Peril & Prayer Read online

  “Yes, Marianna. I was there.”

  “I know. In fact, you also were the one who found Autumn’s body.”

  “Are you blaming me for the congregation’s connection to the Briar Coast Cabin Resort?” Why not? If Sister Marianna put her mind to it, she could find a way to link Sister Lou to the existence of original sin.

  “Of course I’m not blaming you.” Sister Marianna took a testy tone. “I realize I’m the one who awarded our retreat contract to the resort. But you must be aware that people will realize that our congregation is the common denominator in these two murders, which happened less than three months apart. How do you think that will make us look?”

  Sister Lou sat back on her executive chair as she considered her uninvited guest. Sister Marianna wore a pale yellow blouse. The blue, gold, and white Hermionean cross was pinned to the lapel of her stiff ice gray jacket. She’d already tugged loose her yellow and white scarf. Sister Lou frowned as she recalled the black, gray, and red scarf she was supposed to have retrieved for Sister Marianna. After the shock of finding Autumn’s body, she’d forgotten all about it. Apparently, so had Sister Marianna. She’d never asked about it.

  She made a mental note to remind Sister Marianna about her scarf later. “Why don’t you tell me how you think our connection to these homicides will make us look?”

  Sister Marianna lowered her thin eyebrows. “People will think we’re somehow involved with them.”

  “Do you think the Briar Coast community will imagine that a member of our congregation is a killer?”

  “Don’t say it like that.” Sister Marianna’s frown darkened. “You know very well that people will jump to such conclusions.”

  “Then we should remind people of who actually did kill Maurice, and assure them that no one connected to the congregation had anything to do with Autumn’s murder.”

  “We wouldn’t have been put in this position if your friend the reporter hadn’t seen fit to plaster her story all over the front page of the Telegraph.” Again Sister Marianna wielded the newspaper like a weapon.

  Sister Lou decided against repeating that the only thing Shari was guilty of was producing a well-written article on a subject that was important enough to the community to be included on the front page.

  Sister Lou leaned into her desk and folded her hands on its surface. “I’m sorry the article causes you distress. However, it imparts information on an important event that occurred in our community. It’s also a sad event. We owe it to Autumn to acknowledge her death. The Telegraph has a responsibility to keep the community informed of what’s happened so that our neighbors can be aware of possible threats to their safety.”

  Sister Marianna stood. “Your friend should have kept us out of the article. There wasn’t any reason to include us.”

  Sister Lou maintained eye contact with the angry woman on the other side of her desk. “I don’t regret providing an interview for Shari’s article. I felt it was my civic responsibility to help her write a thorough and accurate report.”

  “Really?” Sister Marianna linked her fingers together in front of her waist, still managing to hold on to the newspaper. “I hope you’re able to explain that to our associates and partners who no longer want to be involved with the congregation because of our continued bad press. And what will you say to those donors who no longer want to support our ministries because of our connection to two of the three murders that have occurred in the past eight years?”

  Sister Marianna didn’t wait for Sister Lou’s response. She stormed out of the office much the same way she’d stormed in. It was then that Sister Lou realized she hadn’t reminded Sister Marianna about her scarf.

  Was it possible that the scarf had turned up when the deputies processed the crime scene? Sister Lou froze. That would really give the congregation an awkward connection to the murder.

  Chapter 11

  “Nice byline, Scoop.” Chris again scanned the article that appeared above the fold on the front page of Tuesday morning’s Telegraph. He gripped the beige receiver of his office telephone as he waited for Shari’s reply.

  “Thanks, Slick.” A smile warmed her voice as it traveled down the phone line.

  Chris’s lips curved in response. He’d been amused the first time Shari had called him “Slick.” They’d only just met but she’d taken an immediate attitude with him. Over time, he’d begun to suspect she used the moniker as a term of endearment.

  He held a mental image of her as they spoke on the telephone: thick raven hair that tumbled in unruly waves to her narrow shoulders; cinnamon-kissed heart-shaped face with deceptively angelic features; wide cocoa eyes that glittered with a reckless light. What was she wearing? Probably a pantsuit or skirt suit in a bold, confident color and ridiculously high stilettos that matched her clothes.

  “How does it feel to be a front-page fixture?” Chris reread the headline: Cabin Resort Owner Found Dead. Beneath that, the byline read, Sharelle Henson. It was a solid story with detailed statements from Autumn Tassler’s business partner, Rita Morris; her administrative assistant, Kelsey Bennett; and resort client Sister Louise LaSalle of the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Hermione of Ephesus. In somewhat terse quotes, Deputy Fran Cole and Deputy Ted Tate explained that they’d been called to the scene late Monday morning and were just beginning their investigation.

  “I’m not a front-page fixture. Yet.” Her chuckle was an interesting blend of swagger and self-deprecation. “But that’s a goal. I’ve wanted to be an investigative reporter for so long, but I was afraid I didn’t have what it takes.”

  The personal insight she’d shared with him was so rare. Chris seized the opportunity to widen the view. “When did you know you wanted to be an investigative reporter?”

  “Twelve. I think.” She was more cautious now, as though she was measuring how much of herself she wanted to share. When the tally was in, it wasn’t much at all.

  “You were so young when you decided to be a voice for those who couldn’t speak for themselves.”

  Shari’s reply came after a beat of surprised silence. “You remember what I said.”

  “I was listening.”

  Another brief hesitation. “Ah, no wonder you’re such a successful fund-raiser. You listen to people and remember what they say. Pretty good trick, Slick.”

  “A compliment from you. I don’t think my heart can handle the shock.” Although the defensiveness behind her words was palpable.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t make a habit of it.”

  He didn’t doubt it. “My remembering what you told me doesn’t have anything to do with my fund-raising skills. I remember because I care about you.”

  The silence was longer this time. In the background, he heard a cacophony of voices and the angry trill of ringing phones.

  Had he pushed too far? Chris could feel her pulling away even through the phone line that connected them.

  “I should get back to work . . .” Her response trailed off as she mumbled her ad-libbed line.

  He wasn’t ready to say good-bye. “Why were you afraid you didn’t have what it takes to be an investigative reporter? What did you think you were lacking?”

  “I don’t know.” Shari’s voice had cooled. “I need to get back to work.”

  Chris tried to imagine her office cubicle. What did it look like? What would it tell him about her? Did she have photos of people she knew and places she’d been to displayed on her desk? Were cuttingly funny quotes pinned to her cubicle walls?

  How could he coax an invitation to her office?

  “Let me pick you up for lunch. We can celebrate your latest front-page story.” He glanced down at the headline again. “Well, not celebrate. This is sad news, but I’d like to congratulate you on your article.”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “We can grab something from the café.” Who could resist the Briar Coast Café? Chris sensed Shari debating with herself. At least she hadn’t hung up.

  He glanced
at his bronze quartz wristwatch. It was almost a quarter past eight o’clock. Would she give him a chance, give them a chance? He held his breath while he waited for her verdict.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you at noon at the café.”

  He smiled his relief. “No, I’ll pick you up at the Telegraph.” He really wanted to see her work space.

  “All right. Noon. I’ll be waiting.”

  They ended their conversation with well wishes for the morning, then Chris hung up.

  His smile faded as he replayed their brief conversation. What had happened to cause her to put up so many walls?

  If Sister Lou had the answer, she wasn’t sharing it with him. He respected that, of course, but he still wanted to know why Shari had erected such impenetrable barriers—and what he could do or say to prove that, if she let him in, he wouldn’t betray her trust.

  * * *

  Shari recradled her phone after ending her conversation with Chris. “I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

  “Sharelle Henson?” The voice at her back startled Shari.

  She spun her desk chair toward the voice. Briar Coast Mayor Heather Stanley stood less than an arm’s length from her. Seriously, any closer, and their lips would touch. The mayor could at least wait until they’d been properly introduced. Shari’s gaze was drawn to the newspaper gripped in the fist the mayor held at her side.

  Shari lifted her eyes to examine the mayor’s delicate porcelain features, large violet eyes, wide pale pink lips, and shiny chestnut hair.

  “You’re Sharelle Henson.” The mayor’s violet dress made her eyes appear even more intense. Or maybe it was the anger that tightened her attractive features.

  “And you’re Mayor Heather Stanley. Nice pores.” The mayor smelled nice, too, like some kind of powdery perfume.

  “What?” Heather reacted as though she thought Shari had lost her mind.

  “Could I have some breathing room?” Shari shifted to ease the strain on her neck. “I’m not used to seeing you so up close and extremely personal.”

  Heather stepped back, giving Shari a furious frown while still managing to look perfect. “I want to talk to you about your article.”

  Shari gestured toward the single guest seat beside the conversation table in the corner of her cubicle. “I’d welcome the extra space. Make yourself at home.” She was momentarily distracted by Heather’s three-inch cream stilettos. “Nice shoes.”

  “Thank you.” Heather’s acknowledgment was grudging. She adjusted her stance but ignored Shari’s invitation to sit. Shari didn’t blame her. The chair wasn’t that comfortable. “Writing an article on the resort owner’s death didn’t show good judgment on your part.”

  Had she heard the other woman correctly? “The resort owner’s name was Autumn Tassler, and she didn’t just die. Someone killed her. He—or she—choked Autumn to death.”

  Heather nodded. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry for it. But this tragedy is no reason to cause a panic by running an article about it on the front page.”

  “This information is too important to bury inside. I agree with Diego’s decision to put it on page one.”

  “I’ll talk with him about his judgment as well. Believe me.”

  Shari was sure the mayor would try. “Good luck with that.”

  Arrogance flashed across Heather’s delicate features. And something else, anticipation of the challenge, maybe. “I’m not worried about Diego.”

  “If not on the front page, where would you suggest we put it? Not that we care.”

  Heather’s arched eyebrow was her only reaction to Shari’s editorializing. “That story has no place in this publication at all.”

  “We’re a newspaper, not Briar Coast’s public relations brochure. We have a responsibility to provide our readers with the information they need to stay informed and, above all, safe.”

  Heather threw up her arms. “How can people feel safe when you’re telling them that someone is running around town strangling their neighbors?”

  “That’s not what the article told them. Did you even read it?”

  “Of course I did. Why else would I be here?” Heather crossed her arms. A chunky sterling silver necklace complemented her outfit. It matched the studs in her ears and the bracelet on her left wrist. “Briar Coast is a safe community. Your article is damaging our reputation.”

  “Why, because it exposes that your claim of a crime-free town is false advertising?” Shari struggled to understand the mayor’s position. It might be an unwinnable war.

  “It’s not false advertising.” Heather looked as though Shari had slapped her in the face. Her voice dropped another twenty degrees. “It’s who we are and I’m going to make sure it stays that way.” She turned to leave.

  “Mayor Stanley.”

  Heather looked back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I’m also working on a story about the town’s predicted budget shortfall. Do you have a comment?” Shari imagined she could see smoke billowing from Heather’s ears.

  “Yes, I do.” Heather faced her fully. “Briar Coast does not have a budget crisis. You can quote me on that.”

  Without another word, Heather spun on her enviable heels and strode from Shari’s cubicle. Based on the direction in which she’d turned, Shari was pretty sure the mayor was on her way to confront Diego. Unstoppable force, meet unmovable object.

  She should sell tickets to that event and advertise it as a fund-raiser for the town.

  * * *

  Worry darkened Sister Barbara’s hazel green eyes behind her silver-rimmed glasses. Sister Lou had a foreboding of the reason the prioress had asked to see her this Tuesday morning. It wasn’t good.

  She remembered Sister Marianna’s question: What will you say to those donors who no longer want to support our ministries because of our connection to two of the three murders that have occurred in the past eight years?

  Apparently, Sister Marianna had more intuition than Sister Lou had given her credit for.

  “Thank you for coming, Lou.” Sister Barbara’s cloudy countenance was in sharp contrast to her sunny yellow blouse. Her chocolate blazer hung on the back of her black executive chair.

  “Of course, Barb.” Sister Lou settled onto one of the chairs in front of Sister Barbara’s desk. “Have you and Marianna decided whether to postpone the retreat?”

  “No, we haven’t, but that’s not why I wanted to talk with you.”

  I hadn’t thought so. “What can I do for you?” Sister Lou waited for the prioress to speak her mind.

  “We received calls from three donors this morning.” Sister Barbara seemed weary. “They read the article in today’s Telegraph about Autumn Tassler’s murder and they’re concerned. This is the town’s second murder in three months, and the congregation has a connection to both.”

  Sister Lou struggled to quash a stirring of impatience. “Why does that cause them concern? We’re not committing the murders. In fact, we were cleared of any suspicion in Maurice’s murder, and we’re not involved in Autumn’s.”

  “They realize we weren’t involved in those sad events.” The fluorescent lights above Sister Barbara’s office played over her cap of graying hair. “But they’re concerned that we’re associated with them.”

  Sister Lou’s impatience tugged again. She disagreed with any position that put the congregation in a bad light for not remaining silent and invisible in critical times. “We’re part of this community. If we can help inform the public, especially about issues as important as public safety, we have an obligation to do so.”

  “I agree with you, Lou.” Sister Barbara’s tone was reassuring. “But we’re developing a bit of an image problem.”

  “It does seem that way.” Sister Lou heard the disgruntlement in her voice. She drew in the soothing scents of cinnamon and peppermint that permeated the prioress’s office. “What would you recommend that we do?”

  “We need to turn this negative association into a positive one, and for that I’ll
need your help.”

  Sister Lou frowned. “What can I do?”

  Sister Barbara watched Sister Lou closely. “What you did the last time. Solve this case.”

  Sister Lou’s frown deepened in confusion. “The sheriff’s office already has assigned deputies to investigate Autumn’s murder.”

  “Those deputies investigated Maurice’s murder, too. You remember how that went.”

  I doubt I’ll ever forget. “They still haven’t forgiven Chris, Shari, and me for involving ourselves in their work.”

  Sister Barbara leaned back on her chair. “Instead of complaining, they should thank you. Without you, the real murderer would still be out there.”

  “I’m sure things will go better this time.”

  “I’m afraid that I don’t share your confidence, Lou.”

  “Barb, if we involve ourselves in another of the deputies’ cases, we could do irreparable harm to the congregation’s relationship with the sheriff’s office.” She looked askance at the prioress. “Is it worth the risk?”

  “Yes.” Sister Barbara’s response was unexpected. “Lou, our reputation must be restored and sooner rather than later. The deputies move too slowly. A lot of vulnerable people depend on the services we offer, which means we can’t afford to lose donors.”

  The truth in Sister Barbara’s words was a heavy burden, but still, Sister Lou hesitated. “I felt I needed to help find Mo’s killer. It was my fault that he was in Briar Coast. Also, the congregation was on the top of the deputies’ list of suspects.”

  “You may not have known Autumn well, but she was a member of the Briar Coast community.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Before getting to know Shari and admiring her directness, Sister Lou may not have called out the prioress. But Shari’s forthright manner was rubbing off on her.

  Sister Barbara returned her direct stare. “Is it working?”

  Sister Lou’s gaze drifted to the view outside the picture window behind Sister Barbara. The sunlight was brilliant on the vivid fall foliage. The scene looked like a painting that she could step into.