Peril & Prayer

by Olivia Matthews

  “How angry?” Shari asked.

  Gary shrugged. “Rita was angry enough to confront her over it.”

  Shari gaped. “She ran a background check on her partner?”

  Gary scoffed. “Rita isn’t an equal partner. She only invested forty percent, and she contributes even less than that.”

  “Who else?” Sister Lou prodded.

  Gary didn’t hesitate. “The security manager quit because of it. So did the grounds manager.”

  Sister Lou heard warning bells. “Were either of the managers angry enough to cause trouble for Autumn?”

  “I don’t think so.” Gary’s tone was thoughtful. “They both found other jobs pretty fast.”

  “I don’t understand.” Shari crossed her long legs in her corduroy slacks. “Why would she do background checks on everyone unless she thought one of you was stealing from her?”

  “Someone was stealing from her.” Gary threw himself against the back of his chair with palpable frustration. “And apparently that same person was manipulating my month-end reports to hide the situation from Autumn.”

  Shari turned to Sister Lou. “The hacker Montgomery Crane mentioned.”

  “You spoke with him?” Gary looked surprised and impressed. “I told Autumn I thought the hacker was someone at the company that manages our employee benefits.”

  Shari gave him a considering look. “Did you serve the benefits vendor on a platter because you were afraid she’d find out about you?”

  Gary folded his arms as though he were closing himself off from them. “Since you’ve been snooping around in my past, you probably know I’ve been arrested for embezzlement.”

  “Twice,” Shari clarified.

  “Autumn knew.” Gary’s features tightened. “I’d told her before she hired me. She said with the small amount she was able to pay, she was lucky to have found me. But I was the lucky one. She saved my life.”

  His testimony inspired Sister Lou. “Everyone deserves a second chance—or a third. But how do you afford your trips and club memberships on your salary?”

  Gary’s mutinous expression eased. “I handle the finances for Fit Up Health Space in exchange for my membership. I also work with several small local businesses, including the travel agency. I’ve changed, Sister.”

  “How?” Shari shoehorned all of her suspicions into one word.

  Gary paused. “I didn’t want to screw up the chance that Autumn was giving me. I thought it could be my last, so I did some soul-searching and realized my past was about the adrenaline rush.”

  “Not the money?” Shari arched a winged eyebrow.

  “And the money.” Gary inclined his head in acknowledgment. “So I took on extra work to earn the extra money, and found hobbies—acting, travel, and exercise—for the rush.”

  “What about your shoe-of-the-month club?” Shari asked.

  Gary’s expression was defensive. “Everyone has a weakness. What’s yours?”

  “Coffee.” Shari didn’t even hesitate.

  “I’m happy for you, Gary. It took strength to turn your life around.” Sister Lou started to rise, then paused, nodding toward his door behind her. “We’ve heard that you’ve recently started locking your door when you’re not in your office. May we ask why?”

  “I’m protecting myself.” Gary glowered. “If someone killed Autumn because of the background checks, who’s to say they won’t come after me next because I manage the accounts?”

  Shari’s eyebrows knitted. “You think locking your door will protect you?”

  Gary shrugged. “At least this way, they won’t be able to sneak up on me.”

  “The killer didn’t sneak up on Autumn.” Sister Lou looked around Gary’s office as she pictured Autumn’s crime scene. “Autumn didn’t expect this person to become violent with her. She let her guard down. The killer’s someone she trusted.”

  Chapter 29

  “Are you sure I don’t have to bring anything to the congregation’s Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Shari finished her turkey on whole grain sandwich and pulled her bowl of turkey and rice soup closer.

  Chris heard the nerves in Shari’s voice as they shared lunch at the Briar Coast Café Wednesday. The closer they got to the informal get-together, the more apprehensive the reporter became. At this rate, she’d become a collection of nerves by Thanksgiving Day. He’d have to wheel her into the motherhouse dining room.

  “For the fourth time, I’m positive.” He lowered his soup spoon. “This isn’t my first Thanksgiving with them. If it would make you feel better, you could bring a dessert. Sister Carmen would love you for it.”

  “I don’t want to bring something and look like a nerd.” Shari glared at her soup. “But I don’t want to show up empty-handed and look like a freeloader, either.”

  Chris changed the subject. “You said your interview with Aunt Lou and the resort’s accountant was productive.”

  Immediately, Shari’s frown disappeared. “Your aunt may have missed her calling. It’s amazing watching her put clues together.”

  “Although I worry about her safety, sometimes I think she’s right where God intended her to be.” Chris swallowed another spoonful of soup. “I’m sure the deputies would disagree.”

  Shari sipped her lemonade. “They’re lucky to have her help.”

  Chris heard the resentment in her voice. “What do you have against the deputies? Or is it all law enforcement?”

  “I don’t have anything against law enforcement specifically.” A mischievous light danced in Shari’s dark eyes. “I have issues with authority figures in general: deputies, editors, vice presidents for advancement.”

  Chris smiled in appreciation of her teasing. “And why are you antiestablishment?”

  “Isn’t everyone?” Shari feigned surprise.

  Chris regarded the restless reporter for several beats in silence. Her heart-shaped face was tilted at a challenging angle. Her reckless cocoa eyes were direct. Despite her confrontational pose, it was obvious that she was avoiding . . . something. “Why do you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Chris frowned in concern. “That’s textbook avoidance: change the subject, then pretend not to know what the other person’s talking about when he challenges you on it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sipped her soup. Funny how doing that allowed her to evade eye contact.

  “Whenever Aunt Lou or I ask you a personal question, you avoid answering by turning the question back to us.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t ask so many personal questions.”

  Chris shifted aside his food tray and folded his arms on their small dining table. He dropped his voice. “You’re a hard person to get to know.”

  “There’s a fine line between getting to know someone and prying.”

  “There’s something about you that makes me want to pry.”

  “I recommend fresh air and a healthier diet.”

  “I don’t think that’ll work.”

  “More sleep.”

  “Not that, either.”

  “Then how about a little soul-searching?” Shari finished her soup and sat back on her chair, increasing the distance that separated them.

  “Do you think confession will be good for my soul?”

  “Do you have something to confess?”

  “Just that I want to get to know you.”

  Shari sent her gaze around the crowded café before returning her attention to Chris. “We’ve been through this before. I don’t see a point in rehashing the past.”

  “The past made us who we are today. I doubt that you’ve done anything so terrible that you can’t discuss it.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  If he’d been trying to get a rise from her, it had worked. If he hadn’t, it had backfired. “You can trust me, Shari.”

  “Right now, I’m trusting you to drop this.”

  Chris hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”

 
Sister Lou wasn’t comfortable sharing Shari’s confidences. He respected that. If Shari couldn’t or wouldn’t trust him enough to confide in him, there were other ways of collecting information. But he’d rather find out from her.

  * * *

  The thick, warm rose carpeting in the congregational office’s hallway muted Sister Lou’s footsteps Wednesday afternoon. She was on her way to the main lobby, where Briar Coast Mayor Heather Stanley had shown up unexpectedly, requesting to meet with her.

  Fluorescent lighting bounced off the pale gold walls as Sister Lou passed the conference rooms, administrative assistants’ desks, offices, and break room. She caught snippets of conversations and laughter through the open doors and workstations along the way. They trailed her down the hall—along with a vague sense of unease. What did the mayor want? Would her encounter with the town official be as contentious as Shari’s had been?

  Sister Lou stopped in the lobby. She exchanged a smile with Sister Jane at receptionist’s desk before approaching the mayor.

  Heather Stanley immediately set aside her smartphone and rose as Sister Lou crossed to her. She was a striking figure in a wool opal skirt suit with matching pumps. She carried her crimson winter coat. Her thick chestnut hair was swept behind her shoulders. Her perfect porcelain skin was flushed, presumably from the chill breeze outside.

  Sister Lou offered the younger woman her right hand. “Good afternoon, Mayor Stanley.”

  Heather’s hand was cool, at odds with her friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Sister LaSalle. Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your day.”

  “Please call me Sister Lou. How can I help you?” Sister Lou allowed her hand to drop to her side. She channeled her inner Shari to project an air of bravado.

  Heather surveyed the lobby. “Is there someplace where we could speak privately?”

  “Yes, of course.” Sister Lou hoped she didn’t sound as reluctant as she felt.

  She led the mayor into the first empty conference room she came to. This was the room in which she’d revealed to the deputies the person who’d killed Maurice. It had been more than two months since she’d been inside. If it weren’t for the mayor, she wouldn’t have returned today.

  Sister Lou allowed the mayor to precede her into the room and trailed her to the table.

  She took a moment to get her bearings. A large, honey wood, rectangular table, surrounded by ten powder blue–cushioned honey wood chairs, dominated the narrow space. A caravan desk stood at the rear. The room was chilly enough to keep its occupants alert. Sunlight flooded the interior from the large picture windows. A hint of white-tea potpourri lingered in the air.

  She turned to the mayor. “Please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” Heather circled the table and took the seat on the end. “I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch break. This is very important, otherwise I wouldn’t have come unannounced.”

  Sister Lou sat across the table from her. “Not at all, Mayor. How can I help you?”

  “You can stop investigating Autumn Tassler’s murder.” The mayor attempted to pin Sister Lou with her arresting violet eyes.

  Sister Lou wouldn’t be pinned. “May I ask the reason for your request?”

  “You’ve been interrogating prominent members of the community.” Heather sat back on her chair. She crossed her right leg over her left and folded her hands on her lap. “They couldn’t possibly know anything about Ms. Tassler’s murder.”

  Because they’re prominent? “The people I’ve been speaking with have provided information that’s useful to the investigation.”

  “Then pass that information on to the deputies. This case has nothing to do with you.”

  “I disagree.” Sister Lou folded her hands on the table. “When the deputies began their investigation, they again put our congregation under suspicion. We had to prove our innocence. So, yes, this case has a lot to do with us.”

  Heather spread her arms. “I’m sure you can appreciate that the deputies have to follow every lead. They’re doing a very difficult job. But it’s my understanding that Sister Marianna isn’t a suspect anymore.”

  The mayor’s grasp of the murder investigation wasn’t surprising. The sheriff probably updated her daily.

  Seated across the table, the mayor appeared self-assured, confident in her authority. But on closer examination, Heather’s body language was tight. Stress radiated from her raised shoulders. The knuckles in her clasped hands were pale. Neither Sister Lou nor the mayor wanted to be here.

  Sister Lou searched the other woman’s wide eyes. “Is your campaign contributor one of the murder suspects?”

  Heather’s lips parted. Her large eyes widened. She pushed herself up from her seat and started toward the door. “I think I’ve made myself more than clear. Your involving yourself in this case is only complicating matters. Your talents lay with your community work, Sister. Leave the murder investigations to the professionals.”

  Sister Lou rose as well to escort her from the congregational office. “At the risk of sounding immodest, I believe my track record is proof that I can solve murders.”

  The mayor glanced at her as they entered the main lobby. “Murder investigations are dangerous, Sister. You probably don’t want to push your luck.”

  Sister Lou gave the public official a beatific smile. “I don’t count on luck, Mayor Stanley. I put my trust in God. It’s His guidance that I rely on.”

  The mayor seemed at a loss for words. She offered Sister Lou her hand and wished her a good day. Sister Lou watched Heather leave the building and walk to her car in the front parking lot. Which one of her supporters had asked the mayor to meet with Sister Lou? Was it the same person who’d sent the anonymous letter to January Potts?

  * * *

  Diplomacy is not a dirty word.

  “I’m going to write the article with or without your cooperation.” Shari had clenched her left fist around her office telephone’s black receiver so tightly it might have to be surgically removed. She drew a deep, calming breath and channeled her inner Sister Lou for this phone call with Deputy Ted Tate.

  She’d chosen Ted for her guerilla interview tactic because Fran was the more reasonable of the two deputies, although not by much. Ted definitely had the shorter fuse. She hoped she hadn’t miscalculated.

  “Then go ahead and write it without me.” Ted’s words were soaked with spite.

  He knew Shari needed a quote from the sheriff’s office for her follow-up article on Autumn’s murder investigation. A few words from him or Fran would add credibility to her story. That’s probably the reason neither of the deputies had returned the multiple voice mail messages she’d left for them. Their silence had pushed her article to the cusp of her deadline.

  The clock on her computer monitor read seventeen minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon. She had a little more than forty minutes to file her copy if she wanted it to appear in the Thanksgiving edition of the Telegraph tomorrow morning.

  “And here I thought we’d become friends, Ted.” Shari relaxed her grip on the telephone receiver one finger at a time. “I thought we’d turned the page on our relationship when we gave you the list of resort employees and told you about the background checks.”

  Ted grunted. “You couldn’t have done anything with that list on your own. You don’t have the authority.”

  “True.” She decided against telling him about the information she’d scraped together on Gary Hargreaves, their self-proclaimed reformed accountant. “But you and Fran wouldn’t have known about the background checks without us. What’ve you found out?”

  “Are you asking for a quote or information?”

  “Both, of course.” Shari lifted her half-empty mug of coffee and drank deeply. She’d have to push a little harder. “You know how this works, Ted. We give you something, then you give us something. That’s the give-and-take of our relationship.”

  Growing up in foster care, Shari had
trained herself to tune out background noises. That talent was handy in a newsroom. The closer they came to the day’s deadline, the louder and more frenetic the newsroom activities became.

  And the more desperate she became to wrap up her copy.

  “Our relationship?” Ted barked a laugh. “We don’t have a relationship.”

  “It’s at a rocky stage right now, but that’s because you won’t admit that we’ve helped with your investigations before and we can do it again.” It was maddening that the deputy was able to remain calm while Shari was having a series of anger fantasies. She unconsciously tightened her grip on her receiver again as her irritation rose.

  “Law enforcement is our job. I don’t know what you do.” Ted sounded like he was chewing nails. Finally.

  “Look, I know your feelings were hurt when I wrote that it was Sister Lou who solved Dr. Jordan’s murder, but I have to report the truth.” Shari could almost hear the vein burst in the deputy’s temple.

  “You, Sister Lou, and Chris LaSalle could’ve gotten yourselves killed. Do you realize that?” Ted’s words came quickly, like rapid, sustained gunfire. “You could’ve gotten other people killed. This isn’t some mystery theater, dinner party, whodunit crap. This is real life.”

  “We’re aware of that. We—”

  “Your snooping around in an active investigation compromises evidence, endangers others, and generally screws up our case.”

  Shari’s pen was poised above her notepad, ready to transcribe any information Ted let slip—and hopefully, a printable quote. “And yet, we didn’t do any of those things. Maybe one of the reasons you don’t want to talk with us is that you’re afraid we’ll solve this case first, too.”

  “You’re wrong.” The knocking in the background sounded like Ted pounding his desk. “We’re throwing all of our resources at this case, working long hours, chasing down information. We know how important this case is and we’re not going to rest until it’s solved.”

  Score!

  That was the quote she’d been waiting for. Dreaming of. “Thank you, Ted. You’ve been very helpful.” Shari disconnected the call. Now she could file her story.