The Clock Strikes Nun

by Alice Loweecey

  She eased up on the gas until she returned to the speed limit. The Audi roared past her. Its tinted windows concealed any parting gesture from the driver.

  Her hands trembled. She anchored them at the ten and two positions on the steering wheel and glanced down at the gearshift. Her phone was still there. Upside down, but there. She raised her voice in the hope the voice memo function was still recording and enough space remained.

  “It’s four p.m. on Saturday, July twenty-second. I’m two miles from the Cottonwood exit on the Turnpike. A tan and blue Volkswagen bus just tried to run me off the overpass. In health news, my adrenal gland is functioning in top shape. In pregnancy news, I’m surprised Zlatan isn’t sending psychic complaints about how I’m disturbing his naps. Maybe he is and Jasper is looking up my phone number right now.” She signaled and exited. “Given the choice as a way to keep alert, I’ll take coffee over near-death experiences any day.”

  Thirty-Five

  Giulia sat in the little car for several minutes before she trusted her legs to get her up the two steps from the garage into the house.

  Frank wasn’t there. She gave up trying to remember and opened the calendar on her phone: 4-7 p.m. Coach kids’ soccer. YMCA.

  She could postpone telling Frank about the latest car incident until she got a handle on herself.

  If this kept up, she might as well stock up on hair dye, because Zlatan would be skydiving or in a demolition derby by middle school.

  She called Sidney. “I hate to ask this with zero notice on a Saturday, but are you open to overtime?”

  Sidney laughed. “You’re worried that the parents of a six-month-old have plans for a wild weekend of partying? Olivier, listen to this.” Olivier laughed even louder. Sidney said into the phone, “What do you need?”

  “Our hive mind. My iPad is full of notes from today’s interviews. If this were a workday, I’d beg you to stop whatever you were doing and huddle with me.”

  “Come on over. The August blowout sale from Christmas in July was light today. Mom and Dad don’t need me.”

  “You’re the best. I’m calling Zane next.”

  Giulia held a box from The Garden of Delights in front of her face when she rang Sidney’s doorbell. The squeal of joy informed her the offering was acceptable.

  “Tell me they had berry tiramisu, please please and please again.”

  “How could you doubt me?” Giulia followed the box inside the cottage.

  The doorbell rang again while she was unpacking. Olivier opened for Zane as Sidney set out plates, napkins, and forks.

  “Do I see an offering from The Garden?”

  Giulia held up a plate with slices of pie, rounds of shortcake, and two kinds of tortes. “Raspberry lemon meringue included.”

  “I love my job.” He looked relieved when the door closed. “Sidney, what do your hulking beasts have against males?”

  Olivier answered. “I’ve narrowed it down to a six-thousand-year-old collective memory from when humans first gave their species a curfew. Or their less-remote ancestors watched too many episodes of The Donna Reed Show, and they blame men for the oppression of the female sex as a whole.”

  Zane picked up a piece of meringue-covered pie and bit into it without taking his gaze from Olivier.

  “Don’t fall for his delivery,” Sidney said. “He likes to impress people with obscure facts.”

  “I wish I could impress the woolly varmints with my big words. Who targeted you?”

  “Belle and Vixen. I know to keep outside of their spitting range now.”

  Giulia opened her laptop. “Wait a minute. Where’s Jessamine?”

  “Modeling our cuddly new felted blankets.”

  “In this heat?”

  “Mom and Dad cranked the air conditioning in the gift shop.” She raised a spoonful of her all-natural, honey-sweetened tiramisu. “Here’s to spoiling our dinners.”

  “Adulthood has its privileges.” Giulia claimed the peach shortcake. “Olivier, they didn’t have any margarita pie left. I took a chance on chocolate hazelnut torte.”

  Olivier clutched the plate with its generous square of chocolate decadence. “An hour ago I was waving a jar of Nutella at Sidney to convince her to make filled pancakes for breakfast tomorrow. You must be psychic. “

  The staff of Driscoll Investigations laughed. Olivier paused in his chocolate worship. “What did I say?”

  “I’ll tell you later, sweetie,” Sidney said. “DI hive mind, activate!”

  “Wonder Twins,” Zane said. “I have it queued up after I finish Underdog.”

  Olivier sang the first line of the Underdog theme. Zane joined in as he booted his laptop. As they finished their mostly on-key serenade, Zane set his laptop in front of Giulia. Two spreadsheets, a PowerPoint, and an annual report filled the four quadrants on his screen. “I have accessed Dahlia’s financials.”

  Giulia knelt and bowed her face to the floor. Sidney gasped and giggled. Giulia raised her head and got to her feet before Zane keeled over in shock.

  “When I die and my many sins are weighed against me, channeling your skills away from the creation of a criminal empire should even the balance.”

  A pause.

  “Zane, breathe.”

  He inhaled. His pale eyes followed her lip movements.

  “Zane, you’ve seen me make a joke before.”

  “Not one that good.”

  Sidney fell off her chair.

  Thirty-Six

  “Everyone was right, whether they liked to admit it or not,” Giulia said. “Elaine is successfully running her family business.”

  Giulia, Sidney, and Zane crowded next to each other at the kitchen table paging through screen after screen of reports. Olivier had finished his torte and left to help with Jessamine.

  “They’ve only posted a loss twice in the last fifteen years,” Zane said. “Neither time after Elaine took over.”

  Giulia wrote essentials on a fresh page of her legal pad with her right hand and conveyed shortcake into her mouth with the fork in her left.

  Zane nodded across Giulia at Sidney. “I’m not the only star of this show.”

  “I blame the bad influence of The Scoop.” Sidney opened her own laptop. “Have I mentioned lately how awesome our work network is? Logging in from here is almost as fast as when I’m in the office. Anyway, Ken Kanning would make you even more inappropriate offers if we gave him all this dirt. Listen: Pedersen the CFO and his two ex-wives and two alimony payments every month? He had to get his first marriage annulled to marry the trophy wife, and he forgot the rule about complaining online.”

  “The internet is forever?” Giulia said.

  “Yes indeed.” She swallowed another mouthful. “My God, their desserts are good. Way back when Facebook first opened to the world he griped on it about how much he had to bribe the Annulment board.” She patted Giulia’s hand. “Don’t be shocked.”

  “I’m not. I haven’t been that starry-eyed in a long time.”

  “I’m proud of you. Pedersen promptly married his mistress, who dumped him within a year for—wait for it—his son’s college roommate.”

  Giulia stopped writing. “You’re kidding.”

  “I may be laughing, but none of this is a joke. Next we have Sandra Sechrest. Did you know she and Elaine’s father had a six-year affair?”

  “Vagh-ner the tutor let that one drop when he assumed Sechrest accused him of being the power-wresting mastermind.”

  “Tsk. Weren’t any of these people taught to play nice way back in kindergarten? Sechrest also has an expensive divorce under her belt, but it happened years before she joined Dahlia.”

  “If she’s behind the power grab, what about debt as the reason?” Giulia said.

  Zane finished his pie and looked with sadness at the empty plate. “I vote for revenge. Wha
t if she had a humiliating catfight with Elaine’s mother at the company picnic?”

  “Ooh, with a private video on YouTube,” Sidney said. “Except I couldn’t find any evidence Elaine’s mother knew about the affair.”

  “From everything I’ve heard about her, she knew,” Giulia said.

  “But didn’t care?” Zane said.

  “I’m sure she cared.”

  “She didn’t want the scandal, then,” Sidney said.

  “No, I don’t think scandal was her issue,” Giulia said. “She wouldn’t have wanted the distraction from business.” She drew arrows between both names on the legal pad. “Are you now going to tell me Konani Hyde was also sleeping with Elaine’s father?”

  “Nope. Even better.” Sidney’s joy almost matched her reaction to the tiramisu. “Again, thanks to angry people on Facebook. One Christmas Mr. Dahlia pounded a lot of something called bourbon slush at the company party and got handsy with Ms. Hyde. Her exact post: ‘The old goat stuck his scrawny hands under my skirt.’ Three exclamation points. When her friends expressed outrage, she fed the flames: ‘He kneaded my tush like it was a two-handed stress ball.’ Five exclamation points.”

  Whimpering sounds came from Zane’s head buried in his arms.

  “I’d love to know if she blew him in to Elaine’s mother,” Giulia said.

  “Funny you should ask. In an update to the conversation, she hints how Elaine’s dad is scared she’ll do exactly that, and he’s treating her like she’s a rare and fragile piece of art.”

  Giulia drew more notes and arrows. “Wagner was right. If Ken Kanning had access to this, he’d rule sweeps week.”

  Zane took his plate to the sink. “I’m making a side trip tonight to pick up more pie. My girlfriend will be almost as happy as I am.”

  Giulia’s spoon tinked on her own plate. “I’m out of shortcake.”

  Sidney mimed playing the violin and hummed Barber’s Adagio for Strings. “Aren’t we supposed to be working? Hyde also posts a lot about the Meadow Schools.”

  Zane double-clicked. “Hyde’s kids both go there. If you can afford to send yours, Ms. D., Sidney and I would like to renegotiate our salaries.”

  Giulia spread her hands. “If you require proof of my financial assets, I will be happy to reveal my bank balances.” She gave Zane a Mr. Spock eyebrow. “Even though you could find them on your own.”

  Zane’s skin paled to translucence. “I swear by all the gods, I’ve never even thought about hacking you.”

  “I’m pleased you continue to use your talents on the side of justice.”

  Sidney gathered the rest of the plates. “Zane, you’re scarier than any fake ghost we might unearth.”

  His confusion appeared genuine. “How am I scary?”

  She stacked the dishes in the sink and ran water over them. “Seriously? Giulia, explain to the human computer, please.”

  Olivier opened the front door with a crying Jessamine in his arms.

  Sidney turned off the water. “Mama to the rescue—Whoa.” She picked up her daughter by the armpits. “Someone needs a fresh diaper.”

  Jessamine’s cries faded as Sidney took her to the little bedroom off the living room. Coos took their place in between Sidney’s running monologue.

  “No young lady should smell this bad. Did the customers still think you were adorable after this poop explosion? Oh sure, smile at me as I wipe your butt. You know exactly how to get around me, little lady.”

  Olivier poured himself a glass of water. “Nobody told me the odoriferous side of parenthood would be this intense.”

  Giulia said, “I thought you had two younger brothers.”

  “Mom was the diaper queen. I emptied trash and mopped floors.” He glanced down. “I know what I’m doing after breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Trading diaper duty for floor mopping.” Giulia scribbled in the upper corner of her current sheet of paper. “I think I’ll propose this deal to Frank.”

  Zane said, “Wait, Ms. D. We got sidetracked. How am I scary? I’m your garden-variety geek, with muscles. A center-cut pork chop on the grill has more to fear from me.”

  Giulia packed her legal pad and tablet. “You are the destroyer of everyone’s secretly cherished illusion of online privacy.” She waited for the light bulb to appear over his head. “One more thing for Monday morning: Cissy Newton. Wagner emphasized her eccentricity while admitting her extreme overprotectiveness of Elaine. I would hate to learn our client has secretly bought massive amounts of Dahlia stock and wants to create a leaner, meaner regime to boost her dividends.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Contact with humans who weren’t trying to kill her had reduced Giulia’s pulse to a non-daredevil rate. She still drove home with one eye on the road behind her. No Duel copycat vans of any color followed the Clown Car.

  When she pulled into a still-empty garage, a text from Frank pinged her.

  Running late. Will pick up pizza & chicken wings.

  Zlatan approved of chicken wings. She brought the dash camera inside. Ignoring the garden’s need for water and the junk mail in the mailbox, she connected the camera to her laptop and started the upload process.

  The first photo caught the VW’s grille and windshield. The second was all windshield as the VW crowded up to the rental car. The third and fourth were blurry, probably the fault of her wrestling the steering wheel for control. The fifth captured only half of the VW’s front end as she changed lanes. The last framed the Audi owner’s explicit hand gesture dead center.

  She enlarged all the photos except the last, looking for any distinguishing marks on the vehicle or a clear shot of the driver.

  Nothing. Not even a bumper sticker or windshield decal. If only Pennsylvania required license plates on the front of vehicles as well as the back.

  The door from the garage opened. “I come bearing gifts of hot sauce and garlic.”

  “Enter and approach the Table of Offerings.”

  Her husband appeared in the living room archway. “Is the Table of Offerings supplied with the Beer of Refreshment?”

  Giulia stood. “If the suppliant will pace slowly toward the Table, one will magic itself out of the fridge by the time you get there.”

  Frank’s sneakers stopped squeaking when he stepped from the hall to the rug. “The real estate agent forgot to mention the house had magical properties.”

  Giulia came into the room carrying a Murphy’s Irish Red as Frank set down the pizza and wing boxes behind Giulia’s laptop.

  “Why are there dash camera close-up pictures on your screen?”

  Giulia knew that tone of voice. She’d heard him use it on suspects back when they owned Driscoll Investigations together.

  “I called you about them this morning, remember? I thought I should buy one after the incident with the white van Ken Kanning swears wasn’t his.” She set the beer next to the pizza box.

  Frank clicked the back arrow and scrolled through the series of photos. “I don’t see a white van.” His dormant volcano voice indicated imminent eruption.

  “Did you see the anatomical suggestion from the guy in the Audi?”

  “Honey, please explain these pictures to me.”

  A final attempt to cap the volcano. “It’s simple. A VW bus was riding my bumper on the Turnpike. Merging left was my only option. The Clown Car zipped into the left lane and foiled the bus. I didn’t think to signal. Thus the explicit hand gesture.”

  Frank clicked through all the photos in order again. “Now tell me what you’re not telling me.”

  Giulia surrendered her volcano-capper card. “I set the dash cam to take pictures at car-to-car contact. The VW tried to run me off the overpass into the Allegheny. There was just enough space for me to merge to the left. I cut off the Audi, the VW couldn’t follow, and I kept moving until he cut off even more drivers getting
away.”

  Vesuvius’ pyroclastic cloud had nothing on a Driscoll husband whose wife was in danger. Giulia had heard stories from her sisters-in-law.

  Frank let loose with a string of Irish profanity. Giulia understood about a third of it, and what she caught wasn’t in the vein of “May the cat eat you and may the devil eat the cat.”

  She stood by the coffee table, wanting pizza, wanting not to have this discussion again, wanting a magic button to defuse the Driscoll volcano.

  Frank stopped. One second he was damning every murderous driver of vans to eternity up the devil’s nether regions. The next second he enveloped Giulia in a massive hug.

  “Muirnín, drop this case. Please drop it. We don’t need the money. You have plenty of other clients.” He kissed her hair, her ear, her neck, which was as far as his own neck could bend without letting her go. “Use the baby as your excuse.”

  Giulia kissed his scruffy cheek. “I have a handle on it.”

  “No, you don’t.” Vesuvius rumbled again.

  “I beg to differ.”

  He shifted his hold to her shoulders. “You don’t because they’ve changed the rules. The white creeper van is obvious. A hippie van isn’t. Too many people are restoring them to relive their wild youth. Easy to hide. Easy to ditch.”

  “And easy to dodge. Look at my pictures. They showed their hand when they tried to make me create a new exit off the bridge.”

  His hands tightened. “Exactly what I mean.”

  “They couldn’t even come up with a new way to scare me.” She filled her voice with confidence. “Whoever’s behind the wheels seems to think women can’t drive well under pressure.” She reached up and squeezed his hands. “You know I work best under pressure.”

  Frank cursed again.

  “Don’t try to disguise blasphemy. Your grandfather teaches me something new and colorful to say every time we visit.”