“They promise me I’ll have my patio back tomorrow. It would be tonight, but the paint on the furniture has to set,” Mac said. “Now my house insurance rates will go up. Come on. I’m all yours.”
Mac deposited the coffee cups in the kitchen and Giulia went out to the porch to scratch the white-muzzled beagle behind the ears.
“All the guests spoil Jabberwocky.” Mac continued down the steps.
Giulia followed her into the carriage house. Unlike the studied antique restoration décor of the B&B, Mac’s private house was spare, clean, and modern. Giulia slipped off her sneakers to walk on the cream-colored rugs.
Mac sat on the center cushion of a pale green couch. Giulia chose a complementary armchair in coral and opened her iPad. “No ghost has visited me in the Sand Dollar room.”
Mac fidgeted with something in her pocket. Giulia refrained from quoting Tolkien, even though Gollum’s voice in her head said, “What has she got in her pocketses?” She also kept last night’s spectral sobs and white nightgown sighting to herself for now.
“Is today’s newspaper correct? Was it arson last night?”
Mac leaned forward as though she were leaping at a safe conversation opening. “Another advantage of small town life: No official backlogs. They found a small container of lighter fluid in the fire pit. It wasn’t the brand we use here.”
“And the office?” Giulia typed it all in.
Mac made a face. “No fingerprints except mine and Lucy’s, of course, and a solid smudge of prints on the screen door. Useless.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Mac snorted. “You could say so.” Her phone rang. “Excuse me. Yes?...Damn that thieving bastard…Thank you…Good…Thank you.” She stopped her hand’s downward motion only a few inches short of slamming the phone on the coffee table. “Our firebug used my credit card at the Walmart over in Meadville. Kept it to twenty-four dollars’ worth of stuff so he didn’t have to sign for it. The police are checking the video feed.”
Giulia hit save. “Ghosts don’t need to shop at Walmart.”
Mac didn’t smile. “Maybe not, but this ghost could be causing this run of bad luck.”
Excellent. When the client gives the proper opening they don’t feel coerced.
“What bad luck? Specifics, please.”
“Right. We’ve had two other accidents in the last three weeks. A water pipe burst last week. Pipes don’t burst in summer weather. Before you ask, yes, I had all new pipes installed as part of the renovations. The break flooded part of the cellar. I lost some supplies and my guests had to take cold showers for two days. I took a percentage off everyone’s bills for that.”
“What did the plumbers say?”
“A fat lot of nothing. They tossed a bunch of jargon at me that netted out to they had no clue what caused the accident.”
Giulia flexed her hands. The miniature keyboard on her tablet took some getting used to.
“Are you ready? Three days ago I came over to the B&B earlier than usual and the whole working kitchen reeked of gas. I ran downstairs and shut off the feed. Everything down there was normal. I called Lucy and she came over early. Together we took apart the stove. One of the hoses at the back was unscrewed.”
Giulia opened her mouth.
“Don’t you tell me that ghosts can’t tamper with gas lines.”
Giulia’s “no snapping at the client” count got as far as seven when Mac said, “Now get ready. This is what I expect from you.”
“No.” Giulia didn’t snap, exactly. “First I need several things from you. A list of your recurring guests and the weeks they usually stay, with addresses and phone numbers. The addresses and phone numbers for you and your employees, including the new psychic. Any threatening emails or letters you may have received since the date your problems began.”
A mottled red flush crept from Mac’s collar up her long neck. Her lips thinned to invisibility. If the waves of anger and offense surging from her were supposed to intimidate Giulia, Mac was about to be disappointed. Her upper-management ire was cake compared to one of the convent’s spiritual reviews. Giulia had survived five nuns with the most authority grilling her on how deeply she embodied Franciscan ideals, how the world viewed her as what a true, proper, devout Sister should be, and their dissection of the holiness of her spiritual life. Annually.
A client going all self-righteous and “I’m in charge” at her? A Care Bear.
The next moment, the tension snapped. Mac’s lips reappeared as she said, “I’m much too used to ordering people around.” The flush receded. “A hazard of being queen of all I survey, I suppose. Why hire an expert if I’m not going to listen to you? I can’t get those lists until I have my laptop again, but I can get you the possible start date of my troubles. I’ll be right back.”
Giulia stood and walked back into the entrance hall to inspect the watercolors hanging there. The sunsets and fishing boats and lighthouses in all four seasons shrieked “amateur.” Sure enough, “Mac” and a date hugged the lower right-hand corner of each painting. Eh. Giulia’s hobby was growing her own food. No finger-pointing here.
“Where are you? I found it. Oh. When I have any free time, which isn’t often, I drag out the easel and floppy hat and go all artiste on the lawn. Here.”
Giulia took the newspaper dated this past May fourteenth. Mac pointed to the callout above the masthead. “This Week’s Local Spotlight: The Stone’s Throw B&B: Page 8.”
“The paper ran one article a week in the month before Memorial Day,” she said. “My article didn’t go viral or anything, but I got reservations from a handful of first-timers.”
Giulia scanned the article as Mac kept talking. “I pulled out all the stops: Great-Grandpa’s lighthouse where none was needed. The legend of the family gold. The family ghost’s death and haunting. The eager young intern was astounded that an old lady ran this place all by herself.”
“That astonishment comes across in his writing.”
“I know. He made me into a combination of Wonder Woman and Julia Child.”
Giulia kept reading.
Mac Stone’s great-great-great-grandfather, Joshua Aloysius Stone, spent his life despoiling rich travelers. That’s right, readers. Our peaceful tourist haven boasts a descendant of a real Wild West highwayman. He was a fastidious highwayman, according to his great-great-great-granddaughter: He only took the travelers’ gold. Alas, the law caught up with him and hanged him for his deeds. But our Mac says the family has an enduring legend of Joshua Aloysius’ secret hoard.
“No one’s ever found it,” she told this reporter as we stood high up on the Widow’s Walk of Stone’s Throw lighthouse. “As kids we were told our family black sheep revealed the location of the gold to his wife before he died, but no other Stone has ever found it.”
As Mac finished my tour of her luxurious yet affordable inn, I asked her about the Herculean labor she undertook when she chose to turn the abandoned Stone house into a working Bed and Breakfast.
“It didn’t come cheap,” Mac said as we watched the sun set over Conneaut Lake from Stone’s Throw’s flagged patio. “People have asked me if I had to discover that stash of highwayman’s gold to pay for all of this, but the truth is I emptied fifty years’ worth of savings to make Stone’s Throw happen.”
Giulia looked up from the newspaper. From that suspicious pocket, Mac brought out a single gold coin. “Behold the Stone family treasure. One Liberty five-dollar gold coin. Depending on which collector I show it to, it’s worth between two hundred fifty and four hundred dollars.”
“So you’ve embellished a colorful legend?” Giulia handed the paper back to her.
Mac chuckled. “That’s a polite way of saying I’m a big fat liar.”
Giulia’s “displeased teacher” face appeared. “That’s not at all what I m
eant.”
Mac’s spine stiffened. “Did you used to be a teacher? My college science teacher used to get that look and it never meant anything good.”
Giulia let her teacher face return to the past. Oh, yeah. She still had it.
Mac returned the coin to her pocket. The doorbell rang. The detective from last night stood on the asphalt.
“Ronnie, tell me you have good news.”
“Yes and no. Here’s your laptop. Sign, please.” He held out a carbonless receipt form on a clipboard.
Mac signed and took the bottom copy. “My tax dollars are well spent. What’s the bad news?”
“No sign of your purse or anything in it besides the MasterCard used at Walmart.”
“Out of respect for your official status, I won’t give voice to what I’m thinking.”
The detective’s face gave nothing away. “I have more good news to make up for the lack of purse contents. We also caught the guy who pawned your laptop.”
“Yes.” Mac punched the doorframe. “Was it our friendly neighborhood crackhead?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but this time it was one of the meth addicts. He and his friends have been particularly active since we busted up their lab in the woods behind Anderson’s farm.”
“Tell me you can pin the arson on him and I’ll give you and Sheila a free overnight stay here.”
“Mac, please don’t bribe your local law enforcement.” He shook his head. “We will use everything in our power to find the firebug. Arson is bad for tourism.” This time he allowed himself a small smile. “Since this charmer scored heroin with the pawnshop money and is coming off the high as I stand here, we expect him to vomit every thought in his useless head before my shift ends.”
“Good.” Mac’s voice was hard. “Did he screw with my laptop?”
“Our guy says not as far as he can tell. According to the timeline of events, he pawned it right after he left here and used all the cash on horse. You should change all your passwords anyway.”
“Miserable waste of skin.” Mac shook the detective’s hand. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have my psychic curse him with genital rot.”
The detective’s smile became derisive but he left without comment.
Giulia left her spot in the hallway and returned to the living room before Mac.
Mac gestured with her head to a nook opposite the television. “It’s a good thing I moved my old printer over here since my office is still off-limits. This one is slower but I’ll be able to give you all the documentation you asked for.”
Twenty
Giulia returned to the inn with a large envelope full of printouts. Neither the cats nor the dog were on the porch, despite multiple pools of inviting sunlight on the wicker chairs.
The screen door opened before Giulia could grasp the handle.
“A pall surrounds your head,” a resonant alto voice said. “It is black as the deepest night, yet glimmering with the brightness of many stars.”
A tall woman in linen trousers with a knife crease so severe they ought to have a warning label blocked the entrance. Her asymmetrical black hair hung to her right shoulder and brushed the bottom of her left earlobe. Every strand kept to its assigned place even when she moved. Giulia envied hair with such ingrained obedience.
“What are you, with this veil about you?” The woman’s hands sketched a swoop around Giulia’s head and past her shoulders.
CeCe stood in the hall doorway, her phone up.
A male voice behind Giulia said, “I told you these new swim trunks would get me…”
Joel. That meant the next voice would be Gino’s.
“Get you what? More ego-stroking? Out of my way, Mr. Pinup. I need a shower. What the heck?”
“Yes. It is a veil of some kind.” The woman’s hands kept fondling the air around Giulia’s head. Her eyes rolled partway up, revealing their white undersides.
Gross. Giulia considered her options. If she broke up this tableau by walking around Ms. Obedient Hair, would it simply create another ring to this circus?
Where was a Woman in White when Giulia could’ve used a ghost to steal the spotlight?
Movement from the dining room caught Giulia’s eye. Mac’s assistant Lucy peered around the doorframe, texting. Either Gino or Joel snickered.
In an instant, the theatrics evaporated. The woman’s arms dropped, her blue irises reappeared, and she smoothed her hair as though one strand on the longer side had entertained a thought of rebellion.
“I am Solana,” she said. “You are a new guest here. I will return tomorrow and we must meet then.”
Giulia clutched the oversized envelope to prevent her hands from adjusting a phantom veil. It had been four years. She’d thought she was long past that reflex.
“Giulia Driscoll. Is there a particular reason you’d like to meet with me?”
Solana’s laugh was an octave higher than her psychic revelation voice. “You have so many walls erected around your spirit. I see the unusual in you despite them. This is why I am here. If you will allow me an entrance into those walls, I will show you the deeper meanings in your ethereal veil.”
Neon message boards lit up on all Giulia’s supposed walls: Not if we were stranded in the middle of Conneaut Lake in the dead of winter with a hungry Lake Monster circling us.
Giulia’s self-control held. She said, “How interesting. I’ll see if I can manage some time for a meeting. Thank you.”
Now she walked around Solana, who never stopped staring at the air surrounding Giulia’s head. CeCe slipped her phone into a pocket when Giulia passed her.
Joel and Gino caught Giulia in the second floor hall.
“Hey, Giulia. If CeCe uploads that video to YouTube, you’re gonna go viral.” Joel still looked hugely entertained.
Giulia didn’t bother to hide her grimace from them. “This was supposed to be a peaceful getaway. My husband and I haven’t taken any time off since our honeymoon last year.”
“Ouch,” Gino said. “Well, it sure won’t be boring. Best I can offer.”
“I gather Solana is Mac’s tame psychic?”
Joel snorted. “Tame psychic. That’s perfect. All she needs is a Goth collar with a tag.”
Gino gave him a “duh” look. “Did you see her clothes and hair? She’d only wear a collar if Paris Hilton gave her a hand-me-down from one of her yappy little purse beasts.”
“Yeah, I don’t see Solana shopping at Costco.”
Giulia cataloged their naked delight at the free entertainment. Toyed with and discarded the idea of asking CeCe to delete the recording. Added Mac’s friend Lady Rowan sending Mac to DI for the “veiled woman” to Solana’s “sparkling black veil” performance. The result: DI was being played by an expert trio. Or by Mac, and the other two were on her payroll. Or by the psychics and Mac was their dupe.
Giulia knew a few Irish curses by now. She didn’t let loose with any of them as she forced a rueful smile. “If this turns out to be my fifteen minutes of fame, I’ll be signing autographs tomorrow after breakfast.”
“That’s the spirit,” Gino said. “We’ll be first in line.”
“Right now I want to be first in line at the lunch truck,” Joel said.
“Yes, dear.”
They opened their room door and Giulia locked herself into the supposedly haunted Sand Dollar room. First she set the envelope on the dresser. Second, she closed the windows. Third, she climbed onto the bed. Fourth, she shoved her face into her pillow and screamed.
The quasi-military Godzilla theme played from her phone. She raised her head, shoved her always disobedient hair out of her face, and punched the button beneath her husband’s picture.
“Please tell me you’re on your way.”
“Better than that. I’m in the parking lot
next to a certain copper Ion.”
“I’m already there.”
Giulia slid sideways down the banister. Hey, she was on vacation. The beagle had returned to the porch, but not the cats. Maybe they enjoyed Solana’s presence as little as she did. She jumped from the bottom porch step into Frank’s arms.
“You are the best thing to happen to me in days.”
After a prolonged public display of affection, Frank said, “Not another fire?”
“A psychic encounter which may have been uploaded to YouTube already.”
Frank guffawed. “I have to see this. What did you do?”
“Me? Absolutely nothing. Come on. You need to be briefed.”
He took a small rolling suitcase out of the Camry’s trunk. “I remember. I’m an IT consultant because I know enough about setting up networks to convince anyone at this place who wants to score some free advice.”
“And you’re here a day later than me because you had an emergency network failure to fix. I manage a local coffee shop. Have I mentioned how much I despise lying?”
“Too many times to count.”
“I pre-confessed to Father Carlos for this entire week last Saturday. He absolved me for the fake job interviews to catch Flynt the scumbag and for this cover assignment.”
“I won’t begin to pretend to understand the system you and Carlos have worked out so you can attend Mass with a clean slate.” Frank surveyed the front of the inn. “Give me the layout of this place, please.”
Second To Nun (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 2) Page 9