Cecilia collapsed into the cowed drudge Giulia had seen in Salvatore’s house. “I beg your pardon, Sister.”
The young nun glanced at the Falcones and her infectious smile glowed on the room. “Mrs. Falcone, I love it when students don’t create an invisible bubble around me. Cecilia, they’re shells. You can find them at craft stores or flea markets. After I give Giulia all the news I’ll show you how to attach them. Did you know Giulia saved my bacon a few years ago? Really and truly. She was the absolute master Sherlock. In disguise and everything.”
“Bart, have you eaten supper?” Giulia never liked extravagant praise.
“Not exactly.”
Giulia’s facial expression harked back to her years of cross-examining students. “That would be no. I’ll bring you pizza and a salad.”
“Ooh, I haven’t had pizza in months. Our budget doesn’t allow for takeout.”
Carlo spoke up, startling Giulia. “Sister Bart, have you seen the chameleon?”
“The what? You have a lizard?”
A tight shake of the head. “Not us. Aunt Giulia does. Come on.”
He took Bart’s hand and led her into the garden. The early evening sunlight lit everything with a golden glow. Scarlett perched on the branches in her openwork cage with green either beginning to creep over her blobby skull armor or beginning to fade off it. Giulia still had difficulty telling the difference.
Carlo launched into a chameleon documentary. He described its feeding habits, how it differed from other types of chameleons, why and when it changed colors. All without taking even a breath for Bart to comment.
Giulia reheated three slices of pizza in the toaster oven and marveled at the difference between Carlo reunited with his mother versus Carlo without her.
“Where did you learn all that?” Giulia asked him when she called them in so Bart could eat.
“Looked it up during study hall. Is there any pizza left?”
Giulia halved the remaining slices. Everyone else discovered the need for more pizza. They stood around the table to eat, bringing back memories of Giulia’s childhood, when everything good happened in the kitchen.
“Aunt Giulia, are you supposed to be eating for two now?” Cecilia offered her the narrow triangle of pepperoni and cheese she’d taken. “You can have this.”
“Hold it.” Bart swallowed, coughed, held up a hand, and caught her breath. “Eating for two means only one thing.”
“It does.”
“Awesome!” Bart jumped behind Giulia and squeezed.
“Sister Bart, you’ll squish the baby.”
Bart freed Giulia’s ribcage. “You’re right, Cecilia. Thank you. Wow, everything’s changed for both of us. Have I told you what I do for a living now?”
“Something involving an RV in our driveway?”
“The detective strikes again.” She spoke between bites of her third slice. “Turns out I’m something like the Homeless Whisperer. I wheedle food and overstocked supplies and pass them on to the street folks. Stores can’t sell the stuff past the expiration dates but who’s going to turn up their nose at day-old chocolate chip muffins? I charm them out of aspirin and pain reliever creams and antacids too. At first when I showed up at the service doors of bakeries and groceries and drug stores I had a whole speech prepared. Manufacturers ship expired stock to third-world countries, I said, but here I am ready to haul the stuff away plus give them an immediate tax write-off. They had to check with the manager and make a few phone calls the first two times, but now they even help me load the boxes into Crankenstein.”
“You drive around alone?”
Bart grinned at Giulia. “You sound like my mother. I live in my RV but I’m not naïve. I’ve got some wicked skills with a baseball bat and I keep pepper spray on me day and night. Junkies tried to break in a couple of years ago, but I broke their arms. Word got around, and besides, the street people know I’m there to help. Plus no one’s going to score crack pawning a few pairs of jeans and a beat-up frying pan.”
Giulia refilled glasses. “Don’t you carry car repair tools, Sister Pit Jockey?”
Bart laughed again. “Like I said, I’m not clueless. Never keep anything in your vehicle worth stealing. My tool box is stashed at the convent.”
“You can fix cars?” Pasquale’s voice took on a tinge of adoration.
Bart and Pasquale shut out the rest of the room as they discussed the merits of four- versus six-cylinder engines with regard to gas mileage and acceleration efficiency. Anne helped Frank clean the second wave of dishes. Giulia dumped the empty pizza boxes in the garbage tote, reveling in Sister Bart the vibrant, happy-go-lucky, busy nun. She remembered too well Sister Bart the Novice a few years back: Drugged and under the control of an evil priest and the equally heinous Superior General, sneaking into the bathroom to cut herself. Giulia would’ve gladly washed and waxed the RV in the driveway all by herself in gratitude.
When she returned, the group had moved to the living room. Frank offered Carlo his choice of Assassin’s Creed or Call of Duty.
Giulia tapped Pasquale and Cecilia on their shoulders. “I need Sister Bart to myself for a little bit, please.”
Anne’s oldest and youngest planted her between them on the couch.
“Come give me the tour of Crankenstein,” Giulia said to Bart.
Twenty
An ancient baby blue Roadtrek Popular blocked off three-quarters of their driveway. Giulia walked its circuit. “If you painted it green and added giant vinyl flowers, you’d have your own Mystery Machine.”
Bart patted its rear bumper. “I know, right? I considered the Scooby-Doo color scheme for half a second, but fun and cool equals conspicuous. Nobody gives my anonymous, well-used home a second glance.”
Giulia said as Bart opened the back door, “Have you heard about Sister Matilda?”
“She’s why I’m here. But first you must enter my personal castle.”
Boxes of pharmaceutical supplies crowded milk crates piled with cans of nuts and soup that lined the castle’s back entrance. A small, square sink on the left with cupboards above and below faced a narrow drop desk with an antiquated laptop on the right. Shelves above the desk groaned under a Bible, a Franciscan Omnibus, what looked like a complete collection of Agatha Christie paperbacks, cookbooks, and spiral bound car repair manuals. Homemade flowered curtains covered all the windows. An artist’s easel and a fishing tackle box of painting supplies sat in the passenger seat up front.
“Bed? Toilet? Shower?” Giulia said.
Bart opened a door next to the desk and pointed out the concealed bed. “Nothing like those five by nine paper-thin cells they stuffed us in at the Motherhouse, is it?”
“It’s better than any Tiny House I’ve been in. This is a home.”
Bart squeezed Giulia with more gentleness this time. “I was hoping you’d see it like I do. Kathryn likes to make sure I remember I’m still part of the Community, so I bunk at the convent one week a month. She’s a good Superior, so I never tell her how much that week makes me love tooling around in Crankenstein even more.”
Giulia’s fingers made a locking motion on her lips. “I’ll never tell.”
“You’re the best nun I’ve ever known.”
“Ex-nun.” She rested a hand on her belly.
“Good point. Shove one of those crates over and sit your pregnant self down. There’s pencils and paper in the desk. I put word out that I needed dirt on Eagle Developers and boy did my people come through. Would you like the good stuff or the bad to start?”
“The good. I’d like to balance what I’ve learned so far.”
Bart perched on the edge of the sink. “There’s more good than bad, to be honest, which I should, being a Franciscan and all. They’re one of the biggest local employers and they walk the tightrope of hiring both union and non-union employees.”
; “On the same projects?”
“Ha ha ha, are you kidding? The Scoop would be all over the fistfights like a rash and they’d finally eclipse the real news. No, Eagle keeps both sides far apart, and I mean far. This week, for example. The hotel renovations on the north side are union, but the landscaping projects on the west and south sides aren’t.” She watched the pencil fly. “Want me to slow down?”
Giulia made a face at her. “If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, the baby’s college fund would be well on its way. Thank you, no. I can keep up.”
“I should’ve figured. Okay. Eagle also won some award three years running for hiring and promoting women. Eagle’s right-hand man is a woman and she’s the power behind winning the award. My street folks get a lot of under the counter work from them and they always listen for bits of information that could lead to more work.”
Giulia shook out her fingers. “This isn’t fitting in with what your fellow Sisters have been telling me.”
Another laugh. “You’ve been getting the Sister Olive Special Broadcast. If she was younger, I’d swear Eagle himself ditched her at the altar twenty years ago to marry his now ex-trophy wife.”
Giulia joined in the laugh. “If I were ever to turn to the dark side, I’d try to work the topic of jilted brides into my next conversation with Sister Olive.”
“Only if I can be there to listen.” Bart slid off the sink to straighten one of the curtains. “Now for the bad. He undercuts buyout prices when he can. You might call that good business.”
“Considering he targets poor older neighborhoods, I’d call it borderline evil.”
“As would the people dishing the dirt for me. One of them took an Eagle offer and snorted every cent of the payment. He’s better now because he can’t afford any more coke.”
Giulia looked around the RV’s interior. “Where exactly do you keep the baseball bat?”
Bart pointed to the side door. “It’s ready to grab before I touch the deadbolt. But we aren’t talking about me. We’re playing Good Developer-Bad Developer. There are rumors he pays at-risk kids to hassle holdouts.”
“Sister Olive has more than hinted they’re at the center of a harassment campaign.” She started a second piece of paper.
“You won’t hear me arguing. My people tell me our place has set a record for the longest holdout and the rumor is Eagle is stepping up his game. You know they buy out entire blocks of mortgages at a time?”
Giulia nodded. “He chooses places banks are eager to unload, as long as the area is close to a positive feature to draw in new residents. In your case, the park fountain.”
“Bingo. We have no leverage. We’re three months behind on the mortgage. Eagle did us a favor without realizing it.”
“By taking over your mortgage before the bank foreclosed?” Giulia looked over at her. “I’m quite sure he did realize it.”
Frank stuck his head in the open door. “Carlo’s planning to kidnap the lizard, Pasquale’s kicking my butt in Halo, and Cecilia is trying to convince her mother to raid your dresser for nail polish and have a girls’ night in. Help.”
Twenty-One
Giulia and Frank on the couch put their heads together with Anne in the corner chair. Bart sat on the floor with the kids, telling them funny stories of her life driving around in Crankenstein.
“Please, please can you keep them here until Sunday morning?” Anne clasped her hands. “I work a half day on Saturdays and I can’t afford to take any time off. I’ll take a bus to the hospital Saturday afternoon and pick up the minivan, pack up my stuff, and move back into the house. I don’t want to disrupt their first week of school, even if it’s only two days.”
Cecilia butted in with a key hooked to a stretchy spiral wristband on her outstretched palm. “Here. Dad changed the locks, so you’ll need this even if you have your old key, which you don’t, right?”
Frank stared at Cecilia. “He changed the locks? Go dtachta an diabhal é.”
Giulia caught his eyes and angled hers toward the kids. “Language, please.”
Cecilia planted herself in front of Frank. “What did you say? What does it mean? Is it like holy shit? Will you teach it to me?”
Giulia and Anne said as one, “Stop swearing.” Then they laughed.
All the Falcone offspring stopped cold. They maintained a startled tableau for a solid three seconds before Cecilia squeezed her mother in a scrawny-armed bear hug. The boys said to Bart’s puzzled look, “We haven’t heard Mom laugh in ages.”
Frank said, “It means ‘May the devil choke him.’”
Cecilia looked disappointed.
Giulia brought the discussion back to practicalities. “All right, you three. We have a plan.”
Anne said, “I’ll call the school to get you all on the bus starting Monday.”
Giulia made an annoyed noise. “I should’ve thought. Salvatore’s minivan keys are in the hospital with his wallet and clothes. The minivan is still at the hotel his company was renovating.”
“That’s all right. The hospital’s on a bus route. I hope there’s one close to his work site.”
Giulia pulled up the bus schedule on her phone. “No…maybe…no. Maybe…yes. How does this one look?”
Anne studied the map on Giulia’s screen. “Yes. This route won’t interfere with my work schedule. Could you print it out for me?” She held up a basic TracFone. “No internet access on this.” While the schedule printed, Anne continued. “I’ll pick up the minivan on Saturday, then get my things and make a grocery run. You three will stay here tomorrow and Saturday and I’ll be here Sunday morning to bring you back home. I think we’ll celebrate with homemade Oreos.”
Her children said nothing for a moment.
“I thought you liked my cooking?” Anne’s voice wavered.
Pasquale said, “Are you really coming back home?”
“At least until your father gets out of the hospital.”
Carlo said in a voice much too old for age twelve, “I hope he never gets out.”
Giulia kept herself from showing any reaction. From the corners of her eyes, she saw Frank and Bart not reacting in the same manner.
Cecilia must have picked up on the friction in the room, because she cuffed her middle brother. “Pay attention to what’s important, dummy. Homemade Oreos again.”
Carlo rubbed the back of his head. “If Dad saw you swat me, you’d end up saying a Rosary on your knees in the cellar.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “Dad’s not here.”
Pasquale, one inch shorter than Cecilia but three inches taller than Carlo, clamped a hand on each of their heads. “You’re both morons. Mom’s coming home.” He turned their faces toward his. “Get it now? Mom is coming home.”
Carlo grabbed his mother’s hands and pulled her into the middle of the room. “Mom’s coming home. Mom’s coming home.” They danced her in a circle as they sang.
To Giulia’s mental catalogue of Reasons to Beat Salvatore with a Wooden Ruler, she added borderline mental abuse. Sidney’s psychologist husband Olivier would have been able to tell if a line had been crossed.
Frank murmured, “If you were Supergirl, your heat vision would’ve burned a hole through the wall and fried our diva lizard on its way to your brother’s hospital room.”
Giulia’s vertebrae didn’t relax. “Notice how they’re acting like kids now?”
“Instead of rage-filled time bombs in kid suits?”
“You did notice.”
The kitchen clock chimed. Anne stopped the dance. “School night. Time to get ready for bed.”
After polite “good nights” to the other adults, the rejuvenated Falcones pounded upstairs and dragged their mother with them. Cecilia ordered the boys to straighten their sleeping bags in a higher version of her mother’s voice.
Bart said fr
om her cross-legged position on the floor, “I’m headed back to Chez Dilapidation tonight. Crankenstein needs some TLC and I need to be on hand for Matilda’s funeral. You know it’s tomorrow, right?”
Giulia pushed her hands against the small of her back. “Sister Kathryn told me.”
“Nobody will be there besides us now that the Pittsburgh Motherhouse is no more. She was the oldest nun in Cottonwood.” Her ebullience faded. “One of the good points of being Catholic: We’re allowed to be glad there’s a Hell waiting for people who kill little old nuns.” She moved from the floor to the couch and patted Giulia’s belly. “Whatever you do, don’t name her Bartholomew. However, if she’s a he, I would be thrilled and honored if you named him after me. Oh, before I forget. Can you bring Cecilia to the convent tomorrow after school? The bedridden nuns could use some cheering up.”
Because Giulia liked Bart, she didn’t slap her hand away. “Only if they don’t teach her new ways to curse.”
Twenty-Two
Giulia leaned on Zane’s desk at nine thirty Friday morning. “I know Eagle has a Midas Touch. What I’m saying is it may be deserved.”
Zane enlarged one of the spreadsheets. “My Advanced Statistics professor at MIT spent an entire semester teaching us to vivisect results like these.”
Giulia pointed to three different cells. “Their success is not fabricated.”
“Not all of it. They build actual buildings where actual people live. But see these charts here and here?” He pointed to different cells. “Their growth projections are a little too symmetrical.”
She pointed to a different chart. “Not here.”
“It doesn’t take a statistics genius to insert realistic data on purpose to give verisimilitude to the unrealistic.”
Giulia inclined her head. “I bow to your superior analytic brain cells.”
Sidney picked up her phone. “Neil? It’s Sidney. Have you got five minutes?…Awesome. Let me put you on hold.” She pressed a button. “Giulia, Eagle bought out my cousin’s dry-cleaning business two years ago. He’s on three.”
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