Alibis & Angels Page 18

  “I’m not just anyone. We’re dating, remember? You’re not alone.”

  “There’s a problem at work, but it’s nothing that I can’t manage on my own.”

  Chris sighed. “Shari, if you can’t trust me with a problem at your job, when will you ever be able to confide in me?”

  “Of course I trust you. What makes you think I don’t?” Shari had heard the impatience in Chris’s tone. She was beginning to lose her patience as well.

  “If you trusted me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Chris’s thick, black eyebrows knitted. “You’d confide in me of your own free will. I wouldn’t have to beg you to tell me why you’ve been preoccupied and distant.”

  Shari felt her scowl deepen. “I don’t want to bring my work into our relationship. I spend my whole day at the newspaper. When I’m with you, I want it to be separate.”

  “That’s not working out quite the way you’d hoped, is it?” Chris gave her a dubious look. “You’ve been so preoccupied lately. I thought you were trying to find a way to break up with me.”

  Shari’s jaw dropped. For a moment, her mind went blank. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you think that?”

  “For one thing, you weren’t talking to me.” Chris shoved aside his soup and leaned into the table. “But your surprised reaction is reassuring. So is the fact that we’ve had lunch together two days in a row this week.”

  Shari allowed her gaze to roam the café, using the time to collect her thoughts. After six months at Briar Coast, the patrons were becoming recognizable. A few of her coworkers from the Telegraph, including Poppy Flowers, were absorbed in an animated conversation a few tables away. At another table, several faculty members from the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus were laughing and smiling through their lunch. In contrast, at a nearby table, a group of college students were more subdued. Shari surmised their moodiness was due to their upcoming midterms. Once the midterms were over, the students would be the ones laughing through lunch while the professors fretted over entering the test grades.

  She returned her attention to Chris. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression that I wanted to break up with you. Nothing could be further from my mind.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.” Chris didn’t seem appeased, though. “Why don’t you tell me what has been on your mind? What’s this problem at work? I may not be able to fix it, but at least I can be your sounding board.”

  Shari parted her lips to repeat her assertion that she could “handle it on my own.” That’s the line she’d been feeding herself and everyone else her entire life. But something—the look in Chris’s eyes, the little voice in her head—warned her that he wasn’t going to drop this particular line of questioning. She might as well confess.

  She sighed in defeat. “One of the other reporters, a rookie, has been trying to insert himself into my work with your aunt. Yesterday, he followed us to town hall.”

  “What?” Chris’s brow furrowed in temper. He straightened on his seat.

  Shari sensed Chris was in full protective mode. “Maybe I should’ve left out the part about Hal following your aunt and me.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Chris’s tone was firm. “Is he dangerous?”

  She shrugged. “Only if you consider arrogant, lazy, twentysomethings with delusions of entitlement to be dangerous.”

  Chris didn’t look satisfied or amused. “Did you tell Diego that Hal has been harassing you?”

  “No, I haven’t, but one of the other reporters must have. Diego offered to talk to Hal, but I told him I didn’t need his help.”

  Chris’s eyes stretched wide in apparent disbelief. “Shari, if this guy is following you—and my aunt—around Briar Coast, he’s taken his obsession to another level. You should have Diego talk to him. Maybe a reprimand from his boss will give him a wake-up call.”

  Shari was shaking her head through Chris’s entire speech. “I’m not going to have Diego fight my battles for me.”

  “I don’t understand you and Heather.” Chris dragged a large hand over his close-cropped hair. “Asking for help isn’t an admission of weakness.”

  “If I let someone else deal with Hal, he won’t respect my claim on my beat. He’ll think all he has to do is bide his time until he can find a way to take it from me.”

  “All right, but how will you keep him off of your beat?”

  Shari shrugged again. “I’ll ignore him and keep working my beat. Hopefully, he’ll give up. Soon.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Shari locked eyes with Chris. She could tell that he knew what she was thinking. If Hal didn’t leave, she’d have to. That possibility scared them both.

  Chapter 21

  “Shari’s considering leaving Briar Coast.” Chris pulled his bronze Toyota Camry into a space in the parking lot in front of the Briar Coast Insurance Corporation after lunch Tuesday.

  Wesley Vyne, a prominent donor of both the college and the congregation, owned the corporation. This was the first time either Sister Lou or Chris had been to his headquarters.

  “I know.” Sister Lou got out of Chris’s car. He—and Sister Carmen—were opposed to letting her drive them. Anywhere.

  A sharp winter breeze stole Sister Lou’s breath as she turned from the car. She shrugged deeper into her brown wool coat. Sister Lou walked with Chris to the two-story, brown stone building that housed the insurance company. The silence between them was thick, pensive, and a little depressed.

  “I don’t want her to go.” Chris’s voice was low as they approached the five-step stone entrance. The business’s name was engraved in a simple black font on its wooden front door. The same logo had appeared on the sign at the parking lot’s entrance.

  “Neither do I.” Sister Lou adjusted the strap of her purse and mounted the stone steps. “But this is her decision.”

  “I know that it is, but I care too much about her. I have to at least try to convince her to stay.” Chris climbed the steps beside her.

  Sister Lou stopped on the top step and turned to face her nephew. The hurt and confusion in his eyes caused her pain. She took a breath to ease her own heartache. “‘If you love someone set them free. If they return to you, they’re yours. If they don’t, it wasn’t meant to be.’”

  Chris returned her gaze in silence for a beat. “I don’t like that quote.”

  “Neither do I.” Sister Lou turned to open the door to Wesley’s agency.

  The company’s interior screamed, Opulence! The furnishings seemed to be crafted from real cherrywood and upholstered with sapphire satin fabric. Crystal-and-pewter chandeliers dotted the high ceiling.

  A baby-faced young man with tired gray eyes looked up from what appeared to be the receptionist’s desk. “May I help you?”

  Sister Lou glanced at Chris before preceding him to the desk. Her low-heeled black boots sank into the plush sapphire carpeting. The office smelled like pine needles on a snowy day. She didn’t see any potpourri, scented candles, or air wicks. Was the scent coming from the air vents?

  Chris unfastened the buttons on his tan wool overcoat. “I’m Chris LaSalle and this is Sister Louise LaSalle. We have a two p.m. appointment with Mr. Vyne.”

  “Just a minute.” The receptionist seemed to smother a yawn. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Otto Smith. Otto positioned a wireless headset over lank brown hair, then stabbed four of the buttons on his sapphire desk phone. The color was a perfect match to the fabric featured on the office’s furniture. Otto stared past them as he waited for the call to connect. A vacant expression settled onto his doughy face. Suddenly, he jerked as though waking. “Your two o’clock appointment is here. Of course.” He disconnected the call, removed his headset, and stood. “This way, please.”

  Sister Lou walked beside Chris. Otto may seem fatigued, but he set a brisk pace down the wide aisle. His brown suit was baggy and worn. The hem of his pants was frayed. Briar Coast Insurance Corporation was a loyal and generous supporter of both
the college and the congregation. However, Wesley seemed to spend more money on his company’s appearance than he invested in his employees. Did Otto have to work a second job to pay his expenses? Was that the reason for his fatigue? The questions made Sister Lou both sad and angry.

  She followed Otto’s lead as he turned the corner. At the end of the short, wide hallway was a door that opened onto a spacious, extravagantly decorated office. The furnishings inside—including the wood, satin cloth, and chandeliers—mirrored the reception area.

  “May I take your coats?” Otto collected Sister Lou’s and Chris’s coats. “Excuse me, Mr. Vyne.” He knocked on the open door, then walked to a closet hidden in the far right wall. It was in there that Otto hung Sister Lou’s and Chris’s outerwear.

  “Chris, Sister Lou, it’s good to see both of you.” Wesley Vyne stood and circled his desk to cross to them. He shook their hands.

  Chris stood a head above the older man. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Wesley gestured toward his guest chairs. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Thanks, Otto.”

  The young receptionist disappeared from the office without a sound. Sister Lou wondered whether the brisk walk across the office would help him stay awake for the rest of the afternoon.

  She settled onto one of the four cherrywood-and-sapphire-satin visitor’s seats. It felt as comfortable as a bed. Chris sat on the matching chair beside her.

  Sister Lou watched Wesley amble back to his sapphire leather executive chair. His steps were silent against the plush carpeting. The pine scent that had teased her in the reception area drifted into Wesley’s office as well.

  She wasn’t an expert on men’s fashion, but the metallic gray Italian-styled wool suit Wesley wore with a navy silk tie probably cost ten times as much as Otto’s suit.

  “What can I do for you?” Wesley freed the buttons of his suit coat, which was snug around his midsection. He gave the appearance of relaxing back onto his chair, but he’d asked his question with the air of time-is-money.

  “We wanted to share with you some updates on both the congregation and the college.” Chris’s tone was warm and relaxed.

  Wesley’s office was almost as impeccable as Sister Marianna’s. He must automatically file all of his documents in his desk drawers or the matching cabinet behind him. No loose papers were allowed anywhere near his desktop. Industry books and journals were shelved on the bookcase to the right of his office. A small rectangular conference table stood on the left side of the room. Four fabric chairs were tucked under it. The sapphire speakerphone looked lonely on its glass-and-steel surface. If his office reflected his personality, Wesley was very well organized.

  Organized enough to plan a campaign of intimidation against the town’s mayor?

  Sister Lou turned her attention to Wesley. “Will you be attending the Mayor’s Charity Spring-Raiser on March first?”

  “Yes, that’s in less than two weeks, isn’t it?” Wesley smoothed his comb-over. There was more gray than brown in his thinning hair. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t support that outsider’s policies, but the event is good face time with the community’s movers and shakers.”

  Sister Lou worked hard to mask her surprise. Wesley’s reference to Heather as an outsider was a chilling and unnecessary reminder of the threatening letters to the mayor.

  Chris must have had a similar reaction. “Whether we agree with her policies or not, Heather Stanley isn’t an outsider anymore. She’s been Briar Coast’s mayor for four years.”

  Wesley snorted. “That wasn’t my fault. I voted against her in that election, and I plan to vote against her again.”

  “Who do you plan to support?” Chris asked.

  “Anyone but Heather Stanley!” Wesley slashed his hand through the air above his desk. His diamond pinkie ring seemed too small even for that finger. “I voted for Owen Rodney last time. If he decides to run again, I’ll vote for him again—and this time, he’ll wipe the floor with that outsider.”

  Bile rose in the back of Sister Lou’s throat as she listened to Wesley’s vehement opposition to Heather. His anger seemed out of proportion considering Heather’s positive impact on their community. “What is your greatest concern about her administration?”

  “Her cabinet!” Wesley’s narrow, brown eyes widened. He seemed surprised by Sister Lou’s question. “It’s a bunch of women.”

  Sister Lou was stunned. “What does that have to do with her policies?”

  “It has everything to do with her policies!” Wesley spread his arms. His gold cuff links twinkled under the chandelier’s lights. “Women don’t have what it takes to make the hard decisions necessary to run an organization, much less a town.”

  Sister Lou thought about the Hermionean order of which her congregation was a member, and the thousands of other orders of religious women whose missions had established the foundations of communities all over the world, including hospitals, businesses, farms, ranches, educational institutions for all age groups, and the list continued. These institutions served the public in a myriad of ways, including providing a tax base that helped spur the growth of the communities they served.

  And the congregations were all led by women.

  “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Wes.” Chris stood. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Sister Lou was relieved that Chris was ready to leave, too.

  “Is that it?” Wesley’s surprised words stopped them.

  Sister Lou turned back to the businessman, who’d risen to his feet behind his desk. Her muscles trembled with anger and resentment, but she made the effort to appear calm. “Mr. Vyne, my congregation has appreciated your support over the years. Unfortunately, we can’t accept your patronage in the future. The fact that you can so easily and unjustly dismiss the contributions of more than fifty percent of the community shows that our mission of social justice and equality obviously conflicts with your views.”

  Wesley looked as though she’d slapped him. He turned to Chris. “What about you? Do you agree with her?”

  Chris inclined his head. “Of course, I do. The college was founded by the strong, courageous women of the Congregation of Saint Hermione of Ephesus. Its mission is to help prepare men—and women—for leadership roles to help advance their communities. By your own words, you don’t support that goal.”

  Wesley stuffed his pudgy hands into the front pockets of his pants and rocked back on his heels. “I guess I’ll just have to find somewhere else to spend my money.”

  Sister Lou considered the real cherrywood furnishings, the crystal-and-pewter chandeliers, his diamond pinkie ring, gold cuff links, and Italian suit. “Might I suggest you reinvest in your employees? Either way, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The college and the congregation will be, too.”

  Sister Lou led Chris from Wesley’s office. She nodded in farewell to poor, sleepy Otto as she and Chris exited the building on their way back to the parking lot.

  “He’s got to be Heather’s stalker.” Chris pressed the keyless remote entry to unlock his car.

  Sister Lou buckled her passenger seat belt in preparation for the world’s most sedate drive back to the congregational offices. “What makes you think that?”

  “Are you kidding?” Chris reversed out of the parking space and pointed the car toward the lot’s exit. “He calls Heather the Outsider. He hates her, her administration, and her policies.”

  Sister Lou counted at least three opportunities for Chris to merge onto the main street. Granted these openings were a little snug, but he could have made it by applying just a touch of muscle to the gas pedal. “But why would Wesley try to scare Heather into leaving Briar Coast?”

  “So that Owen would have a better chance of winning the election.” Chris finally crawled forward to join the traffic flow.

  Sister Lou prayed they’d make it back to the congregational offices before Good Friday. She loved her nephew, but she could have knitted a sweater in the time
it took him to get into the traffic lane—despite the fact that she didn’t know how to knit.

  “Wesley sounded confident that Owen would win this time.” The insurance agent’s exact words—wipe the floor with Stanley—still galled Sister Lou. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think Wesley is Heather’s stalker. We’re looking for someone who believes that Heather will win reelection.”

  Chris glanced at Sister Lou before moving forward with the traffic. “Like who?”

  “Everyone else on our suspect list.”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry that we won’t be able to meet for lunch.” Chris spoke into the beige receiver of his office telephone. He was sorry—but not surprised—that Shari had called to cancel their lunch plans. She was pulling further and further away from him. Her call to break their lunch date felt like more evidence that she was thinking of leaving Briar Coast—or at least thinking of leaving him.

  If you love someone, let her go. If she returns to you, she’s yours. If she doesn’t, it was never meant to be.

  He still didn’t like that saying.

  Shari’s sigh traveled across the telephone line and traced down his spine. “I just have a lot to do.”

  Chris’s gaze dropped to the photos on his desk. There was one of his parents and one of his aunt. He still hadn’t convinced Shari to give him her picture. She claimed that she didn’t like having her picture taken. Was that the truth or a sign that she wasn’t fully committed to their relationship?

  He tightened his hold on the receiver. Chris wasn’t certain whether it was with disappointment—or fear. “I understand. We can get together for dinner instead.”

  “I’m covering the town council meeting tonight, remember?” Shari sounded almost relieved to have the excuse.

  “Now I do.” This time, Chris couldn’t mask his disappointment. “All right, we’ll try again tomorrow. Have you changed your mind yet about attending the Mayor’s Charity Spring-Raiser with me?”