Peril & Prayer

by Olivia Matthews

  Sister Lou detected skepticism in the deputy’s tone. “Deputy Cole, what are you implying?”

  “Tell me how this plays with you, Sister.” Ted crossed his arms. “Sister Marianna came back Monday morning. She and Autumn Tassler got into yet another argument. By our count, this would’ve been the third. In the heat of the moment, she used her scarf to kill Tassler, then, realizing she’d left her scarf behind, she asked you to get it back for her.”

  “That’s not rational, Deputy Tate.” Sister Lou tilted her head as she considered the deputy’s charge. “If Marianna was already holding the scarf, why wouldn’t she put it in her pocket? Why would she leave it at the crime scene?”

  Ted’s gaze wavered slightly. “To throw us off her scent.”

  Sister Lou started shaking her head before Ted finished speaking. “That doesn’t make sense, either. Leaving her scarf at the crime scene would only draw attention to her.”

  “She was pretty angry with Autumn. She accused her of meddling in the retreat.” Arrogance stamped Gary’s soft features. His bright green eyes avoided contact with Sister Lou.

  “That’s right. According to witnesses, they argued several times.” Ted settled his hands on his hips, drawing attention to the looser fit of his spruce green gabardine pants. “Those arguments give her motive.”

  “No, Deputy Tate.” Sister Lou folded her hands in front of her. “Those arguments give you an excuse to keep a member of the congregation on your suspect list.”

  Fran scowled. “In addition to a motive, Sister Marianna also had means in the form of the scarf and opportunity, if she arrived at the resort early enough.”

  Sister Lou faced Fran. “You’re assuming Marianna would take someone’s life because of a disagreement over green beans versus macaroni and cheese. She wouldn’t.”

  Fran looked stubborn. “When Sister Marianna asked you to get her scarf, did she come to you personally or did she call you?”

  “She sent me an e-mail.” Sister Lou felt cornered by the deputies’ questioning.

  “So you didn’t actually see her Monday morning.” Fran crossed her arms. “Then how can you be sure that she was in her office and not here?”

  Sister Lou looked from Fran to Ted, Gary, Urban, and Kelsey. They all looked back at her with expectant expressions.

  She held Fran’s bottle green gaze. “I have absolute faith in Marianna’s innocence.”

  Now she needed to find a way to prove it to these doubting Thomases.

  * * *

  Sister Lou was renewed after listening to Father Ryan O’Flynn’s homily during the eleven a.m. Mass Wednesday in the motherhouse chapel. This morning’s exchange with the two sheriff’s deputies in front of the audience of Briar Coast Cabin Resort employees faded to the background. She’d gained instead a sense of clarity and calm.

  She was a sister with a plan.

  Sister Lou navigated the stream of Hermionean sisters and associates on their way to lunch in the motherhouse dining room and returned to the congregational offices. She tossed a greeting to the sister on duty at the office’s front desk as she strode through the reception area and down the rose-carpeted hallway.

  She stopped in the threshold of Sister Marianna’s office. “We need to talk.”

  Sister Marianna didn’t look up from the notes she was making on a sheet of paper. “It will have to wait, Louise. I’m on my way to lunch.”

  Sister Marianna’s obsessive-compulsive behavior was on full display in her office. There wasn’t a sheet of paper out of place, and there was no dust on the furnishings or lint on the carpet.

  In a front corner of the room, a brick red blazer hung from a hook on the pale gray steel and plastic coatrack. The blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross was pinned to the left lapel.

  Framed watercolor prints of Jesus, the apostles, and St. Hermione were displayed in a neat row across the far wall. On the wall beside her, Sister Marianna displayed her educational degrees—bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate—and certificates of commendation. The office was rigidly professional and painfully sterile. It even smelled clean, like a dentist’s office. The overall effect was disquieting.

  “This can’t wait.” Sister Lou crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

  That captured Sister Marianna’s attention. She looked up, her gaze shifting from Sister Lou to the closed door and back. She lowered her pen and straightened her back. “Very well. What is it that simply cannot wait?”

  “Deputy Cole and Deputy Tate consider you a suspect in Autumn’s murder.” Sister Lou settled onto one of the chairs in front of Sister Marianna.

  “Me?” Sister Marianna’s features balanced surprise and amusement. “Good heavens. Why on earth would they suspect me?”

  “Several of Autumn’s staff told them about the arguments the two of you had. The deputies consider your disagreements a motive for murder.”

  “I’m certain I’m not the only person to have argued with that taxing woman. Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but she was a challenge.” Sister Marianna spread her arms. Her crisp white blouse complemented her short, snow-white hair. “Autumn Tassler was an argumentative woman, God rest her soul.”

  That isn’t the only characteristic Marianna and Autumn share.

  Sister Marianna wasn’t wrong. Autumn had had confrontations with other people not long before her murder. At this point in time, however, Sister Lou was concerned only with the disagreements the resort owner had had with Sister Marianna. “They’re using the arguments and your missing scarf as reasons to investigate you.”

  Sister Marianna’s eyebrows came together. “What does my scarf have to do with anything?”

  “They believe the scarf may have been the murder weapon.”

  Sister Marianna seemed further confused by Sister Lou’s explanation. “Autumn was strangled with a scarf?”

  “The deputies are looking into that possibility.”

  “They can look all they’d like.” Sister Marianna shrugged. “They won’t connect my scarf to Autumn’s murder because I didn’t kill her.”

  “You sent me an e-mail Monday morning, asking me to get your scarf from Autumn.” Sister Lou considered her project partner critically. “Where were you when you sent it?”

  Sister Marianna’s winter gray eyes flared with surprise. “Do you think I had something to do with Autumn’s murder, Louise?”

  “Of course not.” She was irritated that Sister Marianna had asked that question. “No one who knows you would believe for a moment that you were involved, but the deputies don’t know you. We need tangible proof that you couldn’t have done this.”

  “How do you prove a negative?” Sister Marianna drummed her fingers on her desk. For her, it was a surprising display of a lack of self-control.

  Sister Lou let her gaze wander to the picture window behind Sister Marianna as she clung to her after-Mass calm. The view provided a different perspective of the congregation’s grounds from the window in her own office. It framed the entrance to the congregational offices and the aging oak trees, which lined the winding asphalt driveway that rose toward the visitors’ parking lot.

  She drew her gaze away from the fall scene outside and back to her colleague. “Where were you Monday morning, Marianna?”

  Again Sister Marianna appeared unwilling—or unable—to answer. “As I have already explained, Louise, I overslept that morning and was running behind schedule.”

  That answer didn’t satisfy Sister Lou, nor would it alleviate the deputies’ suspicions. “That’s not like you. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Sister Marianna crossed her arms and scowled. “I appreciate your concern, Louise, but I’m innocent. I don’t have to explain myself to you or to the deputies.”

  “You’re right. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, but you’re going to need an alibi for the deputies.” She stood to leave. “Please don’t underestimate them, Marianna. I know from recent experience that they’re formidable adversa
ries.”

  “You worry too much.” Sister Marianna waved a dismissive hand.

  And you may not worry enough. “I’ll leave the matter to you. I’m sorry to have delayed your lunch.”

  Sister Lou turned to leave. She’d always admired Sister Marianna’s confidence, but this time, it could cause her more harm than either of them could imagine.

  * * *

  Sister Lou spotted the wandering calico cat as she jogged beside Sister Carmen Thursday morning. This time, the cat was slouched against a lamppost several feet closer to the motherhouse than the last one. Where had she been the past couple of days? Sister Lou hadn’t seen her at the dorms and she hadn’t been casing the parking lot.

  This morning, the cat didn’t seem particularly happy to see them. In fact, she seemed bored. Sister Lou inclined her head toward the cat. She rewarded Sister Lou with her patented chin lift before she turned away.

  Sister Lou chuckled as she continued her jog. She loved their predawn jogs. It was so quiet at this time of the day. Peaceful. Perfect thinking conditions.

  They followed their makeshift five-mile jogging trail: two laps around the motherhouse and the congregational offices, then on to the campus of the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus. Their congregation had founded the college as an all-women’s academic institution in 1871. It had become coeducational in 1965.

  They jogged through the college’s administrative parking lot and up an incline to the residence halls. They would complete three laps around the campus’s oval before turning onto the path that led to the center of town. At the path’s two-mile marker, they’d turned back to the college to jog the same steps in reverse before returning to the motherhouse. Some people might find that course monotonous, but for them, it was efficient and kept them close to home.

  The early-November air was cool. A few fallen leaves crunched beneath their athletic shoes. Having been born and raised in Los Angeles, it had taken more than a few seasons for Sister Lou to get used to the weather in the frozen tundra of upstate New York.

  Will I ever get used to Marianna’s stubbornness?

  “Marianna won’t listen to reason.” Sister Lou kept pace beside her jogging partner, Sister Carmen, early Thursday morning.

  Sister Carmen grunted. “When have you known Marianna to listen to reason that wasn’t her own?”

  That was a good point. “The deputies are determined to make her their prime suspect.”

  “Because of the scarf? But they don’t have it.” Sister Carmen looked sporty and seasonal in her pumpkin orange wicking long-sleeved jersey, neon green Windbreaker, and cocoa running pants.

  “And we don’t know whether it’s the murder weapon.” Sister Lou looked ahead toward the next slight incline, which led to the college’s residence halls. “Marianna doesn’t understand how determined these deputies become when they think they’ve identified a suspect.”

  “But you do.”

  “I remember it well.” Unfortunately. Sister Lou leaned into the incline and shortened her stride to take the hill.

  “That’s another reason you should get involved with this case.” Sister Carmen’s words almost broke Sister Lou’s jogging rhythm as they crested the incline together.

  She’d told Sister Carmen of the prioress’s request that she look into the case because of the concerns several donors had expressed over the congregation’s connection to another murder.

  “Carm, I’m not a member of law enforcement. I’m not qualified to do investigations.” Sister Lou led the way around the loop that embraced the college’s three residence halls.

  “You faked it pretty well with Maurice’s case.” Sister Carmen swiped the sweat from her eyes with her fingertips. “You solved it before the deputies did.”

  “Mo and I had been friends for more than forty years.” She still caught her breath when she thought of the way Maurice had been murdered. “I knew him, his industry, his community, and his family. I don’t know anything about Autumn.”

  “You can find out about her.” Sister Carmen’s tone was encouraging. “Maybe Chris could help. He knows everyone.”

  Chris. My dear overprotective nephew, who was almost overwhelmed by anxiety when I decided to investigate Mo’s murder. What would he say if I took on this case? “I made a promise to him that I wouldn’t investigate any more murders.”

  “I don’t want you to be in danger, either.” Sister Carmen paused as though she was struggling not only with her breathing but with her words. “Maybe you can just ask a few questions. Find out who would want to kill her.”

  Sister Lou was torn. She wished that she could help clear the congregation and Sister Marianna, but she’d made a promise to Chris. When she was trying to find Maurice’s killer, Chris had worried about her night and day. She also wasn’t keen to further test the deputies’ civility by stepping on their toes with another investigation.

  And suppose I’m not able to solve Autumn’s case?

  She and Sister Carmen were silent as they jogged onto the oval at the heart of the campus. It was framed by the college’s academic buildings and stately trees. Vibrant leaves sprinkled its well-manicured lawns and pedestrian pathways.

  At the edge of the oval behind the academic buildings was a student center with a fully equipped exercise room. It was a nice facility, but Sister Lou preferred running outdoors. Even though she was from sunny Southern California, it would have to be pretty cold for her to run on an indoor treadmill. The experience was mind-numbing.

  Sister Lou waved at the familiar faces that joined them as she and Sister Carmen completed their first round of the oval. A handful of students, staff, and faculty had braved the predawn darkness and chill November wind for their fitness routine.

  “If the deputies focus their attention on Marianna, she’ll need your help, Lou. She won’t be prepared.” Sister Carmen’s dire prediction added to Sister Lou’s tension.

  “She doesn’t want my help.” Sister Lou tracked the group of seven or eight young women who jogged in a tight formation around the oval. Were they members of the track team?

  “She’s going to want it after the deputies question her.”

  But will it be too late by then?

  Chapter 15

  Chris thanked Sonya Russell-Fine as she offered him a white porcelain mug of Kenyan coffee. Steam from the mug carried the aromas of passion fruit, frankincense, grapefruit, and roasted cacao.

  “We belong to the coffee-of-the-month club.” Sonya’s leaf green eyes gleamed with anticipation as she settled back onto the starfish-patterned, seafoam cloth sofa. The petite woman seemed lost among the swollen cushions and star-shaped throw pillows.

  Chris was meeting with Sonya and her husband, Donald Fine, in their parlor late Thursday morning. The visit was part of his advancement team’s emergency stewardship campaign. All of the advancement officers were meeting with donors. They needed to convince supporters of the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus to continue their financial gifts. The Fines were potential donors he was hoping would become loyal donors. Had recent events placed that goal even farther from reach?

  Several loyal and generous contributors had voiced concern over the college’s founding congregation’s connection to the Briar Coast Cabin Resort and, by extension, Autumn Tassler’s murder. He needed to reassure the growing number of uneasy patrons. This was his third emergency meeting. The first two could have gone better.

  Chris sipped the black coffee with caution. He was pleasantly surprised. It was naturally sweet and savory with a hint of cocoa. “This is very good.”

  “I love it.” Sonya wrinkled her tip-tilted nose and shook her slender shoulders beneath the jacket of her raspberry pantsuit. She took another swallow. “Donald’s not convinced.”

  Chris smiled. How many cups had she had before their ten o’clock meeting?

  “It may be an acquired taste.” Donald sat close beside his wife on the bright sofa. He looked comfortably wealthy in a tan business suit. His black shirt was
unbuttoned at his neck. He was drinking from a normal-sized sea blue ceramic cup instead of the jumbo mugs with images of flying seagulls that Chris and Sonya cradled.

  The couple was rumored to be still madly devoted to each other after more than forty years of marriage. That might explain why Donald had acquiesced to the parlor’s seafaring theme. The motif was present on the matching sofa and love seat, as well as the armchair on which Chris sat. It also was carried out in the framed drawings of beaches, boats, lighthouses, and seagulls displayed on the four walls. The illustrations were done in colored pencils, watercolors, and oils. This led Chris to believe that Sonya had chosen the parlor’s décor.

  “Nonsense, you’re not even trying to tolerate the coffee.” Sonya slapped her husband’s knee before turning to Chris. “But you aren’t here just for the divine coffee and our even more divine company, are you, Chris?”

  It wasn’t just the caffeine talking. Sonya Russell-Fine was known to be sharp and direct.

  Chris smiled. He could be direct, too. “A few members of the community are concerned because one of the sisters was quoted for an article about the Briar Coast Cabin Resort owner’s murder.”

  Donald sent him a level look. “The sister quoted in the article is your aunt, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.” Had Donald heard the pride in his voice?

  “Well, I understand your donors’ concerns.” Donald’s brown eyes grew troubled. He dragged a large, thin hand through his silver and chestnut hair. “I’m worried, too. Briar Coast was a sleepy little town. That’s one of the reasons we love it here. Now there have been two brutal murders in three months and both times the congregation has been involved.”

  That was the topic of discussion behind most closed doors across town. During his first emergency stewardship visit, the Prentisses had insisted on the college separating from the congregation. That wasn’t going to happen. With his second visit, Chris had done his best to deflect the criticism and remind the donors of the excellent programs and services the college provided for its students. It was too early to tell whether that presentation had worked. He started to launch into his defense with this couple, but Sonya spoke first.