Nun Too Soon (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 1)

by Alice Loweecey

  “Olivier is welcome to him after the trial, when he’s fair game.”

  “Cool. I’ll tell him tonight.” Sidney grunted and shifted in her chair. “Mini-Sidney is not Zen today at all.”

  Giulia moaned under her breath. “Sidney, if you need to leave...”

  Sidney got herself resettled. “Huh? It’s not even noon. I don’t have much room for lunch these days anyway.”

  “No. I mean if you need to start your maternity leave today, you should do it. I don’t want to guilt you into staying if it’s not good for both of you.”

  Sidney patted Giulia’s hand. “You’ll never get a reputation as a cold, evil boss if you keep being all concerned and kind like this.” She leaned closer. “I’m fine, honest. My doctor says I’m in great shape.”

  “If that changes, you tell me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sidney giggled, but regained her serious expression a moment later. “You haven’t really fallen for that guy’s act, have you?”

  “Give me credit for functioning brain cells. He ought to have one of those red bisected-circle ‘NO’ signs tattooed on his forehead.” Giulia stretched the small of her back. “Fortunately for him, I don’t have to like or trust him to make sure I do everything in my power to discover his guilt or innocence.”

  Sidney’s phone rang. “Now who’s talking in clichés?”

  “Ick. You’re right. I’m going out to clear my head.”

  Giulia parked the Nunmobile in Precinct Nine’s side lot. Two patrol cars passed her, the drivers giving her a quick wave. A chunk of cement was missing from the second step leading to the front door and some shiny new scrapes decorated the railing. A screaming male voice hit her like a rock as soon as she turned the door handle.

  “I’ll sue you for false arrest! My lawyer’ll ram that bullshit warrant down your throat, you dirty bastards!” Clanking metal and high-pitched rasping noises accompanied the voice.

  The Bond Girl wannabe at the reception desk rolled her multi-shaded eyes at Giulia.

  “You know what I love about this job? It’s so peaceful.” She pointed a turquoise nail toward the noise. “You take karate lessons, right? Detective Driscoll might want to borrow you.”

  Giulia walked into the central office space. Two of the six desks were shoved against each other and one computer monitor lay on the floor surrounded by its shattered frame. A scarecrow in camouflage jerked against the handcuffs locking his hands and feet to the legs of one of the desks. His long, greasy hair kept getting caught in his mouth as he cursed everyone in the room. Giulia walked around the perimeter, as far as possible from the prisoner’s stinks of body odor and stale weed.

  She spotted her husband typing on a keyboard at a desk not his own. His charcoal gray suit and dark blue shirt were unrumpled, his short ginger hair looked as startled as it always did. Only the jagged rip in his striped tie marred his appearance.

  His partner’s suit...ouch. One sleeve ripped at the shoulder, tie shoved into his flapping pants pocket, a bruise forming on his left cheekbone, and an open cut on his forehead.

  Giulia made her way to her husband’s temporary desk. The curses from the handcuffed prisoner got more colorful when he caught sight of her.

  Frank looked up from the keyboard, took in Giulia, then took in the prisoner’s line of sight. “Hey, Weed Boy! Shut up before I stuff a dishtowel in your mouth.”

  “Come over here and try, pig!” More invective followed.

  Three different detectives yelled into their phones over the shouts. One uniformed officer pounded a keyboard at the unbroken monitor next to the desk housing the prisoner. The cop’s nose wrinkled every time the prisoner opened his mouth.

  Captain Reilly came to the doorway of his own small office. “I knew I should’ve taken today off—Giulia!” He snatched her off the floor and embraced her. “I apologize for the idiot over there. If you come work for me, I promise nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  “Jimmy, what did the nuns teach you about where liars go when they die?” Giulia said when he let her down. “Your Saturday confessions must be very interesting.”

  The prisoner scraped the desk across the linoleum. Everyone winced.

  “Think of the good influence you’d bring to this godforsaken place.”

  “Jimmy, stop tempting my wife,” Frank said. “She owns her own business now. Why in God’s name would she chuck it all to work here?” He saved the document and pulled Giulia over to his desk. “Hey, honey. What’s up?” And he kissed her.

  Giulia ignored the “ooohs” and whistles. When they separated, she said, “You look good.”

  “So do you. I like the way you fill out that sweater.”

  More “ooohs.”

  Giulia made a face at him. “Thank you, darling. Who’s the sweetheart on the floor and can we bill him for a new tie?”

  “We could sell a tenth of his hydroponic basement garden and outfit everybody in the room.” Frank jerked his head toward his partner. “VanHorne here really does want to thank him for the injuries.”

  “What? Why?”

  Frank winked. “He’s got a date tonight. Chicks dig scars.”

  “Screw you, Driscoll,” his partner said. “Apologies, Giulia.”

  “No worries, Nash. Are you still seeing the pharmaceutical sales rep from Christmas?”

  “Yeah.” His roughed-up face reddened a little. “We had a pregnancy scare last month. You know how it is: The one time we don’t use a condom, and sure enough, she’s late. Turned out to be only a scare, but it got me thinking that we would’ve had to get married.” He broke off and yelled over to the prisoner, “Close your mouth, druggie. Your breath is stinking up the place.” He smiled at Giulia. “Then it got me thinking that marrying her wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

  Giulia grinned. “Does she have the same idea?”

  “I think so.” His smile became shy.

  Frank still typing, said, “Go on. Show her the ring.”

  The younger detective took out his wallet and removed a folded white handkerchief. He draped the corners of it over his open hand and revealed a plain gold band set with a square-cut sea-green stone.

  “It’s lovely,” Giulia said. “That’s not an emerald, right?”

  “I knew you’d pick up on that. None of the Neanderthals in this joint did.”

  A chorus of grunts and cartoon caveman noises came from the other desks.

  Nash ignored them. “It’s a green sapphire. She’s into greens—the color looks good with her blonde hair. She’s got nothing like this, though.”

  “So go get that cut looked at, Mister Romance. Who knows what germs are crawling around the Screaming Wonder’s skin.” Frank closed and sent the report.

  “Yeah, yeah. I got a mother back in Cleveland, you know.”

  Giulia folded the handkerchief back into place. “Ignore him. I could tell you a ton of stories about the adorable romantic surprises he’s cooked up for me.”

  Jimmy guffawed. The detective at the desk behind Frank got a case of the coughs.

  Frank raised two fists to the ceiling. “Woman, why do you emasculate me in front of my brethren in arms?”

  Giulia winked at Nash.

  Jimmy said, “See how you mother everyone in here? What can I do to bring you into our fold, Giulia? There must be a way to tempt you.”

  The desk near the door screeched on the linoleum again. “Unlock these cuffs, you bastards, or I’ll sue you for police brutality!”

  All four of them turned their heads to gaze toward the other side of the room.

  Giulia made an expressive open-hand gesture and paired it with a rueful smile which clearly indicated “Not going to happen.”

  Jimmy hung his head. “If it were legal, rest assured I’d take my desolation out on that idiot on the floor.”

  “I could recommend a good lawyer,” Giulia said. “Speaking of lawyers, may I borrow my husband for a few minutes?”

  Nash said, “Sure, go ahead. I’ll get
Anderson to help me wrestle our guest into a holding cell.”

  Frank escorted Giulia into one of the interrogation rooms.

  “These cinderblock boxes give me the creeps.”

  “Aha,” Frank said. “What guilty secret are you hiding, Mrs. Driscoll?”

  “You wish. It’s just that they remind me of one of the less pleasant convents I lived in.” She shivered. “Can you really handcuff someone to a desk like that in the twenty-first century?”

  Frank’s smile vanished. “We can when he is awake, not under the influence of any substance which would cause him to injure himself or choke on his own vomit, does not have any physical impairment which would cause him injury, and when the alternative is for one of us to take that computer monitor he busted and smash it over his head. Okay, I made that last one up. Nash and I had a hell of a time getting him from our car into the building, and he went berserk when he saw that the only other exit from our main room leads deeper into the building. Took four of us to get him on the floor and cuffed to the desk like that.” His smile reappeared. “Weed Boy in cuffs is the culmination of five months’ work. Idiot should’ve opened a legitimate hydroponic garden store instead. His setup was genius.” He flopped into the chair behind the small, square desk. “What’s up?”

  “I’m going on an interview binge starting now and lasting through tomorrow night. You’re on leftovers for the duration. My goal is to snag seven of the Silk Tie case’s neighbors, co-workers, and ex-girlfriends.”

  “I’d say you were wasting your time, but since you’re getting paid, good luck with it.”

  Giulia poked his ribs. “You, sir, are the poster child for cynicism.”

  “Nope. For realism. You don’t really think this guy is innocent, do you?”

  Giulia considered her answer. “Honestly? I think the odds are six to one he’s guilty and three to two he’s an accessory and someone else really strangled the victim.”

  Her husband stood, leaned his hands on the desk, and loomed over her. “And I’m stuck eating nuked sauce because of those lousy odds?”

  Giulia gave him her most beatific smile. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “Oh, God.” Frank reached over and shuffed the top of Giulia’s head. “Whew. Despite indications to the contrary, no invisible veil perches atop my wife’s hair.”

  She laughed. “I apologize for freaking you out. Sometimes the old me peeks out before I can squash her.” She stood. “To distract you, I have a relevant work question. Did whoever was in charge of the Silk Tie investigation get surveillance footage from the apartment building?”

  “I’m sure they did. It’s routine. That lawyer didn’t give it to you? He must have a copy.”

  “No. He also withheld some information from me that Roger Fitch gave me on his own. Apparently the lawyer thought it’d prejudice me against my client.”

  They looked across the little desk at each other.

  “Really,” Frank said.

  “Really. Before you ask: Yes, he’s now on my list of suspects. He’s not high on the list, but he made a rookie mistake, and he’s not a rookie.”

  “A lawyer keeping secrets. What a shock.”

  “Indeed. Now, sir, would you be so kind as to check on that footage while I make a few phone calls?”

  Thirteen

  Fortified with a burger and sweet potato fries, Giulia pressed the entry button labeled Asher, Geranium. A few seconds later, Fitch’s next-door neighbor buzzed her into their apartment building.

  The place surprised Giulia. From Fitch’s attitude, she’d expected a live-in Westin Hotel with a doorman and a concierge. What she walked into was a higher-end apartment building with decent carpets and no stink of boiled cabbage in the air. The beige paint on the walls wasn’t too badly scuffed. The imitation wood-paneled elevator didn’t creak and moved at a pace faster than an asthmatic snail. A ghost of cigarette smoke lurked in the second-floor hallway, but no dust coated the artificial flowers in a bowl on a narrow table near the elevator doors.

  The door to apartment 210 opened the three inches allowed by its chain. A long, narrow face came forward just enough for Giulia to see that its owner’s eyes were a washed-out brown and its shriveled lips were once full and used to smile a lot.

  “Mrs. Asher? I’m Giulia Falcone-Driscoll.”

  The face remained in its noncommittal position. Giulia stayed a step away from the door. Without warning, the face pushed right up to the gap.

  “Young woman, cover up that mop of hair.”

  Giulia hadn’t expected that. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. Take your two hands and cover your hair right up to your forehead.”

  Giulia covered her head as requested. The sooner she complied, the sooner she could write this one off and work on her questions for Fitch’s video-surfing co-worker.

  Seconds ticked by. The woman had seen Giulia through the camera installed above the row of buzzers in the vestibule, so what was up with this extra inspection?

  “May I put down my arms now?”

  “You’re not Giulia-whatever-you-said. That’s the wrong name. I can’t remember it right now, but it’ll come to me. Where are your veil and your black dress?”

  Giulia got it now. She dropped her arms and said with her brightest smile, “Yes, I used to be a nun. My name back then was Sister Mary Regina Coelis. But it’s been—”

  “That’s it!” The door closed and the chain rattled free. When it opened again, a tiny old woman in black yoga pants with orange piping and a matching orange t-shirt stood aside to let Giulia in. “You taught both of my granddaughters Sexual Education. Their mother was scandalized—my daughter gets a pole up her behind sometimes—but my granddaughters said you taught it like a real person, not like someone locked behind convent walls all her life. Come in, come in. Can’t talk in the hall. Some people,” she raised her voice and spoke to the closed door opposite, “have nothing better to do than spy on the neighbors all day.” She closed the door and replaced the chain. “You sit down on the couch and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  The bright blue walls and blue-patterned carpet contrasted with the brown sofa and gold curtains, but in an eye-catching way. Not that Giulia could see much of the walls. Photographs of three children from birth to adulthood and then five more children paired with them covered three-quarters of the available space. Kids skiing, kids creating science projects, kids holding cheerleader pompons; in football gear, in hockey gear, graduating high school and college, in formal wedding portraits. Giulia looked longest at the sepia toned photograph of a tall, serious black man and petite, equally serious black woman in stunning period clothes.

  Geranium Asher kept talking from the kitchen over the clatter of plates and silverware. “Those are my grandparents back in nineteen ought four.”

  “Her wedding dress is gorgeous.”

  “Isn’t it, though? The cathedral train ripped clean off when she got out of the car to go change into her traveling clothes. Her mama made it into a christening gown. We all wore it. Real satin, it was; you should have felt it running through your hands just like water.”

  “My wedding dress was an antique, but not as lovely as hers.”

  “You have to tell me how a smart young sister turns into a smart young detective, Mrs. Driscoll. Now, I got one of those Keurigs last Christmas and I don’t know how I lived without it. What can I make for you? I have French roast, hazelnut, cinnamon, and Irish cream.”

  “Irish cream, thank you.”

  “Me too. I’ll just be another minute. You set yourself and get comfortable.”

  Giulia obeyed, out of both politeness and the overall goal of getting as much information she could out of this witness.

  The aroma of strong, sweet coffee filled the apartment. A few minutes later, her host brought in a hand-painted floral tray set with two mugs, a creamer, a sugar bowl, and a plate of jam-filled thumbprint cookies rolled in crushed nuts.

  “All right now. I made th
ese cookies and I guarantee you will love them. There’s half and half and sugar for the coffee if you take it. You dig in.”

  Giulia declined both but chose a cookie with raspberry jam in its center. “Just like Christmas,” she said after the first bite.

  Geranium accepted the homage like a queen. “I have never met a person who didn’t like my thumbprints. Now, Mrs. Driscoll. I know you came here to ask about that horrible murder from last April, but we’re going to do some bartering. I’ll tell you everything I can about Mr. Fitch and poor Miss Gil, but first you have to tell me how my girls’ teacher is sitting in my living room as a detective and not a Sister.”

  “That is more than fair.” Giulia gave the “for public consumption” version of her last few years in the convent. This version, similar to the Bowdlerized Shakespeare editions of the early 1800s, omitted the despair, the backstabbing, and the confessional attack by the popular priest. Instead, it focused on the humor at her own expense: Having only underwear and a single pair of jeans and a t-shirt to her name afterwards. Learning how to put on makeup, trying to walk in two-inch heels. One of her first, disastrous dates.

  Geranium laughed hard enough to soak one of the square cocktail napkins with tears.

  “You poor thing,” she said between gasps. “I’m so sorry for laughing, but you ought to be on YouTube.”

  Giulia laughed with her. “I’m very glad no one was around me with a camera phone those first months.”

  The old woman patted Giulia’s knee. “So now you’re married and in charge of your own business. You are a strong woman. I’m sure going to use you as an example for my granddaughters. Just look at what they can do if they put their minds to it.”

  “I’d be honored.” Giulia finished her cookie.

  “Before you work on a polite way to ask me to get to the whole point of this visit,” Geranium winked at her, “you tell me what you want to know about last April.”

  Giulia breathed easier. That was exactly what she’d been about to say. She had two other interviews to get to today and it was already after one o’clock.