“That’s not a motive for this murder.” Sister Lou shook her head.
Fran’s thin eyebrows knitted. “Sister, we didn’t bring Missus Jordan in for questioning on a whim. Several hotel employees saw her at the hotel the night of Doctor Jordan’s murder.”
That’s what Jessica had told her, but it was more disturbing to hear it from the deputies. Fortunately, Sister Lou could quash that damning evidence. “I showed those hotel employees Jessica’s photo. They said she wasn’t the woman who’d come to the hotel that night, claiming to be Maurice’s wife. They said it was a different woman.”
“Are you going behind our backs, talking to our witnesses?” Ted’s question was rough with temper.
“Are you saying someone is framing Missus Jordan?” Fran leaned into her desk. Her expression was startled.
“Yes, I am.” Sister Lou faced Ted’s heated glare. “And no, I’m not talking to your witnesses. I’m asking questions of people who can help me find my friend’s murderer.”
“You think you can do our jobs better than we can.” Ted’s face was flushed, his breathing heavy.
“Those are your words, deputy, not mine.” Sister Lou refused to let him bait her. “I’m not in competition with you.”
Ted snorted. “So in addition to being a sister, you’re a crack investigator? All right, I’ll play your game. Who would you interview?”
Ted’s anger came from his insecurity. Sister Lou cautioned herself to remember that and to keep hold of her own temper. “What information do you have on Kevin Appleby?”
Ted looked from Fran back to Sister Lou. “Appleby’s the doc’s business partner. We spoke to him.”
Sister Lou waited for more specifics, but the deputy didn’t add anything. “What did you learn from him?”
“Sister, we can’t reveal information about our ongoing investigation.”
Can’t or won’t? Have they collected any useful information?
Sister Lou stood. “With respect, the sheriff’s office spent almost two weeks investigating the congregation, only to find those interviews were a waste of time.”
Fran held Sister Lou’s eyes. “Those interviews cleared you and the other sisters.”
“We should never have been under suspicion.” Sister Lou returned the female deputy’s frank gaze with an angry stare. “I realize murder is a very uncommon crime in Briar Coast. Where I come from, it’s not. To find the killer, you have to move quickly. It’s already been two weeks.”
Ted leaned back on his swivel chair. It moaned in protest. “Thank you for your good and wise counsel, Sister. We’ll give it the consideration it deserves.”
His insult didn’t go unnoticed, but Sister Lou chose not to acknowledge it. If she’d given Ted the killer’s name, a video of the crime in progress, a handwritten confession, and matching DNA, he would have made the same response.
Sister Lou pulled the strap of her navy handbag onto her shoulder. “Did you find a jump drive among Maurice’s belongings?”
Fran shook her head. “No. Why?”
Sister Lou believed her. “I need to know who killed my friend, and why. After two weeks, all I know for certain is who didn’t kill him, Jessica Jordan and their son, Nestor.”
Fran cut Ted a scolding look. “We’ll have those answers for you soon, Sister.”
“Thank you.” Sister Lou turned to leave. She wished she shared Fran’s confidence.
Chapter 26
The summons to a meeting with the prioress and other members of the Congregation’s Leadership Team had Sister Marianna’s fingerprints all over it. Sister Lou strode down the rose-carpeted hallway to the small conference room early Wednesday morning. They were almost halfway through September. The furtive looks from coworkers she passed—both of the laity and of the Congregation—confirmed that the internal rumor mill was alive and well.
In the conference room, Sister Barbara Yates sat at the head of the oval-shaped walnut table. She wore a bright green blazer over a crisp white blouse and modest black skirt. The blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross was pinned to her blazer. As Sister Lou entered, Sister Barbara rose to embrace her. The prioress was a hugger.
“Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Lou.” Sister Barbara stepped back, releasing her. Behind her silver-rimmed glasses, her hazel-green eyes twinkled with warmth and good humor. “Hopefully, we can wrap this up quickly so we can all get back to work.”
Sister Lou followed the prioress to the table, nodding a greeting to the other members of the Congregational Leadership Team. Sister Paula Walton sat on the left side of the table with her back to the door. Her red hair showed minimal signs of graying, though she was well into her sixties. It was vibrant against her beige blazer and snow-white blouse. From the opposite end of the table, Sister Angela Yeoh returned Sister Lou’s smile. The petite woman wore a cherry-red blazer coupled with a black blouse and pearl necklace. Sister Gloria Danvers’s lightweight brown sweater matched her eyes. Her dour expression eased a bit as Sister Lou approached the vacant chair beside her.
As she settled onto the seat, Sister Lou met Sister Marianna’s gray eyes. Sister Marianna was seated next to Sister Paula on the other side of the table. Not for the first time, Sister Lou wondered if Sister Marianna was obsessing over her because she wanted to fill Sister Lou’s position on the leadership team. The thought made Sister Lou feel paranoid and small, but she couldn’t think of another reason why Sister Marianna would pay her so much attention. She must be mistaken, though, because a spot on the team had become available when Sister Gloria announced she was stepping down.
Sister Barbara’s voice interrupted Sister Lou’s brooding. “Before we begin the meeting, let’s say a few words of prayer.” She waited until everyone had given the sign of the cross and bowed their heads. “Father, thank you for allowing us to see another day to serve you. As we come together today, help us to listen—to really listen—with open minds and open hearts. This we ask in the name of your son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Sister Lou gave the sign of the cross, touching the fingers of her right hand to her forehead, heart, and left and right shoulders. Then she braced herself for the meeting. She wasn’t confrontation-averse. She just didn’t like them.
Sister Barbara folded her hands on the conference table’s polished walnut surface. “Lou, I believe you’re aware that Marianna has some concerns regarding your investigation.”
“Yes, she’s made her objections quite clear.” Sister Lou held her nemesis’s gaze as she used her fingers to count off Sister Marianna’s objections. “She believes my investigation reflects badly on the congregation, that I’m hurting the congregation’s relationship with the sheriff’s office, and that I’m neglecting my responsibilities to the congregation.”
Sister Barbara turned to Sister Marianna. “Do you have anything to add or clarify, Marianna?”
Sister Marianna sat forward. “Yes, I do. Unfortunately, Louise’s obsession with this investigation is putting an added burden on other members of the congregation.”
Sister Paula Walton, seated across from Sister Lou, arched a thin red eyebrow. “You want to elaborate on that?”
Sister Marianna looked at the older woman. “While Louise has been preoccupied with this investigation, Carmen has been doing her work for her.”
Sister Lou opened her mouth to challenge this misperception, but Sister Angela spoke first. “Carm has been working on the community outreach proposal?”
“That’s not accurate, Angie.” Sister Lou hurried to correct the misperception. “Carm very generously offered to help me with some research and a few follow-up phone calls to partner organizations.”
Beside her, Sister Gloria grunted. “Who’s putting it all together?”
“I am.” Sister Lou’s tone was firm. “And most of the research and sponsor contacts were made before Maurice was murdered.”
“That’s your perception of how much you’re doing.” Sister Marianna’s tone was superior.
“Who would be in the best position to know how much Lou’s doing, Marianna, you or her?” Sister Paula asked.
Sister Angela gestured toward Sister Lou as she addressed Sister Marianna. “Do you have any reason to believe that Lou’s perception is not reality?”
Sister Marianna hesitated. “No, I don’t.” Her concession was grudging.
Sister Barbara leaned toward Sister Lou, who sat on her right. “I don’t necessarily agree that your actions are reflecting poorly on the congregation. And they don’t seem to be distracting you from your responsibilities. But help us to understand why this is so important to you.”
Sister Lou took a moment to gather her thoughts. “My friendship with Maurice helped define who I am. His opinions and perspectives challenged me, and I hope I did the same for him.”
Sister Barbara nodded her understanding. “Those types of friendships are very valuable.”
“I agree,” Sister Gloria murmured. “It’s not good to live in an echo chamber, surrounding yourself with people who agree with you all the time.”
“That’s why I’ve taken a personal interest in this case.” Sister Lou struggled to express the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. “Separate from my friendship with Maurice, I also believe that, as a congregation, we aren’t meant to be apart from our community. We’re supposed to be a part of our community.”
Sister Marianna still wasn’t persuaded. “Isn’t that the purpose of your outreach proposal?”
Sister Lou spread her hands. “We can’t put restrictions on what we do to serve our community.”
Sister Barbara straightened on her seat, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “We’ve had a very good and very compelling discussion. The leadership team will take a few days to consider everything we’ve heard. Lou, you’re exempted, of course. Then we’ll make a decision on how we’ll move forward in light of Lou’s investigation and how it impacts our work. Thank you, everyone, for your time.”
Ignoring the sharp, cold stab of fear, Sister Lou stood with the others around the table. “Thank you for the opportunity to express my perspective.”
“Of course, Lou.” Sister Barbara pulled her into another embrace.
Sister Lou nodded to Sister Marianna before leaving the room.
What if the leadership team decides that I must end my investigation? I have to find Maurice’s killer before that happens.
* * *
First thing Wednesday morning, Shari glided—practically danced—into Perry’s office and slapped a copy of that morning’s Buffalo Today on his already cluttered desk. “The Buffalo paper, our chief competitor, quoted my article in its coverage of Doctor Jordan’s murder in this morning’s edition.”
She was sailing on a wave of euphoria. Dancing on sunshine. She hadn’t been this happy and excited since she’d left foster care. Not only had the paper quoted the story she’d written, but it had positioned its article on Maurice’s murder on the front page. So, by extension, her article was on the front page of the Telegraph’s competitor’s paper.
Score!
“I saw it.” Without looking up from . . . whatever it was he was pretending to do, Perry swatted the paper aside.
Shari was not deflated. “Whatever. We scooped them. Obviously, they’ve recognized the importance of this story. And our greatness.” She poked the article. “What more do you need to prove that we should keep covering this case?”
“I don’t need proof.” Perry looked up. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and he could use a haircut. “We’re not covering this case.”
In her mind, the music to Shari’s victory dance screeched to a halt as if someone had pulled the CD player’s plug. “Are you kidding me right now? Why not?”
Perry looked at her as though she was stupid. “This isn’t just coming from me, Henson. This is from the top, down.”
Shari shook her head, baffled. “The publishers? Why don’t they want to do the article? What are they afraid of?”
Perry rolled his beady blue eyes. “Not the publishers. The top. The mayor’s office.”
Shari was stunned. “Why are you letting the mayor’s office dictate our content?”
“Why?” Perry asked the question as though its answer was evident. “It’s her town, and she wants to protect it.”
“Then she should want the paper to report when something dangerous has happened so people can take precautions.”
“But she doesn’t. She wants to preserve the town’s image as a safe haven, an idyllic place to live.”
Shari blinked. “How real is that image if the mayor keeps ordering you to hide the truth?”
Perry’s shirt today was a very pale blue, which he hadn’t bothered to iron. The front was stained with newsprint. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and loosened his tie.
“Briar Coast is a very safe, welcoming, family-friendly town.”
“Are you sure about that? I mean, we only have the paper’s word, and we can see how trustworthy that is.”
Perry spun his seat from side to side as he studied Shari in silence. “Watch it, Henson. Right now, I’ve assigned you to the calendar section. I could’ve fired you. That’s what the mayor wanted me to do.”
“You met with the mayor about me? Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding. She called me to her office after you and Diego pulled your little front-page-article stunt with the paper.”
This was unreal. “You mean with the mayor’s paper.”
Perry gave her a warning look from his cold, fish-like eyes. “She wanted me to fire both of you, but she was satisfied with my sacking just Diego instead. After all, he should’ve known better.”
Apparently, neither the mayor nor her court jester, Perry, realized Diego had landed on his feet. “How do you know she was satisfied? Did she rub your tummy and praise you for being her good little lap dog?”
Perry surged to his feet. “Watch yourself, Henson. You’d better damn well respect me.”
“For what? For pandering to the mayor?” Shari stepped closer to Perry. “You sold out the whole newspaper.”
“I’m trying to save this paper.”
Shari spread her arms to encompass Perry’s office. “How’s that working out for you?”
The condition of the managing editor’s office reflected the rest of the building: peeling paint, threadbare carpet, battered furniture, outdated office equipment. It made the congregational offices, the sheriff’s office, even the Briar Coast Café, look like Buckingham Palace.
Shari dropped her arms. “You turned the Telegraph into a promotional brochure for the mayor’s office. You didn’t do it for the paper. You did it for you.”
“The publisher—your publisher—is friends with the mayor. Do you think any of us would still be here without her support?”
“You’ll never know.”
Perry sneered in her face. “You’re lucky to have a job.”
“What job? This job?” Shari’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No, I’m not. I quit.” She spun on her heels and marched toward the door.
“Shari, wait a minute.” Perry tried to stop her.
She didn’t turn. She couldn’t speak. She wanted out of this room, away from Perry, out of this situation.
When she got to her cubicle, she snatched her purse—the only personal item she kept at work—from her desk drawer, then rushed to her car. It wasn’t until she was seated behind her steering wheel that the enormity of her situation hit her. Shari’s muscles shook. She couldn’t catch her breath. She’d just quit her job—without any prospects.
“Now what?”
Chapter 27
Chris had heard the gossip claiming that the college president, Sister Valerie Shaw, never slept. Seeing her wide awake and working at seven o’clock in the morning, he was inclined to treat the rumors as fact.
He walked past the empty administrative assistant’s desk and knocked twice on her open office door. “Good morning, Sister Valeri
e. You wanted to meet with me?”
Sister Valerie looked up. Chris watched the light in her blue eyes shift as she tucked her current project into a mental folder and turned her concentration to him.
“Chris!” Her welcoming grin brightened her cherubic features. “Is it seven o’clock already?”
Sister Valerie rose. Her brisk stride brought her across the room to greet him. Chris met her halfway.
She wore a cerulean-blue skirt suit that made her bright blue eyes appear even brighter. The Hermionean cross was pinned to her right lapel. Her wavy chestnut hair was liberally threaded with gray that winked beneath the fluorescent lights.
If she was surprised by the time, when had she started her day? “I’m a little early. Would you like me to wait?”
“Oh, no.” Sister Valerie shook Chris’s hand, then led him back to her desk. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Chris set his black canvas satchel on the sapphire carpet beside his chair.
Why was he so nervous? Probably because he’d never before been summoned to the president’s office at seven o’clock in the morning. Her emailed invitation hadn’t included a reason for the meeting, so Chris had made detailed notes of fund-raising projects his department was coordinating: current, future, and recently completed. He was prepared.
And she wasn’t an ogre. Sister Valerie was a St. Hermione alumna, class of 1972. After taking her vows, she’d earned her doctorate in education, then returned to the college to teach. She’d climbed the ladder from faculty member to division chair, to provost. Now she was the college’s eighteenth president.
Sister Lou had once told Chris that he could identify everything that was important to Sister Valerie from the pictures in her office. In addition to images of the congregation, photos of college events lined the walls.
Sister Valerie nodded toward the photographs surrounding them. “I’d like to remain in this office until the walls are completely covered—from ceiling to floor—with commencement photos.”
“Students are the reason we’re here.”
“I love that you understand that.” A faint smile hovered over her lips. “I wake up with that thought every morning and go to sleep with it on my mind every night.”
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