Veiled Threat Read online

  Giulia smiled even though his reaction triggered her guilt reflex. “Cosmo says a woman should always keep a man a little off-balance.”

  He laughed. “If I were to tell my basketball team that an ex-nun quotes Cosmo magazine to me, they’d make me take a breathalyzer test.” He wiped the condensation from the glass. “Sorry I jumped down your throat.”

  “A good Confession should take care of it.”

  When his head whipped around, she smiled for real. “Catholic humor, Frank. That’s all.”

  The phone rang twice, then Sidney’s muffled voice came through the walls.

  Giulia said, “Laurel kept me from losing my mind after I jumped the wall. I went through a bad stretch—I’d just been fired from that Mexican place on King Street. I had no money, and I was working myself up to pawn the wedding ring I received at final vows.”

  Frank retrieved his pen from under the desk and pulled up his chair. He doodled basketballs on his notepad and said in a casual voice, “You worked at her soup kitchen?”

  “Not right away. At first I came there a few times to get a meal. Then when I landed the barista job in Common Grounds downstairs, I went back to help.” She stared at his reddening ears. “Why are you upset?”

  “Nothing. Just tell the story.”

  She schooled her face into a neutral expression. There was no time to get into a futile discussion—again—about Frank’s chivalrous streak and how she was a self-sufficient adult.

  “You didn’t know me then. I was a cross between an experienced twenty-something teacher and a clueless eighteen-year-old, since the last time I was a regular person I was a senior in high school. Model Sister Mary Regina Coelis versus gauche Giulia Falcone.” A crooked smile twisted her lips. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have any friends who liked to post videos to YouTube. I could’ve starred in a whole series of ‘How Not To’ clips. Anyway. I asked Laurel what nights she needed help, and I became the Tuesday cook.”

  “In a soup kitchen.”

  “Now who’s distracted? Yes, in a soup kitchen. Frank, I seriously wonder what kind of mental image you have of me. When did I ever give you the impression of a sheltered flower? Remind me to tell you more of my inner-city high school stories.”

  His lips compressed, but he stayed silent.

  “Thank you. To continue. Laurel and Anya were the first real friends I made out here in the world. We would have dinner at each other’s apartment every month. I helped them with the adoption paperwork when I could, and they taught me how to dress in regular clothes again.”

  Frank stopped clicking the pen. “That’s heartwarming, but it’s not a sufficient explanation.”

  She almost gave voice to her thought: When did you replace your heart with an ice cube tray? Instead, she said, “Laurel and Anya told me a lot more than what Laurel said to you in here. Their kidnapping is a clone of the other two. The messages, the ransom demands, everything. They’re clinging to hope right now, but they really don’t believe anyone can help them. That’s why they called me—it’s a nun thing.” She shrugged. “I know. It’s been a year and a half, but sometimes I might as well still be in habit. People talk to me.”

  “Giulia, look—”

  “We can help them. We have to help them. Please. This is right up my alley, just like Sandra the crazed stalker was.”

  “You mean her psycho biblical ransom messages?”

  “Exactly. This guy has an average voice, like someone you’d meet at the grocery store or the gym. But anyone who quotes that part of Paul and complains about some states’ new marriage legislation sounds exactly like one of those TV preachers who rail against homosexuality while they cheat on their wives. I have the expertise for this. You don’t—no offense. I bet Captain Teddy Bear doesn’t either, and it’s obvious the officers who responded to Laurel’s call yesterday don’t.”

  “Giulia, you’re not the only detective with a knowledge of obscure parts of the Bible.” He stood.

  Giulia remained seated. He was not going to truncate this discussion before she got her way. “No, but you have to admit I’m one of the few detectives in Cottonwood who knows Christianity inside and out. I can get into this guy’s head. I can give the police an edge that the kidnapper isn’t going to expect.” She leaned forward on the desk. “As a favor to me—not Laurel or Anya or their innocent four-week-old daughter—to me, would you just call Captain Jimmy and ask if we can talk to him?”

  Her conscience jeered at her. Since when did you become so manipulative? You’re playing on his emotions to get what you want. You’re a weasel.

  Giulia admitted it all, but Laurel’s baby was more important than moral platforms. She kept her eyes on Frank.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, ignoring the bing of incoming email, staring at the series of basketballs he’d drawn.

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. The most likely outcome is Jimmy telling me to stay out of his business.”

  His posture screamed reluctance. Giulia wasn’t dense—she’d pushed him to this. It should’ve been against her better judgment, but every time she’d thought that from lunch till now, the knowledge that Laurel’s tiny new baby was in mortal danger overrode any scruples. Because she knew it was mortal danger the same way she knew—despite how hokey it sounded—that she was called to help them.

  Better not say that to Frank. We haven’t argued about faith yet and I don’t want to start over this.

  Now Giulia stood. “I’ll get this out of your way.” She picked up her own client chair and closed the door behind her. Only when she’d returned the chair to its proper place did she allow herself a deep breath.

  THREE

  “GIULIA,” SIDNEY ALMOST WHISPERED. “C’mere.”

  Giulia rolled her mouse first and cringed at the stack of emails waiting for her.

  “Since this is the day I break all my usual habits …” She walked over to Sidney. “Conversation before email sorting.”

  Sidney giggled. “You’re so funny. Mr. D. won’t care. He knows you’ll always get your work done.”

  “Of course.” Giulia looked down, puzzled. “And so will you.”

  “Well, duh.” She beckoned Giulia down by her. “You know Olivier and I decided to give bags of my family’s alpaca fertilizer as wedding favors, right?”

  Giulia raised her eyebrows. “No. Last time you talked about favors it was between pine tree seedlings and heirloom seed packets.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The tree place made a huge stink about not giving them enough time to package a measly eighty-five seedlings. Olivier actually lost his temper.” She lowered her voice further. “It was kinda epic. He didn’t yell or anything, but I swear the A/C kicked on in the greenhouse. So, no trees at the wedding.”

  “And the seed packets?” Giulia didn’t trust herself yet to comment on the image of ribbon-tied bags of alpaca poop at every place setting.

  “They lied.” She typed an address in her browser window. “Look at this: They claim they’re all-natural. See? This page even has photographs of the owner’s grandmother harvesting seeds from her tomatoes and peppers. But”—she clicked on a tiny link in the lower right-hand corner—“here’s the truth. They sold out to one of the megacorporations that genetically alter the seeds. Our wedding is not going to be remembered for depleting the monarch butterfly population. And what about the honeybee die-off?”

  Giulia schooled her face into a neutral expression. “I’m sure none of your guests would ever think you’d condone either of those events.”

  “But we’d know! It’s a good thing we hadn’t printed out the paper sleeves we designed to fit over the packets. Anyway, here’s what I wanted to show you.” She brought up a Word document divided into quarters. A smiling pair of alpacas, one in a bridal veil, the other in a top hat, filled the two left-hand quarters. “My brother drew them. He wanted to dress them up more, but I told him it’d just look silly.”

  “T
hey’re cute.” And silly. Bad Giulia. Don’t let Sidney see that thought in your face.

  Sidney grinned. “They are, aren’t they? He’s getting his degree in cartooning next year. He wanted to put them on the programs for the church, but Mr. D.’s brother said it wasn’t appropriate.” She scrolled to the next page. “Catholics are sure into rules. I’d go bonkers trying to learn all the RCIA stuff without you and Mr. D.’s brother. We’re going to send the cards to one of those bookmark-postcard printers tonight. You know, so they’re shiny and sturdy and will last.”

  Giulia looked from the screen to Sidney. “It’s Monday of Christmas week. Your wedding is this Saturday. Will they deliver on Christmas Eve?”

  “Oh, no, we’re not having them delivered the morning of the wedding! I’d go bonkers. They guarantee everything will arrive on Thursday. And they use only recycled paper. They’re perfect.” She looked up, giving Giulia the full force of her sweet, eager eyes. “Can you read the back of the card for me? I’ve reread it so many times I couldn’t see a typo if my life depended on it.”

  “Of course.” She crouched next to Sidney. “‘The Earth Loves Us Just Like We Love Each Other—Pay It Forward.’”

  Sidney grinned. “Catchy, huh? We want to let everybody know the reason behind the foods we chose and all the recycling—I’m wearing my grandmother’s wedding gown, and Olivier’s renting his tux, of course. We also wanted to sneak in a little how-to information. So maybe they’ll want to make little changes to start with. You know, natural foods, like the way you grow tomatoes and herbs in your apartment. But we didn’t want to hit them over the head with it, so we started with humor.”

  “Humor is always a good way to start.” Giulia bit the inside of her cheek this time and read to herself. The card listed the local food sources; the local low-sulfite, fresh-grape winery; and a lecture (there really was no other word for it) about the carbon footprint of trucked- and flown-in food.

  “There aren’t any errors in this.”

  Sidney exhaled. “Oh, good. Do you think we should add that the flowers are local?”

  “Flowers from here? In December?”

  “Holly and mistletoe and pine branches.” Her hands formed an invisible ball about nine inches in diameter. “We grow all those on our farm. Mom and I designed bouquets for me and my sisters and the boutonnieres will be mistletoe sprigs, because holly would keep poking them every time they moved. But do you think we should add something about composting, since we’re all composting the flowers and the boutonnieres after the reception?”

  “In the winter?”

  Sidney did a perfect “take.” “We add to our compost pile all year-round.”

  Giulia held up her hands. “I’ve always lived in apartments.”

  “That’s no fun.” Sidney pointed to the screen. “Do you think adding flower-origin and composting instructions is too much? We have some of this on our wedding website, but I’ve been too busy to get all of it on there.”

  Giulia stopped herself from saying, Your wedding guests want to party, not go to school. “The card is easy to read as is. You’ll be putting up wedding pictures on your website, won’t you? Why don’t you add in the composting ideas next to a photo of all of you with the flowers?”

  “That’s perfect!” She opened a new email window and typed it all in. “I knew you’d have the right answer. So,” she hit Send, “are you and Mr. D. going to make it a real date?”

  Giulia twitched.

  Sidney looked at her from the corners of her eyes, a sly and nervous smile on her lips.

  “Since when did you become a professional matchmaker?” Giulia said at last.

  “Uh-uh. Don’t change the subject.” She lowered her voice even further. “Olivier and I met at his sister’s wedding. He is such a great dancer.”

  Giulia smiled. “He’s perfect for you, isn’t he?”

  “Well, he would be if he’d quit eating carnivore food. But I’ll work on him. I figure me becoming Catholic gives me leverage. You know, I compromised on this, so he can compromise on that.”

  “Sidney, the faith is not meant to be used as matrimonial blackmail.”

  She giggled. “You sound just like a teacher when you talk like that. Don’t worry; I won’t really. I just need to get my head around all the rules, ’cause I think Catholicism is kinda cool. Besides, I’ll be making all our baby food from homegrown, raw foods, so Olivier’s bound to agree that it’ll be easier for me to cook one dinner for all of us.”

  Giulia raised her eyebrows in a parody of surprise. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Oh, no, no.” Sidney looked properly shocked. “We always use two forms of protection. No babies till Olivier’s practice gets going.”

  “Smart.” Sidney and Olivier will make adorable parents … just like Laurel and Anya are.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Giulia shook it off. “I’m worried for my friends and their baby. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “A baby? Those scumbags. You’re going to include me, right? Anyone who kidnaps babies should be turned into compost.”

  “It’s up to Frank. That is, it will be if he can convince Captain Jimmy to let us get involved.”

  Sidney waved that away. “Piece of cake. Captain Jimmy’d do anything to make you happy.”

  Giulia laughed. “Frank doesn’t like that. Every time we share information with him he tries to hire me away.”

  “I’ve heard him. It’s funny. You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  “No, don’t worry. I know when I’ve got it good.”

  “Damn right you do.”

  Giulia and Sidney jumped. Frank stood in his doorway frowning like Moses watching the Israelites dance around the golden calf.

  “Jimmy says ten o’clock tomorrow, and the only reason he’s doing it is because he wants to show you firsthand how much you’d rather work for him than me.”

  Giulia got to her feet, hoping her irrational guilt over helping Sidney with wedding details during work hours didn’t show in her face. “Thank you.”

  “I’m assuming that you’d never consider for even half a minute going to work with that pack of baboons.” The frown faded. “You wouldn’t, right?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Sidney’s latest family-commercial jingle came from her desk drawer. When she opened the drawer, the bouncy trumpet melody tripled in volume. She read the text and clapped.

  “Mom says using two zippered plastic bags blocks every bit of odor.”

  Frank looked from Sidney to Giulia. “From?”

  “Sidney and Olivier and giving away baggies of their alpaca fertilizer as wedding favors.” Giulia averted her eyes from Frank’s face before she lost control.

  Silence from Frank. Then, “Are you sure that the guests will be okay with a baggie of fertilizer next to their food?”

  Sidney laughed. “Mr. D., you are so funny. We’re not going to put the favors at the place settings. They’re going to be on a table in the front hallway with everyone’s names on them. We don’t want the health department raiding our reception.”

  “Ah. Good.” He eyed the calendar on the wall above the printer. “Are you taking just Friday off or do you need Thursday, too?”

  “Nope. Friday’s fine. Everything’s pretty much done except for the place cards and bagging up the favors.” She scowled at the clouds out the window. “Now if it’d just stop snowing. You hear that, winter? We’ve got people driving in from Ohio and Virginia.”

  The phone rang. Sidney took a deep breath, her nostrils flared; she picked up the receiver and said in her usual perky voice, “Driscoll Investigations. May I help you?”

  FOUR

  AT QUARTER TO FIVE that afternoon, Giulia stepped off the bus into a mound of slush. She didn’t care. The cold, clean air—emphasis on clean—more than made up for wet boots. After the doors squealed together behind her, she shouted into the sky, “Doesn’t anyone use deodorant in the winter?”

&nbs
p; She stomped her boots on the sidewalk. The streetlights turned the grimy slush pus-yellow. Diesel fumes stank up the air as the bus pulled away.

  Everyone she passed on the sidewalk was bundled up the same as she was, so she got a little silly behind her scarf.

  “O city bus, O city bus,

  How filthy are your windows.

  O city bus, O city bus,

  How cracked and ripped your seats.

  You stink in spring, winter, and fall,

  Your pick-up times don’t work at all.

  O city bus, O city bus,

  Soon I’ll be done for good with you!”

  She reached her apartment house’s front stoop as she sang the last line. With the skill of the cold and tired, she keyed herself in, stuck a hand in her—empty—mail slot, and quick-stepped the length of the hall to her door.

  Giulia’s small apartment had one big advantage: it heated up quickly. Her teeth stopped chattering after only two minutes crouched over the forced-air vent.

  New super-bright mini lights (fifty cents at last year’s end-of-season sale) glowed all over the two-foot artificial Christmas tree on the end table, lighting the corner of the living room. The miniature glass ornaments threw pinpricks of colors onto the walls. Starry silver garland, a matching star on top (two dollars), and artificial snow all around it (also fifty cents) made the apartment as festive as she could afford last year, her first year back in the world.

  “I can splurge on a bigger tree at the after-Christmas sales this year. The World Market might still have those hand-beaded ornaments I drooled over. I’m not living on ramen and peanut butter anymore. I have to remember that.”

  The microwave beeped. She changed into sweats and her fuzzy Godzilla slippers, flipping on the TV as she passed it. The newspaper ad of the used Saturn Ion stuck dead-center on the fridge rippled as she passed it. “Soon you’ll be mine, and my days of riding the bus will be relegated to memory.”

  Leftover chicken parmigiana steamed up the microwave, releasing mouthwatering aromas as soon as she opened the small door. Armed with a hot pad so she wouldn’t scorch her hand and drop dinner and her glass of red wine on the carpet, she sat at the coffee table and hit the mute button.