Second To Nun (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 2) (22 page)

Forty-Three

“Hey,” Walter said when Giulia opened the passenger door for Mac. “Luce asked me to pick you up in case you needed help and stuff.”

“Thank you.” Mac eased into the passenger seat, banging her wrist on the doorframe. “Dammit. I already hate this sling.”

Giulia climbed into the backseat.

“Sorry it smells like bait in here, ladies. I was restocking when Luce called me.” He zoomed through the parking lot and into the street. “So what happened?”

Mac produced a light laugh. “I’m getting old, Walter. Slipped off the gallery while I was showing the new guests the weathervane.”

Giulia stared holes into the back of Mac’s head. Walter ran a yellow and drove onto a side street.

“Water on the boards or something? You really ought to watch your feet up there, Auntie.”

“You’re right.”

Walter rolled through a stop sign and turned right. “Did you catch yourself on the railing?”

“With one hand. Ms. Driscoll grabbed the other one. Together we hauled my old bones back onto the gallery.” She turned her head to look straight at Walter. “Without her, you and Cousin Connie would’ve been running Stone’s Throw tonight.”

A pause from Walter, which could’ve been put down to waiting for cross traffic on Water Street. “Don’t talk like that, Auntie,” he said after completing a left turn. “You’ll be telling the family stories for a long time yet. Besides, I’ve got my boats and Connie’s who the hell knows where. Last I heard she was in Japan writing a history of this tribe of women who dive for pearls half-naked.”

The conversation turned to the pursuits of more distant relatives until the car parked in front of the B&B’s white porch. Walter helped Mac out of the car. Giulia got herself out.

“Thank you for picking us up.” She didn’t trust herself to say anything further.

“No problem. Thanks for helping out Aunt Mac.”

They smiled fake smiles at each other.

“Thank you, Walter.” Mac pecked his cheek. “If you’re here, who’s watching the boat shop?”

“Lucy. I’ll send her back as soon as I park the car.” He buckled his seatbelt and waved. “See ya. Watch out for ledges.”

Mac and Giulia walked up the steps. Giulia rubbed the beagle’s ears till they flopped over each other. The calicos projected masterful indifference.

“Mac, we should call the police about the railing.”

“No.” Short and sharp.

“What if one of the guests had leaned on that part of the railing instead of you?”

“No one ever leans on the railings but me.” Mac faced the Welcome sign but her eyes weren’t focused on it. “I also told the hospital staff that I slipped on the gallery and fell through the railing gap.”

Giulia transferred her attentions to the cats, who deigned to purr. “Despite your assertion, you have a houseful of guests and an enticing view from the gallery. What if one of the guests had fallen at the same time you did? What if one of them had fallen instead of you? You panicked when the brick injured me.” She lowered her voice. “If Marion or Anthony had been injured, how fast do you think their lawyer would show up here?”

Still facing the sign, Mac said, “You’re dancing around the real question. That isn’t like you.”

Giulia avoided synchronized swipes from Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Petting interlude over, Giulia stood. “You lied to the doctors. You’re forcing me to lie by omission unless I choose to go to the police with the actual story.” She stepped to Mac’s side and lowered her voice further. “Everyone in this town may know you and like you, but the statement of a professional private investigator will carry enough weight to make the police question your original story. Give me a reason not to turn around and walk straight to the police station.”

Mac started to gesture with her left arm and stopped with a grunt. “Are you sure you want the police interfering around here? They’ll ask all kinds of questions and upset the guests so they stop talking to you at all.”

Giulia shook her head. “If that was a threat, it failed. I get along quite well with the police. Do you think that other couple has kept quiet about what happened this morning? Your guests are already upset. I guarantee it.”

“I’m telling you, no one goes up there unless I’m leading a tour, and no one’s ever leaned on the railing besides me. I’ll announce that all lighthouse tours are canceled until I get a new, stronger railing built.” Mac looked at Giulia at last. “You heard my speech twice about caution on the Widow’s Walk. My guests aren’t going to talk to the police. They’ll assume I’ve already done that. I’ll downplay my fall and spin the whole thing into a new Dorothea story. Joel and Gino will take my spin and run with it. Tomorrow morning everyone will be looking forward to Solana’s next séance.” She made a rueful face. “I’ll have to ask Rowan if she’s willing to sit in next Sunday.”

“I forget that you spent decades managing multiple hotel staffs.” Tweedledum rubbed his head against Giulia’s leg.
Fickle beast
, she mouthed at him.

The screen door opened and Joel ran onto the porch. “Mac, you’re okay! Gino, Anthony, they’re back.”

A sea of arms swept them inside. Mac flipped a switch Giulia hadn’t yet seen and became Scarlett O’Hara. The men fawned over her, led her to the sunroom, offered to get her a beer, commiserated about her sling and Ace bandage. Giulia wouldn’t have been surprised to see her pull a fan out of nowhere and flutter it coquettishly before her face.

Giulia took advantage of her sole superpower, invisibility at will, and stopped just outside the sunroom doorway. Mac kept to her plan, announcing a temporary hold on lighthouse tours. Anthony wanted to know if she planned to replace the wooden railing with cast iron. Gino offered to fetch and carry breakfast the next morning. Mac talked up the way her feet slipped and how she’d bounced against a previously unknown weak point in the railing. In the midst of this, Lucy came through the sunroom door.

Kind concern replaced her usual resigned-yet-aggravated expression. She didn’t fawn with the others. Rather, she morphed into a sympathetic friend.

Okay, that was ascribing motives where none may exist. Lucy could well like Mac while despising her job.

Or Lucy could also be one of the best actors Giulia had ever seen.

When the house became quiet, Giulia sneaked up the lighthouse’s spiral stairs. So much for Mac’s insistence that no one ever went up there without her. It was past noon by now and the sun’s heat sucked the air out of the brick cylinder. At the height of the catwalk, the temperature increased by at least twenty degrees. Outside on the gallery the unshaded sun jumped the temperature another ten degrees at least on this windless day.

The railing bowed out over the patio like an open door. Giulia knelt next to the broken piece to take close-up pictures. The two-inch diameter wooden railing was sawn almost all the way through. Anyone leaning against it would have snapped apart what was left. Giulia took more pictures of the jagged point on the outward-bending piece and the gap on the tiny piece still attached to the upright.

If Giulia thought for one moment bringing the local police into this case would solve it faster, she would’ve walked out of Stone’s Throw directly to their station.

Instead, she walked the gallery’s circumference, shaking each joint of the railing. Three more of the eight intersections where the vertical-turned wood beams met the horizontal ones were held together only by a splinter.

She called down several Biblical curses on the perpetrator and took more pictures before she descended the stairs without a sound. Only Anthony was still in the sunroom, on his phone. Giulia caught his attention and mouthed
Mac?
with questioning hand gestures. Anthony cupped one hand over the phone and pointed with the other toward the driveway.
Carriage house,
he mouthed.

Giulia walked straight through the house, ignored the porch animals, and up to the front door of the carriage house. It was unlocked. She closed it behind her.

“Mac? It’s Giulia.”

No response. Giulia walked down the entrance hall into the living room. Mac lay on the long side of the pale green couch, her head on a seashell pillow. Giulia sat on the edge of the coral chair near Mac’s head. Mac’s eyes opened and she yawned.

“Giulia…They gave me a shot of something before they worked on my shoulder. Just want to sleep…”

Giulia locked away every iota of Franciscan kindness and empathy. In the voice she used to read her nieces and nephews to sleep when they stayed overnight, she said, “Tell me the story of the Stone gold.”

Mac smiled. “Everyone loves to hear that one.” She repeated pretty much the same story used in the newspaper article, her voice running down like an old-fashioned wind-up toy.

Giulia didn’t let one strike stop her. “Is the gold hidden in Stone’s Throw?”

Mac’s eyelids dragged open, but she looked past Giulia toward a high window. “No…” Her eyes closed and she emitted a delicate snore.

Giulia followed Mac’s gaze. That particular window framed the top of the lighthouse. All right then. She took two single-use ice packs out of the hospital supply bag next to the couch and snapped them active. When she was certain they worked, she draped one over Mac’s left shoulder and the other over her wrapped wrist.

Frank drove up as Giulia closed the carriage house door. She waited for him. He locked the car and gave her a one-arm shoulder squeeze. “What did I miss?”

“Ow, ow, ow.” Giulia pushed him away.

Frank became half cop and half concerned husband. “What happened?”

Giulia rotated her shoulders to work through the end of the pain. “Someone sawed through half of the railing joins on the Widow’s Walk. Mac fell. I caught her. Mac has a dislocated shoulder and wrist. I’m just sore.”

Frank’s expression made Giulia think he was counting to ten in Irish.

“I don’t like censored stories. Let’s find some lunch and you can tell me all the gory details. I could eat liver and onions, I’m so hungry.”

Forty-Four

Frank choked on a steamed clam.

“You pumped a drugged old lady for information?”

Giulia held out his bottled water and he glugged it down. The Beach Boys-loving outdoor bar was only half-full and they had the corner seats to themselves.

The music feed chugged through every album in order of release, as far as she could tell.

The bartender informed them they were listening to
Wild Honey
since it was one o’clock.

Giulia added more tartar sauce to her fish sandwich. “All this rich food. My workout schedule will need extra sessions when we get back. Yes, I pumped her. She’s a duplicitous old lady. I have no regrets.” She held out her hand. “Pickle, please.”

“A handful of fries in trade, please.”

The bargain transacted, Giulia said, “I want to go up in the lighthouse with you and search for this legendary gold.”

Frank swallowed another clam. “You’re sure she’s been lying to you all along?”

“Not exactly lying. I think she’s been waiting to tell us various parts of the truth until the revelation served her purpose.” Giulia ate the generic kosher dill with more enjoyment than it deserved to watch Frank make his “pickles are horrifying” face. “We need to know if this gold is for real, and now. There are way too many unanswered questions.”

“I’m all for wrapping this one up.” Frank dispatched the last of his clams. “I couldn’t find my desk under the paperwork. By the way, the lab says they should be able to give me basic blood test results by three.”

“Excellent.”

After lunch they walked back along the beach. June’s weather had performed a complete one-eighty and decided to mimic late July, which would’ve been fine if Giulia had been wearing her bathing suit. The beach was packed like opening day at the State Fair, complete with several different kinds of blasting music and people who had no qualms about elbowing anyone out of their way.

The grass on the B&B’s patio became an Eden.

“I like people, don’t I?” Giulia said.

“Only in small doses.” Frank opened the door to the lighthouse vestibule.

They started where the brick walls connected to the cement floor. First they tapped and checked for loose bricks. Next they tried the stairs, but the solid wood steps held no secrets.

On to the deep window recesses. The hurricane lamp in the lower one didn’t even have oil in it, let alone gold coins. The vase in the upper one surprised Frank with a spider the size of his thumb. He didn’t quite scream like a girl, but he did drop the vase, which bounced and rolled against the thick pane of glass. The spider scrambled into a hole between two of the bricks.

“Plastic,” Frank said. “No one cares about authenticity anymore.”

Giulia was laughing too hard to reply.

“I am heading up to the catwalk,” Frank said in a huffy voice. “One of us should take this seriously.”

Still chuckling, Giulia followed him. Because her shoulders weren’t happy with the idea of stretching, Frank climbed the short ladder and felt underneath the light and its combination stand and socket.

“A whole lot of nothing.” He backed onto his knees, then got to his feet. “Maybe she didn’t lie about the treasure being a myth.”

“Why look up at the light when she was loopy from painkillers or muscle relaxers or whatever?” Giulia tapped her foot on the step. “I am so frustrated. She’s blocking me right as the danger goes to Red Alert. All I can think of is she’s working from misguided loyalty.”

Frank sat next to her. “To whom, specifically?”

“Walter or Rowan. I’m not sure which. Even though Walter is less than optimal, he’s still family.”

“I asked around discreetly. Walter was either working on the boats or in one of the bars every night something happened here.”

Giulia’s chin hit her chest. “You’re not helping.”

“Hey, I can’t make him appear in two places at once.” Frank wiggled Giulia’s elbow. “Picture Conneaut Lake with two Walters. Small children would be afraid to go fishing but bars would make a killing.”

“Maybe after Dorothea sobs through the halls at two a.m. she visits Mac for some family time.”

“And they’ve bonded over old family photos while doing their nails.” In response to Giulia’s “huh?” look, he said, “Isn’t that what women of all ages do for girl time?”

“Is anyone up there?”

They both jumped at Lucy’s voice.

“Yes, it’s the Driscolls,” Giulia said.

“Oh, Ms. Driscoll, I guess you didn’t hear that Mac closed the lighthouse until the outside railing gets fixed.”

“Thanks, Lucy. We’ll be right down.” Giulia gave a panicked look at Frank.

He shrugged his shoulders. They descended, but Lucy was no longer there.

“We should’ve lowered our voices up there. They must have carried,” Giulia said.

“Nothing we can do about it now, except brace a chair under our bedroom door at night.”

Another voice warbled from the antique kitchen. “Mac, darling, where are you?”

Giulia stopped cold in the hall doorway. Lady Rowan, in many-colored layers of paisley and tulle on top of black palazzo pants, stood by the trestle table rearranging the fresh carnations in the vase.

Her nephew Jasper stood half a step behind, arms ready to help her balance.

She turned toward Giulia with a blue-tinted carnation in her left hand. Her right index finger pointed at Giulia. “Your ethereal veil surrounds you like a cloud of witnesses. You must tell me what’s happened. When I read the cards this morning I saw danger in the past and in the present. I knew I had to be here to support Mac.”

Jasper waved at Giulia until Giulia dragged her attention away from his aunt.

“Ms. Driscoll, we’re not making this up. Aunt Rowan had me cancel three appointments and close the store to drive her here.”

Rowan’s fingernail changed its target. “You, hiding in the dining room. Turn off that phone. I did not give you permission to record me.”

CeCe stepped into the doorway kitty-corner from Giulia, who closed her eyes and gathered strength. Not more YouTube videos.

Rowan tilted her head and became a multicolored bird with flowing wings. “My grandchildren play your dinosaur songs constantly.”

“Thank you.” CeCe’s voice was more subdued than Giulia had yet heard.

Rowan tilted her head the opposite way. “I have no patience with all the fussbudget doctors we have these days, but you really should stop drinking tequila.”

CeCe bristled. “Who are you to tell me how to live my private life? I was recording you because you’re colorful and entertaining.”

Rowan dismissed her with a wave of one many-ringed hand. “Go pee on a stick.”

CeCe stood motionless for a long moment. Then she ran past them all, the screen door banging in her wake.

Rowan’s finger aimed at Giulia again. “What happened to Mac?”

Despite being fed up to her eyebrows with people ordering her around, Giulia gave her a brief explanation of that morning’s accident. When she finished, Rowan turned on one heel, allowed Jasper to steady her, and headed out the screen door.

Mac appeared in the carriage house doorway. “Rowan?” Her voice and eyes drooped. “What are you doing here?”

“MacAllister Stone, your aura is the color of a swamp in winter.”

Mac held onto the doorframe with her good hand. “It’s the pain meds.”

Rowan beckoned to Jasper. “Help me down the stairs, dear. We have to work on Mac. Ms. Driscoll, I expect you to use the power I see in that veil aura to stop Mac’s troubles immediately.”

Giulia stalked through the house and out to the patio, where she picked up a bocce ball and smashed it into the grouping at the far end of the court. Three large balls flew into the air and landed on the grass.

Her right shoulder and back screeched at her like nails on a chalkboard. She crouched on the grass, breathing through the pain. Stupid her. Stupid Rowan. Stupid ghost.

Frank sat next to her. “If I mention the Veiled Woman, you won’t be able to chuck the next ball at my head, right?” He massaged her shoulders with a light touch.

Giulia clenched both fists. If Rowan could see her aura now…

And then she let it go. A deep breath. Another. A long look at the lake shimmering in the sun. A smile for three preschool kids building a My Little Pony out of sand.

She sat up, rotated her shoulders and back, and nodded at Frank. “Thanks. Because my throwing arm is on the injured reserve list, it would be unsportsmanlike of you to mention that particular entity.”

“Fine. I’ll play fair.” Frank retrieved the three balls and set them in the court. “Between possessed psychics, bloody writing on the walls, and this ongoing game of pin the tail on the ghost, I want to install a deadbolt on our door.” He tossed a fourth ball into the grouping. “Oh, right. Locked doors won’t stop a ghost.”

“But they’ll stop a living human. I vote for a chair shoved under the doorknob.”

Frank’s phone rang. “Driscoll. Yeah, Owen, what’s the word?…What? Are you serious?…Come on, you know I’m not dissing your skills…All right. Thanks for letting me cut the line. The rest of the tests will be ready when?…Sounds good. I owe you.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “It was duck blood.”

“What?” She made a noise of pure frustration. Then, “Thank God it wasn’t human.”

Frank kicked the
pallino
to the opposite end of the court. “A nice, juicy murder would be just the thing to wrap this mess up fast.”

“You are a sick individual. You’re also missing the good news here: Who has easy access to ducks? The guy who spends ten hours a day at the dock.”

Frank made a rude gesture at a seagull diving on something in the grass. “Get out of my face, useless bird. I have only a minor problem picturing Whining Walter slashing a duck’s throat and draining its blood.”

“Hold it.” Giulia whipped through her mental catalog of facts for this case. “Drat and drat. He can’t stand blood. You said so yourself.”

Frank stared with blank eyes at the bocce court. “You’re right.”

“However, I have no problem picturing Walter sawing through the gallery railings so Aunt Mac will fall to her death on the patio stones. I have less of a problem picturing Solana or Cedar or Rowan or Jasper doing the same.” Giulia studied the seagull with more intensity than it deserved “Well, not Jasper, really. But that would mean Rowan’s feeble old lady shtick is as put on as her community theater outfits.” She worked her shoulders some more. “About the mysterious bloody message. Let me see if I can turn Rowan’s theatrics to our advantage.”