Nun Too Soon (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 1) (19 page)

Zane answered at Sidney’s desk. “Good afternoon, Driscoll Investigations...One moment, please.”

He held the receiver out to her. “It’s Mr. Driscoll.”

She took it. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

“You left that food fight before the good part,” Frank said, laughter in his voice. “Jimmy’s forcing me to tell you that since you can handle two crazed females and
The Scoop
, you can certainly handle working here. I already refused the offer for you.”

“Don’t tell me everyone in the building saw the show.”

“Of course. I have a famous wife now.”

Giulia groaned. “Infamous is the word you want.”

The second line rang. Zane ran over to his own desk.

“I’ll let you go,” Frank said. “I can hear your public calling.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re so supportive.”

Frank laughed again and hung up.

Zane put this call on hold. “It’s the producer for
The Scoop
.”

Giulia pinched the bridge of her nose. “I definitely need to remember what sins I’m being punished for. They must have been spectacular.”

She nodded at Zane and he transferred the call to Sidney’s phone.

“This is Giulia Falcone-Driscoll.”

A forceful voice with a polite overlay. “This is Nina Steele for
The Scoop
. Ken Kanning would like to schedule a one-on-one interview with you for the Silk Tie Murder special airing next Sunday night.”

“Thank you for the offer, but we’re not interested.”

“But Ms. Falcone-Driscoll...”

Giulia hung up. “I’ve cut off more phone calls this week than I have in the past fifteen years.”

“Which means one, right?” Sidney said.

“Two.”

“I never expected it of you. What will Jane think?”

Giulia stuck out the tip of her tongue at Sidney. Sidney reciprocated. Jane got that startled look again.

The phone rang.

“Aargghh.” Giulia waited for Zane to give her the bad news.

He pressed hold. “It’s Roger Fitch.”

“Saint Monica, give me patience.”

All three of her employees got the same confused expression.

“It’s a Catholic thing. Sidney, you should know that. I’ll tell Father Pat on you.” She nodded at Zane and he transferred this call too. “Yes, Mr. Fitch?”

“Awesome show, wasn’t it?” Delight filled Fitch’s voice.

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“What do you mean? Kanning is biased against us so bad we should get sympathy votes from everybody who’s been on the fence.” Fitch chuckled. “I can’t wait for Kanning to eat his hat when you prove I didn’t kill Lori.”

“I’ll get back to working your case now, Mr. Fitch. Thank you for calling.” She depressed the switch hook, listened to the beautiful silence for a second, and hung up.

She looked at the clock over the door. “It’s 4:20. I hereby declare this workday over.”

Giulia’s phone rang at 1:17 the next morning. She wriggled one arm out from under Frank’s and groped on the nightstand.

“Mmrgh...h’lo?”

“Wake up, Driscoll!” Roger Fitch’s voice.

“Mmm...Fitch?”

“Of course it is. Must be nice to sleep all cozy and worry free.”

Giulia moved the rest of her body out from under Frank’s leg and slipped out of bed. When she was in the spare bedroom, she said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Fitch, has something happened?”

“Why the hell else would I call you in the middle of the night? Tulley and I spent a few hours at Long Neck letting the regulars buy me drinks for the full story of Angie and Tammy’s fight.”

Giulia yawned. “Did you call at this hour to tell me bar stories?”

“God da—Of course not. I got back to my place and somebody’d broken in and trashed everything. Busted my TV, threw paint on the rugs and the walls, stole my Xbox—”

“Call the police, Mr. Fitch.”

“Are you kidding? You have to help me. The local cops all hate me.”

The whining anger in his voice penetrated her sleep-muddled brain. “Too bad. This is a crime. Report it.”

She ended the call, turned off her phone, and crawled back into bed.

Frank pulled her against his body and she shivered as she absorbed his warmth.

“Tell me in the morning,” he muttered.

Thirty-One

Zane held out four slips of paper as soon as Giulia opened the office door.

“Monsignor Harris, Mingmei Burd, Laurel Drury from Stage Door Soup Kitchen, and Colby Petit.”

Giulia set down her Godzilla mug and took the messages. “A senior official of the local church has no business watching slimy daytime TV.”

“He sounded annoyed but not angry. The soup kitchen lady wants to make sure you’re okay. Mingmei said to tell you that an eyebrow piercing will make TV audiences remember you better.”

Giulia huffed. “She only says that to get a rise out of me. Thanks, Zane. I’m locking myself into my office to deal with these.”

“Right. Only interrupt you for fire or nuclear war.”

“Good man.”

Giulia left a message on Mingmei’s voicemail that amounted to a long, enthusiastic raspberry. She caught Laurel as she chased her two-year old daughter who once again was running naked through their condo giggling in delight as mama chased her.

“Laurel, tell Katie that Aunt Giulia says no more tickle fights unless she gets dressed.”

When Laurel relayed the message, Katie let loose a high-pitched squeal.

“You’re a life saver,” Laurel said. “I’m subbing at the soup kitchen for one of our early shift regulars who fell and fractured his hip. Of course that means Katie’s having one of her ball of energy mornings.”

“I’d much rather be back working at your soup kitchen.
The Scoop
hadn’t heard of me then.”

“Katie, bring mama your socks.” A scuffle and more giggles. “I need to bottle her energy and sell it.”

Giulia laughed. “I’m sure you’re only the millionth mother to wish for that.”

A
clunk
as the phone hit the floor. A second later Laurel’s voice returned. “Just wait ’til you and Frank have kids. I will sit on your couch and eat popcorn and—Katie!”

“I’ll talk to you on the weekend. Go wrangle your sweet little princess.”

“Hah. Don’t give
The Scoop
any ammunition.”

Fortified with Katie giggles, Giulia dialed the number on Colby Petit’s message. When he answered, Giulia heard traffic and the BBC news report.

“Hello?” Petit’s voice echoed.

“It’s Giulia Falcone-Driscoll, Mr. Petit.”

“Oh, good. Let me mute the radio.” The cultured female voice disappeared. “Thanks for calling back. I’m stuck on 376 fifty cars behind a jackknifed semi. I gather you watched
The Scoop
yesterday.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“They’re calling my office, but—” a barrage of car horns interrupted him—“our receptionist is adept at stonewalling unwanted reporters. Have they harassed you since the Sunday morning church episode?”

“Did you doubt it? I’ve avoided them so far. We worked up several strategies to keep out of their searchlight.” She paused for a siren.

“Another police car has joined the party.” Petit’s smooth voice showed only a hint of annoyance. “Unless he’s a tow truck in disguise, there’s no point in him adding to the chaos.”

Giulia fished a cranberry granola bar out of her bottom drawer. “Mr. Petit, did you need anything in particular?”

“Sorry. Yes. Roger told you his place was broken into and vandalized.”

“He called after one a.m. to whine. I told him to report it to the police.”

Petit chuckled, the sound barely registering against the horns and distant sirens. “He called me right afterward. I gave him the same advice. He’s not pleased with either of us.”

Giulia unwrapped the granola. “I’m not concerned with whether or not he likes me. My job is to search through the evidence and see if someone else might be the Silk Tie Killer.”

“Yes, of course. I really called you to put the  high school rivalry story in its grave.”

“I see.” Giulia scrabbled for her legal pad and a pen. “Yesterday you belittled the idea.”

“There. That skeptical tone in your voice is why I called. Athletes have rivalries. It’s one of the ways we keep up a healthy level of competition.” A pause, even though the noise on his end hadn’t increased. “Roger was known for his charm and cleverness, but ‘devious’ would have been a more exact term. He bested me on the basketball team with his technique.”

“Mr. Petit...”

“Ms. Driscoll, I’m not talking about his jump shot or his defense. I’m talking about his ability to skirt the edge of foul territory without getting caught.” More sirens. “Thank God, they’re clearing a lane for us to get out of this mess. Roger won that starting position because he cheated.”

“A surprising comment from Fitch’s defense attorney.” She wrote it all down in a makeshift shorthand.

“That’s not—I mean, you’re misinterpreting me.”

“If I am, please explain.”

“Ms. Driscoll, you’ve heard of my record in the courtroom.”

“Of course.”

“Then you’ll have realized I have a reputation for championing the underdog, much like Driscoll Investigations. The concept of a person’s ability to change is at the heart of it. That’s why I’m representing Roger. He’s still a jerk and a blowhard and a womanizer, but I don’t allow those qualities to prejudice me in this matter.”

Giulia heard the implied, “And neither should you.”

“Point taken, Mr. Petit. Is there anything else?”

“Not from me. Good luck avoiding
The Scoop
.”

“And to you.”

Giulia ate her granola bar as she reread her notes. “He must realize every word of that conversation makes him more of a suspect.” She buzzed Sidney. “Is there any chance Colby Petit is in humongous debt and using Fitch to skim money from AtlanticEdge?”

Through the intercom, Sidney whistled. “Does ‘slim to none’ count? His name doesn’t come up in any connection or on any document.”

Giulia sighed. “I didn’t think so. I’ve got to return one more call, then I’m going to immerse myself in the AtlanticEdge shenanigans.”

Zane’s voice added, “If Loriela Gil hadn’t died, I would’ve bet money she and Fitch were the masterminds.”

“I agree,” Giulia said, “but it’s gone on too long after her death. Zane, you and I are working this together, right?”

“Yes. Can we afford the time wasted with two people going over the same round?”

“Absolutely, and it’s the opposite of wasted time. In a perfect world we both come out with identical lists of altered documents.”

“Oh. Got it.”

Giulia called the diocese. Monsignor Harris—the one who didn’t belong in the fourteenth century—expressed sympathy and commended her force of will on camera.

“Before you ask, Ms. Driscoll, one of our cleaning staff watches TV on her phone while working. She thinks we don’t know. She came running into the kitchen when she saw your face onscreen. We’re all pretending that she didn’t see it while on the job.”

“Thank you for spinning it for the Bishop.”

“Frankly, he’s so pleased with your results that you’d have to commit a mortal sin live on the six o’clock news to shake his confidence in you.”

“I can state with confidence that no such plans are in my future.”

After she hung up, she stared at her shadowy reflection in her monitor and shelved for the moment any homicidal thoughts relating to Roger Fitch. “Falcone, you’ve turned mercenary.”

For the next two hours, she pulled up scans of checks and purchase orders and cross-checked them with AtlanticEdge accounting ledgers. Now that she knew what to look for, it was much like buying a green hatchback and suddenly seeing green hatchbacks on the roads everywhere.

Threes became eights several more times. Ones became sevens and fours became nines, but never as the leading digit. Most of the alterations occurred on the small business orders and the majority of those on special pricing promotions. A few daring changes appeared on yearly and half-yearly consulting and setup contracts for the larger clients.

And there was no distinct pattern. No wonder it had taken her, Zane, and Sidney this long to break through. Giulia muttered several words her Sicilian grandmother had taught her and then forbidden her to repeat. She refused to give Fitch points for cleverness. An ingenious thief was still a thief.

At the end of the scans and ledger sheets, she stretched her back and stuck the heels of her hands into her dried-out eyes. Her handwritten list of ninety-two altered documents spanned two and a third years. Roger Fitch had written or signed off on all the purchase orders. Not surprising for the head of the two-person sales department.

The ledgers were all computerized, so there were no handwriting samples to compare them with. Not that it needed comparing. Len Tulley was the only employee in accounting whose employment spanned the entire period. Loriela Gil worked there for the first fifteen months of the thefts, so there was a definite possibility she’d known what Fitch and Tulley were up to.

Which made her a good target for murder if she’d threatened to blow them in.

Giulia stood, got her balance, and opened her door.

“Fitch and Tulley,” she said to Zane.

“Ninety-seven instances,” he said.

“Blast. I only found ninety-two.”

“What about Gil or Tate?”

“The videos don’t support Tate. Gil might have suspected them, but she died a year ago and the embezzlement continued.”

Zane frowned. “I suppose so. Why not Miles Park?”

“A gut feeling. I can’t see Roger Fitch bringing his sales subordinate in on such an elaborate scheme. If Fitch and Tulley trust each other, why split their loot three ways?”

Jane said from Sidney’s desk, “You came up with all those answers from two hours of research?”

“More like eight solid days of research,” Zane said.

“Nothing comes easy,” Giulia added.

“No argument there,” Jane said.

“I need food,” Giulia said. “Is anyone going out?”

“We could order in,” Sidney said, and the door opened.