The new CEO of Eagle Developers ran her thumb along the edge of the remote. Up and down. Up and down. Her eyes were aimed in Giulia’s direction, but they weren’t looking outward.
The thumb stopped moving. “I see.” More clicks. A new set of drawings filled the screen. “Old houses are dangerous and inefficient. They put people at risk for black mold, fire hazards, and vermin. Yet their outward charm is undeniable. For this project we’re trying something new. We want to retain the best of the façades to upsell the new builds behind them.”
Giulia played a neutral card. “An interesting choice.” She opened her phone. “Based on tax assessments and recent sales numbers for the block—” she typed in a number— “here is our counter offer.”
Beech was too experienced to flinch. She typed into her own phone and faced the screen at Giulia. “The nuns’ house is worthless to anyone except our company.”
Giulia hadn’t fenced with a master since her exit interview from the convent. It was stimulating. “Except to the Sisters who take care of the homeless in the neighborhood. I don’t know if you’re aware of the nuns’ concept of Mission?”
Polite snark. One of the many services DI offered.
Giulia continued. “The Order is not wealthy. One of the costs factored in is moving three invalids to an accessible home.” She typed in a new number and showed it to Beech. “This figure is closer to the cost of finding a reasonably priced house in a neighborhood not named Barberry Heights.”
Beech wrinkled her button nose, her only cute feature. “Horrible place. Victor put in a bid for the project without telling me. I discovered it in our system as part of my research for a presentation I was creating. I informed him I would resign if we were awarded the contract. Fortunately we lost, a phrase you won’t ever hear out of my mouth again.” A brief smile.
“Cancer rates are on the rise in people living within a one-mile radius of the landfill.” Giulia didn’t need to trust the smile to respond to it.
The wrinkled nose became full anger. “Eagle Developers has evolved over time, as a robust organization should. You will never see us involved with Barberry or any similar project.” She aimed the remote and the screen winked out. “We’ll be in touch with you soon.”
Forty-Seven
Giulia’s phone rang as she was unlocking the Nunmobile. Little Zlatan’s insistence on SUPPER NOW distracted her so much she accepted the call without checking Caller ID first.
An authoritarian female voice said, “Stop whatever you’re doing and listen to me.”
Relieved it wasn’t the nuns calling in a panic over a new disaster, Giulia slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rowan Froelig, the owner of the Tarot Shoppe across the street from DI, huffed at her. “Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old. And don’t think you can deceive me with polite silence. I’ll get Jasper to find out what you’re really thinking, which may or may not be ‘Rowan, you are old,’ which I know. My knees remind me every morning.”
Thinking, Hold your horses, Zlatan, Giulia fitted her back against the lumbar support in the seat. “I was referring to our teacher-student relationship, which has no connection to our relative ages.”
“Can’t argue with you there, which reminds me to remind you that you’re due for another practice session in Tarot reading and general clairvoyance techniques. Practice is the key to success in the spirit biz.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I should whack your knuckles with a ruler. Didn’t you see Jasper give you the ‘Call us’ signal this afternoon?”
“I’ve been in meetings.”
“You’re an entrepreneur. You should be able to bail out of meetings.” The tak-tak-tak of a pencil hitting the desk with force punctuated her declaration. “Have you stopped? Are you prepared?”
“I am sitting in my car by myself while He Who Deprives Me Of Coffee clamors for supper.”
“Tell him his mother’s busy. Now listen. My sunrise Tarot card reading could’ve doubled as a series of TV commercials. New people everywhere, new meetings, new encounters. It was like my cards signed a contract with one of those dating websites. I even cleansed the deck and set the cards in a different layout to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting.”
Outside the Nunmobile’s closed windows, rush hour traffic inched, literally, toward peak. The cacophony of multiple honking horns seeped into the car. Giulia turned up the phone’s volume.
“Rowan, I’ve met enough people in the past week to field both sides of a basketball game.” Brakes screeched. “There’s about to be a car accident.”
“Stop anticipating me.” The pencil scratched on paper now. It conjured up an immediate and complete picture of Rowan sitting at the small table she used for readings. No doubt she was dressed in one of her flowing, layered outfits in different shades of purple, a tall mug of herbal tea at her elbow. “We told you you had gifts. How else would you know the cards also forecast accidents?”
A chill prickled Giulia’s neck. “I didn’t know and I think you’re assuming more than actually exists.”
“I never assume and don’t say that awful sentence with the letters. Oh, right, you don’t swear. Good. I hate clichés. Half my customers expect clichés. You’ll marry a tall, dark, handsome man. You’ll be rich. You’ll be famous. Those types think I dress for effect. They’re lucky I happen to dress the way I do. Old, fat women aren’t exactly on Tommy Hilfiger’s design radar.”
CRASH. Screech. CRASH. CRASH.
Giulia jerked around in her seat.
“What was that?”
“As predicted—don’t say it—an SUV rear-ended a delivery van which rear-ended a hatchback.” Giulia opened her window halfway. “Nobody seems to be hurt. They’re out of their cars.” Dueling shouts reached her ears with too much clarity. “When I was a teacher, the language these people are using would’ve had me reaching for a bar of soap I kept in my desk.”
“Your son will be the best-behaved child in the state. I hope no one in those vehicles is packing.”
“Not so far. You know, this is the second accident I’ve witnessed today.”
“Hold on a minute. I need to read again with you on the phone.”
Giulia rolled the window back up to better hear Rowan. A distant siren crept closer. The SUV driver punched the van driver in the mouth. Two teeth went flying. The van driver pulled out a handgun and fired. The SUV driver fell backward against his crumpled hood. Blood blossomed on his pale blue shirt. The hatchback driver screamed.
A police car braked in the middle of a lane. The officer jumped out, gun aimed at the van driver. The SUV driver writhed and screamed. The van driver drew on the officer, who shot him in the knee. The van driver collapsed, his falsetto screams rivaling the SUV driver’s. The officer holstered his own gun, picked up the van driver’s gun, and turned him onto his face, cuffing him and reading him his rights at the same time.
“I didn’t even have time to get my Glock out of the glove compartment.” Giulia spoke more to herself than to Rowan.
“As well you shouldn’t,” Rowan said. “I heard the shots. Road rage. You don’t need to confirm it. You have a baby to protect. Are the cops there yet?”
“The second gunshot was a legal one. Shooter disabled and cuffed. Victim alive and possibly calculating the money he’ll win in the inevitable lawsuit.”
“Good. Dismiss it from your mind. We have other concerns to discuss. Accidents, for one.”
“Coincidence, Rowan.”
“There are no coincidences.” More pencil scratchings. “You can record and talk at the same time on your phone. Do it.”
Part of Giulia wanted to laugh at Rowan’s apparent eccentricities. Then she remembered the little ghost she saw a month ago in the cellar of the Dahlia mansion and the urge to laugh vanished. She put the phone on speaker and began rec
ording. “Ready, Obi-Wan.”
Rowan chortled. “Brown isn’t my color and I never wear cloaks. They make me look like a circus tent. First, we backtrack to the ‘all meetings all the time’ reading. Every layout brought a stranger into your life. We know it isn’t the baby, because he’s no stranger to any of us.” The cards snapped against the table. “The stranger does something or has a personality trait which irritates you. I can’t guarantee it stops at irritating, but I didn’t get an immediate sense of danger.”
“Your cards have a connection to The Scoop.”
“Those two are hemorrhoids on the butt of Cottonwood. Don’t distract me. Immediate doesn’t mean nonexistent. You have to watch yourself. Don’t trust anyone.”
“I distrust most strangers on sight. Hazard of the profession.”
“You’re not paying attention. Did I say ‘most?’ No. I said ‘all.’”
Giulia paused the recording. “To wrap up the road rage incident, ambulances have taken the injured away. Tow trucks are adding to the chaos by continual honking as they try to fit into spaces not designed for their girth. I will be taking an alternate route home…”
Rowan pounced into Giulia’s pause. “What are you thinking?”
“One second.” Giulia created a mental bullet list. “First tell me about the reading you did after the accident here.”
Papers being shuffled. “It wasn’t as pervasive as this morning’s. Keep an eye out for malfunctions.”
“For what?”
“Not what you expected? Me neither. I thought the cards would focus on obvious accidents. Cars, falling down stairs, you know. But things breaking or breaking down is what came through.” Scribbles. “Make sure your phone is charged. Is your AAA membership paid up?”
This time Giulia did smile. “Yes, mom.”
“Everyone needs a mother and I know yours is dead and she gave you trouble when you kicked the habit. Take it where you find it. Now tell me what you were thinking earlier.”
If she couldn’t tell a psychic, who could she tell? “My current clients live in an old, run-down house. They’re dirt-poor nuns, which is important. Three times when I’ve been in the house I’ve smelled cigarette smoke. Some of the nuns claim to have smelled it too.”
“A ghost!”
Giulia rubbed her temple. “Rowan, do you have to sound so happy?”
“Are you kidding?” I haven’t seen a ghost in twenty-three years. I haven’t talked to one in thirty. My first ex-husband was haunted by his mother. You won’t be surprised to learn I was the first in a long line of ex-wives.” The pencil was back in action. “You think you’ve met helicopter moms? The woman hovered at the end of the bed whenever we had sex.”
Laughter spurted from Giulia’s mouth. “I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.”
“I know, right? Thing is, the doofus couldn’t see her. The man was as sensitive as a cinder block. Whenever we fought about Mommy’s haunting, she’d lurk at his shoulder and pet his hair. With her other hand she alternated waving goodbye at me and flipping me off.”
“Stop making me laugh. I’ll get the hiccups.” Giulia forced herself to breathe slower and deeper.
“Back to the point. You haven’t seen your cigarette ghost yet?”
Reality doused Giulia in ice water. “No, but this morning when I smelled smoke again—”
“You invited it to manifest? Good. You’ve taken the correct first step and I know you were the epitome of politeness.”
“What if there really is a ghost? Strange things have been happening at the convent. Dangerous things.”
Sshh. Sshh. Sshh. Pieces of thin cardboard shuffled against each other on Rowan’s end. “Hush. I’m redoing the cards. You’re my unofficial whetstone. You keep me sharp.”
“I’m pleased to be of use, although the image isn’t one I’d apply to myself.”
“You’re too close to your own skills. That’s why you have me and Jasper. My mentor showed me my skills when I was a pudgy outcast teenager. Until then I thought I was merely a goth before goth became cool.”
Zlatan made his wants felt again. Giulia tried to concentrate on Rowan.
“All right. I’m still not seeing anything urgent, but stranger danger hasn’t abated.”
“Stranger danger?”
A beat. “Did I say that? Blame my grandkids. They visited this weekend and talked nonstop about school. Are you still recording?”
With a pang of guilt, Giulia pressed the buttons again. “I am now.”
“Good thing you have mental tricks to remember important information. What are your plans for the rest of today?”
“First, supper.”
“Wrong. Go to a mini-mart for sugar, carbs, and protein. Trail mix or a couple of granola bars. No booze. Right, you’re pregnant and booze-free. Good. Eat and go to the room in your convent where you sensed the ghost. If it’s not there, try every room in the house where it may have manifested. Do not be afraid of it. You’re a tower of spiritual strength and your little guy is a turbo booster. Make the ghost work with you.” Crumpling paper filled the speaker like static. “And watch out for accidents.”
Forty-Eight
When Sister Dorothy opened the convent door, Steve the scenery-chewing Chihuahua once again turned his back on Giulia.
“I’m no longer worthy.”
“He’s a diva. Come in, please. Monday is soup kitchen night. Everyone else is out working.”
“Not a problem. I’d like to check over a few areas of the house.”
“Have at it. You’re a refreshing change from police and firefighters and dead bodies.” She shivered much like Steve. “May I offer you a hamburger and some fries?”
“Thank you, no. I’ve eaten already.” She’d mollified Zlatan with fruit and nut granola.
She climbed straight to the attic. All three invalids were in their rooms. After closing the attic door, she opened her EMF app. Silence. Certain it was malfunctioning the opposite way, she powered down her phone and powered it up again. Still silence.
Rather than waste time exploring the nooks and crannies of the attic, Giulia descended to the third floor. Sister Agatha’s low moans could be heard in the stairwell and Steve was barking his head off in the kitchen. As she stood listening in the center of the spare bedroom not a single car drove down the street to break the silence. Neither Agatha’s voice nor Steve’s yapping reached her through the closed door.
No laughter, either. She opened the app. Not a blip.
For this she skipped dinner? She should be home grilling the shark steaks she’d bought on sale while Frank watered the vegetables and teased Scarlett the chameleon.
She couldn’t even stomp downstairs in frustration to the chapel on the second floor because only a complete scumbag would disturb the chronically ill. Instead, she walked in the sedate manner dinned into her from her days as a nun.
The chapel adjusted her attitude. The eight-by-nine-foot space must have started out life as a child’s bedroom. A black floor lamp with a frosted glass shade was hooked into the room’s main light switch. At some point the ubiquitous forest green rug had been inflicted on it. Its pale green walls were the only ones in the house besides Helena’s without chipped paint. Antiquated Venetian blinds hung in the windows. A cast bronze crucifix hung on the north wall. Below it, a closed Bible lay on a wooden bookstand, supported by a mission-style coffee table. A matching floor lamp stood next to it. A semicircle of five wooden chairs in the same style faced the Bible and crucifix. Extra space had been left near the door, no doubt to accommodate Eugenie’s wheelchair.
Giulia flashed back to the tiny chapel on the Novices’ floor in the Motherhouse. Once it had been the only refuge for overworked, harassed young nuns. The same bubble of peace enclosed this little room. She opened the EMF app out of duty, but was not surprised at its silence.
/> Down to the first floor. Steve was now the only noisemaker in the house. Sister Agatha was silent and no one was watching TV. An ideal setting for a ghost hunter. Since she’d gotten herself into this, she’d better see it through. She left the cellar door ajar, remembering too many horror movies in which characters met with nasty ends in old cellars. Night of the Living Dead. The House by the Cemetery. The Blair Witch Project. The Evil Dead.
She pulled the light cords and typed “Borrow classic Disney movies from Sidney” into her Notes app. She’d need at least a week of perky animated sweetness after this case. Then she glanced at the window where Victor Eagle had been dangling. The stack of newspapers was no longer there and the wall was as clean as old whitewash could get.
Hesitation would make it worse. She opened the EMF app and it ululated loud enough to make the phone vibrate.
“What an irritating noise.”
Forty-Nine
Giulia experienced another biblical cliché first hand when her knees turned to water. Ezekiel, maybe. She should look it up. As those thoughts scattered through her mind, she noted again how the brain distracts itself with trivialities in moments of panic.
“Turn it off. It’s almost as annoying as that moaning nun upstairs.”
Giulia turned off the app. Between her and the furnace stood—do ghosts stand on anything?—a misty woman. The furnace was visible through the woman’s clothes, if Giulia stared hard enough.
Ghosts wore clothes. This ghost wore a skirt that swept the floor. Its waist was corseted to a circumference which must have cinched its diaphragm and both lungs. If ghosts needed to breathe. A blouse dripping with lace and a hat festooned with peonies and a huge, drooping ostrich feather completed its ensemble. She squinted at the outfit. Looking at the ghost was like looking at a monochrome mannequin through dense fog. The skirt and blouse might have been blue or gray. The lace was pale, its color too similar to the overall ghost mist. The hat might have been the same shade as the blouse—fog is the new black?—with dark and light flowers. The ostrich feather appeared dyed.
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