Peril & Prayer

by Olivia Matthews

  “Pull yourself together, Donald. You’re becoming hysterical.” She patted her husband’s knee again. “And the congregation wasn’t involved in either of those ghastly events. How ridiculous. They were tangentially connected.” She turned to Chris. “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Chris sipped the sweet, dark brew, buying himself time to process Sonya’s defense of the congregation. “The recent murders have brought grief and concern to Briar Coast. The losses are very personal for the sisters because of the congregation’s association with both victims.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence.” Donald shifted to face Chris more directly. He rested his right arm along the back of the sofa behind his wife.

  Sonya snorted a laugh as she reached for the coffee carafe to refresh her mug. The shining auburn tresses of her professionally styled chin-length bob swung forward. “Have you been watching the Father Dowling Mysteries reruns again, dear? They make you so suspicious.”

  Donald lowered his eyes to the thick sandstone carpeting. His cheeks flushed. “No, they don’t.”

  Sonya gave him an indulgent smile. “Then what are you implying, Donald? That the sisters somehow channeled a higher power to smite their guest speaker and the resort owner?”

  Donald appeared frustrated. “I’m just saying there’s more going on behind the scenes.”

  Chris watched in some dismay as his hostess filled her massive coffee mug to the top. Again. This couldn’t be her second serving. It had to be her third. Or her fourth. He wasn’t even halfway through his first. Should he intervene?

  Sonya took a deep drink of the hot, strong java. “Yes, darling, it’s called community involvement. When you roll up your sleeves to get things done for your neighbors, you expose yourself to different people, different experiences. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. In this case, sometimes they’re murder.”

  Donald shook his head. “I just don’t understand it.”

  “Well, darling, that’s because you haven’t volunteered a day in your life.” Sonya squeezed her husband’s knee. “Trust me when I tell you there’s nothing nefarious going on at the congregation. We don’t need to take up arms against the sisters.”

  “Thank you, Sonya.” His hostess had just done his work for him. “The prioress will be grateful when I tell her how eloquently you’ve defended the congregation.”

  Sonya’s radiant smile was at least partially caffeine induced. “Please let Sister Barbara know that she can continue to count on my support.”

  Donald frowned. “How much money have you been giving them?”

  “It’s my money to give, Donald. He forgets that he isn’t the only financial genius in the family.” Sonya cocked her head as she continued to cradle her coffee mug. “What’s new at the college?”

  Chris launched into his teaser announcement about the college’s proposal to freeze tuition. But in the corner of his mind, his fears for the congregation multiplied. What impact were the community’s suspicions having on the donations the congregation depended on for the services and programs it provided?

  * * *

  “Sister Lou. I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to show up.” Deputy Ted Tate slouched back on the black faux leather chair behind his desk in the Briar Coast County Sheriff’s Office.

  Sister Lou had been surprised that she could still enter the office’s bullpen unescorted. She’d half suspected Ted would have placed her name on the top of a list of people who were barred from admittance. The room’s silver marble flooring and cheerful yellow walls conveyed a friendly environment, but at least two of its residents were speaking a very different language.

  She stopped beside Ted’s desk late Thursday morning, disconcerted to find it in even greater disarray than the last time she’d seen it. There were layers upon layers of papers and folders, some branded with coffee rings from his cracked and stained mug. His bronze nameplate was partially buried under the paper explosion. His messy workstation was thrown into stark contrast with his partner’s well-organized, uncluttered desk, which butted up against his.

  Sister Lou turned her attention to Deputy Sheriff Fran Cole’s desk and her bronze nameplate—a match to Ted’s—which stood on the dust-free edge of her desk. Fran was bent over her keyboard, hard at work on . . . something. Sister Lou felt the chill from the other woman’s snub.

  Sister Lou projected a serious, determined demeanor. “Good morning, Deputies. Have you found Sister Marianna’s scarf?”

  Fran hit a couple of keys on her desktop computer’s keyboard before spinning her black swivel chair to face Sister Lou. “Have you?”

  Translation: No, the sheriff’s office hasn’t recovered the suspected murder weapon.

  Sister Lou ignored the bait. “Do you still think her scarf was the murder weapon?”

  Ted leaned forward on his chair. He’d definitely lost weight. “Do you have reason to believe it’s not?”

  Sister Lou turned to Ted. “Is it your intention to answer every question I ask with your own question?”

  Ted taunted her with a grin. “What do you think?”

  The bullpen seemed rather relaxed for a department in the middle of a murder investigation. Several deputies were chatting on their desk phones. Others had congregated around the coffee station. The open box of pastries explained the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls that floated on the air.

  Uninvited, Sister Lou settled onto the visitor’s chair closest to Ted’s desk and continued to figuratively beat her head against their virtual stone wall. “I have at least one reason to believe Autumn wasn’t choked with Sister Marianna’s scarf.”

  Ted rocked his chair back and forth as he studied Sister Lou. “Wanna share?”

  Sister Lou looked away from him. His swaying was making her motion sick. “Sister Marianna didn’t kill Autumn.”

  “How do you know that?” Fran’s blond curls struggled to remain allied with the bun at the nape of her long, slender neck.

  Sister Lou tilted her head. “The better question is whether it’s too early to settle on a suspect, especially since the best you can do is a couple of disagreements and a missing scarf.”

  “It’s a start and a theory.” Fran’s gaze was stubborn.

  Sister Lou could be stubborn as well. She glanced again at Ted. “Have you considered that, even if Sister Marianna’s scarf turns out to be the murder weapon, she may not have been the one who used it?”

  “We knew you’d pull that one out sooner or later,” Ted crowed in his most obnoxious voice yet. “We’re going to have it DNA tested.”

  The scarf has to be found first. “May I ask who else you’ve interviewed?” Sister Lou treaded carefully, aware of the tension that burdened her relationship with the deputies.

  It wasn’t careful enough.

  “No, you may not.” Ted snapped his outrage. “Who the hell . . . heck—do you think you are?”

  Fran’s response was more moderate. “Sister, we’re under no obligation to even tell you the stuff we’ve already told you.”

  Ted continued his bluster. “Yeah. You’re lucky we’ve told you what we did.”

  “I know that I am. Thank you.” Sister Lou tried a conciliatory tone. “Have you spoken with Autumn’s cousin, January Potts?”

  Ted scowled. “Why?”

  Sister Lou hesitated. “During one of my meetings with Autumn, her cousin stormed into her office. She was furious. Before she finally left, she threatened to kill Autumn.”

  “When?”

  “Why?”

  Fran and Ted responded simultaneously. Sister Lou answered Ted’s question first. “About two weeks ago. Kelsey overheard the argument as well.”

  “What was the argument about?” Fran asked.

  Sister Lou was uncomfortable sharing such personal information, but this was a murder investigation and an innocent woman was under suspicion. “Ms. Potts accused Autumn of having an affair with her husband.”

  Ted gave Sister Lou a suspicious lo
ok. “Why didn’t Kelsey tell us this?”

  “I have no idea.” Sister Lou spread her hands. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  Ted didn’t move. “How far would you go to get your friend off the hook?”

  Sister Lou stood. The kernel of temper was a little harder to restrain this time. “While you’re questioning my integrity, perhaps you could ask January Potts why she wanted Autumn dead. I trust you’re capable of multitasking.”

  She turned to leave. Déjà vu. She was bringing the deputies important information about their case. However, just as with Maurice’s murder, they were either too proud, too stubborn, or too dense to give her information credence.

  Is it the information—or me?

  * * *

  Sister Lou’s phone rang a few minutes after five o’clock Thursday afternoon. Still focused on the document she was drafting, she picked up the phone. “Sister Lou LaSalle.”

  “January Potts has an airtight alibi.” Ted was crowing again.

  Sister Lou saved her computer file and shifted her full attention to the call. “What is it?”

  “She was helping her husband get ready for work Monday morning. You know, getting his clothes together, making his breakfast, packing his lunch, all the little wifely chores.”

  Wifely chores? “Those sound more like acts of caring and affection, wouldn’t you agree?” Or perhaps we should all have wives.

  Ted grunted. “Anyway, the time of death was between six and seven in the morning. Her husband left for work around seven-thirty.”

  Sister Lou turned to contemplate the scene framed by the window at the side of her office. The image was dazzling with vibrant autumn hues—red, orange, gold—set against the rolling green lawn and evergreen bushes. Fallen leaves tumbled on the breeze that swept across the grounds and wove between the tall, old oak trees that circled the perimeter.

  “Her alibi is her husband?” Who she suspects had an affair with her cousin. Am I the only one who’s dubious about that alibi?

  “That’s right.” Ted responded in a gloating tone.

  Sister Lou imagined the rather cheery bullpen in the sheriff’s office: the table of coffee and treats toward the back of the room, the sunshine yellow walls, and silver marbled floors. In the center of it all, Ted sat behind a tornado of papers. The sounds of ringing telephones and various office equipment were muted in the background, but the periodic tapping of his computer keyboard suggested Sister Lou didn’t have Ted’s full attention.

  “Did her husband corroborate her alibi?”

  Ted’s silence seemed lengthy. Had he hung up on her or was he consulting with Fran? “We haven’t spoken with the husband.”

  Sister Lou’s spinning thoughts jerked to a halt. Is anyone running this investigation? “When will you be speaking with Mr. Potts?”

  “Are you trying to take over our investigation? Again?” Ted was in full cantankerous mode.

  “I’m simply trying to understand the progress that you’re making.” Or not making.

  “You don’t have to understand it.”

  Sister Lou took a breath. Diplomacy was becoming harder to maintain. Her inner voice struggled to come out. “You want to narrow your efforts to Sister Marianna and exclude everyone else. That’s unwise.”

  “Everyone else has corroborating alibis.”

  For Sister Marianna’s sake, all Sister Lou had to do was maintain her control longer than the deputy. That’s all. As luck would have it, Ted’s patience was unraveling. She could hear it in his voice.

  Sister Lou gave him a little push. “Have you interviewed everyone and verified all of their alibis? If so, you’ve been incredibly busy indeed, Deputy Tate.” If she listened closely, she could hear Ted grinding his teeth.

  “What’s Sister Marianna’s alibi?”

  I wish I knew. “Sister Marianna is incapable of murder.”

  “In the right—or wrong—situation, anyone is capable of murder, Sister.”

  “Not Sister Marianna.” She was sorry for whatever experiences had given Ted his harsh perspective, but her resolve remained firm.

  “Well, I’m afraid I just don’t have your faith, Sister.” Ted’s chuckle was humorless. “I hope you continue to see stars and unicorns for the rest of your life.” He disconnected their call.

  Sister Lou’s hand lingered on the beige receiver after cradling her phone. The congregation’s position with the sheriff’s office in this latest murder investigation was becoming dire. Sister Lou let her hand slip from the phone as she sat back on her chair. She had to do something about this situation before it spun any further out of control. She prayed that Chris would understand—and forgive her.

  Chapter 16

  “I need your help.” Sister Lou sat on the overstuffed sky blue armchair in her sitting room later Thursday evening. A vibrant jewel-toned throw pillow was tucked at her back. She faced her nephew, Chris, and their friend Shari. Earlier, the trio had shared dinner in the motherhouse dining room.

  “Anything.” Chris spoke from his usual position on the matching sky blue sofa. An afghan in a bold abstract pattern lay across its top. He’d loosened his navy-and-gray-striped tie the second he’d entered her apartment and hung his suit jacket in her closet. But his gunmetal gray slacks and ice-blue dress shirt still looked crisp and fresh.

  “Absolutely.” Shari had met them straight from work. The reporter still wore her slim-fitting green pants and kiwi green sweater. She’d curled up on Sister Lou’s matching love seat. Her emerald green three-inch stilettos were on the floor beside it.

  The armchair, sofa, and love seat stood on a scarlet-and-gold-patterned area rug, surrounding a honey wood coffee table.

  “You don’t know what I’m going to ask of you.” Their enthusiasm humbled Sister Lou. She met Chris’s eyes. “You may not like it.”

  Shari shrugged. “You wouldn’t ask us to do something illegal or immoral, so I’m willing to chance it. What’d you need?”

  Sister Lou braced herself for Chris’s reaction. She hated to put him in this position. “I need your help to investigate Autumn Tassler’s murder.”

  Chris’s onyx eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with concern. “Aunt Lou, I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

  Shari’s expression also clouded with worry. “We don’t want anything to happen to you. We were fortunate the first time. I don’t think we should push our luck.”

  Chris sent Shari a grateful look before returning his attention to Sister Lou. “We understood how important it was for you to find Maurice’s murderer. He was your friend, but you didn’t know Ms. Tassler that well.”

  Chris and Shari were concerned for her safety, and she appreciated that. If the situation were reversed she’d feel the same. But the situation wasn’t reversed and she had to at least try to get to the truth.

  Sister Lou smoothed the skirt of her beige suit. Its matching jacket was in her closet. “I do have a connection to this investigation. The deputies have accused a friend of the murder.”

  “What?” Shari straightened on the love seat, uncurling her legs and lowering her stockinged feet to the red and gold area rug.

  “Who?” Chris’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “Marianna.” Sister Lou’s voice reflected the disquiet she felt. “They’ve heard that Autumn and Marianna had a few disagreements and believe that gives her a motive for murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Chris seemed disgusted. “Where do the deputies get these ideas?”

  Sister Lou wondered the same thing. “I wish I knew. Marianna has a temper and she’s never shied from confrontation—”

  “No, she hasn’t.” Apparently, Chris’s recollection of his one unpleasant exchange with Sister Marianna was still a vivid memory.

  Sister Lou continued, “However, those arguments aren’t motives for murder.”

  “What did they disagree about?” Shari asked.

  “They had different ideas about the menu.” The explanation sounded mo
re ridiculous every time Sister Lou said it. “Marianna didn’t welcome Autumn’s input.”

  Shari blinked. “That’s it? That’s what they’re using as motive for Sister Marianna murdering Autumn Tassler?”

  “Yes.” Sister Lou hesitated, reluctant to bring up the other strikes against Sister Marianna. “Also, Marianna doesn’t have an alibi for the time of Autumn’s murder, which was between six and seven o’clock that morning.”

  “I wouldn’t, either,” Shari pointed out. “I live alone.”

  “Shari’s right.” Chris rested his right ankle on his left knee. “That could be a problem, but it still doesn’t seem like enough to consider her a suspect.”

  Sister Lou shifted her gaze between Chris and Shari. “Does your interest mean you’re willing to help me?”

  Shari exchanged a look with Chris. “Yes, but at the first sign of danger, we end the investigation. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Chris responded.

  “Of course,” Sister Lou concurred.

  Shari continued, “I’m going to report on the case for the Telegraph just as we did with Maurice’s investigation.”

  “That would be helpful, Shari. Thank you.” Sister Lou hadn’t considered that angle. “It could correct the public’s image of the congregation and the college if we show that the congregation’s only role in this tragedy is our pursuit of justice for the victim.”

  Chris gave Shari another approving look, which wasn’t lost on Sister Lou. “Several donors are concerned about the connection between Autumn’s murder and the college and congregation. Maybe your articles will help reassure them and any others who are having second thoughts about supporting us.”

  Shari nodded but her eyes were clouded with concern. “Just as long as you both realize that my reporting will be impartial. I’m going to report whatever we find—good, bad, or indifferent.”

  “We wouldn’t expect anything else.” Chris’s gaze lingered on Shari.

  Sister Lou pretended not to notice her nephew’s growing infatuation with the reporter. “We know that you have too much integrity to compromise your stories.”