She ran a finger down the list of Joanne’s usernames and passwords. “You bet I didn’t.”
Cup of coffee number one sustained her through the videos and messages Joanne received on the twin site. Most were similar enough to Maria Martin’s offers to make Giulia pretty sure a website existed with come-on scripts for the taking.
One hour in, Giulia tried the mainstream site, the one that hadn’t gotten her own alias much action. Not so for Joanne. An entire football roster of males fitting the target profile wanted Joanne. She scrolled through several messages from sallow, whiny young men in gamer t-shirts sitting on identical couches in identical basement apartments. Only the upholstery and wallpaper differed.
When she entered the Prepper site, Worried Giulia and Grossed-out Giulia faded away. Into their place stepped Snap-to-Attention Giulia. This Giulia stared at a photograph of Chef Eddie, magically slimmer and with the start of a chin-strap beard. Was he trying to create a real-life Shop Around the Corner/You’ve Got Mail romance?
Chef Eddie brought more magic, because three clicks later Giulia found a familiar photo of Alex the gardener in full Wild Eyes mode. Confirmation that Joanne also possessed The Pelvis.
She read through the messages between them. Diane didn’t snag all the street smarts in the Philbey family. Joanne’s replies mirrored Giulia’s: Polite caution and no personal contact until after a preliminary mating dance.
Larabee of the cow neighbors left messages and his profile picture shaved five years and ten pounds off his actual self. At least he stopped a centimeter short of a D-pic. Now there was a term Giulia could have lived without knowing.
She backtracked to Chef Eddie’s string.
Ouch. One reply couldn’t be called a string. Joanne’s words were careful and polite. Double ouch. The next few mornings at work must have been the epitome of awkward.
Larabee’s string. Hold it. Larabee and Joanne actually dated. Why resort to this online business?
Joanne’s first reply reflected Giulia’s perplexity: “Louis, what’s this all about?” An embarrassed and convoluted reply followed, amounting to “You only look at me like a hunting buddy. I need to make you see me outside your comfort zone.”
So that was the start of the brief relationship. They’d stopped messaging after that, unfortunately for Giulia’s investigation. Score one for Larabee not lying, at least.
Her reading had taken her nearly to noon. Maria Martin had to have a second invitation to the happy tattooed bacon farm by this time. She opened another tab and logged in to her undercover account. Success. The message informed her that the community invited Maria Martin back to experience the life of the world as it would be sooner than anyone thought. With that in mind, they would expect her tomorrow afternoon. If she could not get the entire day off work, she should let them know what time in the evening she could reasonably get out to the community.
She patted her hips. Thank you, Pelvis of the Future.
After a series of stretches, she opened her door. “Is anyone going out to lunch?”
“I am,” Sidney said. “The barbecue truck is by the park fountain today.”
A beat.
“What?” Giulia and Zane said.
“What do you mean, what? They make a great Southwestern salad.”
“You had us worried.” Giulia handed her a ten. “Take my money, please. The baby wants pulled pork.”
Giulia left the office at three and drove to her brother’s street. Her slim hope of catching her niece outside on a summer afternoon playing with her babysitting charges withered like the patches of phlox around the streetlights.
A group of grade-school kids kicked a soccer ball and four preschoolers ran squealing through a sprinkler on lawns in various stages of chemical perfection. Two old women rocked and talked on a front porch. The soccer ball headed for the street. A mail carrier in standard issue gray-blue shorts kicked it dead center into the miniature net. Half the kids cheered. The other half groaned.
Her brother’s lawn needed mowing. Verdigris bloomed in Christ’s armpits on the gigantic bronze crucifix obscuring the front door. The blinds were closed, but so were the blinds of the houses on either side, now that the afternoon sun hit the windows like a battery of lasers.
She gave it up after turning and casing the block a second time. For all she knew, her brother had the family on high alert for the Nunmobile and had barricaded them all inside. If that was the case, he probably had them on their knees praying another rosary. What a memorable summer vacation.
Since she couldn’t get new information from her niece, she rounded the corner and pulled over to the curb to text Frank.
Headed back to Penn Hills overnight. Is there any way you can get me into my SIL’s hospital room late tomorrow? I want to ask her some questions. ue
Just because today’s long shot failed didn’t mean her backup plan would necessarily fail too. She signaled left and pulled into traffic. Another left and she aimed for the highway and a second overnight stay in Penn Hills.
Thirty-Three
According to her notes, Larabee worked the second shift at a distribution warehouse. An alarm for six a.m. should get her to his house at the optimal time to wake him up too early and guarantee he’d be tired and punchy.
She opened a SoBe, a result of Sidney’s influence. Her sometimes unreliable taste buds approved the melon flavor, although the amount of processed sugar in this version would rate a long Sidney lecture. Giulia leaned against the queen bed’s headboard and logged in to the Quality Inn’s Wi-Fi.
Larabee’s Facebook page no longer came up in a search. Diane had turned her own Facebook page into a multimedia Find My Sister event. The header mimicked those Missing Person flyers people stapled to telephone poles: The single word “MISSING” in capital letters next to the picture of Joanne and the birthday cake.
First on the page was a short video of Joanne talking about her wedding cake business. Below that, a video of Diane explaining how long her sister had been missing. Below that, Joanne’s physical description and the last places she was seen, followed by a plea from Diane for any information at all. Such a post was bound to bring the trolls a-running, and Giulia wasn’t disappointed. “Never read the comments” was a rule she created long ago, because it kept her blood pressure in check. Now she had to break it.
“I saw her in the airport boarding a flight to Paris.”
“I saw her last week on a bus headed to Canada.”
On and on, vague and useless, giving Diane false hope. Then the sick puppies came out. Three people posted photos of dead women in the morgues of three different cities. Another five posted graphic descriptions of how they killed Joanne.
In her convent days, Giulia would’ve said a prayer for such people. Now she wanted to track them down and practice her self-defense techniques on them.
More fodder for confession time with Father Carlos.
Farther down the page, an edited post informed Diane’s readers of her decision to remove photographs of Joanne’s last few boyfriends.
“No matter what I really think, I don’t want the police knocking on my door asking why I’m in essence accusing those men of kidnapping and murder. So let’s pretend the police are doing their jobs and looking for my sister instead of telling me over and over and OVER how my sister ‘wanted to vanish.’ We all know that’s a big, steaming pile of crap, right? Keep the leads coming. I’m tracking down every one of them when I’m not at the Day Job.”
The replies to this post were lots of cyber hugs and prayers. A few people claimed to be psychics with a message from Joanne from “beyond the veil.” An argument started, creating reply strings dozens of messages long.
Giulia read them all. They got her precisely nowhere on the case, although they did decrease her estimation of the American education system’s ability
to teach grammar and punctuation.
She wondered what Lady Rowan would have to say about Joanne.
With a bang, she closed the Facebook tab. She would not bring a psychic in on a case. She was a professional. Calling Lady Rowan would show almost as much desperation as calling The Scoop.
At six forty the next morning, she parked the Nunmobile across the street from Larabee’s Tiny House and sipped Italian roast with Dulce de leche creamer. Larabee’s Jeep was parked in the driveway. Remembering his history of violence, Giulia banged the deer head knocker twenty times, then stepped five feet back on the dirt path, out of arms’ reach.
“What the hell do you want?” His eyes had sunk into dark circles and he smelled of beer. His camouflage sweatpants needed a wash and his hand scratched his hairless chest. Giulia thought with fondness of Frank’s morning look, which originated in a universe in which people showered.
“We met a few days ago, Mr. Larabee. I’m investigating the disappearance of Joanne Philbey.”
Score one for years of experience at reading people. Larabee must not be called “Mr.” too often. His mouth curved upward on the left side a quarter inch. He didn’t abandon his defensive posture, but his arm muscles ramped down their level of clench.
“Yeah, I remember you. The Bible-salesman detective. What do you want at this hour? I work second shift, and I’m not in the mood for an interrogation.”
“This won’t take long. May I offer you a cup of coffee?” She extended the extra cup she’d bought at the local coffee shop.
The steam floated toward his face. “Yeah. Thanks.” He popped off the plastic lid and took a long drink.
Giulia’s tongue curled at the thought of his scalded taste buds, but he didn’t blink once. “One cream and one sugar. Good guess.”
He didn’t invite her inside this time either, despite the early hour and the neighbor three doors down taking a long time to close his garage door while looking their way.
She kept to the half-truth, half-lie she’d chosen while waiting in the car. “I see your Facebook page is down.”
All his muscles clenched again. After treating Giulia to several seconds of his opinions of Joanne’s friends, he downed more coffee.
“Getting doxxed would cause that reaction in most people,” Giulia said.
“No shit. So far you’re the only one who seems to have figured out that limerick. I haven’t seen any fat women hiding behind the cows next door or posting signs on my lawn.”
What a charmer. Giulia put on her polite yet neutral smile. Would that be Polite Smile Number Three or Four? She really should keep a list.
“I’d like to ask about the online dating site geared to Preppers. It’s so hard to find the right person these days, isn’t it? You wouldn’t believe some of the photographs and video clips I’ve received.” She made a disgusted face. “My mother keeps telling me about the nice young men at her church, but never again. Been there, done that, still drinking away the memory.”
Three…two…one. The wall between them didn’t crumble but it thinned enough to allow conversation.
“Heh. I don’t know if you’re an uptight broad, but I got four striptease videos. They were all skanks, but they gave me a great free show.”
Giulia didn’t even grit her teeth or count to ten in Latin. She must have been getting better at this detective gig.
He finished his coffee. “I needed this. My car cooler has a leak and the beer I stashed in it yesterday got lukewarm. My mouth tasted like last week’s garbage all the way home.” The neighbor across the street dragged her trash can to the curb, her eyes on Larabee and Giulia the entire time.
“Nosy cow,” Larabee muttered. “You done with your coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Gimme the cup.” He shook the dregs out of both cups and tucked them in his back pocket.
“I can take them back to my car and throw them away later,” she said. DNA possibilities existed on his cup.
He might be thinking the same, if she was reading subtext in his answer. “Don’t you compost your paper?”
Without missing a beat, Giulia said, “Sure, once I rinse them out.”
He nodded. “Next time, run them under hot water and separate the seams. They layer better. We won’t have the luxury of hot water when the world falls apart, but we won’t be using paper cups after that anyway.”
Two girls in Catholic school uniforms piled into a black SUV in the next driveway, followed by a woman in a business suit and running shoes. The girls waved out the windows. Larabee didn’t acknowledge them.
A barely audible woman’s voice came from the meadow side of Larabee’s house. He must have had a window open, because the noise sounded like one of the actors on the local TV channel’s all-night cop show marathon. Larabee had a hidden TV. So much for his stated intention of going off grid if he wasn’t stuck living here and forced to use city power.
“So, yeah, you want to know about me and Josie online. It’s like this. I don’t go for fat chicks, but Josie was great to hang around with. Then she dropped some weight, and I figured it was time to make my move, but she wouldn’t look at me except as a hunting buddy.” He bared his teeth at a dog being walked by yet another neighbor. “So I contacted her on that Prepper site. She was kind of surprised, but we had a real date. Played laser tag. Stupid game, only for amateurs, but it was fun to pretend we were amateurs for a couple of hours.” He squatted in front of a dandelion with leaves a foot wide and dug around it with his fingers until the entire plant came up by the roots. “We went out for a while. It was pretty good until her bitchy friends decided she was too good for me.” He held up the leafy weed. “These are good when they’re boiled.”
Giulia could match him in cooking lore. “Only if you use plenty of water to counteract the bitterness.”
He made a “point to you” gesture with the dandelion.
“Why didn’t you tell me about dating Joanne via the internet when I was here the other day?” Giulia said.
“I don’t know you. Private eye is one step removed from cop. I don’t want the cops here again. It’s bad for my career.”
“It’s bad for Joanne. She’s still missing.”
“Josie’s dead. Her sister should have used her money to hire one of those dogs trained to sniff out corpses instead of giving it to you.”
“What about the Beaver Falls Prepper community? The Home of the Horn.”
He flinched. Another successful long shot. Larabee fit the “stud looking for his personal Pelvis of the Future” profile.
“It took me months of proving I was good enough before they’d give me a trial. They’re a closed group. They kicked me out; said I wasn’t a team player.” He described Alex’s bunch in a succinct unflattering phrase. “How’d you find out about them?”
“I’m a detective. It’s what we do.”
He stepped backward into his living room. “Get off my property. I’m fed up with strangers accusing me of shit. I told you everything you needed to know last time.”
Giulia stood her ground, pleased with the extra space between them. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Larabee.”
“Bitch.” The door slammed. A cow mooed.
She didn’t laugh until she’d driven around the corner out of sight.
Thirty-Four
The white-haired crocheter at Sunset Shores’ reception desk remembered Giulia’s name after two attempts.
“Our morning chef should be free before nine. Why don’t you look at the lovely handmade items in our craft room while you wait?”
Always ready to maintain goodwill, Giulia entered the glass-walled craft area, but positioned herself to intercept Chef Eddie as soon as he appeared. She admired lacy blankets, shelves of matching gloves and hats, endless slippers, and some imaginative knitted neckti
es. Before she gave in to the temptation to purchase a metallic silver tie covered with Kelly green shamrocks to startle Frank, the kitchen door opened and Chef Eddie came out.
The receptionist waved her multi-ringed hand at him as Giulia advanced. In such a public situation, he couldn’t pretend not to see her, but the look on his face implied he’d rather be at the dentist.
Giulia put on the smile she reserved for clients and witnesses she needed to charm. “Good morning. I promise this will only take a few minutes.”
His answering smile was not a success.
“May we go out to the gazebo?”
He glanced at the receptionist, whose crochet hook held a loop of pink yarn suspended in mid-air. The woman winked at Eddie. His smile faltered and tried to regroup.
“Sure.” He led the way out the back door and didn’t speak again until they were under the gazebo roof. “Evelyn thinks you’re chasing me.”
“She seems to approve.”
“Unfortunately, yes. I mean, not that you’re not good-looking, I mean…” His hands floundered in the air.
Giulia’s smile widened. “I know what you mean. She’s the matchmaker of the place?”
“One of them. Every morning they huddle like vultures over a fresh kill, planning the lives of all the staff and residents they think need romance. Or the ones whose current romance doesn’t meet their standards.”
“If they only could keep a dozen cats apiece, right?”
He shuddered. “I’m allergic to the hell beasts. The manager’s found three illegal cats in this place because I started sneezing when a cat hair-covered old lady sat near me.” He looked over at a group of men and women in shorts and t-shirts doing modified yoga on the lawn in front of one of the condos. “What else can I tell you about Joanie? There’s no other reason you’d come back here.”
Nun But The Brave (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 3) Page 15