Still Sister Lou hesitated. “I’d feel much more comfortable if you spoke with his family instead.”
“I will, but I’d like to speak with you first. Can I take you to lunch?”
Sister Lou’s onyx eyes were cautious, but her lips smiled. “You can be my guest for lunch here.”
Even better. There would be no chance of running into Perry here. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Sister Lou escorted her across the lobby, past sculptures and illustrations of religious images that were alien to Shari. The thick rose carpeting was soft beneath Shari’s purple stilettos. The scents of apples and cinnamon teased the air. Between the congregation’s apple-cinnamon potpourri and the cinnamon rolls and doughnuts in the sheriff’s office, Shari had the sense that people in Briar Coast loved their pastries.
Beyond the lobby, they crossed a hallway that was open to a floor-to-ceiling picture window that looked out onto a courtyard. The landscaping was awash in vibrant greens. The trees and shrubbery surrounded a white plaster statue of a woman whose face was lifted to the sky. Her expression was so intense and compelling that Shari had to force her eyes away.
The hallway led them into a buffet serving area where a lunch line already had started to form. Shari smelled marinara sauce, well-seasoned poultry, sautéed vegetables, and chocolate.
Sister Lou handed her a serving tray and pointed out the plates, bowls, and silverware. “Help yourself. Beverages are across the room.”
Shari trailed Sister Lou through the line, sampling most of the menu. Once their trays were laden with entrées, side dishes, desserts, and drinks, they wandered into the dining room to find a table. She followed Sister Lou to a table at which the only man in the room was waiting for them: Chris LaSalle. The fates must be roaring with laughter at her bad luck today.
Sister Lou set her tray on the table beside her nephew. “Sharelle Henson, this is my nephew, Christian LaSalle. Chris, Shari is a reporter with the Telegraph. She’s doing a story on Maurice.”
“We’ve met, Aunt Lou.” Chris rose to his feet and offered Shari his hand. “Hello, again.”
Chris’s manners threw Shari off balance—for a moment. She released his hand. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m sure it is.” Suspicion glowed in Chris’s onyx eyes, which were so similar to his aunt’s. He waited until Sister Lou and Shari were seated before returning to his chair.
Sister Lou turned to Shari. “Would you mind if we said grace?”
Shari shared a look between the sister and her nephew. “No, go ahead.” She’d taken hold of her sandwich and lifted it to her mouth before she realized that Sister Lou and Chris were both patiently watching her—and waiting. Awkward. “Sorry.”
Shari returned her sandwich to her plate. The twinkle in Sister Lou’s eyes eased her discomfort and invited her to smile. But her smile faded as she heard the words Sister Lou spoke.
The other woman bowed her head to say the prayer. “Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing Shari Henson to Briar Coast. Please help to ensure her time with us is long, happy, healthy, and prosperous. May she find friends who are as close as family. Bless us, O Lord, and these, your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Shari echoed the word “Amen” after she heard Chris say it. Then she spent a few moments fiddling with her sandwich, unsure that she could swallow even a small bite past the lump that suddenly shot up into her throat. “Was that a prayer?”
“Yes, why?” Sister Lou’s gentle smile was almost Shari’s undoing.
Shari coughed, trying to dislodge the lump. “No one’s ever prayed for me before.”
Sister Lou exchanged a quick look with Chris before responding to Shari. “We always pray for our friends.”
Shari blinked her suddenly stinging eyes. Time to change the subject. “Sister Lou, how long had you known Dr. Jordan?”
“Mo and I had been friends for forty-one years, which is longer than you’ve been alive.” A wistful smile curved the sister’s lips.
“Are you the one who found his body?” Shari sipped her diet soda.
Chris lowered his salad fork. “Are you writing a human interest piece about Maurice, or are you writing a hard news piece about his murder?”
“A little of both.” Shari considered Chris from the opposite side of the table.
He looked like he’d come from a clothing catalog photo session. His emerald shirt set off his sienna features and his charcoal tie matched the jacket hanging over his chair. How many women donated to the college just to spend more time with the interim vice president for advancement?
Chris narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you get your information from the deputies assigned to the case?”
“I’ve already spoken with them.” Shari switched her attention back to Sister Lou. “They didn’t tell me much—only that the sisters were under suspicion.”
“They’re wasting their time. No one in the congregation had anything to do with Mo’s murder.” Sister Lou’s words seemed cherry-picked for diplomacy. Why didn’t people say what they really wanted to say?
“What do you think my aunt could add to your article?” Chris protected his aunt like a pit bull.
Shari felt like she was under attack. “I’d like to include a quote or two from the congregation.”
Sister Lou shook her head. “An official quote from the congregation would have to come from the prioress.”
Switching gears. “All right, how about a quote from a friend?”
Chris arched an eyebrow. “You mean something along the lines of what a good friend Maurice was, and how much she’s going to miss him? Do you expect us to believe that’s the article you plan to write?”
Shari glared at the advancement executive. “Why are you obstructing my interview?”
“Why are you wasting my aunt’s time?”
Sister Lou reached out to squeeze Chris’s arm. “I’m happy to answer whatever questions I can. Unfortunately, I can’t answer much because the only thing I know about the investigation is that the deputies are focusing on the wrong people.”
Shari studied the other women in the room. The average age of the Congregation had to be somewhere between seventy and eighty. None of them appeared to have the temperament or the strength to bash in a man’s head. Hadn’t the deputies realized that?
“This is the first murder in Briar Coast in more than eight years.” Shari forked up some of her salad as her appetite returned. “Maybe the deputies are out of practice with homicide investigations.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing.” Chris shoved away his empty salad plate and started on his pasta.
Something they had in common? Maybe miracles do exist—along with unicorns and mermaids.
“You know Sister Lou, if the deputies won’t look for the killer, we should.” It would be a heck of a lot more interesting than the Labor Day celebration she was supposed to cover Monday.
Chris choked on his pasta. “Why would you want to involve my aunt in something like that?”
“Why not?” Why was her nephew so negative?
Chris looked at Shari as though she had two heads. “First, investigating murders is dangerous. Second, my aunt isn’t a law enforcement officer. Third, the only one who could benefit from your harebrained scheme is you.”
Sister Lou touched her nephew’s forearm again and offered Shari an apologetic smile. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Shari ignored Chris’s insults and focused on his aunt. “You’ve been friends with Dr. Jordan for more than forty years. You’d bring a different angle to the investigation, a more intimate perspective than the deputies would have.”
Sister Lou shook her head. “I don’t think so, dear.”
Shari looked from Chris’s satisfied expression to Sister Lou’s concerned dark eyes. “All right, but let me know if you change your mind.”
Chris was wrong. Her idea wasn’t crazy. Sister Lou’s relationship wit
h Dr. Jordan would provide useful insight into the investigation. But she’d have a hard time convincing the other woman of that as long as the pit bull was around.
* * *
Chris settled into one of the powder blue visitors’ chairs in front of the desk in his aunt’s congregational office. The afternoon sun shone through the large window across the room to his right and the smaller one behind her desk, bathing the office in natural light. Through the rear window, Chris admired the trees that dotted the landscape. They still proudly displayed their rich green leaves. This first day of September held on to an aging summer with a tight grip.
“I’m glad you told that reporter that you weren’t going to help with her investigation.” They’d just bid farewell to Shari Henson. All through lunch, Chris had worried that she’d change his aunt’s mind.
“What was your impression of her?” Sister Lou held his gaze as she waited for his answer.
“She’s a reporter.” A very attractive reporter. “By nature, reporters can’t be trusted.”
Sister Lou leaned forward against her L-shaped oak desk. “You have good reason to be suspicious of the media, I’ll grant you that. We both do.”
“I know.”
“But, Chris, we can’t judge all reporters by the bad experiences we’ve had with one.”
Chris’s eyes slipped his aunt’s intense hold and swept the room. Like her quarters at the motherhouse, her office was well-organized and spotless. She’d carefully positioned photos of him, his parents, and several of her friends throughout her office. Chris’s gaze paused on a photo of Maurice Jordan with his aunt after their postgraduate commencement ceremony. Chris had never met him.
“Shari Henson’s obviously working an angle.” Chris returned his attention to his aunt. “Why does she have to involve you in her story about Maurice’s murder? Why doesn’t she just talk to the deputies in charge of the case and to Maurice’s family?”
“What do you believe is her angle?”
Chris shrugged. “Maybe she knows the article she wants to write, and it doesn’t put the congregation in a good light.”
“If that’s true, then why would she ask me to help with her investigation?”
“She’s using you to gain entry to the congregation.” Chris was right. He was sure of it. Reporters always worked angles, and they rarely, if ever, benefited anyone other than themselves.
A watercolor illustration of St. Hermione drew his attention to the back wall. He’d been struggling with the concept of forgiveness for years.
“I’ll give Shari credit.” Sister Lou broke the pensive silence. “She’s relocated to a small town, one in which she doesn’t know anyone. That took a lot of courage.”
Word of the Telegraph’s newest reporter had spread quickly. “Don’t let your admiration for her distract you from whatever game she’s playing. You have to keep your guard up.” And so do I.
“I think this time, we want the same thing the reporter wants: to find Mo’s killer.” Sister Lou’s voice was thoughtful.
Chris felt a sliver of concern. Was his aunt considering working with this reporter to investigate a murder? “You want the truth. Shari Henson wants a good story. Those aren’t necessarily the same thing.”
“Yes, they are. The story is the truth. They’re one and the same. The best way to ensure the truth is told is to work with Shari, not against her.”
His unease deepened. “Aunt Lou, you’ve always believed in the best of everyone. Although you’re often right, you have been known to be wrong sometimes. Let Shari Henson write her own story. That’s what she gets paid to do.”
“This isn’t about the story. I want to know who killed Mo.”
“The deputies are working on that.”
“But they’re wasting time questioning us.” Sister Lou pushed herself from her chair and paced her office.
Chris tracked her progress. “I know that it’s frustrating. And insulting.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hopefully, they’ll move on to real leads soon.”
“I don’t want to just sit here and hope. I want to do something.” Sister Lou stopped in front of the large side window. She’d wrapped her arms around herself.
“Like what?” Chris hadn’t seen his aunt this agitated since his parents had been killed.
“I don’t know.” Sister Lou shrugged her shoulders with a restless movement of muscles.
Chris’s unease increased. “Aunt Lou, leave the investigation to the deputies. You don’t agree with their methods, but it’s their job.”
“I know that.”
“Maurice didn’t just die. Someone killed him. It’s not safe for you to get involved.”
Sister Lou finally turned from her contemplation of the window and met Chris’s gaze. “I’m not asking for permission.”
Chris saw the steely look in his aunt’s eyes and realized he’d already lost this argument. He made one last effort to try to keep his aunt safe. “The killer could come after you, Aunt Lou. Do you think Maurice would want you to risk your life for him?”
“He was my friend.”
With those four small words, Chris admitted defeat. “Where do we start?”
Chapter 7
“We have to talk.” Sister Marianna’s brisk pronouncement was more jarring than her sharp rap on Sister Lou’s office door later that quiet Friday afternoon.
Sister Lou swallowed a groan of despair. She saved the file she’d been staring at blindly since Chris had left, about an hour before. Then she swung her chair to face her unexpected—unwanted?—guest. “Hello, Marianna. How can I help you?”
Sister Marianna marched toward Sister Lou. Her steps landed with near military precision.
“How much longer are these sheriff’s deputies going to interrogate us about Dr. Jordan’s murder?” Sister Marianna stopped inches from Sister Lou’s desk. The flush of anger staining her thin cheeks almost matched her cherry-red jacket. Her black skirt ended just below her knees.
“I don’t know.” Sister Lou gripped her hands together to keep from ripping her hair out. “I’m sorry that we’re all going through this unpleasant experience.”
“Unpleasant? This is worse than unpleasant. It’s horrible.” Sister Marianna threw up her arms and paced away from Sister Lou’s desk. Tension followed her like a well-trained pet. “I told you not to bring Dr. Jordan here. I never wanted him to be our speaker for the Saint Hermione lecture.”
Sister Lou watched as Sister Marianna’s strides, stiff with anger, carried her across the room. The other woman spoke as though she’d known Maurice would be murdered if he came to their congregation. If that was true, she wished Sister Marianna had told her.
Sister Lou felt drained. “None of us could have foreseen this tragedy, Marianna.”
“I did. In fact, I told you that no good would come from Dr. Jordan’s appearance.” Sister Marianna stopped inches from Sister Lou’s desk again. “Carmen ended up doing the speech, and Dr. Jordan is dead.”
Sister Lou flinched at Sister Marianna’s blunt speech. If she was behaving this way after the first day of interviews, how would she react if the interviews continued for a week, or two? “Are you saying the deputies are right about a member of our congregation killing Maurice?”
“What?” Sister Marianna stumbled back a step.
Sister Lou sat back in her seat. She breathed in, then breathed out, desperate to control her temper. “You just said that you knew someone would kill Maurice if he came to our congregation.”
Sister Marianna stared wide-eyed at Sister Lou. “I said I told you not to invite him to come here. I never said anything about knowing someone would kill him.”
“If you say so.” Sister Lou felt guilty enough about Maurice’s murder and her role in bringing him to Briar Coast where he met his death. She needed Sister Marianna to keep her dire predictions—past, present, and future—to herself.
“I don’t like to say I told you so, Louise, but I did. Many times. I to
ld you there were much more appropriate speakers. Many others, including Carmen.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Marianna?” One of them needed to leave her office. She’d prefer it to be Sister Marianna.
The other woman’s eyes narrowed in a haughty glare. “How much longer will the investigation take?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how many more times will the deputies have to come to the motherhouse?”
“I don’t know that, either, Marianna.” Sister Lou’s temper stirred again with Sister Marianna’s questions. “I’m not in charge of the investigation, and they aren’t confiding in me. I know what you know, no more, no less.”
“Their presence at our motherhouse and our offices is disruptive. They’re also causing irreparable damage to our image in the community.”
“I’m aware of the impression the deputies’ presence is leaving in the community.” After all, no community wanted to believe members of a religious order were capable of murder.
Sister Marianna smoothed the front of her crisp white blouse. “This feast day tragedy and the resulting investigation of our congregation will be taken into consideration during the leadership election.”
Sister Lou smiled into Sister Marianna’s glowering gaze. “I’m certain they will.” Especially since Sister Marianna would take every opportunity to remind the congregation members of both incidences.
Sister Marianna sniffed. “I hope the community outreach plans are shaping up well. At least, if they are, you’ll have something positive to share with the rest of us.”
“Thank you for your concern, Marianna.” Sister Lou kept her smile in place. It was obvious the other woman wanted more information. She wasn’t getting any.
“Of course.” Sister Marianna glanced around the office. “Then I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
There goes my appetite. “I’m sure you will.”
Sister Marianna left, but the tension remained. The other woman was right. The deputies couldn’t continue to disrupt the Congregation. She needed to make that clear to them.
Mayhem & Mass Page 7