Giulia sipped plain Lipton tea. Two of the nuns laced their tea with brandy. The other two and Frank added whisky to their instant coffee.
The dog flopped onto a braided rug next to the refrigerator. A battery-operated wall clock with a miniature pendulum chimed twelve times.
The shriveled nun who’d answered the door blew her nose and tossed a third tissue into the corner wastebasket. Next to her, a middle-aged nun in a nurse’s uniform worried a chip in her mug with a short fingernail. Even seated she towered over everyone except Frank.
Across from Giulia sat the Superior and a fourth nun, both with dark hair going gray. All four nuns would run through a tissue, toss it, sip their drinks, sniffle, and repeat the same pattern.
After several minutes of silence, the nurse shoved back her chair. The Chihuahua opened one eye and slapped its tail on the rug. The nun opened a plastic container on the counter. She returned with a plate piled with miniature scones, setting it in the center of the table with the napkins, salt and pepper shakers, and a tub of margarine.
“We’re out of butter and despite the margarine we offer as good hosts, I suggest no one profanes the scones with it.”
“Dip them in the coffee,” the door warden said. She chose one studded with flakes of cinnamon and took her own advice.
Giulia chose a blueberry scone and nibbled it dry. She didn’t need her all-natural assistant Sidney to tell her the yellow glop in the store-brand container was really chemicals masquerading as food.
The Superior ignored the scones and kept gazing at Giulia. “I remember you from the big reunion a few years ago. Did you leave the Order after the scandal? So many did.”
The door warden’s tea cup stopped before it reached her mouth. “I’m getting senile. We’d have recognized you with a veil on.” She looked as though she was suppressing an urge to curse. “If you’d been closer, you would’ve taken out the thug before he killed Matilda.”
The others performed the tennis match head swivel from Giulia to the doorkeeper and back again. The latter, whose name was Olive, drank her tea. “She’s the former Community member who busted up the Motherhouse drug ring.”
“At the reunion? That was you?” the fourth nun spread margarine on a plain scone. “The details were hushed up but everyone knows something about it.”
Sister Olive launched into a colorful recap of Giulia’s undercover stint in her old Motherhouse. Stars filled the eyes of her listeners. Giulia had to stop it before they expected her to be concealing a Wonder Woman suit beneath her too-tight pants.
“I assure you my work on that case was nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You call stopping a drug-dealing priest and his minion the former Superior General, plus surviving a pipe bomb, ordinary?”
The nuns stared at Giulia with enraptured eyes. She had to take control of the story.
“The final moments were a little dramatic, but the pipe bomb surprised everyone. The days leading up to it were filled with routine interviews, cross-checking information, and trying to connect with a Swedish interpreter.”
“With a what?”
“It only sounds chaotic.” Giulia made a mental appointment for confession this Saturday for the mountain of lies she was telling. “When we discovered the priest and Superior General were using the Novices as drug mules, we contacted the narcotics department. They used their resources to confirm our information and make the arrests. The Swedish nun who bombed Nazis for the Danish resistance as a teenager had her own agenda. No one expected violence from her.”
“No one expects…” the nurse began.
“The Spanish Inquisition,” the other nuns finished.
“Why did she toss the pipe bomb?” the Superior said.
“It’s complex and not applicable to the current situation.”
“Good point,” Sister Olive said. “What you’ve just proved is you know how to handle the extraordinary.” She caught the eyes of the other nuns. “Victor Eagle killed Matilda.”
“You’re making a baseless accusation.”
Sister Olive squared off against Sister Kathryn, her Superior. “How can you tell us that after the last four weeks?”
“We also have no proof—”
“No proof the CEO of Eagle Developers hired thugs to plaster the windows with smut? No proof his thugs spray-painted the graffiti? What about the phone calls? What about the stream of people at our door?”
“Stop this slander at once.” The Superior’s voice rang with the sharp authority of a teacher. “Have you forgotten how to behave in the presence of a guest?”
Frank shifted in his chair. Giulia applied pressure to his toes and poked the bears—that is, the nuns.
“Sister Kathryn, although the investigation into Sister Matilda’s death is in its preliminary stages, we saw nothing to indicate an assault.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Sister Olive said. “He’s an expert at not getting caught.”
“Sister Olive.” Anger bled through the Superior’s authority now, but when she turned toward Giulia politeness covered it. “Eagle Developers wants to renovate this block and the next one that way.” She pointed north. “They acquired all the mortgages in arrears and bought out nearly everyone else.”
“The infirm Sisters are used to this house.” The tallest nun raised her cup, stared in surprise, and set it on the table. “Empty already. I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“You mean today,” Sister Olive said.
Sister Kathryn rubbed her temples. “I keep having nightmares of us living under the Allen Street Bridge.”
“That would make it difficult for us to keep the habits in the condition the Order expects,” Sister Olive said. “Good thing only Matilda still wore it.” She blinked, snatched a tissue, and muttered, “May he rot in Hell.”
“Stop it this instant.” Sister Kathryn took another tissue for herself.
Sister Olive rolled her shoulders back, adding a quarter inch to her height. “No. I’ve kept it in for weeks. We’re Franciscans. We’re committed to non-violence. We are the face of peace and forgiveness to the world. We obey.” She slammed her cup on the table and coffee splashed out in an irregular circle. “They’ve been terrorizing us since the Feast of the Transfiguration.”
“August sixth,” Giulia whispered to Frank.
Sister Kathryn gripped the table. “I said we have no proof.”
“What more do you need? Do you seriously think random teenagers are calling us in the middle of the night and hanging up? Or plastering our windows with pictures from dirty magazines?”
“We caught teenagers hiding in the back to scare us.”
“Hired by Eagle. Offer your hourly employees a little overtime. Scare a nun out of her wimple for a bit of time and a half.”
Frank tapped Giulia’s ankle. She didn’t need her newly trained psychic skills to know they both had the same thought about Sister Matilda’s death. Scaring a nun was one thing. Scaring one of the oldest nuns they’d seen in awhile carried the added risk of a fatal heart attack. Giulia hadn’t yet seen a ghost face to face, but she wished she could make Sister Matilda be her first.
The nurse broke her obsession with her coffee cup. “Do you think that’s what happened to Matilda?”
Giulia temporized again. “The police may be able to share details as they proceed with their investigation.”
Sister Olive dunked another scone. “In my youth we called that a snow job.”
Sister Kathryn slammed the flat of one hand on the table. “Enough.”
Giulia wondered exactly how much brandy the door warden had added to her coffee.
Sister Olive held the dripping triangle of pastry over her cup. “What is your professional opinion about Matilda’s death?”
Frank answered. “Initial impressions can be deceiving. I’ve learned it’s always better to w
ait for the expert’s report.”
Sister Olive’s gaze could best be described as limpid. Giulia concentrated on her now-cold tea lest she laugh and tarnish her superhero image.
The nurse pushed back her chair. “It’s quarter to one. I have to be up in four hours to give Sister Helena her meds.”
“We all have to be up in a few hours.” Sister Kathryn rubbed her temples. “Thank you for giving us the news about Sister Matilda. It was kind of you to bring Steve home.”
The Chihuahua thumped its ratlike tail.
Sister Olive clamped her hand on Giulia’s.
“You can’t leave. We’re hiring you.”
Five
A moment of silence followed the doorkeeper’s announcement.
Sister Kathryn detached Sister Olive’s hand from Giulia’s. Her mouth compressed into a thin, bloodless line. An impressed Giulia marveled at the Superior’s reserves of self-control.
“Sister Olive, you do not have the authority to make such a decision.”
“Then exercise your authority, Sister Superior. Patience and prayer won’t keep us warm and dry when we’re living under the Allen Street Bridge.” The ingenuous expression returned. “James chapter two, verse sixteen.”
The nurse returned from the study of her coffee dregs. “Olive is right. We need action. God helps those who help themselves.”
The fourth nun murmured, “Dorothy, that’s not in the Bible.”
“I know, Diane,” the nurse snapped. “Would you prefer Romans chapter eight, verse twenty-six? The Spirit helps us in our weakness?”
“Fine.” Sister Olive stabbed the air in front of Giulia’s nose. “Then the Spirit sent these detectives to help us in our weakness. Are we going to argue?”
“Who would dare presume in his heart to do such a thing?” Diane’s lips writhed but a breathy giggle leaked out. “Esther chapter seven, verse five.”
“We walk in obedience to his commands. Second John chapter one, verse six.” The nurse ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Every day when I go upstairs the invalids ask me what’s happening, what are we doing, where are we going to go? I’d like to be able to answer them.”
Sister Diane turned on Sister Kathryn. “Dorothy and Olive are right. We need to fight fire with fire.”
Their Superior stared into the distance for a moment. “Put away from thee a wayward mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee. Proverbs chapter four, verse twenty-four.”
“A good wife girds her loins with strength.”
The brown eyebrows of Dorothy met over her nose. “That’s out of context.”
Sister Diane shook her head. “I combined two verses. Both are in context as they relate to this discussion.”
“We’re not wives.”
“We’re Brides of Christ. It applies,” Sister Olive said. “Let us rise up now and fight for our lives, for today things are not as they were before. First Maccabees chapter nine, verse forty-four.” She gave Giulia a winning smile. “Who better to have as our champion than one of our own? She’s no longer a nun, but once called, always chosen.”
The bare idea of being sucked back into the convent made Giulia squeeze Frank’s knee under the table to reassure herself of her married state. He returned the pressure.
Sister Kathryn aged twenty years as the quote war escalated. When the door warden finished her last quote, Kathryn gathered the cups. She brought them to the sink but instead of running water into them, she leaned on the edge as though only her locked elbows were keeping her upright.
“What if it was murder?” Sister Dorothy said.
“If it was, justice demands he can’t get away with it,” Sister Diane said.
“You can’t let him throw us into the street,” Sister Olive said.
The Superior said without turning around, “Ms. Driscoll, will you be available tomorrow after three?”
Giulia set her business card next to the napkins.
Six
At her desk late the next morning, Giulia yawned like a bear about to hibernate before peeking at the clock in her monitor’s icon tray. Twenty to twelve. For the first time in her life, she contemplated purchasing a Red Bull.
To cancel thoughts of forbidden caffeine, she buzzed Zane.
“Yes, Ms. D.?”
“On second thought, I’m prying myself out of my chair.”
Walking even the seven steps from her desk to her office door would keep her alert. Her admin waited with fingers suspended over keyboard.
Her assistant Sidney wagged her index finger at her. “You should know better than to hunt for dead bodies on a work night. Save those activities for the weekend.”
Giulia yawned. “I never aspired to be a bad example. Zane, what can you give me on Eagle Developers?”
“Their trendy lofts are gorgeous and you have to sell your firstborn to pay the rent.”
Sidney held up her phone. “I wouldn’t kill to live here, but I know lots of people who would.”
The photo on the screen showed a bright, open living space with tastefully arranged chairs and love seats. Sidney swiped and the living room became a tiled kitchen with gleaming chrome appliances. Another swipe and a bedroom with a king-sized bed and a balcony replaced the kitchen.
Giulia patted her stomach. “I would. Almost. But I prefer to keep my firstborn.”
Zane read from his monitor. “The premier developer in Cottonwood. Known for revitalizing run-down neighborhoods.” Two clicks. “Their signature style incorporates luxury apartments and trendy businesses into repurposed buildings.” Click. “They’ve also been the target of an investigation by the Commonwealth’s Attorney General for bid-rigging and falsifying records.”
The phone rang. Zane listened and hung up. “Mr. D. says he’s officially assigned to the dead nun case.”
“Aww,” Sidney said. “You’re working together just like you used to.”
“Only if I agree to take on the living nuns’ case. Could you spend fifteen minutes looking up housing assessments and recent sales in a four-block radius around 386 Erie Avenue?”
“No problem.”
“Zane, please let me know what else you find. I’m going to walk around the block to wake myself up.”
She returned with a passion fruit smoothie because not even extra caffeine was going to help today. Zane and Sidney looked up with identical expressions of chagrin.
“Are you prepared to hear The Scoop is hinting at an exposé of Eagle?” Zane spun his monitor.
Giulia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course they are. Well, maybe Cottonwood’s homegrown TMZ can make our lives easier for a change.”
The first teaser for The Scoop’s cable-access show was nothing more than fifteen seconds of deep, dark hints. Ken Kanning, the face and voice of The Scoop, used the second teaser to add a whiff of corruption to the hints. Pit Bull, Kanning’s cameraman, created a montage of quick-cut shots of Eagle buildings, lawyers in courtrooms, and Victor Eagle’s bald head with long ponytail shining in TV camera spotlights.
Giulia sipped her melting smoothie as the show’s logo faded from the screen. “They don’t have anything concrete.”
“They’re fishing.” Sidney handed Giulia a printout and a pen. “In the past twelve months no house in the area sold for more than thirty thousand.”
Giulia leaned over Zane’s desk and wrote between the columns of figures. “Crime rate. Demographics. Turnover.” She held out the pen. “Whose pen did I pick up?”
Sidney and Zane laughed.
“You were right,” he said.
“Told you,” she said.
Sidney took the pen back from Giulia. “You’re always reaching for someone’s pen to write notes when we give you printouts. I figured it’d save time if we paired them up.”
Giulia made a face at herself. “I’m not sure if
I should worry about being predictable or thank you for anticipating my foibles.” She counted the pens in Zane’s holder. “Do we need to order supplies?”
The phone rang again. Giulia got out of Zane’s face and aimed the printout at her in-bin.
“Ms. D., it’s Vandermark Emergency Room.”
Seven
Giulia folded time and space to reach the phone in Zane’s outstretched hand while the sound of his last word still vibrated in the air. The only thought in her head was “Frank’s been shot.”
“Giulia Driscoll speaking.”
“Giulia, honey, it’s Aida. I know what you’re thinking and you stop it right now. Your husband is not being ministered to by my capable hands.”
Giulia clutched the back of Zane’s client chair and sat. She remembered to give an okay signal to Zane and Sidney.
“I’m breathing again,” Giulia said to her longtime friend.
“Good. Now I may have some bad news, so sit yourself down. Do you have a relative named Salvatore Falcone?”
“Six foot one, pot belly, curly brown hair, cross-shaped scar on left bicep?”
“That’s him. He had an accident at work and they brought him here. The ambulance crew said his co-workers told them his name and went to lunch. Nobody offered to ride with him. The only things in his wallet were twenty bucks, pictures of three kids, and a few ID cards. We didn’t know who to contact until I remembered your maiden name.”
A “Salvatore Special” headache began to stab Giulia’s temples. “He’s my younger brother.”
“His wallet looks like his wife started to reorganize it and got called away before she finished.”
The way Sidney was staring, Giulia wondered if a monstrous vein was throbbing in her forehead. “The opposite, actually. He tried to clean his wife out of his wallet and his life.”
A moment of silence. “As a responsible parent, he should know to have an emergency contact so his kids can be taken care of.”
Years of anger bled into Giulia’s voice. “He had no other contact information because he’s specially protected by God Himself.”
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