Fran rose. Unlike Ted’s now-baggy sheriff’s uniform, Fran’s looked tailor-made for her tall, slender figure as though she’d come from a wardrobe fitting at a movie studio. “Rita Morris wanted to remove the crime scene tape from Tassler’s office. It was making guests uncomfortable and depressing the staff.”
That made sense. An image of Rita overwhelmed by her paperwork popped into Sister Lou’s mind. She let her arm fall away from Shari’s shoulder. “Did Rita call you personally?”
Fran leaned back against her desk. “No, her assistant did.”
Shari shifted beside Sister Lou. “Where’s the scarf now?”
Ted grunted behind her. “That’s none of your business.”
Fran folded her arms over her tan shirt, accompanied by a plain black tie. “It’s at a forensics lab in Buffalo.”
Shari gave Ted her back and turned to Fran. “When will you be getting the results?”
Fran shrugged a shoulder. “About a week. Depending on the findings, we hope to make an arrest at that time.”
Ted stepped around Sister Lou and Shari to get closer to Fran. “Why are you giving them all of our information?”
Fran’s gaze shifted to her partner. “What difference does it make, Ted? If Sister Marianna’s guilty, she’s guilty. There’s nothing they can do.”
Ted lowered his voice. “We’ve lost the element of surprise.”
Fran returned her attention to Sister Lou and Shari. She appeared satisfied, almost gloating. “Oh, I think they already knew where this would end.”
Shari planted her hands on her hips above her navy blue slacks. “You’re the ones who’re directionally challenged if you think this will end on the congregation’s doorstep.”
Sister Lou found comfort in Shari’s unwavering support. “There are people with much stronger motives than a disagreement over food. How much time have you spent looking into them?”
“Guilty parties always look to shift the blame, Sister.” Ted’s smile was mocking. “But I’ve heard the truth will set you free.”
Sister Lou inclined her head. “Indeed it will, Deputy. Indeed it will.”
* * *
“We need to talk.” Sister Lou caught Sister Marianna at her congregational office just as the other woman was leaving for lunch early Friday afternoon.
Sister Marianna wore a blue, green, and yellow–patterned silk scarf with her navy blazer, white blouse, and gray slacks. Like her, Sister Marianna wore her blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross on her blazer’s right lapel. Her scarf was already starting to slip from its position around her collar.
“Good heavens, Louise.” Sister Marianna returned to her desk and gestured for Sister Lou to take one of the guest chairs in front of her desk. “You nearly ran me over in my own doorway. Do you have cause for such theatrical behavior?”
Besides the fact that you’re under suspicion for murder?
How to start? Sister Lou had discussed that question with Shari as they drove back to the Telegraph. Then she’d discussed it with God on her way back to the congregational offices.
The direct approach was best. “Marianna, yesterday the deputies found your scarf in Autumn Tassler’s office. They sent it to a forensics lab in Buffalo.”
Sister Marianna looked puzzled. “That’s quite impossible, Louise.”
Sister Lou shook her head, baffled. “Why is that impossible?”
Sister Marianna rose from the executive chair behind her desk. She marched to the pale gray steel and plastic coatrack, which stood in a front corner of her office. Her low-heeled black pumps were silent on the rose carpeting.
She reached into one of the pockets of her black wool winter coat and pulled out a black-gray-and-red-patterned scarf. “I found my scarf in my coat pocket earlier this week.”
A gasp of relief stole Sister Lou’s breath. Her eyes widened in surprise. Thanks be to God.
She stood and crossed to Sister Marianna, drawing close to consider the silk accessory dangling from the other woman’s right hand. “It’s been in your pocket this entire time?”
“Apparently. And if you’d allowed me to attend your meeting with the sheriff’s deputies as I’ve repeatedly asked you, I could have told them and cleared up this confusion.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sister Marianna shrugged. “I didn’t remember putting it in my coat pocket. I’ve been using the underground passageway to get from the motherhouse to my office, so I haven’t needed this coat since you assumed the retreat planning.” Sister Marianna let Sister Lou hear her displeasure.
Curious. Had it occurred to Sister Marianna that if she’d controlled her temper, not only would she still be in charge of the retreat but she also wouldn’t be a suspect in a murder?
Sister Lou kept that observation to herself. Sharing it would be a waste of breath. She gathered the scarf from Sister Marianna’s hand and examined its black-, gray-, and red-dot pattern more closely. “It’s not until you really look at it that you see it’s handmade and that it doesn’t have a manufacturer’s tag.”
We found a black-and-gray patterned silk scarf . . . That’s what Fran had said. No mention of the red dye. Was that an oversight—or a clue?
Sister Marianna seemed lost. “Yes, well, as you can see, I have my scarf. I don’t know from where the other scarf came.”
Sister Lou lifted her eyes to Sister Marianna. “From the killer.”
* * *
Shari’s phone rang as she was settling in for a late lunch at her desk Friday afternoon. “Telegraph. Sharelle Henson.”
“Hi, Sharelle. This is Becca Floyd. I’m the managing editor of Buffalo Today. I wanted to compliment your excellent reporting on the last two Briar Coast murder investigations.”
Why was the managing editor of Buffalo’s largest daily newspaper—essentially the Telegraph’s main competitor—calling her?
“Thank you.” Shari sounded more tentative than she’d intended.
Her competitor’s managing editor continued. “Your coverage does a wonderful job of providing the facts of the case as well as humanizing the victim so that the reader has more than a name and a few stats. You present the whole person.”
“I appreciate your saying that.” Was Becca Floyd trying to kill time between deadlines? Why was she calling?
Shari looked over her shoulder. As the Telegraph’s office drew closer to its news deadline, the tension pressing down on the reporters, copy editors, and editors increased. Keyboard clicks were faster. Shouts across the newsroom were louder. Telephone interviews were more desperate.
“You must spend hours on research for your articles.” Becca continued her jovial tone as though they were good friends.
“I enjoy it. And it’s worth it.” Shari looked at her cooling plastic storage bowl of homemade chicken soup. The scents of the vegetables and seasonings wafted up to her, prompting her stomach to growl in protest of the delay. “The victims were human beings. They deserve to be remembered and discussed in the context of more than a murder case.”
“Very well said.” Becca’s tone was approving. “We’ve always monitored the Telegraph as a matter of course, but now we’re excited to read it. I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your call.” This conversation was just too surreal. Even after she rang off with her competitor’s managing editor, Shari sat staring at her telephone receiver as her lunch grew cold.
What had that phone call been about?
A knock outside her cubicle interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Diego walking to her small conversation table and settling onto her guest chair.
He caught and held her gaze. “Shari, please tell me that you didn’t accuse the sheriff’s deputies of planting evidence to frame Sister Marianna Tuller for Autumn Tassler’s murder.”
Shock zinged through her like an electric current. “I never said that.”
Diego seemed to exhale. “I know you can push boundaries, but I couldn’t believe you’d
do anything like that.”
It was some comfort that her editor believed in her. “Who told you that I did?”
“The sheriff told me Deputies Cole and Tate said you went to the sheriff’s office this morning and accused them of planting Sister Marianna’s scarf at the crime scene.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.” Shari’s cheeks heated as she recalled the exchange. She maintained eye contact with her boss almost defiantly. “Ted asked me if I was accusing them of planting the scarf and I simply asked if they were.”
Diego briefly closed his eyes. “There’s no ‘simply’ in this situation with those deputies.”
Shari recognized the truth of his words, albeit too late. She turned her back on her chicken vegetable soup and folded her arms. She crossed her right leg over her left and tapped it against the air. “I’m never going to be friends with Tate and Cole.”
“What if you worked on not being mortal enemies?” Diego balanced his forearms on his thighs and leaned forward. “Come on. We’re a newspaper. We need to have reliable working relationships with the community services we cover, and that includes the sheriff’s office, Tate, and Cole.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Really?” Diego searched Shari’s expression as though reassuring himself.
“Yes, really.”
“Great.” Diego sat back on his chair. “What can you tell me about the significance of the deputies finding Sister Marianna’s scarf?”
“Not much.” Shari stilled her leg. “The deputies want us to believe that the first time around, they missed it. Then ten days later, they get the idea to search Autumn’s office a second time—out of the blue—and, voilà, they find the missing scarf.”
“Ten days later? That sounds a little suspicious.”
Shari spread her arms wide. “That’s all I said and they got all defensive.”
“It was probably how you said it.” Diego’s slight smile irritated Shari.
“Why am I always in the wrong?”
“That’s what I was wondering. Do the deputies think Autumn Tassler was strangled with a scarf?”
Shari let Diego’s first comment slide. “They don’t know. They sent it to a forensics lab in Buffalo.”
“What does Sister Lou think?”
Shari’s sigh lifted her shoulders and cleared her lungs. “That we’re running out of time.”
Chapter 25
“Amber traffic lights mean ‘caution,’ not ‘punch the gas,’ by the way.” Shari offered the clarification as Sister Lou powered her orange compact sedan through an intersection.
Sister Lou pulled into a lot in the town’s main business area to park her little car. “I wasn’t driving that fast.” She climbed from her driver’s seat, then pressed the button on her car key to lock her vehicle.
She took a moment to assess the two-story stone building on the other side of the road. The fairy-tale structure housed Crane Enterprises. She looked both ways before jaywalking across the street.
“I disagree.” Shari hustled to catch up with her. “Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket?”
“I’ve had my share.” And several other people’s shares. Upon reflection, Sister Lou didn’t see any need to mention that her license had been suspended for a month over the summer.
“Between your jaywalking and your speeding, I’m beginning to think you’re a rebel in disguise.”
“I’m not a rebel, I just want to get where I need to go.”
“You don’t always have to do the driving. I can drive sometimes.”
Sister Lou paused in front of Crane Enterprises. “The Telegraph’s in the center of town. Since we usually have to pass it to get where we’re going, it’s more convenient if I drive. But if my driving makes you uneasy, I understand. You can drive.”
Shari gave her an exasperated look. “Your driving doesn’t make me uneasy. It’s just fast. Really, really fast.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll slow down.” She always meant to—until she got behind the steering wheel and her inner racecar driver emerged. Sister Lou returned to her contemplation of Crane Enterprises’ headquarters.
“This isn’t what I was expecting.” Shari looked at the building and its surrounding area. “Why do you think Montgomery Crane put his company in Briar Coast instead of Buffalo or even New York City, where he’s from?”
While the comfortable little gray stone cottage blended in with the other storybook storefronts and offices in the immediate area, it didn’t fit the image of a growing corporate enterprise. Its rounded walls and square-paned windows gave it more than a touch of whimsy. Hansel and Gretel should come dashing through the mahogany front door any moment, their cheeks covered in chocolate frosting.
“Mr. Crane must be a practical man. It’s cheaper to lease office space in Briar Coast.” Sister Lou pushed her hands deeper into the pockets of her winter coat against the chill mid-November air. Snow was coming. After living in upstate New York for more than seven years, she could almost smell it.
Rows of boxwood evergreen shrubs on either side of the paved walkway escorted them to the front door, although the promise of heat was more than enough invitation. Despite the tree-lined sidewalk, the tidy lawn didn’t entertain a single fallen leaf. Was that decreed by a meticulous gardener or an obsessive client?
Sister Lou pushed opened the front door to Crane Enterprises—and bit back an utterance of surprise.
Beside her, Shari gasped. “Who knew?”
The cool glass-and-silver-metal interior was in complete contrast to the company’s fairy-tale exterior. Fluorescent lighting gleamed against the silver-and-white-tiled flooring. Four cardinal red–cushioned, box-style chairs stood along the far left paper white wall, delivering a shock of color to the silver and white lobby. The glass wall to the right afforded a view inside employees’ offices.
A glass-and-metal circular receptionist station stood sentry before a winding white-tile-and-metal staircase at the other end of the floor. It was staffed by a handsome young blond who grinned at them from behind his workstation.
“We get that all the time.” His accent identified him as a New England transplant.
“I feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass.” Shari continued to look around. “This room belongs in an interior design magazine.”
Sister Lou returned the receptionist’s smile. His nameplate identified him as Joel Wolf. “I’m Sister Lou LaSalle and this is Sharelle Henson. We have an appointment to see Montgomery Crane, please.”
“Please make yourselves comfortable.” Joel’s brown eyes sparkled up at Sister Lou and Shari from his artificially tanned face. “I’ll let Mr. Crane know you’re here.”
Sister Lou settled onto a seat beside Shari. Moments later, a tall and handsome older gentleman jogged down the stairs toward them. Sister Lou recognized Montgomery Crane.
He extended a large, dark hand. “It’s good to see you again, Sister Lou.” Montgomery’s baritone voice rumbled with warmth. He shook her hand with a smile before switching his attention to Shari.
Sister Lou stood in response to his greeting. “This is my friend, Sharelle Henson, of the Telegraph. Thank you for meeting with us.”
Montgomery turned back toward the staircase, nodding to Joel. He led them upstairs to his office. “I don’t have to tell you that murder is a heinous, evil act, and not just because it breaks one of the Ten Commandments.”
“We agree.” Sister Lou climbed the winding steps behind Montgomery. The empty spaces between each step allowed her a view of the main floor. Small design elements like that one made the office seem even bigger and more open.
He stepped aside to allow Sister Lou and Shari to precede him into his office. Here as well, the space was larger than the exterior led one to believe. His clutter-free modular blond wood desk and well-organized bookcase reflected a rigid sense of discipline. It reminded Sister Lou of Sister Marianna. Company photos hung on the office’s bright white walls. They captured grand openings and oth
er milestones, many chronicled in the media.
“May I take your coats?” Montgomery added their coats to the black metal coatrack in a corner behind his desk. He gestured to his red guest chairs, then settled onto his red faux leather executive seat. “How can I help you?
Montgomery had coupled his crisp white shirt with a red power tie. His gunmetal gray slacks were a perfect match for the suit jacket that hung from his coatrack. Beneath his veneer of corporate polish, Sister Lou sensed that Montgomery was all Bronx, New York. Decades ago, she’d taught at a Catholic high school in the borough. She heard the neighborhood in his voice and saw it in the way he moved as though he’d roll over anyone who blocked his path.
Sister Lou balanced her navy bag on her lap. “We understand from Rita Morris that you’ve made several offers for the Briar Coast Cabin Resort.”
Montgomery’s scrutiny shifted from Sister Lou to Shari and back. The dusting of gray in his otherwise dark, close-cropped hair belied his still-smooth features. “Because of that, you think I killed Autumn.”
Obviously, he hadn’t founded Crane Enterprises by being stupid nor had he expanded it by beating around the bush.
Shari matched his directness with a bluntness of her own. “Where were you the morning of November sixth?”
“I’ve read your articles on the murder investigation. They’re good.” Montgomery’s dark gaze weighed Shari. “The deputies are okay with you interrogating people?”
“No.” Shari cocked her head. “Is that a problem?”
Sister Lou held her breath while Montgomery seemed to contemplate the reporter’s reply. She admired Shari’s bravado even as she worried that the reporter would get them tossed out onto the street.
Montgomery’s almond-shaped dark brown eyes twinkled. His lips twitched. He leaned back on his chair. “I was on a flight back from New York. Would you like to see my boarding pass?”
Shari shook her head. “No, I believe you.”
Peril & Prayer Page 20