Mayhem & Mass Read online

  NECESSARY RISKS “It’s been about forty-three hours, and they’re still questioning people who had nothing to do with the murder.”

  “It’s ridiculous.” Sister Carmen waited until they crested the hill leading toward the residence halls before she continued. “They try to trip you up. By the end of the interrogation, you start to doubt yourself.”

  “Meanwhile, a murderer is at large. Perhaps still in Briar Coast.” Sister Lou exchanged a nod of greeting with a group of students they passed on the unofficial jogging path.

  Sister Lou loved jogging early in the morning. She could smell the grass that blanketed the campus and feel the early morning dew that coated the breeze. She liked watching the sunrise. Listening to the birdsong was a wonderful way to start her day.

  “Are you going to do your own investigation?” Sister Carmen’s question interrupted her tranquility.

  “I told Chris that I’m going to work with the Telegraph reporter, Shari Henson, to investigate Maurice’s murder. He wasn’t happy. . . . But it’s my decision.”

  Sister Carmen stumbled beside her. Sister Lou reached out to steady her.

  “Thanks.” Sister Carmen continued their jog. “Just remind that overprotective nephew of yours that the will of God never takes you where the grace of God can’t protect you.”

  “Amen.” Sister Lou wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “I’ll call Shari Monday morning. I’d rather talk with Jess myself before going to the deputies.”

  “Just as long as you tell me everything.”

  “You know that I will.”

  “And please be careful. You are investigating a murder.”

  “Do I need to remind you of God’s grace and protection as well?” Sister Lou smiled at Sister Carmen.

  “Just tell me you won’t take unnecessary risks.” Tension shook Sister Carmen’s voice.

  “I won’t.” I’m not worried about unnecessary risks. It’s the necessary ones that concern me.

  Mayhem & Mass

  Olivia Matthews

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Teaser chapter

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Sargeant-Matthews

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0938-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-0938-1

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: December 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0939-4

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0939-X

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: December 2017

  To my dream team:

  • My sister, Bernadette, for giving me the dream.

  • My husband, Michael, for supporting the dream.

  • My brother, Richard, for believing in the dream.

  • My brother, Gideon, for encouraging the dream.

  And to Mom and Dad, always, with love.

  This series is dedicated with respect and affection to the Congregation of Dominican Sisters of Peace for inspiring me with their great courage, strength, determination and joy.

  In recognition of the power of the Holy Spirit.

  Thank you, Marie S.,

  for helping me introduce Sister Lou.

  Chapter 1

  “The Mass is ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” Father Ryan O’Flynn shared a beatific smile with the sisters and associates of the Congregation of St. Hermione of Ephesus. They’d gathered in the small chapel in the motherhouse for the four o’clock Mass Wednesday, the thirtieth day of August.

  “Thanks be to God.” Sister Louise “Lou” LaSalle added her voice to those of the other worshipers.

  The recessional song, “Hail, Holy Queen,” began.

  From the oak pew where she stood, Sister Lou closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scents of the chapel: candle wax from the ivory tapers near the altar, frankincense burned during the Mass, and the lemon-scented wood polish that made the pews and hardwood floors gleam like glass beneath the recessed lighting. These scents brought almost as much comfort as Father Ryan’s words.

  Sister Lou continued singing the recessional hymn from memory as her eyes lifted to the stained glass windows crowning the chapel’s cream-colored walls. Their vivid greens, blues, reds, and oranges depicted a variety of meadow scenes. The images evoked a sense of peace. She could almost feel the spring breeze that bent the grasses and carried the scents of the wildflowers depicted in the artwork.

  Father Ryan had worn a gold chasuble for the Mass. As usual, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair was in need of a trim. He adjusted his emerald-rimmed glasses before stepping away from the altar and following the lectors down the center aisle and out of the chapel.

  Once the processional had passed her, Sister Lou stepped from the pew. With her eyes on the crucifix on the wall behind the altar, she genuflected as she made the sign of the cross, touching her fingertips to her forehead, heart, and then left and right shoulders above the beige jacket of her skirt suit. Straightening from that position was hard on her sixty-three-year-old knees.

  On her way out of the chapel, Sister Lou dipped two fingers into the holy water font. Again, she made the sign of the cross.

  “Are you actually going forward with it, Louise?” Sister Marianna Tuller’s question came from behind her. It was an assault to the peace that had filled Sister Lou after the Mass.

  She stepped into the lobby before facing the other congregation member. Sister Marianna was tall—at least five inches above Sister Lou’s five-foot-four-inch height—and thin. Her snow-white hair was cut short. She had an almost military bearing in her neat, navy blue skirt suit. Her blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross was pinned to her left lapel.

  Sister Lou paused to exchange greetings with other members of the congregation before returning her attention to Sister Marianna. “It was a lovely Mass, wasn’t i
t, Marianna?”

  The other woman scowled. “I don’t have time for pleasantries, Louise.”

  “Neither do I.” Sister Lou noted the hour on her crimson Timex. It was just turning five PM. Her nephew would arrive soon, if he wasn’t already in the motherhouse’s guest parking lot.

  “You know that it wasn’t a good idea to invite Maurice Jordan to be our speaker for the Saint Hermione of Ephesus Feast Day.” Sister Marianna’s chiding tone was as cool as her gray eyes, perhaps cooler. “Both the congregation and the college have received numerous complaints.”

  The congregation had founded the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus, which had stood on the other side of the motherhouse’s employee parking lot for almost one hundred and fifty years.

  “I heard there were only two complaints.” And if I were a betting woman, I’d lay odds that you were behind both.

  “Doctor Jordan is an extremely controversial and divisive figure. By bringing him here, you’ve opened both our congregation and our college to criticism and suspicion.” Sister Marianna did enjoy repeating herself.

  What pleased her more, the sound of her voice or the effort of her wit?

  Sister Lou prayed for patience. “Maurice is a respected theologian. His opinions are thoughtful, well researched, and reasoned.”

  “I know you consider him to be a friend.” Sister Marianna gave her a skeptical look. “That just makes people question your judgment. Is that really what you want, considering your leadership position within the congregation?”

  Sister Lou stiffened at the unsubtle reminder of the congregation’s upcoming elections. “It doesn’t matter what I think—or even what you think. The sisters will make up their own minds and cast their own votes.”

  Sister Marianna crossed her arms over her thin chest. “You should be more selective with whom you associate, Louise.”

  “I associate with you, Marianna.” Sister Lou checked her watch again. “I need to go. Chris is waiting for me.”

  Sister Lou turned away, offering a smile to a group of sisters hurrying across the tiled lobby on their way to the dining hall. These particular ladies were always anxious to beat the dinner crowd. Perhaps they feared the kitchen would run out of food before they arrived.

  She swung open the front door. A soft summer breeze, fragrant with the scents of moist earth and cut grass from the motherhouse’s lush landscaping, greeted her. She turned west toward the asphalt-surface visitors’ lot. Her nephew’s bronze sedan stood in the first space. He’d agreed to drive her to Maurice’s hotel, which was just a few miles from the motherhouse. Sister Lou was looking forward to having dinner and catching up with her old friend.

  Christian “Chris” McMillan LaSalle, her deceased brother’s only child, climbed out of the driver’s seat as she approached. He sent her a warm smile.

  He served as the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus’s Interim Vice President for College Advancement, but he looked more like a professor. He wore dark casual slacks and a white shirt under a lightweight brown tweed jacket complete with elbow patches.

  “Hi, Aunt Lou.” Chris circled the trunk, then opened the passenger door for her.

  “Hi, Sweetie. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Sister Lou kissed her nephew’s cheek before climbing into his sedan.

  Chris settled behind the steering wheel. “I just got here.”

  “Good.” Sister Lou buckled her seatbelt. “I hate inconveniencing you like this. I’m getting my driver’s license back on Saturday so you won’t have to chauffer me around anymore.”

  “I don’t mind, Aunt Lou.” Chris backed out of the parking space, then followed the winding path of the motherhouse’s driveway onto the main road. “Frankly, I’d rather be your chauffer than worry about you speeding around Briar Coast. This isn’t the Indy 500, you know.”

  Sister Lou winced. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’ll follow the rules of the road.”

  Having her driver’s license suspended for a month, because of her tendency to drive faster than the posted speed limit, was a tough consequence of her actions. She wasn’t keen to repeat the punishment.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “You don’t sound convinced that I’ve learned my lesson.” Sister Lou eyed her nephew with suspicion.

  He looked so much like his father: tall—several inches over six feet—and fit, with close-cropped dark hair. His sienna features were perfectly proportioned: broad forehead, strong nose, squared chin and high cheekbones. His onyx eyes were honest and compassionate, quick to smile and slow to anger. But he’d inherited his bossy nature and conservative driving from his mother. Sister Lou fought against the blanket of grief that tried to smother her whenever she thought about the fact that his parents hadn’t lived to see the admirable man he’d become.

  A ghost of a smile curved Chris’s mouth. “I don’t think you can resist driving fast.”

  “Of course I can.”

  “All right, convince me.”

  “I will.”

  Sister Lou shifted her attention to the windshield. Her gaze skimmed the rolling hills and rich foliage of Briar Coast. The quiet upstate New York community, population less than one thousand, lay nestled against Lake Erie. August was ending. Fall and football were around the corner. Their conversation touched on the school year, which had just started, their day, and significant events planned for later in the week, including Maurice’s St. Hermione of Ephesus Feast Day presentation.

  “Do you want me to pick you up later?” Chris turned right onto Main Street and steered his sedan through the heart of town. It was a short trip to Maurice’s hotel from here.

  “No, thank you. Mo offered to drive me home.”

  “You’ve been friends since graduate school, but how long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “I attended one of his lectures a couple of years ago. We’ve kept in touch, though, mostly through emails and letters.”

  “Letters? I didn’t know people wrote those anymore.”

  “We old folks do.”

  Her life and Maurice’s had taken different paths. She’d earned her doctorate in philosophy, then joined the congregation. Maurice received his doctorate in theology, got married, and raised a family. Life was funny that way.

  “I hope you enjoy your visit.” Chris changed lanes to pass a slower-moving vehicle.

  Why was it OK for him to speed? Others broke the rules without consequence. For some reason, I always get caught.

  “Thanks, Sweetie.” She’d addressed him by that endearment since the day he’d been born, thirty-three years ago. “Now enough about me. Have you heard anything more about the vice president for advancement position?”

  “The president’s still considering how to move forward.” His shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. Waiting had never come easily for him, another trait he’d inherited from his mother. “It’s encouraging that the administration hasn’t started an executive search, but I don’t like being in limbo.”

  Chris’s tension was palpable in the close confines of his Toyota Camry. He’d served as director of the college’s Office of Advancement for more than four years. He’d been serving as its interim vice president for more than four months.

  “You’ve been doing a wonderful job.” Sister Lou strained to keep the irritation from her voice. “I’m certain your efforts have been noticed and appreciated. The administration would be foolish not to reward your work.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Lou. I appreciate your encouragement.” Her nephew’s features eased into a slight smile. “My greatest fear is that they’ll hire someone from outside and expect me to train him or her.”

  “That would not be acceptable.” Sister Lou felt her blood begin to boil at the suggestion of such an injustice.

  “No, it wouldn’t.” Chris used a dry tone.

  He turned left onto Town Street, and then drove through two intersections before stopping in front of the entrance of the Sleep Ease Inn Hotel.
r />   Chris studied the building through the windshield. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up later?”

  “I’m sure, Sweetie. Enjoy your evening with your friends.” She exchanged a kiss on the cheek with him before getting out of his car.

  * * *

  Sister Lou paused in the hotel lobby, taking in its ivory-and-orange carpeting, walls, and furniture. She straightened her beige skirt suit and smoothed her chin-length bob.

  The restaurant where she and Maurice had agreed to meet was across the spacious lobby to her left. It was a cozy little eatery. Its dimly lit interior and polished maple and red-velvet décor were a throwback to the 1970s. The savory scents wafting toward the entrance reminded Sister Lou that she’d only had a salad for lunch.

  The host station stood empty, but Maurice wasn’t hard to find. He sat at a booth at the front of the restaurant. Same old Mo. For him, to be on time was to be late. He habitually turned up for appointments twenty or thirty minutes early.

  Maurice smiled as he stood to greet her. “Lou!”

  Sister Lou grinned as she walked into his outstretched arms. “Mo, it’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s been too long.” Maurice stepped back, letting his arms drop to his sides. “You could have waited a few minutes to visit with me after that last lecture you attended.”

  “As I remember, you were swarmed by a throng of admirers at the time. But we’re catching up now.” She settled into the red padded seat.

  It had been a couple of years since she’d last seen Maurice, but he hadn’t changed much. He’d retained his modest good looks although he appeared older than his age. At sixty-three, he’d picked up a few more wrinkles and a lot more gray hairs. He was of average height and build. His fair skin was almost translucent, and his cheeks were curiously ruddy for someone who spent most of his time in libraries.