The Clock Strikes Nun

by Alice Loweecey

  “All right. We’re on it.” She hung up and called Mark Pedersen. Dona answered.

  “Hello, Ms. Driscoll. Three guesses why you’re calling and the first two don’t count.” She laughed under her breath at her grade-school joke. “I’ll connect you.”

  A moment of dead air and a click. “What do you want?”

  Giulia kept her voice in perfect control. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pedersen. May I have a few minutes of your time?”

  Silence. Giulia wondered if he’d hung up on her.

  “Fine. Not here. Meet me at the Giant Eagle on Brighton in half an hour.”

  Waiting in the produce section, Giulia inspected peaches for bruising, moved on to the plastic containers of strawberries, and considered buying a dragonfruit because she’d never tried one. Before her purchase, Pedersen showed up in dark sunglasses and a hoodie. At the same moment, the piped-in music changed to an all-strings version of “Livin’ La Vida Loca.”

  He hissed at her. “Are you responsible for the stockholder unrest?”

  “Good afternoon again, Mr. Pedersen. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  “Forget your tight-ass bullshit. I want to know if you’re sabotaging our company.” His head swiveled right and left, looked back over his own shoulder and over Giulia’s into the depths of the store.

  “I have nothing to do with the stockholders’ recent actions.”

  The sunglasses came within an inch of her nose. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

  Sister Mary Regina Coelis stepped up to the plate. “I beg your pardon?”

  Pedersen retreated. “Well, I, look, you’re working for somebody trying to take us over. Someone obviously leaked something to the stockholders. What are we supposed to think?”

  Sister Mary Regina Coelis ceded the conversation to Giulia. “I’m not responsible for your thoughts. I asked to speak with you because I’d like more details about the situation.”

  Pedersen picked up a tomato like he wanted to fling it at the wall. “Okay, I’ll play your game. Hyde, Sechrest, and I all got certified letters this morning from the biggest law firm in Pittsburgh. The other stockholders want proof Elaine is fit to run Dahlia. They can do this, the letter informed us, because of the way Dahlia is structured. Thank you very much, Belinda and Arthur Davenport.”

  “You might want to put down the tomato.”

  He looked at the fruit in his hand and returned it to the bin. The tensile strength of the tomato’s skin was at bursting point. “Their lawyers will subpoena our records. They’ll dredge up the murders and Elaine’s problems. We’ll all get shit-canned.”

  “Why? I was under the impression the Board of Directions would keep Dahlia running like they did before Elaine turned twenty-one.”

  “At a normal company we would, but Elaine’s grandparents made their lawyer insert a stricture in the articles of incorporation. If a Davenport female isn’t the CEO, the company becomes the property of the stockholders.” He reached for another tomato but stopped himself and shoved his hands into the hoodie’s pockets.

  Giulia said, “Similar to the way the Green Bay Packers are publicly owned?”

  “How should I know? I’m not interested in a football team. You have to consider the way people think. If Elaine is declared unfit, those sheep will assume all of us are too because we took orders from her. They’ll vote us all out.” He leaned too close to Giulia. “We may not have been jumping for joy since Elaine took over, but she has to stay as head of Dahlia. She’ll never have to worry about money as long as she lives, but what about the rest of us? Damn all greedy stockholders to hell.”

  A young mother with a toddler in a race car shopping cart gave Pedersen a censorious glare.

  Giulia resettled her bag on her shoulder. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Yeah, my ex-wives are going to take me for every last dollar I own this time, and my kids will be embarrassed to admit I’m their father.” He scanned the store in all directions. “I’m going home and getting drunk. Don’t call me.”

  He slouched away to a harp arrangement of “Let it Go.”

  Giulia resisted the lure of dragonfruit and drove to the collision shop. At the first big intersection, an old-school Chevy van appeared in her rearview mirror.

  Forty-Eight

  Today was not a day Giulia planned to play tag with death. She switched on the dash cam because she had no intention of letting the van get close enough to bump her and trigger it. Her plan had been to take the bridge because it was the fastest route back to Cottonwood, but she scrapped it.

  For two miles she drove a convoluted route through the city of Pittsburgh with multiple lane changes to put other vehicles between her and the van. When she reached the suburbs, she put the sun behind her on a long, straight two-lane street. The sun glared into her mirrors. She glimpsed her own face lit like a spotlight was shining on it and got an idea.

  She eased up on the accelerator and let the van inch closer. The sun tried to blind her. She hit the “burst” button on the camera. The van filled her back window. She hit “burst” again. A parking space opened on her right. She turned the wheel hard and tucked the little car into the slot. The van drove past. She spun the camera forward, but an SUV obscured the van’s license plate.

  The van kept going. Giulia waited another two minutes. When she looked at the sidewalk she realized why the space had been available: she’d parked next to a fire hydrant.

  She reentered traffic and reached the collision shop without incident. When the Nunmobile was hers again, she patted its dashboard without embarrassment.

  Frank took possession of the camera. “Come into the gaming closet. My tower’s graphics card laughs at the paltry hardware in your laptop.”

  They scrolled through the pictures.

  “Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.” Giulia clicked the mouse faster. “Come on. One good shot.”

  “Stop,” Frank said. “Go back one.”

  She enlarged the photo. “Can you increase the contrast?”

  Frank took over. Several clicks and one more enlargement later, Giulia caught herself before one of Frank’s Irish curses passed her lips.

  A bright rectangle of sun bouncing off the Chevy’s rearview mirror framed a bad combover and the top of an ill-fitting pair of dentures.

  Frank looked up at her. “You recognize him?”

  “He’s Elaine’s uncle.”

  “What don’t you like?”

  “I don’t believe for a minute he’s doing this on his own.”

  Her husband swiveled his chair to face her. “Why not?”

  “He’s not clever or devious enough. If we were looking at a picture of his wife behind the wheel, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Meaning his wife ordered him to eliminate you?” He pulled her onto his lap. “I deserve a lot of credit for how calm I appear to be.”

  She kissed him. “You’re adulting so well you should give lessons. Back to Thomas Emerson. He’s heavily into off track betting and he likes a splash of coffee in his whisky. His wife greatly feels the lack of no longer living in Elaine’s castle.”

  “You’re proving my theory: she ordered him to go after you.”

  Giulia frowned at the screen. “Their standing in relation to the Dahlia money is nonexistent. They have no stock. There’s no benefit to them going solo.”

  “Therefore?”

  “They’re working with someone inside Dahlia. Or inside the castle.”

  “And you’re working in a soap opera.”

  Forty-Nine

  Giulia unlocked the office door at seven thirty Tuesday morning to spend quality time with the Clue Collage.

  With an extra-large dulce de leche coffee in her left hand and a green Sharpie in her right, she wrote on a blank page taped next to Cissy’s printout.

 
; •Caroline & Thomas don’t have the money to own three vans

  •Not even junker vans

  •Who knows about Elaine’s nursery rhyme security blanket?

  •Cissy

  •Pip

  •Melina

  •Georgia

  •Mike

  •Graser

  •Wagner

  •The board of directors

  •In other words, too many

  Giulia accessed the printer for a summary of Dahlia’s finances at the top of the collage. Next to it she wrote on a blank paper:

  Who could use a piece of this much money? And why?

  •Caroline and Thomas: Gambling and luxury (and finance their kids’ education?)

  •Pedersen: Lawyers, alimony, gambling (+ debt?)

  •Sechrest: Thinks she should be queen of Dahlia

  •Hyde: Expensive schools lead to expensive colleges therefore money is tight

  •Wagner: Support the startup he’s working for

  •Graser: Support her weaving business

  The phone rang. Giulia glanced at the clock and shrugged. Quarter after eight wasn’t all that early.

  “Ms. Driscoll? Sandra Sechrest. I want you to know I had nothing to do with this legal crisis.”

  “Thank you for calling, Ms. Sechrest, but—”

  “If the people you’re working for aren’t behind it, and don’t repeat your non-answer of how you can’t divulge information, I strongly suggest you dig your fingers into Pedersen.”

  “May I ask why you’re targeting him?”

  “If you can’t figure it out, you’re not much of a detective.”

  Giulia grinned at the dial tone. Nervous suspects. How marvelous.

  Six minutes later the phone rang again.

  “This is Konani Hyde. I don’t care what you think, I didn’t talk to the stockholders. A good detective would look into Sandra Sechrest’s finances.”

  Giulia bet herself a quarter Pedersen would call by eight thirty. She lost by one minute.

  “Look, Driscoll, you’re the detective. But if I were you I’d study Sechrest’s history and Hyde’s debts like you were cramming for a final exam.”

  Zane walked in as she picked up the quarter she’d placed by the phone and dropped it in her pocket.

  “What’s up, Ms. D.?”

  “I came in early to stare at the collage, but all three of Dahlia’s Board of Directors called separately to direct my attention away from each of them toward the others.”

  “Nice.” He booted his computer. “I’ll get the phone to let you brainstorm.”

  Giulia added a new heading:

  Who dragged in the stockholders?

  •Pedersen, Sechrest, and Hyde all should be equal suspects, but…

  •How close is Elaine to the Board?

  •How hard would it be to get Elaine declared incompetent?

  •What about Pip?

  •Does he prefer a happy wife and an easy life?

  •Does he prefer more money and easier access to his mistresses?

  •Who doesn’t own Dahlia stock?

  •The Emersons

  •The tutors?

  •The household staff?

  •Access to Elaine’s phone:

  She tapped the marker cap against her lips. To the Emersons’ bullet she added “They resent not being given stock. Enough to play spoiler for everyone else?”

  When nothing else along that line of inquiry appeared, she taped a fresh piece of paper next to the one covered with bullets.

  •Access to Elaine’s phone:

  •Pip

  •Cissy

  •Mike

  •Georgia

  •Melina

  Still too many. She ran a finger over the financial summary. The Board’s salaries and bonuses were as generous as she thought they’d be.

  Sidney arrived.

  “Perfect. Good morning. Did either of you get a confirmation from your research if any of the Board of Directors are in financial difficulties?”

  Sidney set down her combination messenger/diaper bag and her coffee. “Let me log in.”

  Zane tapped keys. “Pedersen’s ex-wives are still trashing him on Facebook, but no complaints about alimony payments.”

  Sidney spoke between sips of coffee. “Hyde complained a few times on Twitter about the high fees at her kids’ school, but lately she’s all about how wonderful everything is in her life.”

  Zane took over. “Last fall Sechrest posted pictures of a party she threw when she paid off her divorce lawyer’s bill.”

  Sidney added, “She also posts pictures of herself at the exotic places she travels to on buying trips, but those are company funded.”

  Giulia finished her coffee. “You’re trying to tell me the big red SUSPECT signs flashing over their heads have fizzled out?”

  Zane and Sidney shared a glance.

  “Yeah.”

  “More or less.”

  Giulia scarfed a third piece of paper from the printer. “Fine. Maybe.” She taped the new page next to the financial summary and reread every page of the collage three times. Then she stepped back and let her eyes unfocus. The phone obliged her by remaining silent. The sounds of typing became white noise. At last she picked up a blue and a red marker to complement the green.

  MOTIVEOPPORTUNITY

  Caroline & Thomas

  Pip

  Pedersen

  Sechrest

  Hyde

  Mike

  Cissy

  Muriel

  Georgia

  Mike

  Pip

  Pip

  Mike

  Sidney came over to stand next to her. “Prince Charming? Really?”

  Zane joined them. “Venn diagrams are my bête noire.”

  “You have a bête noire?” Giulia said.

  “We all have something. I constantly try to find reasons to make every choice on both sides fit in the crossover.”

  “With me it’s fancy tenses,” Sidney said. “Pluperfect, past conjunctive, future imperfect probable on alternate Tuesdays when the moon is full.”

  Giulia laughed. “If you’d been young enough to take English from me, you’d be fluent in all of them.” She capped the markers and grabbed her messenger bag. “I’m off to the castle to pump Cissy.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sidney said. “Why the husband or the cook?”

  “Because Elaine’s uncle is the one in the homicidal vans, and the only way he could get information on where I’d be is through someone on the inside. There’s no reason I can find for the Board of Directors or Muriel to align with the aunt and uncle, and I stand by my conclusion that Cissy did not hire us as a smokescreen for her own devious plot. Thus, Pip or the cook, who is a cousin. They’re the only relations in the castle to join up with the aunt and uncle.”

  “I vote the cousin,” Zane said. “He’s close to all that money but can’t have any.”

  “Ninety-eight percent of my own money is on Prince Charming,” Giulia said, “but the other two percent won’t rule out the cook. Pip has more to lose, but potentially more to gain.”

  “Unless he signed a Draconian prenup.” Sidney said. “Want me to see if I can find an online record? Zane’s teaching me all kinds of devious skills.”

  “Zane, do not corrupt Sidney.”

  “Ms. D., you wound me.”

  Fifty

  Melina opened the door and her expression changed from bland politeness to fear.

  Giulia infused reassurance into her smile. “I’m here to see Ms. Newton.”

  The fear didn’t abate much. “I will see if she is free. Pl
ease be seated in the parlor.”

  Giulia paused in the parlor doorway to marvel at the art, the Oriental carpet, the glossy wood floors, and the crystal lamps. She ran a hand over the nearest armchair’s indigo crushed velvet upholstery before she sat. Lace sheers filtered soft morning light through two tall windows.

  Cissy bustled in, a plain black apron over her eternal khaki trousers and a concord grape shirt. “Ms. Driscoll? Is there a problem?”

  Giulia stood. “I’d like to ask you some questions. What is the most private place in the house?”

  Cissy’s expression mirrored Melina’s. “My office…no, everyone knows I’m usually in there. The laundry…no, today’s towel day.” She looked around the room as if Cézanne’s “Melting Snow Fontainebleau” hanging over the love seat could give her answers. “The wine cellar. It’s cleaner than the attic. Come with me.”

  She led Giulia across the foyer into a restaurant-worthy kitchen. Mike was nowhere to be seen. They passed spotless stainless steel appliances. Open shelves of beans, macaroni, and dry mixes. Hanging baskets of onions, bananas, garlic, and peppers. Another door opened onto a porch stacked with empty cages, chameleon-filled cages, and a mini refrigerator with a sign taped to it: “Chameleon insects ONLY. Do not eat.”

  “How is Scarlett working out?”

  “She may be getting fat. The Japanese beetle population is greatly reduced.”

  Cissy opened a painted wood door. The steep wood slat stairs vanished into a black hole at the fifth step. Cissy flicked a switch and a supernova of naked swirl light bulbs nuked the darkness.

  The cellars consisted of concrete floored vaults with cement block walls. Several wooden crates had been pushed against the walls. Two hot water heaters were set up in two different rooms. A massive furnace took up the central area. They passed under the arch nearest to the stairs. The floor changed to packed dirt and the walls to whitewashed plaster. Racks upon racks of dusty bottles took up most of the space. Cissy led Giulia to a back corner where a ladder leaned against the wall next to paint buckets, trays, and brushes.