isn’t.” Sister Lou did
n’t want to explain the reason she now was working solo on the retreat planning. “Marianna forgot her scarf in Autumn’s office last Friday. Did you happen to notice it or did Autumn mention it to you?”

  Kelsey shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen it and Autumn never mentioned it.”

  The director of finance interrupted. “The deputies bagged and tagged everything when they examined the crime scene. If her scarf was in Autumn’s office, she’ll probably never see it again.”

  Good heavens! Sister Lou grew cold. Had the deputies filed Sister Marianna’s scarf with evidence from the murder investigation?

  * * *

  Sister Lou walked the short distance down the walnut wood–paneled hallway to Rita’s office. She knocked on the half-opened door and waited for Rita’s attention.

  “Sister Lou, come in.” The resort partner remained behind her desk. “Could you close the door, please? Thank you for adjusting your schedule for me.”

  Rita waved a hand over the mini-mounds of paper stacked before her, directing Sister Lou to one of the three guest chairs in front of the desk. They were identical to the ones in Autumn’s office.

  “You’re welcome.” Sister Lou tucked the skirt of her cool green suit under her as she sat. She handed Rita the manila folder she carried. “I have the room preferences for the sisters and the preliminary presentation agendas. Do you have any questions on the audiovisual requirements?”

  Like Autumn’s office, Rita’s had a rustic cabin feel—same walnut wood, same abstract throw rugs. On the other side of her office, she’d arranged armchairs, a coffee table, and a caravan desk. But the surroundings felt different. Autumn’s space was a business office. She’d had file cabinets, a tall bookcase stuffed with binders and reference manuals, an in-box stacked with internal and external mail, a dry-erase board, and a bulletin board. It also shared personal touches, such as the wood-framed paintings, and the cedar and pinecone scent. Rita’s office didn’t have any of that. Her space was comfortable but impersonal.

  Sometime during her hectic morning, Rita had pulled her blond hair into a lopsided knot on top of her head. She brushed a tendril behind her ear in a flustered gesture. “I haven’t had time to familiarize myself with your event.”

  Sister Lou could imagine how grief-stricken and preoccupied Autumn’s partner had been for the past two days. “The congregation’s very sorry for Autumn’s death. She’s in our prayers. We’re also praying for you and your employees, and of course Autumn’s friends and family.”

  “Thanks.” The word was perfunctory. Rita waved a negligent hand. Her well-manicured nails were polished a deep plum. Sister Lou had a quick image of those nails around Autumn’s throat. “I promise to get up to speed with everything quickly.”

  “Thank you. We respect that you and your employees are grieving, but we’d like to keep the retreat on schedule.” She wanted to be respectful of those in mourning, but an invisible clock was ticking. Today was November eighth. The weeklong retreat was scheduled to start on December third, which was the first Advent Sunday. They had less than four weeks.

  “Fortunately, you, Autumn, and Sister Marianna have already done the hard part.” Rita’s lavender jersey appeared as a gem against her faux leather executive chair. “I want to stick to the schedule, too, especially since your retreat will be my last event here.”

  Sister Lou was startled. “Are you selling the resort?”

  “I’ve wanted to sell it for a while now. It was Autumn who wanted to hold on to it, even though we’re barely making any money.” Rita pinned Sister Lou with her tense brown gaze. “You probably think I just gave you a motive for killing Autumn.”

  “It’s not for me to say.” However, the information did make Rita a more compelling suspect than Sister Marianna.

  Rita gave Sister Lou a skeptical look. “Well, for the record, I didn’t kill her.” She stood to prowl the room, pausing to touch the back of her armchair, then stopping to gaze beyond the windows. “Yes, I wanted to sell the resort and she wanted to hold on to it. These cabins—I think they were her whole life. She was obsessed with this place. People said she was the first to arrive and the last to leave. For God’s sake, you saw where she lived, on this very property.”

  People said she was the first to arrive and the last to leave. Was Rita never around to witness for herself the hours Autumn kept at the office?

  “What about you?” Sister Lou studied Rita’s wanderings around her office. She seemed tense and restless. “How do you feel about the resort?”

  “It was supposed to be fun.” Rita spun away from the window and returned to her desk. Her arms flailed as she vented her frustration. “Autumn made it all about work. Personnel management. Marketing campaigns. Profit and loss. Human resources. What in the h . . . world is onboarding? It would’ve been different if we were making tons of money.”

  “Is the resort struggling?”

  “It could be doing better, but is it any wonder that it isn’t?” Rita threw an arm toward her closed office door. “I’m sure you saw the breakfast club at the reception desk. They’ve been there, chatting all morning. When does any actual work get done?”

  Sister Lou was puzzled. “Perhaps, if you’re bothered by it, you should say something to them.”

  Rita snorted. “Autumn takes—took—care of things like that.”

  “All of that is up to you now.” Sister Lou reevaluated Rita’s office in the context of her confidences. She’d left the business part of running the resort to Autumn. She’d wanted only the fun parts. Her environment reflected that. It more closely resembled a foyer than a business office.

  “I never realized how much I’d miss her.” Rita was silent for a beat. “I love to travel and so do my friends. That’s why I thought this place in this parkland would be an easy sell.”

  “It’s a beautiful location.”

  “Yes, it is. Now someone else can make money from it.” Rita sighed as she rose to her feet. She extended her hand to Sister Lou. “I’ll be in touch later this week about your event.”

  Sister Lou stood to shake Rita’s hand. “I look forward to your updates. In the meantime, good luck with your plans for the resort.”

  Sister Lou’s mind spun with thoughts and impressions as she left Rita’s office. Selling the resort was a compelling motive for murder. Though Sister Lou couldn’t imagine Rita choking Autumn with her bare hands. It would have ruined her manicure—although manicures could be repaired . . .

  She checked her crimson wristwatch. There was plenty of time to make it to the early Mass.

  Was that Deputy Ted Tate’s gruff voice she heard coming from the direction of the registration desk? Sister Lou cautiously approached the lobby. She stiffened. Yes, that was Ted’s voice. Undoubtedly he was with Fran. She braced herself for another frustrating round with the officers.

  Chapter 14

  Sister Lou stopped when she entered the resort’s lobby. Standing near the registration counter several feet away, the sheriff’s deputies also froze. This must be how a doe felt once it had been sighted by hunters. The shot was coming, but she didn’t know from which direction or how soon.

  “Sister Lou.” Ted’s greeting seemed reluctant. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Oh?” Sister Lou glanced at the chef, the accountant, and Autumn’s assistant. Rita wouldn’t be pleased that they were still socializing. Perhaps this was part of their grieving process. “Is there something I can do to help you, Deputies?”

  The identically dressed law enforcement officers each gripped their brown felt campaign hats in their right hands. Fran’s lightweight brown jacket was zipped over her slender torso. Ted’s jacket hung open, revealing his loose-fitting tan shirt and crooked brown tie.

  Ted ignored her question. “What’re you doing here?”

  Sister Lou looked from Fran to Ted. She caught the hint of cedar and pine needles that permeated the resort. “I had a meeting with Rita Morris about the congregation’s retreat. I believe yo
u cleared us to continue the preparations.”

  “Yeah.” Ted seemed impatient.

  “Are you checking up on me?” Sister Lou adjusted the strap of her navy blue purse on her left shoulder.

  Ted’s bark of laughter was short and surprised. “We’re conducting an investigation—”

  “Do you have to be on-site to plan the retreat?” Fran’s green eyes held more curiosity than suspicion. “You can’t do it with phone calls and e-mails?”

  Sister Lou sensed their audience—Kelsey, Gary, and Urban—hanging on their every word almost as though they were waiting for a dramatic moment. “Rita is new to the project. I thought it would be best to meet in person. We’re weeks away from the retreat and still have a lot of details to finalize. Reviewing the project face-to-face helps prevent confusion and miscommunication.”

  Ted arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t here for Sister Marianna’s scarf?”

  This was the proverbial shoe everyone was waiting to hear drop.

  Sister Lou glanced at Gary Hargreaves, the finance director; Urban Rodgers, the chef; and Kelsey Bennett, the administrative assistant. Their wide-eyed expressions of innocence gave them away.

  Yes, it would have been more convenient if they hadn’t drawn the deputies’ attention to Sister Marianna’s missing scarf, but Sister Lou didn’t have anything to hide. After all, Sister Marianna had left her scarf in Autumn’s office Friday, which was five days ago. If she’d felt some urgency to get the scarf back, she wouldn’t have waited two additional days. She was, however, beginning to feel like the Briar Coast Cabin Resort staff’s low-budget entertainment. All they needed were a large popcorn and a high-sugar drink.

  Kelsey wrung her hands. Her blue eyes were enormous with uncertainty. “I thought that, if the deputies had come across Sister Marianna’s scarf during their search, then maybe they could give it back.”

  That isn’t the way it works. “Thank you, Kelsey. Yes, since I was here, I did ask about the scarf. Did you find it?”

  “No.” Fran smoothed back loose tendrils of curly blond hair that had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck. “When did Sister Marianna . . . lose . . . it?”