“Of course.” Sister Carmen nodded. The bright jewel tones of her pink blouse and flowered skirt were incongruous in Jessica’s dark and brooding living room.
“I understand.” Sister Lou made a mental note to pay her respects to Maurice’s son, Nestor. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been getting ready to enter high school. Now he was a grown man, making his own way. She didn’t want the first time she saw him again to be during his father’s wake. She’d valued Maurice’s friendship too much. She had to at least try to reconnect with his son.
“How long has it been since we’ve seen each other, Lou?” The chill in Jessica’s eyes seemed to cool the room’s overheated décor. “Ten years?”
“I believe so.” Where was Jess’s anger coming from? Sister Lou glanced at Sister Carmen. She sensed her friend wondered the same thing.
“But before Wednesday night, it had only been two years since you’d last seen Maurice.” Jessica gave Sister Lou a ghost of a smile. “You two had religion to keep you close.”
“So did the two of you.” Sister Lou was beginning to understand why Maurice chose to stay in a hotel Wednesday night.
Jessica arched an eyebrow. “Nightly prayers, weekly Mass, and the occasional reconciliation, I can handle. But Maurice spent every waking moment living and breathing his religion.”
During the sacrament of reconciliation, the faithful confess their sins. Had Jessica confessed her affair? Somehow Sister Lou didn’t think so. “Theology was his field. He taught it, and he researched it.”
“I know what my husband does . . . did . . . for a living.” Jessica’s retort was short and sharp.
“He’s not going to dedicate his career to theology and then not practice his faith,” Sister Carmen muttered.
Jessica turned her scowl on Sister Carmen. “And who are you?”
“My friend.” Sister Lou’s words were flat and final, her message quite clear: attack me to your heart’s content but leave Sister Carmen alone. “Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill Maurice?”
“No, I don’t.” Jessica’s answer came quickly. Too quickly?
Sister Lou pressed for more information. “Did he mention whether anyone was giving him a hard time?”
“No, he didn’t.” Jessica’s tone was firm. “Why are you asking me all of these questions?”
Sister Lou sighed. “It’s as you said, Maurice and I were very good friends for more than forty years. I want to know who killed him, and why.”
“It probably had to do with his damn research.” Jessica stood to pace. Her bare feet were silent against the hardwood flooring. “It dragged him all over the world, and he was glad to go. He didn’t care that it took him away from me and Nestor for weeks at a time.”
“I’m sure he would have welcomed your company on some of his trips.” Sister Lou felt compelled to defend her friend.
Jessica turned on her. “Go with him? How? I have a job, too, you know. I couldn’t just take off whenever he wanted to traipse around the globe.”
If Jessica’s marriage was important enough to her, Sister Lou was certain the other woman would have found a way that she and Nestor could have joined Maurice on at least a few of his trips. But then, Maurice could have found a way to reduce his travels.
“Maurice had a lot of critics. Do any of them stand out as particularly aggressive?” Sister Lou asked.
“All of them.” Jessica returned to her pacing. “He didn’t give any consideration to their threats or my concerns.”
Maurice had been threatened? Sister Lou exchanged a surprised look with Sister Carmen. “What kinds of threats?”
“Those people are insane.” Jessica paced past the coffee table toward the large picture window. “They sent letters and made phone calls that they were going to beat up Maurice or burn down our home. But the only ones he took seriously were the threats to discredit him.”
Burn down your house? Beat you up? Mo, what was going on?
“Then it’s possible that Maurice’s critics were behind his murder?” Sister Carmen’s voice rose with incredulity.
“I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.” Jessica faced Sister Carmen. “He said he wouldn’t let cowards silence healthy debate. But why did he always have to push the envelope and get people all riled up? Why couldn’t he be more low key?”
That sounded like Mo. “Did you do anything about the threats?”
“I sent copies of the letters to the FBI.” Jessica crossed her arms again. “Maybe Maurice didn’t care that people wanted to beat him to a pulp, but I didn’t want people burning my home to the ground, possibly with me in it.”
“Did the FBI get back to you?” Sister Carmen asked.
“No, they never did.” Jessica expelled a brief, quick breath. “The phone calls were the worst. How did those people get our phone number? It’s unlisted!”
There were always at least two sides to every story. Hearing the stress Maurice’s critics placed on Jessica gave Sister Lou a different perspective on the widow’s anger. “Do you remember the names of these attackers?”
“Of course I do. You never forget the people who threaten your life.” Jessica hugged her arms around her slim waist. “Over the years, most of the rabid ones disappeared. Maybe the FBI chased them off. But there was one who continued to antagonize Maurice, Goodwin Barrow, the smug . . . He never sent anything to the house, though. He saved his attacks for industry journals and public appearances. He challenged Maurice’s work. It drove Maurice crazy.”
“Did you keep any of the letters?” Sister Carmen leaned forward as though excited by the possibility of a clue.
“Why?” Jessica scowled from Sister Carmen to Sister Lou.
“The letters might help the deputies find out who killed Maurice, and why,” Sister Lou explained.
Jessica waved a dismissive hand. “The deputies are working on that.”
“Do they have copies of these letters?” Sister Carmen asked.
“No, they didn’t ask for them.” It seemed to dawn on Jessica that perhaps the deputies should have asked for the letters.
“Then, could we have them?” Sister Carmen waited expectantly.
“I’ll mail copies to you.” Jessica returned to her armchair.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who might have had a serious conflict with Maurice?” Sister Lou uncrossed her legs and leaned forward on the sofa.
Jessica gave Sister Lou and Sister Carmen considering looks. “Did Maurice tell you about his partnership with Kevin Appleby?”
Sister Lou nodded. “He mentioned it.”
Jessica hesitated. “Kevin told Maurice that he could buy into the company on a fifty-fifty share. But after Maurice joined the business, Kevin claimed that they weren’t fifty-fifty partners.”
Sister Carmen’s jaw dropped. “That’s horrible.”
“I know.” Jessica seemed to have warmed up to the other woman. “Before he left for Briar Coast Wednesday, Maurice said he was going to confront Kevin. He was going to threaten to leave if Kevin didn’t honor their agreement to be equal partners.”
Maurice hadn’t told her that. “How did Kevin respond?”
Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hear from Maurice Wednesday.”
Sister Lou rose to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Jess. Please let me know when I can stop by for those copies.”
Jessica’s smile was quizzical. “You don’t trust me to mail the letters to you?”
Sister Lou smiled and waited to follow Jessica to her front door. She sensed Sister Carmen behind her. “Did the sheriff’s deputies mention any leads?”
Jessica glanced over her shoulder at her. “They said they were investigating your congregation.”
“No one at the congregation had anything to do with your husband’s murder.” Sister Carmen’s voice bristled with annoyance.
Jessica paused in front of the door and turned to Sister Carmen. “Are you sure about that?”
Siste
r Carmen raised her chin. “Absolutely positive.”
Jessica shook her head. “Religion doesn’t always bring out the best in people.”
“What happened to you, Jess?” Sister Lou’s heart was heavy with Jessica’s words. “You didn’t always feel this way.”
“I’ve seen what religion does to people.” Jessica tossed Sister Lou a challenging look. “I experienced what it did to Maurice’s critics, and I saw what it did to Maurice. It took him away from his family.”
Sister Lou searched Jessica’s eyes. Was that the reason she started having an affair, because she didn’t think Maurice loved her anymore? “That wasn’t religion, Jess. Maybe you and Maurice just grew apart.”
Sister Lou didn’t linger over their good-byes. Something told her Jessica was anxious to get rid of her and Sister Carmen. She settled onto the passenger seat of Sister Carmen’s silver compact sedan.
Sister Carmen started the engine. “What now?”
Sister Lou looked back over her shoulder at the Jordan family residence. How long had it been since it had felt like a home? “I’m going to call the deputies assigned to the case. Surely, once they have these other leads that Jess will give us, they’ll leave the congregation alone and focus on finding the real killer.”
“I hope you’re right.” Sister Carmen checked her blind spot before pulling away from the curb. “Are you going to tell them about Jess’s friend?”
“No.” Sister Lou didn’t have to think about it. “All we have are questions about their relationship. I don’t want to spread gossip. I’m after the truth.”
Chapter 6
Shari strode into the Briar Coast County Sheriff’s Office late Friday morning. The officer at the front desk had directed her to Deputy Fran Cole, the lead deputy assigned to investigate Dr. Maurice Jordan’s murder.
She wound her way—unescorted—into the office’s bullpen. The environment was disconcertedly relaxed in comparison to the Chicago Police Department in the neighborhood where she had grown up. It seemed more like a cottage than an institution. The bullpen was warm, bright, and cozy. The yellow paint on the walls was fresh. The silver marble tile gleamed. The interior smelled like fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls. Weird for a normal sheriff’s office, but perhaps appropriate for one with such a low crime rate.
Deputy Fran Cole’s bronze nameplate was propped on the edge of her clutter-free desk. Behind the desk, the tall, slender blonde sat on a thick, black, faux-leather, mini executive chair. That chair was a heck of a lot nicer than the one in Shari’s office. One of the perks of a low crime rate?
The desk that butted up to Fran’s was an eyesore. It was as cluttered as Fran’s was clean. The surly-looking older man seated behind it didn’t bother to look up as Shari approached. Not a problem. She wasn’t interested in meeting him, either.
Shari offered her right hand to Fran, who did look up. “Deputy Cole, I’m Shari Henson with The Briar Coast Telegraph.”
Fran returned Shari’s greeting with curiosity. “What can I do for you, Ms. Henson?”
“Please call me Shari.” She gave the deputy a confident smile. “I was told at the front desk that you’re the lead on Dr. Jordan’s murder investigation.”
“That’s right.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
A gravelly voice came from Shari’s other side. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
She turned to meet the cool gray eyes of the deputy from the other desk. She didn’t bother to offer her hand. A dismissive glance at his nameplate revealed his identity as Deputy Ted Tate. “That’s right.”
Ted looked her over like she was something that had gone bad in his fridge. His small-town efforts at intimidation made Shari want to laugh. But then the burly man’s expression softened when his attention shifted to Fran. Interesting—and potentially useful.
“This is my partner, Deputy Ted Tate.” Fran’s introduction brought a flush of color to Ted’s wide face. “Ignore his poor manners. He was raised in the wild. What would you like to know?”
Shari tuned out the waves of territoriality emanating from Ted. “Could you give me an update on the investigation?”
“Why?” Ted interrupted again.
“Why do you care?” Shari countered.
Ted glowered. “Because I’m working the investigation, too.”
Fair enough.
Shari moved to stand beside Fran so she could stop spinning like a top between the two deputies. “I’m covering Dr. Jordan’s murder for the paper.”
Fran crossed her arms. “I’m sure what Ted means is that the Telegraph doesn’t usually come to the sheriff’s office, asking for information about our cases. Reporters usually wait for us to send them a summary.”
“Yeah.” Ted’s gray gaze warmed when it settled on Fran, inviting her to share a private joke. “Leave the investigation to the professionals. We’ll let you know when we have something to say.”
“Is that supposed to make me coo with admiration?” Shari wanted to gag. “I don’t work that way. I have a job to do just as you do.”
“Your job’s nothing like ours.” Ted laughed long and loudly, gesturing toward Fran as though again inviting her to share a joke with him.
The little voice inside Shari urged her to ignore the obnoxious deputy. She wanted to follow its advice. She really did. “Does something amuse you, tough guy? How are our jobs so different? We’re both searching for the truth.”
Fran nodded. “I’ll give you that.”
Ted’s shocked expression was comical. Shari had noticed the lingering glances Ted sent Fran. How long had he been in love with his partner, and did she return his feelings?
Shari turned her back to Ted and directed her powers of persuasion—such as they were—at his partner. “It’s important for residents to know what’s happening in their community.”
Fran cocked her head. “And your covering this story is OK with Perry O’Toole?”
“Of course.” Shari lied without missing a beat.
“That’s surprising.”
“Why?”
Fran shifted in her seat. “Perry doesn’t acknowledge anything negative about Briar Coast, including crime. He never has.”
That was a nugget of information on which Shari would need to follow up later.
Ted interrupted again. “Should deputies start reporting the news?”
“I don’t know. Should you?” Shari spoke without looking at her antagonist. Fran chuckled at her response.
Ted’s voice hardened. “How tough could it be? You just have to be able to spell, right?”
“You also have to be able to read.” Shari again tried to ignore the negative deputy and focus on his partner. “Is there anything you can tell me about your investigation?”
Fran hesitated a moment. “We’ve started interviewing some people of interest.”
That sounded promising. Shari pulled out her notepad and prepared to write. “Who?”
The blond deputy spun her cushioned chair toward Shari. “We’re interviewing the sisters.”
“The sisters from the Congregation of Saint Hermione of Ephesus?” Shari pictured the elderly women who’d attended the lecture.
“You know any others?” Ted’s querulous commentary continued.
Shari tuned him out. “Why do you suspect them?”
“Dr. Jordan had enemies in the religious community,” Fran explained. “There are a lot of people who were offended by his opinions.”
Put that way, the deputies’ theory made even less sense. “Why would the congregation invite him to be their guest speaker if they didn’t agree with what he was going to talk about?”
“Some of the sisters were fine with him.” Fran shrugged. “But others didn’t want him there.”
“So they killed him?” Shari looked from one deputy to the other. “That’s a really stupid theory.”
Fran’s cheeks filled with pink. “Who are you to—”
“If anyone would follow
the Ten Commandments—including the one about not killing people—I’d think it would be the sisters.”
Ted snorted. “Prisons are full of people who believe in God.”
Shari glanced over her shoulder at him. “Thanks for the tip.” She looked again to Fran. “I appreciate your time and your information, but you can’t be serious about the sisters.”
Fran’s expression cooled. “We’re very serious. We’ve already started interviewing each of them separately.”
“There are sixty-three sisters in the congregation.” Shari’s eyebrows stretched up her forehead. “Will solving Dr. Jordan’s murder be your New Year’s resolution? Good luck with that.”
Shari returned each of their glowering gazes before striding from the bullpen. Now she had a place to start: with Sister Lou. She just had to find a way to avoid Chris. Sister Lou’s handsome nephew was not a big fan, at least not yet.
* * *
“Sharelle Henson?” The female voice that interrupted Shari Friday afternoon was warm and welcoming.
Shari turned from her contemplation of one of the display cases in the motherhouse’s lobby. The pretty, middle-aged woman she faced wore a boring, boxy, powder-blue suit. “Yes, I’m with The Briar Coast Telegraph. Are you Sister Louise LaSalle?”
“Sister Lou.” The woman shook Shari’s proffered hand. “How can I help you?”
The sister was petite, even shorter than her, and fit. Her dark brown hair was woven through with silver strands and styled in a simple chin-length bob. Her big dark eyes were patient and kind.
“I’m sorry about Dr. Jordan’s death.” Shari released Sister Lou’s hand. “I understand he was a good friend of yours.”
“Thank you, Ms. Henson.”
“Please call me Shari. I’d like to talk with you about Dr. Jordan. Are you free for lunch?”
Sister Lou hesitated. “Have you spoken with Maurice’s wife . . . his widow?”
“Not yet.” The sheriff’s deputies aren’t investigating his widow.
“Are you writing this story for the Telegraph?”
Shari didn’t want to lie to a sister. She was pretty sure that would put you on the fast track to hell. “I want the human angle for the story, including interviews with people who knew Dr. Jordan personally and professionally. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”
Mayhem & Mass Page 6