The kid walked to the library’s parking lot. Giulia, Frank, and Nash sequestered themselves in the stand of birches around back by the dumpster, the assigned meeting place. The irony was palpable.
The kid shuffled from one foot to the other for a minute and a half. At the start of minute two, another vision in black approached the dumpster. The vision said nothing until it reached the kid.
“You better have good stuff or we’re keeping the rest of the cash.” It spoke in a hoarse baritone.
Frank and Nash crept toward the other side of the dumpster. The kid reached under his hoodie and produced the folder. The vision grabbed it and flipped it open.
Frank and Nash flanked the vision. He cursed and tried to dodge. Frank shoved him against the side of the dumpster and read him his rights as Nash cuffed him.
The kid made a break for it. Giulia cut across the corner of the parking lot and tripped him. Nash hustled the vision into their car. Frank hauled the kid up by one arm.
“You lying bitch!” The kid tried to elongate his legs to kick Giulia. “We had a deal! You double-crossed me!”
Frank clamped his hand on the kid’s cheeks. “Shut it. Now listen carefully. I am taking you to the station—I said, shut it—where you will help us deal with the Rhodes scholar in our car. Then, if you watch your mouth, you get to go home.”
The kid stopped aiming long-distance violence at Giulia. “No shit?”
“Language,” Giulia said.
Frank turned his head away. When he turned back, his expression betrayed nothing.
“Do you know the other one?” Giulia said.
“Nash thinks he remembers him from his time in the Narcotics division. He’s calling his old partner to meet us downtown.”
“Speaking of meetings, Pit Bull wants to talk,” Giulia said. “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
Her husband grimaced down at the kid’s head. “Me neither.”
Fifty-Two
An hour later in one of Cottonwood’s late-night diners, Giulia ate a ham sandwich and tomato soup. Pit Bull wolfed down a cheeseburger and fries.
“What did you want to talk about?” Despite her hollow stomach, Giulia kept to ladylike bites to appease Zlatan.
Pit Bull finished chewing. “I figured out how we can work together.”
A magnetic voice said at Giulia’s shoulder, “If you did, I’ll recommend you for a merit raise.”
Ken Kanning snagged a chair from a nearby table and parked himself at the end of their booth. Giulia refrained from wondering out loud if a force existed in the known universe capable of disarranging his hair.
Kanning filched three fries and dragged them through the blob of ketchup on his cameraman’s plate. “Bull, we’re in this together.”
Giulia set down her soup spoon. “Did you LoJack his car?”
“Didn’t need to.”
“Ken, are you stalking me?”
Kanning shook his coif at his cameraman. “My investigative skills seldom fail me. I found you at the second restaurant I tried.”
Pit Bull gave a short laugh and returned to his burger. “I’m in a rut.”
Giulia stirred her soup. “Be honest with me. Are you here because of your partner or because you have your teeth in a juicy story?”
Kanning’s eyes slid to Pit Bull’s “Both. Okay? Honest answer.”
Pit Bull laughed. “You need to change up your routine.”
The Smile appeared. “Consistency is my middle name. You always know what you’re getting with me.”
The waitress came over with a paper placemat and napkin. “What can I get you, hon?”
“Coffee to start. Is it too late for blueberry pancakes?”
“Breakfast any time of day or night is our motto. Be right back.”
“We’re going to use the nuns as our springboard into national syndication,” he said to Pit Bull.
The waitress returned on the heels of his last word with a full glass pot and a heavy white mug. “Hi-test okay?”
“Anything else doesn’t deserve to be called coffee.” He flashed The Smile.
The pot handle slipped. She caught it and set the coffee pot on the table without a splash. “You’re Ken Kanning.”
The Smile gleamed. “Let me shake the hand of a Scooper.”
“Oh my God.” She stared at her hand after he released it. “Arnie! We got a celebrity in our diner!”
The cook stuck his head through the pickup window. “Yeah? Who?”
“The Scoop.”
“You kidding me?”
“Come out here and see.”
By this time the three couples at booths and two singles at the counter had stopped paying attention to their food. The cook came through the swinging doors next to the pickup window, untying his apron. “Ken Kanning,” he said in an awed voice.
As though his awe was a signal, the other eleven people crowded Giulia’s booth. Kanning signed napkins, posed for selfies, and told humorous anecdotes from stories he’d gone after.
Pit Bull and Giulia finished their food in peace.
“We can take over digging dirt on Eagle’s outfit,” he said in a low voice. “We have TV archives and legal contacts from that mess they got into with the Attorney General last year.”
Giulia said in the same tone of voice, “I appreciate your offer, but we’ve already uncovered the company’s history.”
“We can take on the other employees. That Lolita bimbo who kept herself glued to Eagle’s heels every time he was on TV.”
“We have it covered, thank you.”
His muttered “Tight ass” wasn’t quiet enough. Giulia finished her grilled cheese before her phone vibrated.
Frank’s text read: Thug used to be a runner for one of the minor dealers. He’s not talking. We’re holding him for the standard 72 hours.
Giulia texted back: Maybe Jasper will read his mind for me.
Pit Bull watched her fingers. While Giulia doubted it was possible to key capture texting, his attempt brought her to her senses. The Scoop was a distraction. Her priorities were already set. Number one, re-house the nuns. Number two, prove or disprove the Eagle harassment and turn it to the nuns’ advantage. Number three, pump the ghost for information.
Her life sounded like a paranormal sitcom.
In ones and twos, The Scoop’s fans returned to their seats.
Pit Bull was not DI’s client. His guilt was not Giulia’s problem.
She snapped shut her phone case. The Scoop stared at her.
“Gentlemen, I need to cut this meeting short.”
Kanning said, “Wait—”
Pit Bull said, “I thought—”
She said to Pit Bull, “I appreciate your help tonight with our little criminal. If we find a way for you to help with the Sisters, we’ll loop you in.” She placed the price of her meal plus tip on the table.
“What criminal? What happened? Bull, did you get film?”
Giulia scooted out of the booth.
Fifty-Three
Her phone rang as she walked in the door.
“Honey, it’s Aida. Your brother is giving indications of waking up.”
Giulia moved the phone away from her face not to let the nurse hear her yawn like a hibernating bear. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Can you come down?”
Her shoulders sagged. Her ankles were swelling. Zlatan was informing her a sandwich and single cup of soup was not enough nourishment for a growing boy. Her bed upstairs was singing a siren song to the rest of her body.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She hung up and called her sister-in-law.
“Anne? It’s Giulia. Were you asleep? No? Good. The hospital called. Salvatore might wake up any minute. I’m going down there.”
Anne stifled a yawn. “Wh
y inflict more Salvatore on yourself?”
“I need the time off of my inevitable sentence in Purgatory.”
Another yawn. “According to my loving husband, I’m going straight to the pits of Hell, which means tonight I’m going straight to bed.”
“Your kids are more important.”
“Exactly. Good luck.”
She taped a note for Frank to the inner garage door and hit the road again. At this hour she had her choice of spots in the Emergency Room section of the hospital parking lot.
Aida was waiting for her when the sliding doors opened. Ice cream sundaes decorated her scrubs. “Honey, you look like you need to sleep for a week.”
The “s” word triggered another yawn from Giulia. “Is he awake?”
“His EEG is spiking in all the right places. The doctor estimates thirty minutes or less.” She hooked her arm into Giulia’s. “You want some coffee?”
“I’m rationed.”
The nurse whacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I forgot. How’s the second trimester?”
Giulia patted her stomach. “The same as the first, except for this one rearranging my internal organs.”
“My three each picked an organ to sit on. First one hated my stomach, second my lungs.” They walked under a PA speaker and she waited for the page to finish. “My youngest liked to kick my kidneys.”
“You’re making me reconsider more pregnancies.”
Aida laughed. “Once you hold your first in your arms, you’ll want more.” She stopped outside a closed door. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Sneakers flapped on the Linoleum. A breathless voice said, “Wait.”
Giulia and Aida turned their heads. Anne Falcone skidded to a halt. “Is he awake?”
“Anne? I thought you weren’t putting yourself through any more of him.”
“I couldn’t let my Fellow Salvatore Sufferer go it alone. The busybody who lives across the street was happy to house sit in exchange for all the details when I get back.”
Aida cleared her throat. “Miss, are you a relative of the patient?”
“I’m his wife. Are you his night nurse? You weren’t here last week when I came to pick up the car keys.”
“Aida, this is my sister-in-law, Anne. Anne, this is Aida, the best nurse in Cottonwood.”
“Don’t make me blush, honey. You ladies ready?”
“No,” they said together. Giulia recovered first. “Let’s get it over with.”
The overhead fluorescents glared off the gray walls and speckled floor of the small room. The machines surrounding Salvatore beeped and hummed.
Anne whispered, “He’s dreaming. His eyes are moving back and forth beneath his closed eyelids.”
Aida said in her usual voice, “He’s made some sounds, too. Eye movement and brain activity have been increasing all day.” She picked up the clipboard hanging at the end of the bed and made notes. “Go ahead and talk to him. Your voice may be the trigger he needs.”
Anne gave Giulia a wry smile. “My semi-weekly chastising is overdue. I’m sure his sense of duty will come to his aid.” She raised her voice. “Salvatore, it’s time to wake up. Anne and Giulia are here. You must have something to say to us.”
A young woman in basic green scrubs entered the room and discussed the chart and readouts with Aida.
“Mrs. Falcone?” When Anne raised her hand, the woman continued. “I’m Doctor Stryker. We’re pleased and encouraged by your husband’s progress. While each coma patient is different, in this case we—”
Giulia said, “Salvatore, do you recognize us?”
Everyone looked toward the head of the bed. Salvatore’s eyes were open, but unfocused.
Anne said, “Salvatore, it’s me.”
The brown eyes closed. For a moment Giulia thought nothing else would happen, but they reopened and by degrees lost their blurry aspect. Her brother’s lips separated with difficulty. Aida poured water from a plastic pitcher into a Styrofoam cup and added a bendy straw. She held the straw to his lips and he blinked again and sipped.
His eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose. “Where are my children?”
“Home in bed. Mrs. Esposito is sitting with them.”
“She is an idler, a gossip and a busybody.” His eyes switched their focus to Giulia, but his eyelids fluttered and closed before he said anything else.
Giulia said to Anne, “First Timothy, right?”
“Chapter five, verse twelve, I think. No, thirteen.” She gave her husband a hard smile. “He trotted out First Timothy and Second Corinthians at the beginning of every work week. He thought it would keep me in line.”
The doctor dictated and Aida wrote more notes. When Aida re-hung the clipboard, the doctor said to Anne and Giulia, “Please don’t be discouraged. I’ve seen this before. I can’t make any promises, but keep your phones on. He’s asleep now, but his number are dropping back into coma range already. See?” She flipped to a printout of an EEG screencap and held it up to the actual machine. “However, because of this episode there’s a good chance he’ll wake up again by the end of the week. If that happens and he follows the progression I’ve seen with these cases, he’ll stay awake for longer and longer periods each time.”
Anne and Giulia walked to the parking lot together.
“Well, the silence was good while it lasted.” Anne yawned. “I’d better put my alarm volume to the maximum or I’ll never get them out of bed in time for the school bus.”
“I’m going to use my executive privilege and sleep an extra hour.” Giulia yawned too. “What are you going to do if he makes a rapid recovery and gets discharged?”
“I’m trying not to think about it. I’m enjoying each day as it comes.”
Giulia unlocked the Nunmobile. “I’ve torched my ‘Get out of Purgatory Free’ card by thinking the kids would be better off without him.”
Fifty-Four
Frank, already in bed, pulled the sheet over Giulia. “Welcome home.”
“I love this bed. At this moment, I love it more than…” She yawned.
“As long as you don’t say ‘more than your hardworking husband’ I agree.”
“You don’t have a pillow top, but somehow I still prefer you.”
He snugged her against him. “Where do you want to start?”
“Salvatore came out of his coma for about a minute and didn’t yell at either me or Anne. We should play the lottery while my luck is in.”
“Babe, I’d be happier if your brother moved to Assisi and became a hermit under a vow of silence.”
“He’d have to leave me alone, then. I like the idea.”
“Forget him. I want to hear about the ghost.”
Giulia described her “Ghost and Mrs. Muir with added cigarettes” experience.
“A what?”
“A Gibson Girl. The idealized woman from the turn of the last century. Big bouffant hair, giant picture hats, waists corseted to unbelievable circumferences.”
“Uh…it may ring a vague bell.”
She rubbed his cheek with the top of her head. “You’re sweet.”
“True, and right now I’m trying not to tick you off again.” He pulled her closer. “You really think…wait, bad choice of words. You really saw a ghost.”
“I saw and talked with a ghost.” She extricated herself. “I tried to take pictures.” She stretched her arm to its limit to reach her phone on the nightstand. “Maybe I have proof.”
He sat up. She opened her photos and they examined each photo in the regular burst. “Furnace. Furnace. Furnace. Oh, come on. Furnace. Furnace.” She switched to the night vision camera folder. Her breath hitched.
“An bhfuil tú ag mágadh fúm?”
“Was that G-rated?” Giulia asked out of habit.
“I coul
d teach it to Zlatan. It’s ‘Are you kidding me?’”
All her attention was on her screen. Light green furnace, lighter green walls, a thin rectangle of blinding green from the streetlight outlined the window curtain. And between the camera and the furnace, the barest suggestion of an hourglass-shaped haze.
She swiped to the next photo. Nothing. The third. Nothing. She swiped back to the first. The haze was still there.
“She told me the camera wouldn’t work. She didn’t know about night vision.” Giulia touched Frank’s arm. “You see it too, yes?”
“No one—” he cleared his throat— “mouth’s dry. Can’t imagine why. No one will believe this picture. It’s not clear enough.”
She enlarged the photo, but it lost detail instead of becoming sharper. “Rats.”
Frank kissed her. “Muirnín, one of the things I love about you is your naturally G-rated language.”
“Mm. I’ll show this to Rowan tomorrow.” She closed the phone. “Don’t I sound calm? I’m only pretending.”
“You’re doing it well.” He put his hands over hers. “I apologize.”
She reversed her hands and squeezed his. “Accepted.”
“And I thought your only secret skill was working magic in the kitchen.”
“A smart woman always maintains an air of mystery.” She became serious. “I’m worried Zlatan is going to become a paranormal junkie on top of being an adrenaline junkie.”
“We’ll make his childhood a memorable one.”
“Frank…”
“Just don’t bring any of them home. I don’t want an audience while sleeping with my wife.”
Some of the tension sloughed off her. “Let me tell you about Rowan’s first mother-in-law.”
Fifty-Five
Giulia slept as late as she dared Tuesday morning, which was nowhere near as late as she wanted. She made three phone calls from home, packed her demon-busting equipment in her messenger bag just in case, inhaled half a peanut butter sandwich, and arrived at the office at ten after ten.
Sidney said without looking up from her keyboard, “Continual tardiness is not the habit of a successful entrepreneur.”
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