The Clock Strikes Nun

by Alice Loweecey

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maureen clapped twice. “Lovebirds, we need to give Giulia space. Come inside and share a pre-ceremony tea ritual.”

  New, cynical Giulia didn’t believe her for a Pittsburgh minute. Maureen might brew three cups of tea, but Giulia would bet one of her own two daily allowed cups of coffee that the “ceremony” involved standing at the windows watching the Ghost Tamer do her work.

  She kept her back to the house. Where to start to create an atmosphere of authenticity? This morning Jasper’s hands kneaded the aura of the fictional divorcée looking for love. She could imitate him.

  Giulia walked the curved back wall of the grotto, feeling the air and the undressed stones with precise, slow arm movements. At the halfway mark the breeze struck music from the pipe organ wind chimes. Giulia snapped her head in its direction. The breeze died. She stepped toward it with a show of purpose.

  An unexpected benefit from all the years in the Cottonwood Community Theater orchestra pit: basic acting skills. She’d never labeled herself an actor, but what else could she call undercover work?

  With her head tilted up toward the chimes, she manipulated the air around them before adopting her “scolding teacher” stance: feet slightly apart, left hand on hip, right finger pointing.

  The wind rattled the other two sets of chimes. Giulia wagged her finger at them but kept her gaze on the most impressive set.

  The topmost leaves in the grove of forty-foot cottonwoods fluttered, then stopped. Excellent timing.

  Giulia coordinated her next series of gestures with the wind. First, extravagant hand-waving at the chimes. Second, wait for the treetop wind to make its way down to the grotto.

  The pipes flung themselves back and forth. She brought her gestures in tighter and tighter until she appeared to create a bubble around the chimes. The wind slackened, then picked up.

  Now what?

  She paged through the last few musicals on which she’d worked the Pit.

  Musicals.

  The entire Driscoll clan had gathered for the birthday of one of the nieces this past weekend. The Frozen-themed party included a showing of the movie.

  Giulia channeled her inner Elsa from the climactic thawing scene and flung the bubble up and away at the same moment the wind died.

  All the chimes stilled. The lights flickered once.

  Something tickled the back of her neck. Rather than slap the bug, she let it feast on her so she could maintain her potent ghost chaser image.

  Another tickle, almost like a breath fluttering the hair at the nape of her neck. In other terms, instant karma in the form of a wasp sting as a reward for her fabricated performance. She waited a few heartbeats for the burning pain, but her skin remained inviolate. It must have flown away. Thank you, Saint Francis.

  As though one of the Saints would get involved in this enterprise.

  Giulia lowered her arms and held her breath. The wind did not return. She nodded at the pipe chimes, a final oversized gesture.

  Flip-flops slapped the stone path behind her. Mingmei crashed into Giulia.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, Giulia did you see it? Maureen saw it better than us, but as soon as she pointed it out we both saw it as clear as we saw you.” She hugged Giulia hard enough to crack a rib.

  Giulia had forgotten Mingmei possessed a black belt in karate. “Do not squash the pregnant woman’s internal organs, please.” Her voice was thinner than usual. Her lungs were not happy.

  Mingmei leaped back. “I totally forgot. I’m such a moron.”

  Giulia took a deep breath—ahh—and smiled. “No, you’re getting married in—”

  “Seven and a half minutes,” Maureen said. “Giulia, I admit I had my doubts, but you silenced them. You have the gift. Even I’ve never seen my ghost after all these years, yet one good rebuke from you and he comes like my Corgi when I shake the Beggin’ Strips bag.”

  “He wore a morning coat,” Mingmei said. “Like a butler or a groom or somebody from A Christmas Carol.”

  Maureen beckoned them all under the lights. “He’s certainly a flirt. Did he say anything when he touched your neck? His lips appeared to move.”

  Giulia crushed a wave of goosebumps with resolution. “No.”

  “He should know enough to keep his wandering ghost lips away from the neck of a married woman,” Mingmei said.

  Stephan spoke for the first time. “His face looked like you were his mom and you caught him stealing cookies.” His Beavis and Butthead laugh was at odds with his Mixed Martial Arts physique. “Giulia, if our dojo in Kansas City turns out to be haunted, we’re hiring you.”

  “What?” Giulia looked to Mingmei for an explanation.

  Maureen took charge. “Wedding now. News later. Obey your Justice of the Peace. Where’s the best man?”

  A clone of Stephan in an identical suit appeared. Stephan produced incense and a small statue of Buddha. Mingmei latched onto Giulia’s arm. “Did I mention you’re my matron of honor?”

  The brief ceremony combined the standard civil wedding plus traditional Buddhist vows with the lighting of candles and placing flowers before the Buddha.

  A teenage boy with a brave attempt at facial hair took pictures. Completing the assistant manifestations, another teenage boy offered champagne flutes of Perrier from a scalloped tray.

  Mingmei explained after the toast. “You heard right. We have our very own dojo at last.” She kissed her new husband. “It’s part of an initiative to work with at-risk kids. We applied a few months ago and they asked us if we’d be willing to relocate. But you won’t get rid of me, Saint Giulia Ghost Slayer. I have your Skype address.”

  Nine

  “Jasper, they all said they saw a male ghost in a Charles Dickens type of outfit.”

  Giulia sat at the table in the Tarot Shoppe’s smaller reading room clutching a bottle of Sobe Mango Melon with a little too much force. Her right foot tapped the purple carpet in triple time.

  “I felt something touch my neck, like a wasp or a mosquito. I was into the performance, so I didn’t swat it away. They all said his—its—lips moved.”

  Jasper leaned against the wall, his voice as serene as always. “Rowan will be thrilled and annoyed she isn’t hearing this in person.” He touched the back of her hand. “Goosebumps aren’t an unusual reaction the first time.”

  The bottle shook a little despite all her efforts.

  “Can you find your center? I’d like to try for an impression of what connected with you.”

  “You think something really happened?”

  “Certainly, and you do also.” His eyebrows reached up to his hairline. “You didn’t think we were a scam outfit, did you?”

  Giulia controlled the urge to blush. “I’m forced to admit I’ve wondered about some things you’ve said. But in this case it’s not you, it’s me.”

  His laugh didn’t disturb his serenity. “Isn’t that a bad breakup line?”

  She replayed it and managed a smile. “Clichés are not a service we usually offer.”

  “What you mean is you doubt your own skills, correct?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve gone undercover enough. I know my acting limits.”

  “I’m not referring to stagecraft.” Jasper hooked one foot around the leg of the other chair and pulled it next to Giulia. He sat with both hands on his knees and breathed in a slow, regular rhythm. Within a minute, Giulia’s foot stopped twitching and she relaxed her death grip on the Sobe.

  Her lips twisted. “I see what you did there.”

  “My bubble of personal space is as large as yours.”

  “And you seem to be aware of the defenses I’ve constructed around the bubble.”

  His slow smile appeared. “I have no desire to encounter them. Now here’s my professional opinion: relax.”

  “Isn’t that the favorite word of N
FL quarterbacks when the fans are panicking?”

  The smile turned into a laugh. “True. It’s good advice. You’re discovering a new dimension to an old skill. Give yourself time to get used to it, the way you break in a new pair of jeans.”

  Giulia put a hand on her belly. “By the time we return to jeans weather, this one will require me to buy the maternity kind.”

  Ten

  The afternoon threatened to be a letdown after an impromptu wedding and ghost hunt. Wrong. Research into Dahlia’s Board of Directors rivaled the plot lines of As the World Turns, not that Giulia ever watched soap operas.

  Dahlia’s newsworthy financial turnaround two decades ago began three rabbit trails which didn’t end in three neat points. Financial side branches, gossip, and too little attention to the internet advice “think twice before pressing Send” afflicted the Board of Directors.

  Giulia rubbed her hands à la Zane’s “Simon bar Sinister” imitation and dialed the CFO’s direct line.

  Half an hour later she’d secured two appointments for today and one for tomorrow morning. With a stuffed veggie pita from Common Grounds in one hand, she drove to Dahlia’s offices.

  Only an October day with leaves at kaleidoscopic heights could increase the attractiveness of the office park Dahlia had chosen. Three different types of maples, plus sweet gums, oaks, and birches camouflaged one-story brick buildings and overhung narrow unlined roads. Multitudinous birds crowded the branches. Picnic tables, a bicycle path, and even a short Frisbee golf course filled the spaces between the trees.

  Much like longing after Elaine Patrick’s fabulous silk dress, Giulia was quite certain DI could not afford to relocate here. Office space in the suburbs was a whole ’nother world from town office space, even in a middling town like Cottonwood.

  She parked in the twelve-space lot in front of the Dahlia side of its cozy building. A discreet sign on the other side advertised a chiropractor’s holistic healing offices.

  The lobby’s gray carpet coordinated with the tasteful grouping of chrome art deco chairs and oval coffee table. A vase of real red and white dahlias graced the receptionist’s chrome and glass desk.

  “Welcome to Dahlia, the leader in elegant fashion. May I help you?”

  The red and white pattern in her silk blouse coordinated with the flowers. Giulia gave it a seventy-five percent chance the effect was intentional.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Giulia Driscoll with Driscoll Investigations. I have a two fifteen appointment with Mark Pedersen.”

  The young woman’s eyes narrowed, but Giulia saw calculation in them rather than suspicion. She picked up her phone.

  “Dona, Mr. Pedersen’s two fifteen is here.” A moment later she hung up and pointed down the hall to her left. “First door on the right.”

  Dona’s closet-sized office barred the uninvited from the Chief Financial Officer’s sanctum by virtue of her desk acting as drawbridge and moat to a cherrywood door. Dona did not rise when Giulia entered her doorless vestibule. Her silver hair coordinated with her blue and gray checkered dress. Giulia resisted the cumulative Dahlia effect’s attempts to dismiss her as “bargain store knockoff.” It didn’t matter whether or not the label was correct. Intimidation and Giulia were familiar adversaries, and she had emerged victorious in ninety-nine percent of these battles.

  “Mr. Pedersen asks that you give him a few minutes.” She did not offer the lone chair to Giulia.

  “Of course.”

  The vestibule lacked a bookshelf for her to study. Giulia checked out the walls. Surprise: The frames showcased magazine covers of movie stars in Dahlia creations. All except two: a small photograph of a smiling, plump older couple standing by a two-seater Cessna and a studio portrait of a severe, columnar woman next to a chinless man with a handlebar mustache. A young blonde girl stood between them.

  Pedersen’s guard must have known how to touch type, since her dark eyes followed Giulia’s progress around the moat while her fingers kept moving over her keyboard.

  The phone buzzed. “Mr. Pedersen is ready for you now.” When she stood, Giulia was not surprised to see her high heels matched her dress.

  Without further conversation, she opened the door behind her desk and closed it as soon as Giulia passed through. Perhaps Pedersen secretly longed for a butler.

  A tall man of medium build sat at a huge mahogany desk with an inset leather surface. A glassed-in bookcase faced a wall of framed dress designs and more magazine covers. Giulia sensed a pattern.

  He half-rose and held out a hand crisscrossed with tiny scars. “Ms. Driscoll, I’m Mark Pedersen. What can I do for you?”

  If Pedersen did want his own butler, he needed to up his study of the British aristocracy. A member of that class definitely should not have moist palms. Or wear a camouflage baseball cap and a polo shirt with an embroidered smallmouth bass caught on a hook.

  Fishing could be the sole reason he ate regularly, what with alimony payments to his two ex-wives and child support to three children in Catholic high school.

  “Mr. Pedersen—”

  “Mark, please.” His mechanical smile conveyed the opposite of geniality.

  “Mark. Driscoll Investigations has been retained to inquire into Dahlia’s infrastructure.”

  The smile twitched. “May I see some identification, please?”

  She placed her license in his outstretched hand. He inspected it like a bar bouncer checking for fake IDs. When he returned it, damp on the underside, his smile projected even less cordiality.

  “I don’t see why someone wants us to open our books to a private dick.” He glared as though daring her to call him on his choice of words. “Who’s the troublemaker?”

  Giulia could produce a mechanical smile too. “Our clients are confidential.”

  “Don’t bother with that old dodge. Blonde bitches number one and number two called me at two in the morning last Saturday hammered out of their greedy minds. Tiffany texted me a picture of her with her Justin Bieber clone of a boy toy while they talked. They’re blonder than they know if they think they can squeeze even more alimony out of me. I don’t care what the last stockholders’ report said.”

  Keeping the insincere smile on her lips, Giulia brought out a pen and a miniature legal pad from her messenger bag. “I’m not at liberty to reveal our clients’ names. Now according to my information, Dahlia is run jointly by you, Ms. Konani Hyde, and Ms. Sandra Sechrest.”

  “Darn right we run it, and have been for the past fifteen years. Elaine is a figurehead.”

  “Elaine?”

  Smug looked much more natural on Pedersen’s face. “The bottom-feeder lawyers are out of touch. Did Tiffany and Christie tell you Elaine started showing up here at the office to actually earn the huge salary she’s entitled to?”

  Giulia took meticulous notes on everything Pedersen was not saying, just like Rowan taught her this morning.

  “That’s the girl, get it all in writing. I’d like to have half a chance the next court date doesn’t go all in their favor.” He paused long enough for Giulia to look up.

  “Your daddy give you our job too? At least you don’t cower in the house and spend your allowance online.”

  Giulia experienced a strong desire to go drinking with Tiffany and Christie. Her pen hovered over the next empty line. “Elaine is not a regular contributor to the business?”

  A shrug. “She is, but on her terms. She designs for us sometimes, but everything has to be conducted via Skype and email.” He pointed with his thumb at a framed award on the wall behind him. “Her new line won second place in this year’s CFDA Fashion Awards. But my ex-blondes should know better than to think an award translates to instant cash. You’ve got material to purchase, stock to produce, marketing and promotion, plus all the labor involved. We don’t outsource to countries paying seven-year-old kids twenty-five cents a day to sew dresses
in sweatshops.”

  “A decision one doesn’t often hear about these days.”

  “It’s good business, as well as the right thing to do.”

  Pedersen as The Picture of Dorian Gray appeared before Giulia, his touch of pomposity overlaying the suppressed anger on his face.

  “Making our clothing in America puts our stock up, figuratively and literally, with the buying public. Our actual stockholders don’t gripe because our clothes get into more upscale boutiques. The more boutiques we’re in, the fatter their dividend checks get.”

  Zane would be able to corroborate or refute these facts soon. Giulia gave Pedersen a wide-eyed interested look. He bit.

  “Konani, Sandra, and I consistently took Dahlia to new heights in the nine years we ran it ourselves. Even with Elaine as titular head, our P&L sheets are positive overall. Have you checked our stock numbers?”

  “Yes.” With a straight face, even though she hadn’t.

  “At least you didn’t take the blondes’ word for everything. It’s refreshing to see a woman know enough to do the research before making a decision.”

  Non-violent Giulia checked an impulse to chuck his half-full coffee cup in his face. It must’ve been baby hormones.

  “Yet two women are equal partners with you in Dahlia.”

  “It’s a women’s clothing business. Elaine’s mother was a smart cookie who thought like a man. She knew we’d have to have females at the top to take the pulse of women’s fashion trends.”

  Pitching the coffee was looking more desirable every second.

  Pedersen placed both hands flat on the desk and leaned across the leather inset. “I’m now four minutes late for a three o’clock meeting. You tell the vampires they’ll get zilch from their latest ploy. They’ll have to support their boy toys on what they’re already sucking out of me.”

  Giulia returned her pen and pad to her messenger bag and luxuriated in thoughts of the dirty laundry Zane would unearth about Pedersen. She would never use it unless they had a direct correlation to the suspected hostile takeover, but she didn’t pretend to be above devouring them like Pedersen was in the crosshairs of The Scoop.