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  Sherrod stiffened as though Sister Lou’s question had blindsided him. Then his features relaxed as his green eyes sparkled with good humor. “I should’ve realized there was more to your request to meet than offering your condolences. You’re at it again, aren’t you?”

  Sister Lou glanced at Shari. She was tempted to plead ignorance, but Shari shrugged her winged eyebrows in silent communication. The gig is up.

  Sister Lou met Sherrod’s direct gaze with uncharacteristic boldness. “I apologize for the subterfuge, Sherrod, but my congregation is once again under suspicion for a crime that none of us would ever commit. I’m only defending our reputation.”

  Sherrod sighed. “I’m used to subterfuge, Sister Lou. In the corporate world, it’s standard operating procedure, both externally and internally. What I’m not used to is being set up.”

  “What?” Sister Lou and Shari echoed each other. In Shari’s voice, Sister Lou heard the shock she felt.

  Sherrod stretched his arms to encompass his surroundings. Bitter irony tinged his words. “The reason I’m squatting here instead of living in my own home, which I bought and paid for, and sleeping in my own bed, is that someone sent my wife an anonymous letter, stating that I was having an affair with her cousin. And my loving wife chose to believe a faceless, gutless accuser rather than her husband of almost twenty years.”

  Shari’s jaw dropped. She looked at Sister Lou. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Neither had I.” Sherrod rose, serving Shari the disposable cup of fresh coffee and the hotel packet containing a stirrer, sugar, sweetener, and cream. She seemed disappointed by the meager offerings.

  Sister Lou smelled Shari’s coffee, but nothing else, not cologne, aftershave, not even dinner. His room was obsessively clean. His only personal effects in plain view were his laptop, briefcase, and cell phone. The closet and bathroom doors were closed. These were the signs of a man in denial. He hadn’t accepted that he was living in a hotel instead of his home.

  Sister Lou turned away from the dresser and back to Sherrod, who’d remained standing in the cramped space. “Do you have any idea who would tell your wife that you were having an affair?”

  “Especially with her cousin.” Shari shook her head as she stirred cream and sweetener into her coffee. “That would really jam you up.”

  “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure that out.” Sherrod rotated his neck and shoulders like a swimmer preparing for a meet.

  Sister Lou recalled details from her and Shari’s meeting with January. “Do you remember when your wife received that anonymous letter?”

  “I’ll never forget. It was October twenty-sixth.” Sherrod paced away from Sister Lou and Shari. “About two and a half weeks ago, not that I’m counting the days.”

  Three weeks? That made the letter the source of January’s misinformation about Autumn and Sherrod.

  “That day, January asked you to leave.” Sister Lou worked out the timeline in her head. “The next day, she confronted Autumn.”

  Sherrod snorted. “She didn’t ask me to leave. She literally tossed me out—or at least my belongings.”

  Sister Lou shifted to keep Sherrod in sight as he prowled his hotel room. “I was in Autumn’s office when your wife threatened to kill her if she didn’t stay away from you.”

  Sherrod stilled, turning back to her. “Jan’s not a killer.” He kneaded the back of his neck. “She’s hotheaded and impulsive, but she’s all talk, no action.”

  “Really?” Shari looked around the hotel room with exaggerated motions. “From where I’m sitting, she acted to push you out of your own house.”

  Sister Lou changed the subject. “If you’re certain she’s innocent, why would you lie to provide her with an alibi? You’re not going to tell the deputies the truth, are you?”

  “Not unless they ask. I’m sorry, Sister Lou, but I’m stupid enough to still be in love with her.” Sherrod’s self-deprecating smile held boyish charm. He returned to his chair.

  Shari frowned at him. “Why would someone send your wife an anonymous letter accusing you of having an affair with her cousin?”

  Sherrod leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees. “I have no idea.”

  “I have one.” Sister Lou turned on her seat again. “The person who sent your wife that letter wanted to frame her for Autumn’s murder just as they want to frame Sister Marianna.”

  Shari stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you saying the killer sent January Potts that anonymous letter?”

  Sister Lou breathed deeply. “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter 22

  “Why are you fixated on my life before Briar Coast?” Shari gave Chris a mildly curious look Thursday afternoon as they shared another late lunch at the Briar Coast Café.

  Chris lowered his gaze to his ham and cheddar on whole grain sandwich. “I’m not fixated.”

  Shari gave him a dubious look, her fork poised above her salad. “This is the second time this week you’ve invited me to lunch, and both times you’ve grilled me about my past.”

  “I don’t grill, either.” Chris bit into his sandwich. The spicy mustard, well-seasoned ham, real cheddar cheese, and freshly baked bread exploded on his taste buds. The café must hire magicians as chefs.

  Chris could have sworn Shari didn’t like vegetables, but her selection today of a spring mix salad—albeit with a healthy dose of honey mustard dressing—contradicted that idea. Just when he thought he was beginning to know her. Never a dull moment. It was both frustrating and exciting. He washed down his sandwich with a gulp of iced tea.

  “What would you call it?” Shari poked her fork into her salad bowl, collecting romaine lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, peppers, cheese, and dressing.

  “Getting to know you better. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course we’re friends.” Shari rewarded him with a pensive frown. “But why does the past matter? You know who I am now.”

  What was it about her past that was so upsetting?

  Chris’s gaze drifted away from Shari while he contemplated that question. Outside, it was gray and gloomy. They were still a week out from Thanksgiving, nevertheless several of the businesses around the café were displaying Christmas decorations and promoting holiday sales.

  A group of male and female students from the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus sat at a table toward the back of the café. Chris recognized most of them. Soon enough, semester finals would be knocking on their classroom doors. For today, ebullient laughter bounced from their table and good-natured smiles brightened their faces.

  At a nearby table, five slightly older patrons—three men and two women—spoke in low, tense tones as they huddled together. Based on the scowls that clouded their expressions, Chris presumed they were coworkers, grousing about their morning. He recognized a couple of them as well. Their expressions didn’t bode well for the town administrative office they worked for.

  He looked again at Shari and found her cocoa gaze waiting for his response. Her patience was uncharacteristic and, therefore, suspect. “Your past helped shape the person you are today. I care about you. I don’t just want to know who you are now. I want to understand who you were, and I’m interested in who you want to be.”

  Shari sipped her tall glass of lemonade as she seemed to contemplate his request. “How has your past shaped you?”

  She was doing it again, deflecting a question about herself by turning it to him. Chris was willing to play along—to a point. “Losing my parents at the same time thirteen years ago has made me overprotective toward the people I care about. That’s one way that something from my past has helped shape my present.”

  Shari’s smile seemed forced. “And, knowing you, your future.”

  “At least give me credit for working on it.” Chris offered an embarrassed smile. “What about you?”

  Shari sat back on her chair. “I can tell you about my present. I like to think about my future, but I really can’t think of one thing to say
about my past.”

  “Something in your past made you reluctant to confide in other people. What was it?”

  “Maybe you should be the investigative reporter.” Her laughter was strained. “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

  “That’s the fund-raiser in me.”

  “I think I was born this way.” Shari shrugged.

  “Some people would say you’re being secretive because you have trust issues.” Chris searched for insight in her body language, but Shari was good. She appeared relaxed as she sat across the table from him. Her arms were loose in her lap. Her eyes were direct. Her expression was interested, but not by a twitch or a wrinkle did she give her thoughts away.

  She conveyed good humor with the glimmer in her eyes and the curve of her lips. “Why can’t it mean that I just don’t have anything to share?”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was in the witness protection program. “Point taken. We’ll leave our pasts behind and just concentrate on who we are now.”

  “I find that much more interesting.”

  Something in her voice hinted that she didn’t believe him. And she was right. He wasn’t willing to surrender. This was a strategic retreat. There were other ways to learn about her past. Shari Henson wasn’t the only one who could surf the Net.

  * * *

  “The deputies warned me you’d try to interview me.” Rita Morris looked harried as she rifled through manila file folders in her desk drawer late Thursday afternoon. Her ready smile was not in evidence. “It’s been ten days, and except for our business meeting, I haven’t seen you. The deputies thought you would’ve been back by now. They keep asking if I’ve seen you and if you’ve called. So annoying.”

  Sister Lou sensed Shari’s growing agitation as they stood together just inside the room. The reporter was doing a miraculous job of containing her tension, but Sister Lou jumped in to fill the silence just in case. “Sharelle Henson and I want the same things the deputies are after: justice for your friend and to safeguard Briar Coast from further tragedies.”

  Shari interrupted. “So instead of keeping tabs on us, they should focus on finding Autumn’s killer.”

  “I agree with you on that one.” Rita glanced at Shari briefly before returning her attention to the folders in her desk drawer. “But what I don’t understand is why a newspaper reporter and a nun are investigating my business partner’s murder.”

  Sister Lou studied Rita’s tense features and agitated body language. “I’m not a nun. I’m a sister. Nuns are cloistered.” Sister Lou considered Rita’s distraction as she corrected the other woman. “Shari and I have a very good reason for looking into Autumn’s murder.”

  The smell of panic overlaid the resort partner’s office. It was in even greater disarray today than the last time she’d been here. The beautiful furnishings were buried under manila folders, purchase orders, unopened mail, and catalogs. Piles of newspapers, magazines, and other periodicals grew along the flooring. The office no longer bore any resemblance to the showroom it had once been.

  Rita shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sister, but the deputies told me not to talk to you, and I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.”

  Sister Lou tightened her grip on her shoulder bag. “The deputies have an innocent woman under suspicion.”

  Rita’s surprised eyes shot up to catch Sister Lou’s gaze. “And you’re trying to cast suspicion onto someone else? The deputies thought you would. They said you were looking at January, Autumn’s cousin.”

  Sister Lou strode across Rita’s office and raised a stack of travel magazines from one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “May I?”

  “Sure.” Rita looked confused.

  Sister Lou placed the magazines on the floor, then nodded to Shari. She shed her brown wool winter coat, hanging it over the back of the chair, then took her seat, setting her navy purse on her lap.

  Shari removed several event planning association periodicals from the other guest chair. She tossed her winter coat over her chair and placed her handbag beside her feet before sitting. “Did you know January lied about her alibi?”

  Rita stopped digging through the piles on her desk and met Shari’s eyes. “Do you think she killed Autumn?”

  Sister Lou gave Shari an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Their goal was to find information that would clear Sister Marianna, not to implicate someone else.

  She raised her hand to encompass the disheveled office. “If you don’t mind my saying, you seem a little overwhelmed.”

  “I am over whelmed.” Rita drew a manila folder from her drawer and slammed it on top of the paper pile before her. She flipped through several of the printouts that fluttered inside the folder. “How am I supposed to keep up with these purchase orders and contracts and mail, much less these stupid magazines Autumn subscribed to?”

  “Now we know why Autumn worked such long days.” Sister Lou considered Rita. Panic flared in the resort partner’s light brown eyes.

  Rita gave her a resentful glare. “I could work twenty-four hours a day for a year and not be able to keep up.” She pushed herself from her chair and paced her office. “I had no idea she did all of this stuff.”

  That explains Rita’s attitude toward Autumn and the resort.

  Shari frowned at Rita’s back. “Who did you think did everything?”

  “I didn’t realize she had so much to do.” Rita paced back and forth in front of the six-foot-tall maple wood bookcase. She dragged both hands through her shoulder-length, pale blond hair. Judging by her tousled tresses, this wasn’t the first time she’d done that today. “If it wasn’t for Kelsey, I wouldn’t know where anything was. Apparently, Autumn told her everything.”

  Shari frowned. “Didn’t Autumn ever ask you for help?”

  Rita shrugged. “A few times and then she stopped. Whenever she asked, I’d just remind her that it was her idea that she took care of the business side and I’d take care of making the customer connections. I was still stinging over the implication that she didn’t think I was savvy enough to handle the business part. All she thought I was good for was socializing. But I guess she was right.”

  Shari arched an eyebrow as though in agreement. “What are you going to do, look for a new partner?”

  “No way. I have to sell the resort.” Rita returned to her desk and settled onto her seat. “Autumn must have enjoyed being insanely busy. That’s not me. Life is for living. No one could do all of this and have a life.”

  “Then you don’t think Autumn was seeing anyone romantically?” Sister Lou asked.

  “Autumn didn’t share girl talk.” Rita scowled at her cluttered desk. “I just figured she must not have had any to share.”

  Sister Lou frowned, recalling January’s accusation that Autumn had had a string of lovers. “Are you familiar with the rumor that Autumn was promiscuous?”

  “Autumn? Promiscuous?” Rita’s laughter seemed to surprise even her. “I doubt that very highly.” She swept an arm above her desk. “Autumn didn’t talk much about her personal life, but I can tell you unequivocally that this is an antiaphrodisiac. I haven’t felt horny all week.” Her face flamed. “Sorry, Sister.”

  Shari looked puzzled. “Then who would start a rumor that she was sleeping around?”

  Rita gave her a skeptical look. “Someone with a very creative imagination.”

  * * *

  Sister Lou noticed Kelsey alone at the registration desk as she and Shari were leaving the resort. The administrative assistant seemed busy. Her blond corkscrew curls swung as she looked back and forth from the sheet of paper beside her to the computer into which she was transferring data.

  Autumn told her everything.

  Sister Lou touched the reporter’s hand to get her attention before approaching the administrative assistant. “Kelsey, may we speak with you?”

  “I suppose.” The administrative assistant looked back and forth between Sister Lou and Shari, causing her curls to pop an
d snap around her head.

  Those curls, her girlish clothing, and indecisive speech gave the other woman a youthful impression. But a closer inspection of her round features found fine lines bracketing her mouth and flaring from the corners of her wide blue eyes. Those creases and the experience in her watchful gaze placed Kelsey in her mid to late forties, at least.

  Sister Lou glanced around the lobby. “Would you be able to sit with us? We’ll only keep you a few moments.”

  Kelsey shrugged. “I guess.” She came around the registration desk. Her gait bounced as she walked on her toes in her black patent leather wedge shoes. “Let’s sit here. That way I can really still keep an eye on the desk.”

  Sister Lou followed Kelsey to a group of three scarlet-padded chairs on the edge of the resort’s main lounge area. She waited until everyone was seated. “I’m sorry that I haven’t expressed my condolences to you on Autumn’s death. I know that she cared about you.”

  Kelsey nodded, flinging her curls against her forehead. “She really was just a great boss. The best I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Shari’s voice was low with caring and concern. Like Sister Lou, the reporter sat with her winter coat folded on her lap. Her gold sweater glowed against the scarlet box chair.

  Sister Lou watched Kelsey closely. “I’ve been wondering why you didn’t mention Autumn’s encounter with January Potts to the deputies.”

  Kelsey’s eyes widened as she looked from Shari back to Sister Lou. “I really thought you were going to. You were in Autumn’s office.”

  “You’re right. I should have.” Sister Lou could see the other woman’s point of view. She hadn’t initially mentioned the encounter to the deputies because she thought Kelsey knew the two women better, but that shouldn’t matter. “Did Autumn’s cousin often visit her at work?”

  “I really wouldn’t say often.” Kelsey’s curls were becoming a distraction. Sister Lou had to work to stay focused on their exchange.

  Shari studied Kelsey with a fascinated expression. The reporter winced when her gaze dropped to Kelsey’s shoes. “Was the argument Sister Lou witnessed the first time January had come to the resort?”