“It’s a lovely view out there,” he says calmly, and he hands me the glass. I nod and put it down on the dining-room table. I’m not about to drink anything he gives me.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.
“Marshall told me you were staying here,” he says, taking a sip of his scotch. “I did a little social engineering and then had the maid let me in.”
“What can I do for you, bishop?” I ask.
“Archbishop,” he corrects me.
“All right.” I shrug. “What can I do for you, Archbishop Mauriello? If you’re looking for the pagan baby, you’re too late. She’s gone clubbing.”
I can tell I’ve struck a bit of a nerve with the remark, but Mauriello recovers quickly.
“I came here to see you, Tanzie,” he says calmly. “I heard you were feeling sad, depressed.”
“So you came by to throw me over the balcony? Or perhaps you have a gift for me? A gun, maybe?”
Mauriello smiles and shakes his head. “I want you to give me Tina McCrery’s laptop,” he says coldly. “It’s missing from the archdiocese offices, and I put two and two together. Although …” He pauses and takes a sip of scotch. “Although I can’t figure out why you would insert yourself into this matter, Tanzie. Please tell me what your connection to this is.”
“Why would I tell you anything?” I say defiantly. “And I don’t have the computer. I’m sure you searched the suite before I got here.”
“But you know where it is,” he says angrily. “I want you to tell me where it is, Tanzie.”
I stare into Mauriello’s soulless eyes, and I know I don’t have much time here. “Look, Archbishop, I don’t have an issue with you. I’m headed back to Houston tomorrow. Why do you want to complicate things?”
“But it isn’t complicated to get rid of you, Tanzie,” he says coldly. “You are a nobody. An afterthought. Some sad, little auditor who gets drunk and falls over the balcony.”
“I’m not drunk,” I say, happy for once that I’ve been restricted to a single sensibly priced drink at dinner.
“All right, you’re not drunk. You’re sad. Very sad. Marshall told me all about your rich and powerful ex-husband. How hard it must be to fall from such a high position.” He chuckles. “Poor Tanzie. Once a socialite and now relegated to working as an auditor, of all the boring things.”
I envision Marshall, Doug, and Mauriello discussing my pathetic life over drinks after our golf game. Laughing about what Rich Gibbons said about me. Marshall, in his Texas twang, detailing how he flirted with me, and how receptive I seemed to be. The roars of laughter at how easily I could be played. I try to shake it off—I can’t let him get to me.
“You don’t think you’ll get caught?” I say. “There are surveillance tapes. They would see you were here.”
Mauriello shrugs. “I entertain San Francisco’s elite. They would never suspect malfeasance. Reputation is everything, Tanzie. Now, I’ll only ask once more. Where is the laptop?”
I don’t answer, and finally Mauriello begins to walk slowly toward me. I wish I could run, I wish I could fight back like they do in the movies, but instead I’m petrified with fear. He grabs my shoulders. I’m shaking. I start to cry, but I take a deep breath.
“I gave it to the FBI!” I shout, and I watch Mauriello’s face drop. “And that’s not all,” I add. “I have your sweater. The same one you wore at Tina’s. The FBI has that too,” I lie. “They have evidence that you were at Tina’s when she died. They’ll run some sort of test on that sweater. If I’m dead too, you won’t be able to charm your way out.”
We stand, looking at each other once again while he processes this new information. I’m quite certain this is the end for me. The ultimate penance. Somehow, I’m sure Mauriello will cover his tracks, devise some scheme to let himself off the hook. But Honey will know the truth. I’ll be an O’Leary martyr. A legend. Dying to help poor Vreseis Cosmo get her son back.
Yes, Honey is right. God works in mysterious ways. It’s a good time, I decide, to start believing in God.
Mauriello breaks the silence. “I think I’ll take that risk,” he says quietly, and I can feel the pressure on my shoulders start to increase.
Shrieks of laughter come from the hallway.
We both turn to look as the lock to the suite door releases, and in walk Honey, Sister Ignatius, Sister Agnes, and Ryan, who is carrying a platter of appetizers.
“Last-night-in-the-suite party!” shouts Sister Agnes. A who invited him? expression crosses Honey’s face when she sees Mauriello, until she realizes this is not a social visit he’s paying me.
My certain death has been busted up by a conga line of tipsy nuns, and I immediately relax. If there is divine intervention, this is most certainly it.
“What is the meaning of this?” asks Honey in her mother superior voice. She rushes toward me just as Mauriello, suddenly in survival mode, storms out the door, brushing Honey aside as he goes.
Ryan pours me a stiff scotch, and the group rallies around me as I give them a full accounting of Mauriello’s surprise visit. Honey leads me to the couch and puts her arm around me.
“Mrs. Lewis, I’ll call hotel security,” Ryan says calmly.
I take a deep breath. “No,” I say. “He’s gone. Can you just have someone stay outside my room tonight?”
“Of course.” He nods.
“And can you do the same for Sandy?” I ask. “Actually, I’m not sure if she’ll even be back here tonight.” My mind can’t focus, and I decide not to elaborate. “Still, just in case.”
“Of course, Mrs. Lewis. Of course.”
I look up at my support group. “Do you think you’re in danger now, Honey?” I ask my sister. “Mauriello knows you’re involved somehow. What will this mean for you? Ryan, can Mr. Rodriguez let the sisters stay at the hotel tonight?”
“That will not be necessary, Ryan,” states Honey. “We are perfectly safe at our convent.”
The other nuns nod in agreement. “We have been faced with bullies like Archbishop Mauriello before. We have faith that God will protect us,” interjects Sister Ignatius.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you may be underestimating Mauriello,” I say. “He was ready to chuck me over the balcony a few minutes ago.”
“And yet he didn’t,” says Honey. “We planned the party this morning. The Lord knew we were coming.” Her voice is irritatingly glib, dismissive of the real danger Mauriello presented.
“Well, I didn’t know you were coming.” I’m still trembling from the experience. Perhaps devoting one’s life to God’s service comes with certain employee benefits unavailable to the secular world: A cafeteria plan that includes serene confidence that everything works out for the best. I give a long sigh and try to buy in, at least momentarily, to the idea that I’m covered by the divine protection plan. I slug down the rest of my scotch. Ryan provides a swift refill.
“Five smooth stones,” says Sister Agnes.
The sisters nod collectively at the reference. I’m completely confused, but that’s not surprising after a couple of drinks.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s a reference to David and Goliath,” Sister Agnes answers. “David had but five smooth stones to fight the mighty Goliath.”
“But he only needed one,” Ryan says quietly. I wonder what he means by that.
“Are we the five stones?” I ask Sister Agnes. Forgive me. I’m a numbers person.
“Tanzie,” Honey says quietly while stroking my hair. “If God is on your side, you can defeat evil, no matter how insurmountable it may seem. All poor David had were five smooth stones to fight against a giant with armor and a sword.”
I decide not to point out that no one gave Tina McCrery any rocks.
“I hope you’re right,” I say to the group, downing the rest of my drink and holding out my glass for another. “I just hope you’re right. I can’t see Mauriello taking all of this without a fight. He’s a cold-blooded
killer. You may not believe this, but I think we are all in danger until he gets arrested, and that could take a while.”
From the corner, I can see Ryan watching us. He nods in agreement. Suddenly, I don’t want to be awake anymore; the stress of the evening and three glasses of scotch catch up with me all at once, and I start to cry.
Honey tightens her hug before I lose it completely. She sets my scotch on the table. Then she rocks me softly, singing a nursery rhyme I’ve known all my life.
My little bright moon,
Lit for me so I can walk
To go to school,
To be educated,
For all God’s things.
I can remember my mother singing that to me. Or no—suddenly I remember that it wasn’t my mother. It was Honey. A long-forgotten sense of warmth comes over me as I snuggle with my big sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Thursday Morning
Though exhausted by my near-death experience and way too much scotch, I am unable to wind down and fall asleep. I lie in bed and wait for the clock to cooperate. By seven, I’m on my fifth cup of coffee and ninth cigarette.
Ryan arrives around nine to set up the continental side of my farewell breakfast. “How are you doing, Mrs. Lewis?” he asks.
“Didn’t get much sleep, and I’ll be honest—I’m anxious to get home,” I say and then realize how rude I sound. “Not that this wasn’t wonderful. How can I thank you, Ryan? I’m pretty sure you guys saved my life last night.”
Ryan just smiles and nods. He gets busy setting up the pastries and sliced fruit. “TV on?” he suggests, flipping the living-room flat-screen TV to a local station.
“Muted,” I say, selecting a strawberry from the tray.
The suite door opens, and in walks Honey with my sisters Lucy, Blondie, and Bumby. There’s the usual shrieking that goes on when sisters greet each other after long absences. Everyone talks at once. Ryan looks confused and unfamiliar with big-family chaos. Lucy is the first to give me a hug. “Honey told us what happened last night.” Her voice is low and throaty, perhaps a bit hoarse from delivering speeches all week.
“Horrible,” adds Bumby, breaking me away from Lucy to get her hug. “You look fabulous!” she adds. “Honey mentioned you had some work done.” Bumby steps back, and Lucy and Blondie join her in looking me over.
Ah yes, the O’Leary intelligence network is again up and running. Nearly being murdered by a clergyman is not nearly as interesting as plastic surgery. I’m laughing now.
“Oh my word!” Honey shouts from the living room, interrupting our sisterly reunion. “Mauriello’s dead!”
The five O’Leary women gather to watch the news, and Ryan walks over and turns up the sound. Honey’s right: The TV shows predawn footage of multiple police cars lined up in a posh residential neighborhood. The tagline reads, “San Francisco archbishop Joseph Mauriello found murdered outside his Pacific Heights residence.”
“Still no leads on the murder of beloved Archbishop Mauriello,” the reporter reads. “Robbery is suspected, as the archbishop was shot with a single bullet in the back of the head. His wallet and watch were both missing.”
Ryan, without looking at the TV, continues to set up the breakfast. The broadcast continues as stock photos of Mauriello posing with dignitaries are interspersed among live interviews of grieving San Francisco Catholics, police officers, politicians, and residents of the Saint Benedict’s Homeless Shelter. Eventually, I can’t look at it anymore, and I ask them to turn it off.
Honey’s invited more than just my other sisters to the suite. Soon, Mrs. Cosmo arrives, accompanied by Spiro.
“Tanzie!” she says, finally recognizing me. The debilitating despair from the other day has been lifted, and she greets me with a kiss on both cheeks.
Not many tears are being shed for the beloved archbishop at this party, particularly after Honey and I fill them in on last night. Spiro stays quiet, but I’m sure he’s wondering, as we all are, who is responsible for Mauriello’s sudden death. Was it coincidence? Divine intervention? Sandy’s mysterious man in a Giants cap? The speculation continues with various scenarios while the group partakes in the brunch that Ryan has set up, compliments of Mr. Rodriguez.
“God works in mysterious ways,” Honey says finally.
“That reminds me—I have something for you, Spiro,” I say. I go to the bedroom and retrieve the icon. “It’s a final gift from the archbishop,” I tell him.
“Mrs. Vavuris’s icon!” Mrs. Cosmo exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I never thought we would see this again.”
The party buzz is still going strong when I check my phone and notice a text from Mark that arrived fifteen minutes ago.
Leaving early. Please get down to the lobby ASAP.
I kiss my family goodbye for the moment and finish packing up, promising to work on plans to return to the Bay Area—one day, anyway. I give my sisters hugs goodbye, but I save the last for Honey.
“You will be visiting us again soon, won’t you?” This is more demand than question.
“Can you arrange for this suite again?” I laugh.
“Of course,” Honey says, looking at Ryan, who nods.
Spiro walks me to the door. “What can I say, Tanzie? Thank you for everything.”
“So, is my penance complete?” I joke.
Spiro cocks his head to the side and give me a hug. “Never change, Tanzie,” he whispers, and then he releases me from the hug and kisses my cheek.
Once in the lobby, I find CoGenCo’s executives milling around the Eclipse, drinking coffee and looking serious. Mark is talking to Sandy over at the techno pod.
“Did you see the news about Mauriello?” I ask Sandy.
She nods. “Wasn’t me. I spent the night with an assistant DA.”
Mark just shakes his head, and I decide not to tell them about my close encounter last night.
“How did it go with Doug and Marshall this morning?” I ask, changing the subject.
“We were too late,” says Mark.
“Late for what?” I ask.
“The FBI was already at the Westwind offices early this morning, and they took Marshall and Doug into custody.”
“Sister Agnes’s brother?” I ask.
“No.” Mark shakes his head and chuckles. “It had nothing to do with your sister’s project. Apparently, some joint effort between UK law enforcement and the United States has been at work for months. Turns out Doug and Marshall had an ownership interest in Wind Fabricators. They’ve been selling the recalled Siemens blades all over the UK. People have been killed. It’s huge, and we had no idea.”
“So, what happens now?” Sandy asks.
“Jim takes over. And those guys over there—” Mark points to the executives “—will be in litigation for years.”
“But they didn’t have anything to do with this, did they?” I ask.
“No,” answers Mark, “but CoGenCo’s deep pockets will draw lawsuits globally. This will be tough on everyone.”
Mark heads over to schmooze with the CoGenCo leadership team, leaving Sandy and me to watch from the cheap seats.
“Kind of a coincidence that this all started with a hotline call, don’t you think?” Sandy asks, and I wonder if she suspects that I was the caller. I decide not to bite.
“Quite a coincidence,” I agree, trying to keep my smile from showing. “And very complicated.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Later
The Wind Fabricators story enjoys its fifteen minutes of fame as the lead story for national news circuits, eventually losing traction to some Kardashian drama. Though forgotten by the media, the behind-the-scenes resource drag on CoGenCo is in full force. Our stock is down, and there are rumors of a management shake-up. Still, there isn’t anything for Internal Audit to help with, so our department gets back to normal fairly quickly. Sandy and Dan are engaged, and the women in our department are busy planning her shower.
“This came for you,” Mark
’s admin tells me one afternoon as I’m walking by her desk.
“Thanks, Grace,” I say taking the yellow padded envelope. There isn’t a return address, but the postmark is San Francisco. I can feel a small box inside. “Probably something from one of my sisters,” I volunteer.
I tear open the envelope and pull out the little white square box while Grace looks on.
“A ring?” asks Grace as I remove the top.
Inside are five rubies, one larger than the rest. I pour them into the palm of my hand to get a better look. I finger the five smooth stones, noting the unique rose cut that identifies them as those from Mauriello’s pectoral cross. There’s a handwritten note inside: This is for all the sisters.
“Are they real?” asks Grace.
“No,” I lie. “Probably just cheap glass.”
I put the rubies in my blazer pocket. On the way back to my cube, I put the box and envelope in the shred bin outside the mail room. If there’s any evidence to be gleaned from the envelope or box, it will be long gone within the week.
I sit in my cube and wonder what all this means. The rubies in my pocket came from Mauriello’s pectoral cross. I’m certain of that. Whoever sent them to me must have killed Mauriello. But who is that somebody? I think back to the five smooth stones conversation with the nuns. It was Sister Agnes who brought up the five smooth stones reference, but Honey and Sister Ignatius were involved in that discussion too. The idea of nuns packing heat and offing the archbishop of San Francisco seems like a stretch. These are women who live their lives in service to others. I can’t see them changing course at this stage of the game.
Then I remember what Ryan said during that conversation: “But he only needed one.” One shot in the back of the head. And I remember something else Ryan said—”If you ever find the need for a hit man, I know several guys who could do it”—and the story he told me about Hector Rodriguez having lost his sister in a drive-by murder. Maybe one of them wanted to make sure Honey didn’t lose her sister either.
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