Alibis & Angels

Book 3: Sister Lou Mystery

by Olivia Matthews

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Giving up murder for Lent won’t be easy . . . With the Lenten season fast approaching, Sister Louise “Lou” LaSalle looks forward to a final day of indulgence before giving up her favorite sweets. But one Briar Coast resident won’t get the chance to repent. Opal Lorrie, the mayor’s director of finance, was just found in the parking lot of the Board of Ed--with a broken neck. The sheriff’s deputies are calling the apparent slip-and-fall a freak accident. But Opal was driving her boss’s car and wearing her boss’s red wool coat. Mayor Heather Stanley has been receiving threatening letters and is clearly the real target. Offering her sanctuary could put the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Hermione of Ephesus at risk, but how can Sister Lou turn her back on a neighbor in need? Aided by her loyal sleuthing partners—her well-connected nephew Chris and reporter Shari Henson—Sister Lou must confront the mayor’s myriad detractors during this critical election year. And as the first day of April nears, it’s up to her to unmask an unrepentant killer who has everyone fooled.

Release date: February 26, 2019

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 273

Sample

“You’re giving up coffee for Lent?” Sharelle “Shari” Henson gaped at Christian “Chris” LaSalle. He sat across the table from her at the cozy Briar Coast Café on Sunday morning. “That’s like giving up bathing.”

Seated beside Shari, Sister Louise “Lou” LaSalle struggled with a smile as she watched the exchange between the young couple during brunch. Ash Wednesday, the start of the Lenten season, was just four days away. Sister Lou and her nephew, Chris, the vice president for College Advancement with the College of St. Hermione of Ephesus, had attended Mass before picking up Shari. Sister Lou and Chris still wore their sober Sunday finery. Shari had met them wearing a lemon yellow crewneck sweater, moss green jeans, and well-aged tangerine sneakers.

Chris sliced into a turkey sausage patty. His onyx gaze, which was so like his father’s—Sister Lou’s deceased brother’s—dropped to Shari’s white porcelain coffee mug. “I can see how you would think that. Is that your second or third coffee today?”

Shari’s gaze dropped to her mug before returning to Chris. “That depends. Are you counting the coffee I drank at home while waiting for you and Sister Lou?”

Sister Lou’s eyebrows jumped. She sliced into her vegetable omelet as she contemplated Shari’s coffee. They’d been in the café for less than an hour and already the newspaper reporter was on her second mug. Chris was still nursing his first coffee of the day.

Sister Lou was drinking chai tea, her hot beverage of choice. She’d need a refill soon. “Lent helps us recognize the things that we’ve become too dependent on; things that have taken hold of us in negative ways. By fasting from them during Lent, we’re declaring that we won’t let them control us anymore. That’s why Chris’s decision to give up coffee is an excellent one. It’s also not the first time he’s chosen to fast from coffee for Lent.” Sister Lou gave her nephew an indulgent smile.

Shari’s reckless cocoa eyes widened in horror. “You’ve done this before?”

Chris smiled as though he enjoyed Shari’s dismay. “Several times.”

Shari’s winged eyebrows soared. The Briar Coast Telegraph newspaper reporter looked dumbstruck. “But I bought you that cappuccino maker for your birthday.” They’d celebrated Chris’s thirty-fourth birthday three weeks ago on January twenty-first.

Chris’s perfectly proportioned sienna features softened with love and appreciation. “I’m using it now, and I’ll look forward to using it again on Easter Sunday, April first.”

Shari wrinkled her long nose. “It seems wrong to celebrate Easter Sunday on April Fool’s Day.”

“It kind of does.” Chris returned to his toast.

Sister Lou was silent in her dissention. What did it matter that Easter Sunday fell on April first this year? She would be celebrating Easter and the joy of the resurrection. Sister Lou took a moment to relax into the laughter and chatter that ebbed and flowed from the tables around them.

Shari shoved her mass of unruly raven tresses behind her narrow shoulders. Her gaze settled on Sister Lou. Her diamond-shaped features—high cheekbones, pointed chin, and bow-shaped lips—conveyed a mixture of confusion and frustration. “What’re you giving up for Lent?”

Sister Lou understood that Shari wasn’t actually asking what she was giving up. Her young friend wanted guidance as to whether she should participate in some form of fasting during the Lenten season. Religious traditions were new to the reporter. Sometimes Sister Lou forgot that Shari hadn’t been exposed to them from childhood the way she and Chris had.

Sister Lou shifted on her seat to face Shari. The bracing early February air of Briar Coast in upstate New York leaked through the window beside her. Despite her Southern California roots, Sister Lou didn’t mind the chill breeze.

“The practice of exercising self-discipline is meant to draw us closer to Jesus Christ.” Sister Lou touched the blue, gold, and white Hermionean pin she’d affixed to the right lapel of her pale blue blazer. “Our efforts remind us of how much we have to be grateful for, but we don’t have to give something up to do that. During Lent, we’re also encouraged to modify our behaviors.”

Shari’s brow furrowed with concentration. “You mean like being polite, not getting angry, and not cursing?”

Chris sipped his orange juice. “Being more intentional in what we do and say can improve the way we treat other people even after Lent.”

Sister Lou drank more of her chai tea. The warm, sweet beverage had a cinnamon-like bite going down. “We’re also encouraged to volunteer with nonprofit organizations like food banks, homeless shelters, and animal centers.”

“Like the programs that your congregation sponsors.” Shari referenced Sister Lou’s congregation of Catholic sisters, the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Hermione of Ephesus. The reporter’s expression brightened as she began to understand the bigger picture of the meaning and purpose of Lent.

Sister Lou took a sip from her nearly empty mug of chai tea. “That’s right.”

Shari’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Are you giving something up or changing your behavior?”

Sister Lou finished off her omelet. She was sorry the culinary delight was over. “Both. In addition to giving up pastries—”

“You’re giving up pastries?” Once again, Shari’s voice reflected scandal and horror.

Sister Lou recognized the irony of making her announcement in a café that was full to bursting with the scents of chocolate, confectioners’ sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. “I’m also recommitting to praying the rosary.”

Shari gave her a blank look. “The rosary? What’s that?”

Sister Lou fought against a smile. “I’ll show you the next time you come to my apartment.” There was a high probability that Chris and Shari had planned to do something together after Chris drove Sister Lou home. For that reason, she wouldn’t commit the couple to visiting with her today.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Shari split a look between Chris and Sister Lou. “In the meantime, what should I give up for Lent?”

Chris seemed surprised. “You don’t have to give up anything. It’s optional.”

Shari shrugged her narrow shoulders. “If you two are doing it, I want to do it, too.”

Chris lowered his fork and gave Shari a steady look. “Making the decision to fast during Lent is a significant commitment.”

Shari nodded. “I understand that.”

Do you really? Sister Lou wrapped her hands around her cooling porcelain mug of tea and contemplated her young friend. Her goal wasn’t to dampen Shari’s enthusiasm. It was to ensure that Shari understood the solemnity of the tradition.

One didn’t fast on a whim.

Sister Lou prayed for the right words. “I love your willingness to embrace something that’s so important to Chris and me, but I want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“I’m not doing this just because of you and Chris,” Shari assured Sister Lou. “I want to experience this, too.”

Sister Lou smiled. “All right, then. Instead of giving up something, perhaps you can join me in modifying our behaviors.”

Shari gave her a wary look. “You want me to do that rosary thing with you?”

Sister Lou almost laughed at the dread in the younger woman’s voice. Perhaps now the reporter was getting a sense of the seriousness of this season. “Let’s start small. Giving up something is far more fulfilling when there’s a clear understanding of why you’re doing it.”

Shari glanced at Chris before returning her attention to Sister Lou. “Okay. What should I do?”

Sister Lou sat back on her seat. “This year, commit to learning more about the Lenten season, and its traditions, including fasting and reconciliation.”

Shari looked disappointed. “Learn about Lent? That’s it? For forty days?”

Baby steps. “It’s a lot more than you may think.”

Shari gave a decisive nod, then turned to Chris. “Can we go to a bookstore today so I can buy some books?”

Sister Lou cupped Shari’s warm, slender hand where it lay between them on the table. “I have a booklet that I could give you.”

Shari looked surprised. “To keep?”

Sister Lou squeezed Shari’s hand before releasing her. “Of course, you can keep it.”

“Thank you.” Unshed tears sparkled in Shari’s cocoa eyes. It was as though she still wasn’t used to receiving gifts.

Sister Lou tossed her friend a grin to lighten the mood. “Maybe you can give up coffee for Lent next year.”

Shari snorted. “I’d rather give up bathing.”

Laughter—carefree, high-pitched, and feminine—filled the reception area of the Briar Coast mayor’s office early Monday morning.

Mayor Heather Stanley turned away from her administrative assistant’s desk and toward the sound of the levity. “Good morning, Kerry.”

Kerry Fletcher’s laughter left behind a radiant smile. The administrative assistant’s light brown eyes sparkled and a faint blush dusted her milky cheeks. “Good morning, Mayor Stanley.”

Heather had just placed a report on Kerry’s desk, which was outside of her office, when her administrative assistant had appeared as though on cue. Kerry’s new boyfriend, Jefferson Manning, was with her. Heather estimated that the couple had been dating for almost a month.

Jefferson worked for a conservative city councilman in Buffalo. In decent traffic, Buffalo’s city hall was at least forty minutes from Briar Coast. Despite his comparatively long commute, Jefferson had been chauffeuring Kerry to and from work every day, and met her for lunch on occasion. That meant some days Jefferson wouldn’t get to his job until well after eight a.m. and he’d leave his office before five p.m. His boss must have very forgiving office hours. Heather enjoyed a good love story as well as the next employer, but she wouldn’t stand for such a blatant lack of commitment from her staff.

“Good morning, Mayor.” Jefferson inclined his head toward her. His wavy golden blond hair was expensively cut to complement his sharp features. His dark brown eyes were watchful as though not quite certain of his welcome.

The clock above the office entrance they’d just walked through showed that there was still ten minutes before the eight o’clock hour. Jefferson was welcome for the next nine.

“Hello, Jefferson.” Heather made a point of looking at her rose gold Shinola bracelet wristwatch, a gift from her well-off parents, before returning to her office.

Her three-inch navy pumps were silent as she crossed her office’s thin wall-to-wall slate gray carpet. She rounded her well-organized walnut wood desk, which stood beside her matching rectangular conference table. Heather settled onto her padded, black faux leather executive chair. She logged back on to her computer and continued reviewing her e-mails. The accumulated flood of transmissions would have been so much greater if she didn’t monitor her electronic in-box over the weekend. Still, judging by the time stamp on many of this morning’s messages, she wasn’t the only early riser.

Several minutes later, Kerry strode into Heather’s office. The younger woman’s curly strawberry blond hair swung around her plump doll-like features. Her navy blue coatdress skimmed her curvy figure.

Heather completed her final e-mail reply. She took a bracing drink from her second cup of coffee as she watched Kerry deposit a daunting bundle of mail into the black metal in-box that stood on the corner of the desk.

Heather fought the urge to ask her assistant to take the mail and bury it in the landscaping behind the town hall. “Thank you, Kerry.”

The bright smile the younger woman tossed her way shimmered with the reflection of young love. It was also infectious. “You’re welcome, Mayor Stanley. It’s a lot easier getting to work on time now that I’m carpooling with Jeff. And we have so much in common since we both work for local government.”

“That’s nice, Kerry. I’m happy for you.” Heather kept her smile in place as Kerry gushed. “Let me know as soon as you’ve received the minutes from Friday’s town planning meeting, please.”

“Right away, Mayor Stanley.” Kerry’s curls swung as she turned to stride from the office.

Heather switched her attention to her physical mail. She bit back a groan. Whose bright idea was it for her to handle her own correspondence?

Oh, that’s right. It was mine.

She grabbed a handful of correspondence off the top of the stack and started sorting through it. A plain white business envelope stood out from among the customized stationery, postcards, and oversized manila mailers.

The cheap envelope was addressed to her only by name, Mayor Heather Stanley. There was no stamp. No return address. Still the mail piece was eerily familiar. She’d received correspondence like this one last Wednesday.

Heather retrieved her black ink retractable pen from her desktop. It shook in her grip as she used it to open this latest mysterious letter. Dread weighted her muscles. With trembling fingers, she pulled out the plain white eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of copier paper. It also had a disturbing familiarity. Heather read the brief message. Her heart lodged in her throat. This second note was verbatim to the first. Outsider, if you know what’s good for you, don’t run for reelection. Leave Briar Coast.

The threat was direct, succinct, and chilling. The message left no hint of the culprit’s identity. Who would send these anonymous notes?

Heather had dismissed the first one as a sick prank. Now that the threats were multiplying, what should she think? Why didn’t they want her to run for a second term? How were these envelopes getting mixed in with her mail? Who was behind the threats?

Heather took a shaky breath. The scent of hazelnut reminded her of the still-warm mug of coffee faithfully waiting on her desk. She took another deep drink and a flare of anger and outrage incinerated her trepidation.

Who did this sniveling coward think he or she was? If this spineless troll didn’t want her to run for a second term, he could tell her to her face instead of hiding behind plain paper and laser printers.

Just as she had with the first threat, Heather crumbled the letter and slammed it into the black plastic wastebasket beneath her desk. She did the same with the envelope. The mail piece didn’t deserve the dignity of being recycled. Heather saw red. Her pulse raced. Her breath quickened. She’d long ago vowed not to be intimidated by anyone ever again. She wouldn’t allow anything—or anyone—to allow her to break that promise to herself, especially not this gutless vermin.

The knock on her open office door made her jump. Heather’s head jerked up and her gaze found her chief of staff, Arneeka Laguda, framed in her doorway.

Arneeka looked concerned by Heather’s reaction. “Do you need me to come back in ten minutes?”

“No, please come in.” Heather pulled her chair farther under her table and sat straighter. “I was deep in thought about something unrelated to our meeting.”

Arneeka strode into the office past the tall walnut wood bookcase against the wall. She sat on one of the three black cloth guest chairs in front of Heather’s desk. Her gold hijab, the veil traditionally worn by Muslim women, which covered their head and chest, complemented her olive complexion as well as her navy ankle-length skirt suit.

“The most critical event on your schedule for today is your budget meeting with the Board of Education.” Arneeka’s almond-shaped dark chocolate eyes pinned Heather to her chair. “Do you have everything you need for that meeting?”

Heather drew her manila folder on the Briar Coast Board of Education’s proposed budget from the black wire incline file on her desk. Stalling for time, she opened the folder and studied the first sheet of paper.

She’d discussed the data with her finance and management director, and had spent hours reviewing it on her own. Despite that, none of the information made sense this morning. Heather fisted her right hand. The two written threats she’d received had rattled her more than she’d wanted them to. Her hands itched with the need to pummel the spineless worm who’d sent them.

She closed the folder and met Arneeka’s gaze. “I’m going to ask Opal to attend that meeting in my place.”

Opal Lorrie, her administration’s director of finance and management, had developed the numbers and was keenly aware of the figures’ impact on the Board of Education as well as the town.

Surprise widened Arneeka’s eyes in her round face. “Is something wrong?”

Heather frowned, immediately defensive. “No. Why?”

Arneeka looked dubious. “It’s not like you to have someone attend a meeting in your stead.”

The younger woman had worked on Heather’s election campaign for a year. She’d been chief of staff for the past four years of Heather’s five-year term. During that time, Arneeka had come to know her very well.

Heather worked harder to appear relaxed and in control. She didn’t want anyone to know about the threats, not even members of her staff. She couldn’t afford to seem vulnerable. “I know it’s out of character for me, but as you noted, this is a critical meeting. Opal knows the numbers inside and out. She’ll do a better job with this meeting than I could.”

“Will you let Opal know or should I?”

Heather couldn’t read Arneeka’s expression. Did her chief of staff buy her reasoning? “I’ll call her.”

“All right.” Arneeka stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work.”

“You are working, Arneeka, and I appreciate your help.”

“Whatever I can do to be of assistance.” Arneeka’s full, red lips curved in a gentle smile, then she disappeared beyond Heather’s door.

Heather turned to stare at her computer monitor. That’s what she needed; someone to help her find the coward behind the threats she’d received. Someone who wasn’t in her administration. Someone who was discreet. Someone she could trust.

“How did you get that nun to help you with your news stories?” The male voice came from behind Shari Monday morning.

For the moment, Shari ignored the interruption. Her fingers flew over her computer keyboard in her cubicle at the Telegraph’s office. She had plenty of experience tuning out meaningless background noise, starting with her years in the foster care system and then her work in previous newsrooms. She couldn’t risk breaking her train of thought as she added critical details to her story on Briar Coast’s upcoming budget battles. The background information came courtesy of Opal Lorrie, Briar Coast’s director of finance and management.

Of course she had to remain impartial. She had a responsibility to cover both sides of the conflict. But from where Shari sat, there were definite rights and wrongs. She hoped her readers would recognize that, too.

Shari saved her computer file before spinning her gray padded chair to face her uninvited visitor. She’d hoped that her surprise guest had grown bored and left. Sadly, her hopes had been in vain.

Harold “Don’t Call Me Hal” Beckett stood at the threshold of her cubicle. He was the newest reporter on the Telegraph’s staff. He also was the most irritating. Shari paused a moment to fantasize about erecting a force field that would prevent the rookie from entering her cubicle. Ever. Again.

“Why are you here, Hal?” Shari used the rookie’s hated nickname. She’d hate it, too. It was a creepy reminder of the crazy computer from the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Harold sounded tense.

“Are you yelling at me or just trying to be heard above the newsroom noise?” Shari raised her voice as well, pitching it above the clacking keyboards, shouted conversations, and ringing telephones.

Harold glowered. “How did you and that nun start working on news stories together?”

Shari ignored his question. “Sister Lou’s not a nun. She’s a sister. Nuns are cloistered. She’s not.”

“Whatever.” Harold leaned back against her gray cubicle wall and crossed his arms. “How’ d you get the setup?”

The rookie looked like he was prepared to hang out in her cube for a while. That was when it occurred to Shari that she could work on her patience for Lent. She immediately dismissed the idea, though. Committing to that specific goal would be setting herself up for failure.

Shari scowled at the twentysomething recent graduate of the State University of New York at Buffalo. Not for the first time, Shari wondered how the Texan had ended up first in Buffalo and now in Briar Coast. She’d add that to her list of Questions About Hal, which included the source of his perpetual tan.

Harold was perhaps five-foot-nine or -ten, not counting the assist from the two-inch heels on his black wingtips. He was slim—almost thin, with narrow shoulders under a plain white cotton shirt. His long, thin legs were encased in skinny navy slacks. His matching suit jacket was probably still in his cubicle. His curly dark brown hair looked finger combed.

Shari jerked her chin toward his red power tie. “Is that silk?”

“Yes, it is.” Harold smoothed the material lovingly.

“Who wears silk in a newsroom on purpose? Aren’t you afraid the newsprint from the papers will stain it?”

Harold’s smug expression turned sour. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“No. Go away.” Shari spun her wheeled chair back to her computer. She reached for the white porcelain mug her boss, Diego, had given to her as a gift. The mug had the question, CAN I QUOTE YOU? stenciled in black type across the side. It was her third coffee of the morning. The warm hazelnut scent comforted her.

“Why not? Are you afraid you’ll lose your cushy beat?” Harold’s taunt hit its intended mark.

Cushy? Shari’s hands shook with her rising temper. She carefully returned her mug to her tan modular desk. Shari relived the anguish she’d felt after her previous boss had fired her for pursuing her first murder investigation. She flashed back to her fear when she and Sister Lou had chased down a murder suspect less than three months ago.

Shari met Harold’s eyes over her shoulder. “What makes you think I have a cushy beat?”

“Come off it.” Harold rolled his light brown eyes. “It’s obvious from reading those reports that Sister Lou told you exactly what to write. You just put your byline on the stories. I wish that I had a sweet deal like that.”

Harold’s stupidity rendered Shari speechless—but not for long.

“Do you often speak when you don’t know what you’re talking about?” Shari knew the thoughts running through her head were inappropriate for the upcoming Lenten season. She had less than three days to clear them from her mind.

That wasn’t enough time.

Shari watched, incredulous, as Harold sauntered even farther into her cubicle.

He slouched onto her guest chair. “You don’t think that other people have figured out that all you’re doing is waiting for Sister Lou to give you a guaranteed front page article and all the information you’d need to write it? People aren’t stupid.”

“I can think of at least one person who is.” Shari considered the intruder in her cubicle.

Thanks to Perry O’Toole, the newspaper’s former managing editor, Harold had had an internship with The Briar Coast Telegraph throughout his six-year college career. Perry had given Harold a lot of leeway as an intern. He’d ignored Harold’s missed deadlines and reworked the worst of his articles. According to the reporters who’d been on staff at the time, Perry’s leniency toward Harold had hurt the Telegraph’s image and damaged the staff’s morale. Nevertheless, the former managing editor had given Harold a full-time job after the young man’s graduation. Perry probably thought his generosity would curry favor with Harold’s very wealthy and very well connected parents. It hadn’t.

Despite Harold’s comparatively charmed life, he never appeared satisfied. Take their exchange this morning as an example. Instead of covering his assigned beat—the upcoming election ballot issues—Harold was prowling around, looking for a way to pounce on Shari’s stories.

Not as long as there was breath in her body.

Resentment left a bitter taste in Shari’s mouth. “I helped Sister Lou and he. . .