Chapter 20
“It was kind of you to agree to meet with us on such short notice, Mr. Rodney.” Sister Lou followed Owen Rodney, the town’s former mayor, down the hallway to his office at the Rodney Real Estate Agency early Tuesday morning.
Sister Lou rubbed her nose. The suite smelled moldy. The structure must be older than it looked.
“Yes, thanks for your time.” Shari walked beside Sister Lou. The thick blue-gray carpet that ran the length of the wide hallway muffled the sound of her cranberry stilettos.
“Of course. I always have time for the media.” Owen tossed a broad grin over his shoulder and split it between Sister Lou and Shari. It looked forced.
The former mayor’s voice was confident and boisterous, bringing back Sister Lou’s memories of that voice on the last mayoral campaign trail.
“We in the media appreciate your taking the time to give us an interview.” Shari’s response was dry.
Owen didn’t seem to notice the reporter’s tone. His forced grin remained in place as he allowed Sister Lou and Shari to precede him into his office.
Sister Lou’s first impression of the office rocked her back on her heels. Shari’s hand on the center of her back both steadied her and propelled her forward. Sister Lou was grateful for the former, not so much for the latter.
Owen’s office looked like the eye of a storm. Everything felt like they were on top of her, pushing against her. And the air was pregnant with the stench of clutter. Binders and books were stacked on every flat surface. Papers, folders, and circulars spilled from all the drawers in Owen’s office.
To get from the doorway to the gray cloth guest chairs, Sister Lou bravely followed the path formed by the directories and manuals piled across the dark blue Berber carpet. She tried not to think of what could be buried alive under the stacks. Sister Lou removed the folders from the far left chair, leaving the seat on the right—and its folders—for Shari to deal with.
“Let me take those from you.” Owen hustled to Sister Lou and relieved her and Shari of the folders. He dropped them to the floor behind his desk before collapsing onto his gray faux leather executive chair. “So what questions do you have for me?”
“Rumors have it that you’re running for mayor of Briar Coast again.” Shari hung her winter coat on the back of her guest chair and pulled her reporter’s notebook from her oversized green purse. “When will you make your official announcement?”
Owen looked pleased by Shari’s question. He straightened on his chair and cleared his throat. “The people of Briar Coast deserve strong, capable leadership from an experienced political leader who knows the residents and this great town in which we live.”
Sister Lou winced at Owen’s planned impromptu campaign speech. Her gaze was drawn to Owen’s desk. Her eyes widened in horror. How deep were his piles of papers? Somehow Sister Lou managed to tear her gaze from the disturbing sight. She forced herself to scan Owen’s office, even knowing she’d never be able to unsee the manmade disaster.
Beside her, Shari transcribed their interview. The reporter’s pen moved quickly across her notebook. “Yes, but when will you announce that you’re running?”
“I’m going to announce my candidacy and officially launch my campaign any day now, perhaps as soon as the first day of March.”
Sister Lou frowned in bewilderment. This was the twentieth day of February. March first was more than a week away. “Why are you delaying your announcement for so long, Mr. Rodney?”
Owen’s confused gaze moved from Shari to Sister Lou. “If you don’t mind my asking, Sister, why are you here? I thought this was a newspaper interview.”
“I have my own questions,” Sister Lou answered in a gentle tone. “For example, when did you decide to run again? Was this a fairly recent decision?”
“No.” Owen’s voice was noticeably cooler. “I’ve always known that I would run against the Outsider again.”
Sister Lou was even more puzzled. “Then why are you delaying your announcement? Is it that, although you’re anxious to run again, potential donors aren’t as interested in your candidacy?”
Owen angled his chin in an obstinate direction. “My supporters are very enthusiastic about my campaign. They know that I offer them a mature, experienced alternative to our current, struggling mayor.”
“Heather Stanley isn’t struggling.” Shari’s words were firm and abrupt. “In fact, she’s reduced the town’s deficit by almost a third of the red ink you left her. And she’s secured government funding for infrastructure improvements. Longtime residents have told me that the streets are in much better condition than they were when you were mayor.”
Owen turned his now cold eyes on the well-informed reporter. “You weren’t here during my administration, were you?”
“You know that I wasn’t.” Shari didn’t even blink in the face of Owen’s tangible temper. “But people who were here during your time in office have been willing to fill me in on how you lost to an outsider. Think about that. Exactly how bad would you have to be to lose a mayoral race to someone who’s brand spanking new not just to the town but to the entire state?”
Anger flickered across Owen’s broad features. “It seems that they didn’t tell you that I’d inherited a lot of that debt. I needed to deal with it before I could fix the potholes.”
Sister Lou heard the antagonism in Owen’s voice. His grudge against his former election opponent sounded as strong as ever. And he’d referred to Heather as the “Outsider.” Interesting. Sister Lou waited for Shari’s next move.
The reporter was taking notes of Owen’s responses. “Mayor Stanley found a way to deal with both the debt and the potholes simultaneously.”
Sister Lou watched the uncertainty flicker in Owen’s eyes. “I was here during your administration, Mr. Rodney. Mayor Stanley is much more effective in her management of Briar Coast. Does that cause you any concern for your campaign?”
Shari lips twitched in a smile. “What’s your campaign slogan? I Want a Mulligan?”
Sister Lou rubbed her mouth in an effort to cover her smile. Shari had used the gulfing terminology that referred to permitting an extra stroke after a poor shot.
Owen leaned back on his chair and crossed his thick arms. He wore a teal cable sweater over a white collared shirt. “I’m surprised anyone lets you interview them. You have a very unpleasant attitude.”
Shari shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m not here to make friends.”
Owen grunted. “That’s obvious. Listen, I’m not afraid to go head-to-head with Heather Stanley and run against her record. She’s got plenty of weak spots.”
“Name one.” Shari’s eyes glinted with challenge.
The way the reporter defended and praised the mayor to her future election challenger wasn’t lost on Sister Lou. Perhaps Shari wasn’t as disapproving of Heather as she pretended to be.
Owen counted off his examples, starting with his left index finger. “She’s underfunded our emergency services—”
Shari interrupted him. “Isn’t that because the deficit left over from your administration doesn’t allow for increased funding?”
Owen ignored Shari’s comment. He tapped the second finger on his left hand. “Her policies are punitive to the business community and are crippling Briar Coast’s job growth.”
Shari nodded. “You may have a point there.”
Owen’s smile was smug. “I’m not afraid of challenging Stanley’s record. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
Sister Lou wasn’t convinced that Owen’s confidence was warranted. “Mayor Stanley’s job approval rating is very strong. People are much more confident of the town’s future now than they were under your administration. What makes you so confident that you’ll be elected this time?”
Owen snorted. “After more than four years of Stanley’s policies, voters will welcome me back. You’ll see. Especially after our debate, they’ll see there’s no comparison. I’m a shoo-in.”
“We’ve taken enough of your time.” Sister Lou had heard enough. She stood to leave. “Thank you again for meeting with us. We can show ourselves out.”
“Thank you for the interview. It’s been quite illuminating.” Shari pushed herself from the real estate agent’s guest chair.
Sister Lou led the way out of Owen’s office. Back in the parking lot behind the Rodney Real Estate Agency, she used her keyless entry to let her and Shari into her Corolla.
Shari fastened her seat belt before turning to Sister Lou. “What do your Spidey Sleuth Senses tell you? Is the Sore Loser Heather’s stalker?”
“I don’t think so.” Sister Lou put her car in gear and maneuvered out of the agency’s parking lot. “He doesn’t seem to fit our profile.”
“We have a profile?” Shari sounded skeptical.
Sister Lou gave her friend a dry look before returning her attention to the street. She glimpsed an opportunity to merge her compact car into the first lane of traffic if she moved quickly. Sister Lou pressed on the gas pedal and spun the steering wheel, squeezing her car into the lane.
A gasp from the passenger seat broke her concentration. She shot a quick glance at Shari before returning her attention to the road. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Shari spoke on a sigh. “I just wasn’t expecting that quick turn—although I should’ve been.”
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.” The silence was heavy and spoke volumes. “All right. I apologize. I won’t do that again.”
Shari chuckled. “Yes, you will, but tell me about our suspect profile.”
Sister Lou shrugged off her guilt and focused on the profile. She was somewhat disconcerted that she’d been able to create it so quickly and without conscious thought. “Heather’s stalker is well organized. He planned the letters and how to get them to Heather anonymously.”
“You don’t think Owen’s capable of figuring out how to get the letters to Heather?” Shari sounded skeptical. “He worked in that office suite for five years.”
Sister Lou slid Shari another look. Her tone was dry. “Does Owen’s office look like it belongs to a well-organized person?”
“Good point.” Shari inclined her head. “The whole time we were in Owen’s office, I was waiting for the rest of his staff to dig themselves out from under his piles of paper. How do we know there aren’t people under there?”
Sister Lou grinned. “Now that you mention it, I could see that happening.”
“What else?”
Sister Lou grew somber again. “The stalker doesn’t want to campaign against Heather. That’s why he’s trying to get her to leave Briar Coast before the election, but Owen says that he wants the opportunity to attack Heather’s record. And I believe him.”
Shari heaved a sigh. “You’re right. I believe him, too.”
“Although I think he’s fooling himself if he thinks he can win against Heather.”
“She’ll eat him for breakfast.”
“I thought you didn’t like our mayor.” Sister Lou tossed her friend a smile. “You sound almost proud of her.”
Shari shrugged a shoulder. “Heather has her redeeming qualities, like her ability to make grown men cry.”
* * *
“Did you give up coffee for Lent after all?” Chris’s expression revealed a blend of curiosity, confusion, and concern.
His question over lunch Tuesday afternoon surprised Shari. She gave him a baffled stare from the other side of the small blond wood table in the Briar Coast Café’s dining area. “No, why are you asking?”
Chris paused with his spoon hovering just above his beef and vegetable soup. “You’ve been quiet and distant all week. I was hoping that it was just caffeine withdrawal and not . . . something else.”
Shari played with her chicken and rice soup. Each sweep of the warm metal spoon through the bowl released a flavorful waft of vegetables, seasoned meat, and soup stock. “If I had to go without coffee for even a day, I wouldn’t be quiet and distant. I’d be catatonic.”
Shari was serious, but Chris seemed amused. “Then what’s on your mind? Why have you been acting so strangely lately?”
The muscles in Shari’s neck and back stiffened. “I’m not acting strangely. You’re imagining things.” She sensed Chris’s probing gaze, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.
“That’s the other thing that’s changed.” His tone was quiet but no less compelling. “You don’t seem to trust me anymore.”
Shari’s gaze flew up to meet Chris’s. “What are you talking about?”
“During the three months that we’ve been dating, you were starting to confide in me. Suddenly, for some unknown reason, you’ve stopped. What’s happened?”
Shari lowered her eyes to scowl at her soup. “It’s nothing. I can handle it on my own.”
“Handle what?” Chris reached across the table to cup his large, warm hand over hers. His palm was rough against her skin. “Come on, Shari, tell me what’s going on.”
Shari sensed herself weakening under Chris’s touch and persuasive tone. She tightened her lips against her disintegrating resolve. She could take care of herself. She’d been doing so for years through every foster home she’d been bounced in and out of. This situation with the Telegraph wasn’t any different. “I can handle this. Really. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“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.