Mayhem & Mass

by Olivia Matthews

  The wood floor creaked as they entered the company’s lobby. Beatrix crossed to the front desk.

  “Let me see if Kevin’s available.” She lifted her telephone receiver and pressed several buttons.

  As Beatrix spoke with Kevin over the phone, Sister Lou turned her attention to the drab décor of Spreading the Word Productions. The reception area was faded and dingy, and smelled of dust. She contemplated the stairway behind them. What was up there?

  Why did Mo think going into business with this company was a good idea? It felt as though she had new questions—yet was further from any answers—every day.

  “Kevin will see you.” Beatrix hung up her phone, then gestured toward the door behind her. “Just go on in.”

  “Thank you.” Sister Lou led the way into Kevin’s office.

  The business owner’s space was even worse than the reception area. The threadbare brown carpet should have been replaced years ago. The walls were in need of fresh paint, and the furniture could use a good dusting. Were those spider webs in the corner? The lighting was too dim to be certain.

  Sister Lou was shocked. She couldn’t imagine Maurice entertaining a business offer from an organization in such visible shambles, much less agreeing to a partnership with one. Mo, what am I not seeing?

  Kevin rose from behind his desk and approached them. He was a stocky man of average height and close to Sister Lou’s age, perhaps a little older. He offered her his right hand. “Sister Louise, it’s a pleasure to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s under such sad circumstances. Maurice spoke about you all the time. He was really looking forward to his Saint Hermione presentation.”

  Funny, Maurice had barely mentioned Kevin Appleby. What was this about, Mo?

  “Thank you for meeting with us.” Sister Lou released Kevin’s rough, working-man’s hand and gestured toward Shari. “This is my friend Shari Henson.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Kevin shook Shari’s hand. “Can I offer either of you anything? Coffee or tea?” When they both declined, he led them across his office, waving a hand toward the two brown cushioned chairs in front of his metal and laminate desk.

  “What exactly does your company do?” Shari dropped onto the visitor’s chair on the right.

  Kevin smiled, apparently pleased with the question. “I—we—produce Christian education DVDs. They’re mostly for schools and other religious organizations. They’re very popular. It’s hard to keep up with the demand.”

  “Really?” Shari’s tone was skeptical as she gazed around the cluttered, dim, and dusty room.

  Sister Lou shared her companion’s suspicions. If the company was so successful, why was its building in such disrepair? Water stains spotted the ceiling. The furnishings were scarred and worn, and all over there was a faint smell of age and neglect.

  “Shari, how did you know Maurice?” Kevin’s question drew Sister Lou from her musings.

  “I didn’t.” Shari offered their host a slight smile. “I’m a reporter with The Briar Coast Telegraph.”

  Kevin gave Shari a curious look from the other side of his desk. “A reporter?”

  Shari nodded. “I’m doing a story on Dr. Jordan’s murder.”

  Kevin frowned. “Then shouldn’t you be talking to the sheriff’s office?”

  “Have they questioned you?” Shari tilted her head.

  Kevin glanced at Sister Lou before returning his attention to Shari. “Yes. They asked about Maurice’s connection to the congregation.”

  Sister Lou stiffened in the uncomfortable visitors’ chair. Was that the only question the sheriff’s deputies could think to ask Maurice’s business partner?

  Sister Lou took a deep breath, trying to ease her temper. “As his partner, we hoped you could give us some ideas, from a business perspective, on why someone would kill Maurice.”

  Kevin crossed his arms. “It’s like I told Jessica, his widow. I can’t imagine anyone killing Maurice. Everyone liked him.”

  “Not everyone.” Shari’s tone was dry.

  “No, I suppose you’re right.” Kevin smoothed his thinning gray hair.

  “What did you think of him?” Shari crossed her legs.

  “Me?” Kevin settled back in his chair. He gave Shari a considering look. “Maurice was one of the good guys. He was smart, decent, and hardworking.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there,” Shari noted.

  Kevin rubbed his forehead. “Everyone liked Maurice. That much is true. But he enjoyed controversy. His fans loved that. His critics didn’t.”

  Sister Lou observed Kevin’s tense body language and evasive gray gaze. Why was he uncomfortable with their conversation? “How did you meet Maurice?”

  “I’d read his articles.” Kevin seemed to relax. “Good stuff. That’s why, when I had the idea for this company, I asked him to work for me.”

  “Work for you?” Sister Lou frowned. “He said you’d asked him to be his partner.”

  Kevin’s chuckle was strained. “Maurice misunderstood.”

  That was false. “Maurice had a written contract. In fact, he’d told you that if you didn’t uphold the terms of the contract, he was going to leave the company.”

  That quickly, the welcoming host was replaced by the uncooperative suspect. Kevin’s clear gray eyes darkened like a stormy day. His brown eyebrows furrowed, and his thin lips tightened.

  “It’s time for you to leave.” Kevin shot to his full, average height.

  Shari stood as well. “Is that the voice you used when Dr. Jordan threatened you with a breach-of-contract lawsuit?”

  “Get. Out.” Kevin chewed the words.

  Shari’s jaw dropped. “Can’t you end up in hell for speaking to a sister like that?”

  “Now.” Kevin pushed the single word through his teeth.

  Sister Lou rose, struggling with the blanket of anger that unrolled inside her. “What are you afraid of, Mr. Appleby? Maurice was your partner. Don’t you want to know what happened to him, and why?”

  “Or do you already know?” Shari’s words seemed to goad him.

  Kevin’s face flushed a dull red. He pointed toward his closed office door. “Leave now. Or I’ll call the deputies.”

  Sister Lou led Shari from the office without another word. She nodded toward Beatrix as she walked past the front desk. Then she stopped.

  “Beatrix.” She returned to the other woman. “Did you make Maurice’s hotel arrangements for his presentation?”

  “Yes, would you like a copy?” The office manager smiled up at her. “It’ll only take a moment to print.”

  “Thank you.” Sister Lou didn’t want the copy but Beatrix seemed so excited to offer it to her. True to her word, Beatrix presented the printout to Sister Lou within moments. She thanked the office manager, then left with Shari.

  “That could’ve gone better.” Shari’s words carried from behind Sister Lou as the reporter followed her out of the building.

  Sister Lou was silent as they crossed the parking lot. She pressed the button on her keychain to release the locks on her metallic orange compact sedan.

  “This was our first interview.” Sister Lou slid into the driver’s seat. “It could have been worse.”

  “I don’t see how.” Shari fastened her seatbelt. “We didn’t get any information from him.”

  “Actually, we learned a lot.” Sister Lou spotted a break in the traffic, allowing her to merge into the stream of cars. “We know that he’s a liar with a temper, and that his business is in financial trouble.”

  “Huh, good points. So I guess it wasn’t a total waste of time.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Sister Lou stopped at a red light. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to observe him interacting with other people this evening at Mo’s wake. Remember, Chris and I will pick you up.”

  “I’ll be ready. Thanks.” Shari didn’t sound as though she was looking forward to the event.

  “Mo’s killer will be there. I’m sure of it.”

  “I know, and I’m an
xious to attend the wake.”

  Then there must be another reason Shari wasn’t looking forward to the evening. Sister Lou hoped that reason didn’t complicate their investigation.

  Chapter 11

  “Wow, this is quite a crowd.” Shari seemed surprised as she scanned the funeral parlor’s lobby that evening.

  Sister Lou smiled at the young reporter beside her. Shari wore her pencil-thin navy skirt and silver blouse with the same grace and confidence with which Chris wore his slate-gray blazer, pearl shirt, and black slacks.

  “He was well known and well respected in a lot of communities.” Sister Lou smoothed her black polyester dress as she studied the guests at Maurice’s wake. It was standing room only—family, friends, colleagues, and admirers. College professors and administrators, clergy from various religions, politicians, and community activists had come to pay their respects. Maurice would have been surprised—and amused. He’d never been able to comprehend the effect he had on people.

  “No wonder Kevin Appleby tried to trick Dr. Jordan into giving Spreading the Word Productions his seal of approval.” Shari swept a hand to indicate the crowd. “Look at the built-in audience he brought with him.”

  And that quickly, the cynic was back. The reprieve from the reporter’s caustic observations was refreshing if short lived.

  “Do you recognize anyone here, Aunt Lou?” Chris stood on Sister Lou’s other side.

  “A few. Most of these people I’ve never seen before.” At least, she didn’t think she’d ever met them. She wasn’t good with faces, not like Chris was. He remembered people he’d seen in line at the grocery store. It’s one of the things that made him a success as an advancement officer. Sadly, Sister Lou had trouble remembering people with whom she’d had extensive conversations.

  The funeral home had a heavy, talcum powder scent. The lobby’s cherry-red, paisley wall-to-wall carpeting played to its period décor. Padded, red-velvet high-back chairs and dark wood tables outlined the perimeter. Evenly spaced paintings hung on the cream walls. The moody scenic images within their frames added to the despondency hanging over the room.

  Sister Lou skimmed the crowd as she moved toward the room in which the wake would be held. Chris and Shari trailed after her.

  “Lou.” The voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Behind her, Sister Lou found Sister Carmen and Sister Katharine leading several members of the congregation across the lobby toward her. She was surprised that Sister Marianna had joined them, considering the other woman hadn’t made a secret of her disapproval of Maurice.

  “Thank you, all of you, for coming.” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

  Sister Carmen squeezed Sister Lou’s upper arm. “Where else would we be?”

  Sister Katharine’s smile was warm. “He was your friend. That means he was our friend.”

  Sister Marianna inclined her head. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Sister Lou’s heart warmed with the words. She wrapped Sister Katharine, Sister Marianna, then Sister Carmen in grateful embraces.

  That’s when her gaze was drawn to a dark figure standing in a dimmed hallway off the lobby, his back to her. The man was tall and lanky. His legs were thin, his arms long. His broad shoulders were braced against a wall. Sister Lou’s muscles shook with shock.

  Maurice? No, his shaggy hair seemed longer.

  Sister Carmen stepped back from her embrace. “What’s wrong?”

  Sister Lou saw the concern in her friend’s coffee-brown eyes. “Excuse me a moment, please.” She turned toward the hallway.

  The man’s body language shouted, “Stay away from me.”

  Sister Lou ignored the antisocial message. “Nestor?”

  The man met her gaze over his shoulder. The shaggy brown hair that hung in front of his eyes made him look young and vulnerable. “Sister Lou.”

  It had been years since she’d seen Maurice’s son, his only child, but she would have recognized him any day, anywhere. Nestor was the spitting image of a young Maurice.

  He didn’t seem surprised to see her—or particularly interested in catching up.

  Sister Lou stepped back. “I tried to reach you earlier.”

  “I got your messages. Thanks.” His movements were cautious and deliberate as he turned to face her.

  Sister Lou looked more closely at him. His gray eyes were glassy, and she detected a faint scent of alcohol. Her heart cracked a bit more. “I’m so sorry, Nestor. Your father was taken from you much too soon.”

  “I lost him a long time ago.” Nestor’s tone was resigned. He was stating a matter of fact. “He’d replaced us, his family, with his work. He’d rather have been on his research trips than attend my confirmation or graduation. A neighbor taught me how to drive.”

  This was news to Sister Lou. “When did you last speak with him?”

  Nestor smiled dryly. “I didn’t kill my father, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t care enough to kill him.”

  He’d taken her breath away. “That’s not what I’m asking, Nestor. Your father was my friend. I’m just wondering when last he spoke with his son before he died.”

  Nestor slouched against the cream wall as though the effort to remain upright was too great. His throat muscles flexed once, twice, three times. “I don’t know. A month ago. Maybe. He usually called every other month. I didn’t always pick up.”

  Sister Lou’s lips parted in surprise. She and Maurice had communicated at least twice a month—an email, a letter, a text, or a call. And now she was learning that he’d been estranged from his son, and that his wife was having an affair.

  What else didn’t I know about you, Mo, after more than forty years?

  “Had the two of you argued?” Sister Lou asked.

  Nestor’s bark of laughter grated against her eardrums. “He’d have had to care in order to argue.”

  Worse and worse.

  Sister Lou studied Nestor’s black suit. It looked new. The pants were sharply creased. His shoes shone, even in the dim hallway. His brown hair, though long and shaggy, was neatly combed. Nestor claimed that his father hadn’t cared, but obviously the son had. He’d cared enough to look his best, and to have needed something to help dull the pain.

  “Your father talked about you all the time, Nestor.”

  “What did he have to say?” Nestor’s expression hardened. “He couldn’t have told you about my college graduation. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there when I got my MBA, either.”

  “He told me you’d been promoted. He was very proud.”

  “He knew about that?” Nestor rocked back on his heels. He turned away, dragging his hair from his eyes. “I wish I’d known.”

  “So do I.”

  A heavy sigh lifted his broad shoulders. They seemed to shake a bit. His voice was tired. His words slurred. “I’m surprised he knew anything that’s going on in his family. Wonder if he knew that Mom’s sleeping around?”

  Chapter 12

  “You’re actually going to drink that water?” Shari’s incredulous tone arrested Chris’s movements.

  Chris stood beside Shari in front of the long serving table that balanced a score or more plastic glasses and four clear pitchers of water with ice.

  He dropped his right arm, which had been reaching for one of the offending pitchers. “I’m thirsty.”

  “These pitchers have been sitting here unattended for almost an hour.” She gestured toward the crowd of mourners behind her. “How well do you know these people? How can you be sure one of them didn’t tamper with this water?”

  “That’s kind of paranoid, don’t you think? I’ve seen other people drinking this water.”

  “How do you know they won’t become violently ill tonight—or even tomorrow?”

  Chris was tempted to pour himself a glass of the water in question, then chug it down just to prove her wrong. “I’m not thirsty anymore anyway.”

  Shari shrugged a slender shoulder as she studied the crowd. “
We need to ask more pointed questions.”

  Chris turned away from the water and faced the room. Standing beside Shari, he caught a faint scent of her citrusy perfume. It was a welcome relief from the cloyingly sweet smell that weighed down the lobby.

  “I don’t think asking strangers who they think killed their friend or relative, and why, would be received well during the wake.” He continued to watch over his aunt. Who was she speaking with in that poorly lit hallway?

  “We’ve already spoken with several people. All they’ve talked about is what a good friend Maurice was, and how much they’ll miss him.”

  “That’s usually what people say at a wake.” Chris’s tone was dry.

  Shari lowered her voice even more. “Well, if everyone liked him, who killed him?”

  “I wish I knew.” Then his aunt wouldn’t feel the need to involve herself in a murder investigation. Concern for her safety was keeping him awake at night.

  “I could tell them I’m a reporter, working on a story. It’s the truth.” Shari’s words tumbled out with enthusiasm, as she placed her hand on his forearm.

  Chris looked from her small hand to the lights dancing in her reckless eyes. “That should make them open up.”

  “All right, Slick, let’s hear it.” Shari crossed her arms beneath her chest. “Do you have a problem with me?”

  Apparently, he hadn’t masked his resentment as well as he’d thought.

  Chris checked on Sister Lou and her shadowy companion. She seemed fine, but how much longer would they be? He turned away. The lobby’s cloying odor was giving him a headache. The crowded room probably made it worse. Cupping Shari’s elbow, Chris drew her farther from the gathering of Maurice’s mourners to give them more privacy. The cotton material of her silver blouse was soft and warm beneath his hand.

  He looked into Shari’s irritated cocoa eyes. “You’re pursuing this story to advance your career. I understand. But don’t risk my aunt’s safety to do it.”

  Shari jerked her arm from his grasp. “I didn’t force your aunt to investigate Dr. Jordan’s murder. The two of you came to me.”