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  Memories of that traumatic session took some of the spring from Sister Lou’s steps. “It was about what you’d imagine.”

  Sister Carmen grimaced. “That bad?”

  Sister Lou didn’t need to elaborate. Everyone knew how confrontational Sister Marianna could be. Some people loved chocolate. Others enjoyed pasta. Sister Marianna lived to argue.

  Sister Lou and Sister Carmen finished their first loop around the residence halls, then turned toward the college’s oval. Federal-style, redbrick academic buildings and stately old trees flanked the well-manicured lawns and pedestrian pathways in the heart of the almost 160-acre campus. A handful of joggers and a few walkers—mostly students, but some faculty and staff—also braved the predawn chill to exercise.

  Sister Lou wiped the sweat from her upper lip with the back of her wrist. “She disagreed with the resort owner’s suggestion to include a few popular menu choices with the healthy meals she’d ordered.”

  Sister Carmen grunted. “If her grocery list for the retreat is like the meals she’s been ordering for the motherhouse, the event will not go over well.”

  “I know.” Sister Lou sighed. “IT’s helping me put together an online survey for the congregation to select their meal preferences.”

  “Good idea.” Sister Carmen nodded. “You may not want to show Marianna the final results, though. Her feelings could be hurt.”

  “It’s no secret that Marianna and I don’t see eye to eye.” Sister Lou waved at familiar faces along their path. She’d heard that the college community referred to her and Sister Carmen as the Running Sisters. Students in particular always seemed excited to see them. “I don’t understand why Barbara’s so adamant that I help Marianna with the retreat planning.”

  “I do.” Sister Carmen smiled and waved at the joggers and walkers she recognized. She had the air of a rock star.

  “Care to share your insight?”

  “You’re the only one who challenges Marianna.”

  Sister Lou almost stumbled in surprise at Sister Carmen’s pronouncement. Her jogging partner caught her arm to steady her. “No, I’m not. Marianna argues with someone. Every day.”

  “You’re wrong.” Sister Carmen’s two favorite words. Scratch that; her two favorite words were I’m right. “Most people give in to Marianna. Some people, like me, ignore her. But you stand up to her.”

  “It’s not only me. Most of the sisters openly supported Maurice’s invitation to be our keynote speaker for the Saint Hermione presentation.” Sister Lou recalled the most recent—and most devastating—example of people disagreeing with Sister Marianna.

  Sister Lou had invited her longtime friend, the noted theologian Dr. Maurice Jordan, to be the congregation’s guest speaker for its St. Hermione of Ephesus Feast Day presentation this past August. Sister Marianna’s objections had been immediate, persistent, and loud. She’d considered Maurice’s perspectives too controversial. For that reason, she hadn’t wanted the congregation to associate with the theologian.

  Much to Sister Marianna’s consternation, the overwhelming majority of congregation members had supported Sister Lou’s recommendation to invite Maurice. Tragically, her friend had been murdered the morning of his presentation. Sister Lou had found his body.

  Sister Carmen was quiet as though she also was remembering that sad event. “We were all happy to help with the event, leaving you in Marianna’s crosshairs.”

  “Perhaps I should have listened to Marianna. Perhaps if I had, Mo would be alive today.”

  “Stop it.” Sister Carmen was firm if a bit breathless. “The person who murdered Maurice is responsible for his death. Your invitation had nothing to do with it.”

  Maybe not, but Sister Lou still hadn’t come to terms with the regrettable connection. She returned to her more immediate dilemma as a distraction. “Marianna’s penchant for arguing is going to be a problem with this retreat. She doesn’t believe in compromise, and she thinks I compromise too much.”

  “Everyone knows Marianna’s difficult to work with. She’s stubborn. If there’s a way to make working with her easier, no one’s figured it out yet.”

  The sun continued to rise as they finished their third lap around the oval. Sister Lou jogged beside Sister Carmen as they followed other runners and walkers onto the path that led to the center of town. Their destination was the path’s two-mile marker. At that point, they’d return to the college and retrace their steps. The scents of earth and foliage surrounded them on the trail. The towering trees were dazzling with autumn colors. Tangles of ground cover grew along the well-worn path, shadowing the silver lampposts the town council had installed.

  Sister Lou interrupted their companionable silence. “How am I supposed to work with her?” Does anyone on earth have an answer to that question?

  “You can handle her. You came up with the survey idea.”

  “I wanted to end the arguing.” Sister Lou shook her head. “She treats everything like a conflict. How do I help her to see that it’s not?”

  “I don’t think Barb meant for you to change Marianna’s style. That would take a Christmas miracle. Maybe you can work on that for Lent.”

  Sister Lou laughed as Sister Carmen obviously meant for her to. “All right. I’ll pace myself with her.”

  Sister Carmen chuckled. “Barb’s going to owe you a pretty spectacular Christmas gift.”

  Sister Lou shook her head with a smile. “Working with Marianna is ruining my Christmas spirit.”

  * * *

  One of them could use more sleep. Autumn glanced at her pearl gray cell phone lying beside her forearm on her desk. It wasn’t yet eight a.m., but she and her director of finance, Gary Hargreaves, had been discussing the resort’s month-end financial report for more than ten minutes. Either she wasn’t asking the right question, he wasn’t making any sense—or they both needed more sleep.

  “My numbers are correct.” Gary was starting to repeat himself. He sat on one of the scarlet and wood chairs on the other side of Autumn’s desk. “They’re the same numbers I sent you.”

  The accountant was a clothes horse. Today’s double-breasted smoke gray suit looked tailor-made for his tall, lean figure. How could he afford his wardrobe on the modest salary she was paying him? His golden blond hair was expertly cut in the latest style. He hadn’t gone to a neighborhood barber.

  Autumn searched his bright green eyes. “Gary, are you keeping two sets of books?”

  The accountant looked stunned. “Absolutely not.”

  She hadn’t thought so. She trusted Gary, but she still had to ask.

  Autumn tapped the thick, detailed report on her desk with her right index finger. “If the report I have and the one you’re showing me are the same October month-end reports, why are the numbers so different?”

  According to the financial file Autumn had received, the Briar Coast Cabin Resort was realizing very comfortable profits in keeping with the events and guests Autumn had worked very hard to contract. However, the company’s bank balances didn’t reflect that success. She’d asked Gary to meet with her to explain the discrepancy between his report and the resort’s bank balances. Where was their money?

  “I think someone’s hacked your computer.” Gary’s voice was heavy with tension.

  Autumn was speechless. Gary had just given voice to her growing fear. Of all the business challenges she’d imagined before opening the resort—low sales, lawsuits, incompetent vendors—it had never before occurred to her that someone would hack her computer and steal from her. “You think someone’s hacking into my e-mail system and altering the financial reports you’re sending me? Who would do that?”

  A flush darkened his soft, pale features. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  Autumn sat back on her brown faux leather executive chair. Her attention was on her open office door. She couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. “That’s a hefty charge. Whoever’s doing this must’ve known they’d get caught.”

  Gary ran
his well-manicured hand through his perfect hair. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I swear that I’m not stealing from you.”

  She believed him or at least she wanted to. But could she? He looked nervous. Was that because he was guilty or because he wasn’t? “Do you think it’s another member of the staff?”

  “I don’t know. It could be one of our vendors.”

  “How do we get to the bottom of this?”

  A knock on her door interrupted their conversation. Autumn saw the resort’s head chef, Urban Rodgers, standing in her threshold. He was dressed in his usual black pants and shirt; today it was a collarless jersey.

  “Morning, Autumn. Gary.” Urban’s smooth brown features were expressionless. The middle-aged chef was handsome despite the long, angry scar on the left side of his face. “Autumn, do you have the congregation’s retreat menu?”

  Her mind nimbly switched gears. “The sisters are still working out the details. We should have their meal selections by the end of next week.”

  In the almost ten months that Urban had worked for her, Autumn had never had any conflict or cause for concern with him. He was a hard worker, a talented cook, and a responsible employee. But did that mean she could trust him? Was he the one stealing from her?

  Urban allowed a flicker of concern before again masking his expression. “Our schedule is getting tight. I’ll need time to evaluate the budget and purchase the ingredients.”

  “I know.” Autumn glanced at Gary, who was following her exchange with Urban. Was he also wondering whether the chef was behind the hacks? She returned her attention to Urban. “They know that we’re behind schedule, but we should be all right with the timing. They’re not looking for anything fancy.” An understatement, considering Sister Marianna’s preference for boring, tasteless entrées.

  Urban nodded as he turned to leave. “I’ll check back next week.”

  “Thank you, Urban,” Autumn called after him.

  “I should get to work.” Gary stood, checking his silver Movado wristwatch. Where did he get the money for it? “I’ll do some research on tracing computer hacks.”

  “Thanks, Gary.” Autumn mentally shook her head. Would she start looking at all of her employees differently now? Three months ago, she’d thought she could trust them. She thought they were a team. Now a seed of suspicion had been planted in her mind. She had to get to the bottom of this before more of her money was stolen and additional damage was done to her company.

  Chapter 4

  “That’s a risky proposal.” Lorna Alexander, the vice president for finance at the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus, spoke with the finality of a person who thought her position was much higher than it was.

  Chris sat on the pale blue–cushioned chair next to hers. The proposal to freeze the college’s tuition for four years and increase the number and value of the scholarships awarded was commendable. Did the idea have risks? Yes. But Chris was willing to listen to Sister Valerie Shaw’s proposal. First, because it was an intriguing idea that was at least worth exploring. Second, because the older woman who had called the meeting and who was seated on the blue cloth executive chair on the other side of the desk wasn’t faking power. As president of the college, she had it.

  The president’s office smelled pleasantly of hazelnut coffee. Like his aunt, Sister Valerie was an early riser. The rumor was that she never slept. It was just after ten o’clock on the last Friday morning of October, but she’d probably already invested four or five hours of the day toward her beloved college, which her congregation had founded in 1871, 146 years ago.

  Sister Valerie was a 1972 alumna of the college. After taking her vows, she’d earned her doctorate in education, then returned to teach at her alma mater. She’d climbed the ladder from faculty member to division chair to provost, and now led the college as its ninth president, a position she’d held for almost eight years.

  “I understand that this proposal presents some challenges.” Sister Valerie’s blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross was pinned to the right lapel of her cool green suit jacket. “That’s the reason I invited the two of you to my office to discuss it. I’m not going to announce that the college will freeze tuition effective tomorrow. Considering the estimated cost of this decision, I realize we need to identify how and when to make it feasible.”

  Translation: Sister Valerie wasn’t an idiot. This was a monumental task—but she was determined to make it work.

  Lorna wasn’t as attuned to Sister Valerie’s subtext. “Well, let’s start with the money.” She gestured with her right hand. Her long, bloodred nails seemed to drip from her thin, honey brown hand. “The figures available now are based on a prior year’s budget. I’ll need to crunch numbers based on projected costs of future markets. Those will be very rough estimates. In fact, they could be completely wrong.”

  Sister Valerie folded her small, pale hands on the mahogany surface of her desk. Her wavy chestnut hair was liberally threaded with strands of gray that winked beneath her office’s fluorescent lights. “I have faith in your expertise, Lorna. I’m confident that you’ll be able to approximate a realistic estimate of future years’ expenses.”

  Chris’s brain sorted through options and ideas. “We’ll have to grow our pool of donors to help get us to our goal.”

  “That’s right.” Lorna seized on his words. She crossed her long legs, on display beneath the midthigh length of her red skirt suit, an exact match to her nail polish. “You’re talking about a lot of money, Sister. We’re already pressuring donors for money for other budgetary needs: capital improvements, programs, and services. We can’t go back to them to ask for even more money.”

  Lorna’s persistent negativity was like kryptonite, the mineral that drained Superman of his superhuman strength. She never said an encouraging word, or made one positive observation about others’ plans and proposals to enhance the institution. She never offered ideas, either. If the college’s management had been left to her, it would still be operating from its original building with four classrooms on the ground floor and a community bedroom above.

  “I realize that this is the greatest amount of money we’ve ever considered raising for our school.” Sister Valerie turned to Chris. “As vice president for college advancement, fund-raising is your purview. What are your thoughts?”

  “I was going to say that my team has been cultivating new donors for some time. We can invite our new donors to make a gift first, then return to our long-term supporters after the New Year.”

  The look in Lorna’s almond-shaped midnight eyes was skeptical. “You’ve only been vice president for advancement for a month. Do you really think you’ve had enough time to work those new relationships?”

  “You’re right, Lorna.” Sister Valerie interrupted their exchange. “Chris has only been vice president for one month. Before that, he was interim for almost five months. All told, he has ten years of experience as an advancement professional. Just as I have faith in the expertise you hold in your field, I also have faith in his.”

  Lorna shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m glad fund-raising isn’t my responsibility.”

  Lorna was trying to use the Jedi mind trick that the Star Wars character Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi used to plant suggestions in his enemies’ heads. Chris wasn’t falling for her efforts to make him second-guess himself.

  Sister Valerie gave Lorna a chastening look. “I’ve always said that fund-raising, just as student recruitment, is everyone’s responsibility.”

  “Sister, we’re not a huge university.” Lorna swung her right foot, shod in a snow-white three-inch stiletto. The action was irritating. “We’re a small, private college. It’s hard enough getting media coverage, much less money. The last time we were in the papers, someone had to die.”

  Sister Valerie’s sharp intake of breath ushered silence into her office.

  Chris broke that silence. “Dr. Maurice Jordan was a good friend to my aunt.”

  Sister Valerie pre
ssed a hand to her chest. “The congregation’s still grieving the loss of Dr. Jordan. He was taken from us far too soon.”

  “I apologize.” Lorna looked from Chris to Sister Valerie. “I didn’t mean to make light of the tragedy. I just meant to show how hard this fund-raising proposal will be.”

  Sister Valerie’s warm brown gaze scanned her surroundings as though seeking something. On her office walls, framed black-and-white and color photos of events at the congregation joined images of college events. She’d once told Chris that she wanted to remain in that office until the walls were covered—floor to ceiling—with commencement photos. Like him, she was driven to serve the needs of their students.

  “The cost of obtaining a degree from an institution of higher learning has grown out of control.” Sister Valerie spoke with measured words and quiet passion. “This country is in a crisis that I no longer want our school to be any part of. Instead, I want us to lead the way toward bridging the education gap and giving students who are our future a fighting chance to succeed. Will you help me?”

  “Yes, of course.” After the president’s inspiring words, Chris would have found a way to change lightbulbs on the moon, if that’s what she’d wanted.

  Lorna still hesitated. “We’re going to look like fools if we go around asking for money to freeze tuition but then don’t raise the money to keep our word.”

  Chris considered his associate. Her negativity was driving him to madness. “And what will we look like if we don’t even try?”

  * * *

  “Sister Lou, it’s good to see you again.” Autumn Tassler glanced toward her office door as she circled her desk. “Is Sister Marianna joining us?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Sister Lou shook Autumn’s hand. “Marianna and I discussed the preliminary equipment list for the retreat sessions so that I could review them with you this morning.”

  Was that relief in the resort owner’s eyes?