Chapter 6
Thursday Morning
“I hada text message from Mother Winnifred earlier,” Elaine said as they put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. They’d agreed warming up last night’s dinner would do for breakfast and save time.
“Is something wrong at St. Nicholas?” Griff asked.
“I’m not sure.” Elaine said, hanging up a dishtowel. “The text said that Sister Bernie received something in the mail yesterday that could mean something.”
“Like what?” Griff noticed with satisfaction that the delicate skin under her eyes was not so puffy, and the set of her mouth was relaxed. Her wheat-colored oversize sweater, with a multi-colored scarf tied around her neck in a fashionable knot, reminded him just how pretty his client was. As if he needed reminding.
But it was her jeans, encasing her long, lovely legs, that was keeping Griff’s heart beating just a bit faster than normal and he pushed aside the thought of those legs wrapping around his waist while his hands cupped what he was sure was a very sweet bottom.
“Bernie had a system with women she helped,” Elaine explained. “If someone in the community needed help or had information on a woman who did, they would send her an item from wherever they worked. This item was a printed copy of the menu from Carson’s, an upscale restaurant not far from here and sent by a woman named Elizabeth Burke.”
Griff sighed in contentment. “I know that restaurant. They were the first in the area to purchase as much of their produce from local farmers as they could and cook in season as much as possible while keeping some favorite items on the menu year-round.”
“I keep forgetting you’re a Knoxville native,” Elaine said. “Is there any part of the city you don’t know?”
“Very few,” Griff told her. “But you’ve lived here for years, too.”
“Since high school,” she said. “And I know the city well through my work at Families United and through The Wellness Clinic where Sister Bernie worked. Lots of her patients live in places other social workers are afraid to go, and if home visits were needed, we’d go together. But I know this situation is different and we need to be more than careful.”
“As long as you remember it,” Griff cautioned, checking his watch. “It’s almost time for your meeting. If it doesn’t take too long, maybe you’d enjoy a workout afterwards in the gym downstairs before we go to see Ms. Burke?”
“There’s a gym here?” Eagerness lit up her face. “Working out would be great.”
“Under the first floor in what you would call the basement,” Griff told her. “State of the art, just like our computer and security systems. Hank Patterson always gets the best of everything.”
An eager light sparkled in her eyes. “You don’t happen to fence, do you?”
“No,” Griff admitted. “But I’m really good with a bow, compound and otherwise.”
“I’ll bet that comes in handy,” she teased. “Would it be safe-electronically speaking if I called my fencing teacher for a lesson via Zoom?”
“I’ll check the link to be sure it’s safe, but sure, why not?” Griff agreed. “Did you ask Anne to pack your fencing gear?”
“Yeah, I did.” She looked at her watch and sighed. “Guess I better call Monty and get this over with. Monty is a real stickler for punctuality.”
The cautious note in her voice caught Griff’s attention. “That’s your supervisor,” he recalled. “Expecting trouble?”
“No,” she said slowly. “But since Cliff Hansford, our former director retired six months ago and Monty Gibbons was appointed acting director, he’s become really picky about things, things that never bothered Cliff. Monty is hoping to be appointed director after the first of the year.”
“Sounds like I need to make a fresh pot of coffee, just in case,” Griff pronounced. He filled the electric kettle with cold water, switched it on and then ground fresh coffee beans and spooned them into the French press. “Ready for my lady when she’s done with her meeting.”
“A man after my own heart,” she praised. “Where’s Patrick? Or did he ever come home last night?”
“He did but he’s already gone out to see about the car,” Griff said. “He dropped it off to have it bullet-proofed.”
“Bullet-proofed? You mean like the doors and windows?” Some of last night’s weariness returned to her face, and Griff immediately regretted his words. So much for her getting a good night’s sleep.
“Hank had already planned on having it done,” he quickly told her. “And now that someone has tried to kill you twice, it’s a good idea, don’t you think?”
Something like irritation darkened her eyes. “You’re thinking we could be shot while driving around? You don’t think that’s something I should know about?”
“It wasn’t deliberate,” Griff argued. “I didn’t even know about it until Patrick texted me about it this morning.”
“Okay,” she huffed. “But no secrets, please. If there’s something going on, I need to know upfront, please.”
“Absolutely,” Griff assured. “Again, I promise it wasn’t deliberate.”
“Okay,” she repeated. “I don’t mean to be so cranky. I just like to be in the loop. No secrets.”
Despite her irritation, her stroll from the kitchen to the living room was easy and graceful and a pleasure to watch. She was a savvy, intelligent woman, who seemed to be adjusting to her situation well.
But then Marda Kitts’ image hovered on the edge of Griff’s memory, setting off the old alarm bells. His belief in his ability to assess people and know when to trust them or not, was still fragile. Damn, he needed to be sure of that 24-7 and not like some kid right out of boot camp, questioning his judgement at every turn.
And he damn sure needed to be able to trust Elaine Prescott.
He poured the now hot water into the coffee press and lowered the plunger before taking a chair from the kitchen table and pulling it to just outside the living room. Then he sat and waited.
From his place, Griff watched Elaine sit at the large table, open and switch on her laptop. Their glances met and she smiled, launching Griff’s heart into a pace that might not be healthy. She’d obviously forgiven him for not telling her about the car.
Lord help, but her smile could put a man in the cardiac unit.Old instinct told him Elaine was more worried about this meeting than she cared to admit. He heard the exchange of “good mornings” and smiled. She’d turned up the volume and moved the screen to where he could see it. Clever girl.
“Sister Bernie’s death has really put me on edge,” Elaine began. “I need to take several days more of personal leave. Like until after Thanskgiving.”
“Sister Bernadette isn’t a member of your immediate family, Prescott.” Monty Gibbons’ screen image frowned in disapproval. “And you’ve already taken off two days, three counting today.”
“Sister Bernie was like family to me.” Elaine defended her request. “I’ll take leave without pay if necessary. The last time I checked, I had three months’ vacation time built up, and I haven’t called in sick for over a year, so why not use it?”
“Do the police know yet why someone would kill Sister Bernadette?” Gibbons demanded.
“No,” Elaine said, and hearing the lie, Griff sent a silent thanks that Grant Miller’s press release only stated that Sister Bernie’s “tragic death” was a random killing, and the police were actively hunting for her killer without a hint of Elaine being the intended target.
“I don’t think you realize how serious this could be, Prescott,” Gibbons continued. “Since Sister Nolan got herself killed, patients have been cancelling their appointments like crazy. A lot of them knew you were friends, so they’re probably scared to come. That’s not good for business. Why did she come to see you on Monday?” He pushed a hand through a tangle of brown hair, then tugged at his badly tied tie. “Why?”
“I wanted to tell her about my being chosen to work with Tennessee Task Force,” Elaine said. “And Sister Bernie didn’t ask to be stabbed in the middle of the street.”
Gibbons actually pouted, his lower lip jutting out like Griff’s five-year-old nephew when he didn’t get his way. “Lots of strange people go to The Wellness Clinic,” he complained. “Unpredictable and untrustworthy and too often can’t pay for their services.”
“Many of our clients use The Wellness Clinic,” Elaine countered. “Are you calling them strange and untrustworthy?”
“Of course not,” Gibbons spluttered. “But by the first of the year, our clients will have another choice for their primary care. Families United is merging with Windermere Health group and we’ll be offering in-house primary care. In fact, I think we may insist on it. And I’m not at all sure about us being involved with this Tennessee Task Force thing.”
“It’s a done deal,” Elaine argued. “Cliff-”
“Actually, Cliff slightly exaggerated that,” Gibbons interrupted, his smile more of a sneer. “And I’m going to warn you right now, Prescott, Windermere’s board of directors doesn’t like adverse publicity. Being associated with someone who was murdered is adverse publicity. You can have the rest of the week off, but I’ll expect you back in the office next Monday.”
“Wait a minute” Elaine shouted but Gibbons’ image vanished. She slammed down the laptop’s lid. “Idiot!”
“He’s a sweetheart.” Griff joining her, put the tray with the cups on the table and sat beside her. “Why does he call you Prescott and not Elaine or even Ms. Prescott? Sounds downright rude if not disrespectful.”
“He doesn’t like me.” She added cream to her coffee from the pot on the tray.
Griff propped his elbows onto the table and rested his chin in his hand. “No kidding. Why the hell not?”
A twinkle emerged from the depths of her eyes. “Years ago, when Monty and I were both level two social workers, and shortly after I started working at the agency, he learned I played on a women’s inner mural softball team. He claimed it wasn’t like real baseball and his son’s high school team could crush us in three innings. I called him on it, and he challenged my team to a fund-raising exhibition match with all funds from ticket sales going to the charity of the winner’s choice.”
“I think I’m going to love hearing this,” Griff chuckled. “What happened?”
“Word got out and donations poured in from all over the city including the high schools and other social service agencies,” she said after sipping her coffee. “I even heard blows were nearly exchanged at one high school between the men and women’s baseball-softball teams. Monty was calling it ‘the battle of the sexes’ and strutting like the cock of the walk. He really is a throwback.”
“I’m glad I made this coffee extra strong,” Griff declared. “And?”
“When our bus pulled up at the field on game day, the crowd went wild when half our team turned out to be nuns from Bernie’s convent. Wearing postulant’s habits, and most old enough to be the boys’ mothers, no less.”
“Baseball playing nuns?” Griff hooted with delight. “No shit?”
“Oh, yeah.” Elaine’s smile was a lesson in mischief. “I thought those high school boys would do a collective faint. Monty looked like he needed oxygen.”
“I should have put some whiskey in the coffee,” Griff gasped, still laughing. “And the sisters wore shorter versions of a full habit, like that young nun in Sister Act?”
“Right,” Elaine agreed. “Easier to field and round the bases in skirts just above the knee while preserving modesty. Usually when we played, the sisters wore the team uniform, but we thought wearing the habits would give us the element of surprise.”
“I’ll bet it did,” Griff agreed, trying to picture the crowd. “Who won the game?”
“We did. Twelve to nine. Those kids played their hearts out, but the other half our team were women who played college level softball and had coached us for years. In the end, the kids thought it was cool and some of them volunteered to paint Bernie’s clinic when the handyman got sick. We raised over five thousand dollars and divided the money between our agency and Bernie’s clinic, but Monty never forgave me for embarrassing him. He implied women who played ball like that were less than feminine, so he started calling me by my last name.”
“A bad loser,” Griff pronounced, wondering how anyone could look at Elaine Prescott and not see classic femininity.
“Appearances can be deceiving, she teased. “You should have seen Mother Winnifred in her day. Her line drive would send you straight to confession.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. And keep your hands where I can see them.” Marda brandished her gun as the men dragged the screaming children from the jeep. Alejandro slumped over the jeep’s wheel, blood sliding down his face from the wound in his temple.
“How long have you been-,” Rage halted Griff’s question.
“Working for the opposition? Years,” she purred. “You Americans are so gullible, we just let you see what we know you want to see. Brave freedom fighters which we are-but just not on your side.” Her smile vanished. “And you think you can take our children-”
“They’re not your children!” Griff shouted. “Their father was an American serviceman!”
“When we need them for the war? How foolish and na?ve you Americans are. I enjoyed working with you, Griffin Tyler. Even more screwing you. But you cannot take our future soldiers. Goodbye…
“Griff?”
He blinked and found Elaine staring at him, lips parted in concern. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry,” he muttered as his leg began to throb. “Just an old memory paying a visit. Let’s finish our coffee and do that workout before we go talk to Elizabeth Burke.”