Second To Nun (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 2)

by Alice Loweecey

  “The costs decrease by forty-six percent if we purchase an existing one.” Anthony ran through numbers. Marion interrupted him several times before the discussion changed to interest rates and depreciation.

  After five solid minutes of this, Anthony cut his wife off in mid-sentence. “We’re missing CSI.” Half a minute later, they disappeared upstairs, no doubt to stream the show on the tablet.

  Giulia was about ready to find Frank and drag him onto the beach for a moonlit walk.

  “Oh my God.”

  Mac’s voice from the kitchen area.

  Giulia shelved romantic walk plans and ran through the hall and old-fashioned kitchen into the working kitchen, a narrow space filled with modern chrome appliances. Mac stood before the open refrigerator, her expression shifting between anger and disgust.

  Giulia came up next to her. “What’s wrong? Oh, gross.”

  Every item in the packed refrigerator was spoiled. Furry mold coated strawberries, raspberries, kiwifruit, and starfruit. Curdled lumps sloshed in the milk. Green and blue splotches marred the bread and English muffins. Stringy things floated in the maple syrup. Four egg cartons leaked sulfurous goo. Mottled black and green oranges had exploded in their see-through drawer. In another drawer, the labels on packages of more white and green fur insisted they had once held Swiss cheese. Next to them, the visible surfaces of the ham and bacon shone like gasoline slicks on asphalt.

  On the counter, a cloud of fruit flies feasted on two bunches of blackened, squashy bananas. A battalion of minuscule ants covered the butter.

  Mac opened the pantry.

  Hundreds of bugs wriggled through the flour. Larger ants infested the sugar. The stench from the rancid walnuts and almonds clashed with the equally rancid peanut and almond butters. The brown sugar had fossilized. The coffee beans smelled dusty underneath more stale oils. The tea leaves resembled fireplace ash.

  “I restocked everything yesterday,” Mac said, her voice unsteady. “All the produce, the berries, the milk and eggs. I opened that bag of coffee three days ago. I used the flour and sugar this morning.” She slammed her fists on the counter. “This morning!”

  Giulia went for the defuse tactic. “The biscuits and sausage gravy tasted fine. Besides, a little extra protein never hurt anyone.”

  Mac turned big eyes on Giulia; eyes like Sidney’s back when she was a bundle of stress and hormones in the third trimester.

  Giulia closed the fridge. “Let’s work out the timeframe for this. What time did you go grocery shopping yesterday?”

  No answer. Giulia grasped Mac’s closed fist and shook it gently. “Mac. Grocery shopping. What time?” She unhooked the magic marker from the magnetic notepad on the fridge door.

  Mac blinked and her eyes returned to normal. “Uh, eleven o’clock. Maybe eleven fifteen.”

  One bullet on the page. “I don’t suppose you saved the list.”

  “I don’t need to. The breakfast menu is the same every week in the summer.” Mac opened her clenched hands. “I have to restock for tomorrow morning. The farmers’ market won’t be open again until next Sunday. What am I going to do? I only buy local.”

  “Who has access to the kitchen?” Giulia kept the question sharp to cut through Mac’s dithering.

  “Me. Lucy. Matthew to fix things or grab a drink on hot days.”

  “Good. Everything was fine for breakfast. What about leftovers?”

  Mac’s replies came faster now. “There weren’t any. I don’t make extra. It destroys the food budget.”

  “You didn’t pour the leftover milk from the coffee tray back into the gallon container?”

  “Not on warm days like this. Too big a risk to the rest of the milk.”

  Mac began offering information without prompts.

  Giulia wrote bullet after bullet, tearing the four-by-six pages off one after the other.

  “After we cleaned up from breakfast, Lucy went on her cleaning rounds and I went to the farmers’ market. I got back here around quarter to one and loaded up the fridge. I went to my office. I wrote checks and answered email. After that, I played around with ideas for Labor Day weekend. Lucy picked up her check, I don’t know, after three sometime. I went to the kitchen for lemonade after she left. Then I made a sweep of the place and played croquet against Gino. Then supper. I came back at seven to bake the cookies. I buy premade frozen cookies, so I only have to set them on the baking sheet and turn on the oven. The iced tea was already prepared and in the fridge.”

  Giulia ripped off another sheet. “So everything in the fridge was fine at seven o’clock?’

  Mac’s eyebrows met. “Yes…the cookies finished at seven twenty and I set up the iced tea tray while they cooled.”

  “Okay. What made you open the fridge just now?”

  “Tomorrow’s breakfast is cheddar potato waffles. I set up everything the night before so it’s ready to go in case I’m a minute or two late in the morning.” She leaned against the counter. “I walk the grounds every night after I set out the cookies and drinks. It’s always beautiful under the trees and by the lake. When I came back inside to set up breakfast, I found this disaster.” She stared at the clock over the sink. “Quarter to nine, I think.” She turned on Giulia. “You were in the house. What time did you hear me discover it?”

  Giulia raised her eyebrows. “I heard something wrong in your voice and followed it. I didn’t check the time.”

  “No one’s perfect.”

  She opened the side of the fridge without the notepad and reached for the milk.

  “Stop.” Giulia put out a hand. “Fingerprints.”

  Mac laughed, an unhappy sound. “Ghosts don’t leave fingerprints.”

  Giulia snapped the pen back into its holder. “No ghost put that bag of slime in the shower in Marion’s room. I’m investigating targeted, tangible vandalism by living people who leave fingerprints.”

  “How would a human get the level of the spoiled milk at the exact same place it was when fresh?”

  Giulia made allowances for Mac’s frustration. “Is the milk at the exact same level, down to a millimeter?”

  Mac started to put her face up to the plastic gallon jug, but backed away a second later. Giulia didn’t blame her. The combined odors were enough to knock over a dead opossum.

  “Point to you. I don’t know the exact level. All right. The fridge is yours to examine. I have to find fresh food.”

  “We might be able to help with that.” Giulia texted Frank. “Where’s the nearest supermarket? Not one in town. A nice, big, anonymous place. Maybe a Walmart.”

  “No, no, no. I never buy Stone’s Throw food from anyplace other than the farmers’ market.”

  Giulia made further allowances. “Tonight’s the exception. You have no food for tomorrow morning. You don’t want to create talk in town with an uncharacteristic produce-buying binge. Therefore, Walmart. Where’s the nearest gigantic one?’

  “Meadville, but I only buy local, sustainable food from area farmers.”

  Frank walked into the kitchen. “What’s the matter? Cait naofa.”

  Giulia turned on her sunniest smile. “‘Holy cats’ is right. Honey, we have an emergency. Every bit of food in the fridge is spoiled and Mac needs to replace it all. Would you be Superman and drive her to the Walmart in Meadville?”

  Frank opened his mouth. Giulia kept the blinding smile trained on him. He visibly regrouped. “No problem. I’ll get the car keys.”

  Thirty-Five

  After Frank and Mac left, Giulia plunged into frantic research on her phone. Of all times not to be near a fingerprint kit. Although only a psychic might have thought to bring one. Where was Lady Rowan when Giulia could have used her?

  Unfruitful train of thought. If Lady Rowan could have predicted the need for capturing fingerprint
s, Solana might have tuned into that same astral wave. Of course, if they were working together to scare Mac out of business…

  Google came through for her before she got stuck on that particular hamster wheel. Giulia had access to all the ingredients in this simple emergency fingerprint how-to. She raided the kitchen’s junk drawer for cellophane tape and the pantry for cornstarch. She breathed a quick prayer to Saint Jude that the saboteur hadn’t included cornstarch in his or her list of necessary breakfast foods to destroy.

  Untouched. Giulia breathed a sigh of relief and poofed up a cloud of the stuff. She screwed the lid back on an instant before she sneezed.

  Okay. Fridge closed. Febreze sprayed with generosity in the narrow kitchen space. Giulia turned off the lights and walked upstairs to her room. No one else was on the first and second floors, so she didn’t need to waste time pretending to be casual. She grabbed her makeup brush and ran downstairs, jumping over the creaky steps.

  First floor still empty. She flicked the kitchen lights back on and searched for something dark to tape fingerprints to. Envelopes. Too bright. Empty orange juice carton, the same. Plastic grocery bag, too wrinkly. She opened a thin cabinet door tucked into the far corner and discovered a stash of paper grocery bags.

  Girding her figurative loins, she opened the refrigerator again. The stench hit her like a semi at sixty-five miles per hour. She squeezed shut watering eyes and opened them five seconds later, ready to work.

  The milk first. She found one more essential item not on the helpful website: Hot pads to protect the plastic from her own skin oils.

  One: Dip brush in cornstarch.

  Two: Dust cornstarch over all sides of plastic jug.

  Three: Apply strip after strip of tape and pray to Saint…

  Giulia had no idea which saint was the patron of clear fingerprint lifts.

  Twelve minutes in and most of one roll of tape, Giulia got a clean print. Index or middle finger, it looked like. Energized, she peeled the tape off with the precision of a surgeon. At least of the surgeons she’d seen on primetime TV.

  Four: Apply tape to brown grocery bag.

  The internet didn’t lie. She’d lifted a legible fingerprint.

  Palpable stenches and all, Giulia stuck her head into the fridge for her next test object. Perhaps the fruit drawer. She brushed cornstarch on the top of the handle and tore off a strip of tape to fit its entire length.

  Three…two…one…The tape popped like bubble wrap, cornstarch puffing in all directions.

  Giulia almost cursed until she spotted the maple syrup bottle. Hot pads on; bottle to counter. The dangly green filaments sloshed against the white puffballs as the syrup settled. She’d never been so grateful for her cast-iron stomach.

  Now. Smaller pieces of tape. She went with the obvious: A right-handed food-spoiler would pick up the handle of the heavy gallon jug with the right hand and balance it with the left. One cornstarch-loaded makeup brush later, she used up most of the tape in columns three inches on either side of where her own fingerprints would hit.

  She repeated “Easy…easy” to herself as she peeled away each strip of tape. Another print appeared close to the top of the second column. She transferred it to the paper bag. Near the bottom, half a print.

  That was the last of them, though. She tried the orange juice, the meat drawer, and the plastic wrap around the bacon and ham, but no luck. As a last resort, she pulled five whole and partial prints from the refrigerator door handles and taped them all to the bag.

  Her nose thanked her for closing the refrigerator. Before she cleaned anything, she took several pictures of the fingerprints, making sure to steady her elbows on the counter to increase her chances of one sharp picture of each. Then she wiped down everything twice since cornstarch clung to surfaces almost as bad as baking cocoa did.

  She was wringing out the dishcloth when Frank and Mac returned.

  Frank carried two boxes labeled “Apples” and Mac carried one from a lettuce grower. All three of them set everything from the boxes on the counter and as one they took a deep breath and opened the fridge.

  “It’s worse than I remembered,” Frank said.

  Mac pulled out the fruit drawer in silence and dumped the oranges into the bag Giulia held out for her. One went splat and everyone cringed, but no juices fountained out.

  Frank and Mac emptied everything into plastic trash bags. Giulia tied them up and set them in the back corner, away from the doorway leading to the big kitchen/reception area. While Mac washed out the flour and sugar jars and the butter dish, Giulia mixed vinegar and water and wiped down the refrigerator.

  Mac’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you both for helping with this.”

  Giulia exchanged relieved glances with Frank. “We’re not exactly guests.”

  Mac banged the flour jar on the counter. “This ghost is costing me more money every week.”

  Giulia opened a bag of flour and poured it into the clean jar. “Ghosts don’t leave fingerprints.”

  Frank gave her a thumbs-up.

  Mac appeared to really see Giulia for the first time since they returned with fresh groceries. “You found fingerprints?”

  Giulia pointed to the edge of the brown bag up on top of the refrigerator, out of the way. “Five complete prints and three partials, mostly from the door handle. Mine will be on the handle for sure, but they’re already on file. So are yours now, from Saturday’s robbery.”

  Mac set down the clean and dry sugar canister. “Lucy’s will be on there too.” She covered a fresh stick of butter and looked around the kitchen. “The only food or drink I want to pre-set tonight is a glass of wine in my own living room.”

  Giulia picked up the grocery bag with care. “I used up all your tape.”

  “I’ll deduct it from your fee.” Mac managed a feeble smile.

  Thirty-Six

  Up in their room, Giulia set the paper bag at the bottom of her suitcase and flopped across the bed. Frank came out of the bathroom drying his hands.

  “You sure know how to show a guy a good time, lady.”

  “I bet you thought married life with a former nun would be all dull and pious.”

  “I did wonder if you might need to relearn how to have fun.” He flopped next to her. “I’m even too tired to check my fantasy stats. By the way, where did you learn that fingerprint trick?”

  She held up her phone. “Google is my friend.”

  “I could’ve used that a few times in my career.” He yawned. “Want to crawl into bed smelling like vinegar and mold or shall we shower first?”

  “When you put it that way, I vote shower.”

  Two in the morning. Again.

  At least it wasn’t the weeping ghost this time. Giulia lay in bed listening to moans and creaks until she was both wide awake and ticked off.

  She tucked the covers around Frank and crawled out of bed. Easing open the dresser drawer, she put on the first t-shirt and shorts her hands touched. Then, phone in hand and flashlight app ready, she opened their room door.

  The noises paused, then restarted. Upstairs. One of the empty rooms or the attic. She debated going to the kitchen for salt, but she’d spent last Halloween with her friend Sister Bart’s family and they’d given her an education. Salt alone wasn’t enough to banish a spirit. It had to be combined with certain herbs, and her middle-of-the-night brain wasn’t giving up the information.

  Fine. She’d sit down with this Stone family ghost and invite it to air its grievances. Ever since Giulia had put on the habit, people opened up to her like she was a confidential advice columnist. That hadn’t changed post-convent. So if Giulia schooled her anger into quiescence, this ghost might talk to her.

  She watched her certainty that a human agency was the cause of all the B&B’s troubles waver and sputter. Two a.m.
was not a propitious time for rational thought.

  Then she climbed the stairs to the third floor. The moans got louder. The design of the hallways and stairwells confused the ears. Giulia tiptoed to the foot of the narrow attic stairs. Yes, the moans came from up there…wait…they came from behind her. To her left. Upstairs.

  A hand grasped her shoulder. She jumped and ducked away and stifled a scream as she brought up her phone flashlight.

  Frank flung his arm over his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  Giulia waved her arm all around her. “Don’t you hear it?”

  At that moment, the groans and creaks took on a definite, faster rhythm. From behind the closed door facing Giulia, a woman’s voice gasped out obscene commands.

  Frank put his arms around Giulia. “Let’s get back to bed.”

  Angry and mortified, Giulia stalked down the stairs, halting Frank right before the step that cracked. Only when they reached the safety of the Sand Dollar room did she notice her icy feet and burning face.

  Giulia stripped off her shorts and dived under the covers in her t-shirt. Frank climbed in wearing his sweatpants.

  “What was that all about?” he said.

  Giulia stared up at the lace canopy. “I thought the two a.m. ghost was back.”

  “If that’s a pair of ghosts replaying their last moments on earth, they died happy. Besides, didn’t you say your ghost was a weeper?”

  “Yes, but I thought it was performing a new trick.”

  Frank put his arm over her midsection. “Wait. Now you think there really is a ghost?”

  Giulia shoved her pillow over her face. “I don’t know what to think.” A moment later she slid it up over her head. “No. I take that back. I do know what to think: Somebody is trying to muddy the issue by cooking up a two a.m. haunting. If they’re targeting me then I need a refresher class in going undercover. If it’s one of the couples, I’m crossing off CeCe and Roy after tonight. If it’s Walter, then he has more ambition than you gave him credit for.” Giulia yawned. “How am I coherent at this hour? Who did I leave out?”