Nun But The Brave (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 3) (5 page)

Ten

At three thirty, Giulia parked the Nunmobile in front of the smallest house she’d ever seen. Address: 94 Meadow Lane. Neighbor on the right: A ranch house surrounded by alternating red and white azaleas. Neighbor on the left which was also the corner: A working dairy farm whose address was listed on the cross street.

The house was smaller than small. A Tiny House, that was it. She’d read about them online. This box with windows on a postage-stamp plot of land couldn’t be more than three hundred square feet. Instead of a sidewalk to the door, a dirt path bisected a lawn of dandelions and clover. More vegetables and weeds surrounded the sides of the house. She could even see a short way around the back from where she stood.

She banged the deer-head shaped knocker.

“Who’s there?”

A mixed martial arts type appeared in the space between houses. Giulia walked toward him. Because he wore only a tight black t-shirt and camouflage pants, she got an eyeful of his arm tattoos and well defined torso. A scar split his left eyebrow; Giulia guessed from a bullet graze. His dark hair was cut in a military-style buzz.

“Good afternoon. I’m with Driscoll Investigations and we’re looking into the disappearance of Joanne Philbey. May I have a few minutes of your time?”

“You sound like a door-to-door Bible-thumper.” He knocked dirt from the trowel he was holding. “You can talk to me while I weed.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have to leave for work until four thirty.”

Giulia followed him into a regimented vegetable garden. A row of broccoli, a row of cauliflower, rows of beans and peas, tomatoes in cages, eggplant, corn, and carrots.

He knelt next to the first row of beans. “I like my privacy. How did you track me down?”

“I’m afraid you’ve been doxxed,” she said.

“I’ve been what?” He tossed crabgrass into a compost bin.

“In this case, it means your home address is out on the web. I found it on Facebook.”

The trowel stopped moving. He cursed. “I haven’t been on that troll pit in months.”

“You may want to log in and report it. It’s part of a discussion on the two-month anniversary of Joanne’s last post. The person who doxxed you disguised it in a piece of poetry.”

He indulged in unflattering comments about the women in that particular thread. The weeds got the worst of it. When he wound down, he refocused on Giulia. “Guess I should be glad you were the one to figure it out and not some random stalker. Fine. What do you want to know?”

Giulia opened her mouth, and he cut her off before the first syllable. “Wait a minute. First I bet you want my side of that argument. The one on Facebook.”

“As a start, yes.”

“You got something to write on? This one has a long history.”

“Of course.” She brought out her iPad. Holding it in her left hand and typing with her right wasn’t ideal, but it was better than having to remember everything for a voice memo later. But first, setting the potentially hostile interviewee at his ease.

“This is what’s called a Tiny House, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. You interested in the movement?”

“The movement?”

“Smaller footprint. More in tune with nature instead of subduing it. Off the grid.” He gestured with his thumb at the Penelec meter on the side of the house. “I’m stuck with city power while I live here, but it won’t last forever.”

Sidney might once have fallen in with this movement, but not now that she and Olivier had Jessamine. Giulia couldn’t picture two adults and a baby in this minimalist house.

“What about storing clothes and all these vegetables canned for the winter?” She wondered if he was a reader and did a quick calculation of the house’s square footage. She and Frank would have to build furniture out of their book collection to fit them all in.

“I dug out a space underneath. It’s small, like the house. Has enough room for canned-good shelves and storage bins.” He moved onto the grass invading the next row of beans.

Giulia seized the point of connection. “My grandmother’s house had a fruit cellar. If I could add to my own house, one of those would be first on the list.”

“Yeah, my canning skills are limited, but I supplement them with the right girlfriends.” He tossed more inedible growth into the compost bin. “So the whole Facebook thing. Josie and I dated for a while but split up. I’m not going into details. It’s my business, not yours. The problem was all her friends who hated hunting decided to hate me too.”

He spoke slower than Marjorie and Diane and she kept up with ease, even one-handed. “I’ve seen pictures of Joanne on hunting trips.”

“Trips? Are you kidding? Josie worked two jobs, and I’ve been at my current place less than a year. A bunch of us like to get together for a weekend out in the woods around here. Josie and I would render the kill and we’d all share the meat.”

Giulia’s stomach shuddered at the mental movie of gutting, skinning, and carving up a deer. “So the hunters weren’t the ones making veiled threats on Facebook.”

“Not a chance. When you share death with people you get real tight. Josie’s shallow college friends are the ones who had it in for me.” He stood and stretched, giving Giulia a better view of his tatted muscles. “I didn’t know Josie was missing until her sister posted on Josie’s Facebook page.”

“What did you think happened to her?”

A shrug.

“Dunno, but if I had to guess, she got carjacked or mugged and the mugger hid her body. Josie was in okay shape, but she never took self-defense seriously.”

Giulia cast a lure. “Joanne was somewhat overweight in the pictures I’ve seen.”

“You’re looking at old pictures. Josie dropped some flab last spring. Made her a better hunter.” He took a step forward. “Are those—” He appeared to rethink his choice of words. “What are those friends of Josie’s on Facebook accusing me of?”

Giulia stopped typing and brought up the Facebook conversation. As he read, Larabee’s tanned face darkened and his jaw clenched.

“Stupid bint couldn’t even manage the classic limerick rhyme. If I knew where she lived, I’d do a hell of a lot more than post bad poetry on the Net.”

Giulia put a few microns more distance between them. He saw and backed off.

“Okay. Coming clean because it’s no secret anyway. I’ve got a record. Hung out with a bad crowd in high school. Drugs, you know? I stole money from my mother and cold-cocked my father when he tried to stop me. He called the cops and my gang threw me under the bus. I ended up with six months in juvie plus three years’ probation. Try finding a job after that. I joined the Marines, but they were too much like juvie for my stomach. No freedom and too many higher-ups ordering me around. Now I work second shift at one of those big shipping warehouses. When you have muscles, people will hire you no matter what.”

Giulia typed it all up.

“A female police detective showed up here a couple of months ago,” he continued. “She wore authority like Dracula’s cape. We didn’t get along.” A short laugh. “She looked real disappointed when I told her I hadn’t seen Josie in weeks and we were still friends after our breakup.”

His watch beeped. “I have to leave for work. Here’s why I think Josie was offed by a stranger: Nobody argued with Josie. I mean, not ever. The only disagreements we had were over gun versus bow hunting and those were more like professional debates. Josie gave a crap about people. She listened to you when you talked. She didn’t give you half an ear while she thought up what she was going to say next.” He knocked more dirt off the trowel and walked between the houses to the front garden. Giulia pretended she didn’t recognize his power game, saved her document, and followed him.

“Before you get any ideas, remember what I said: Our breakup was mutual. Our work schedules didn’t match, and I like a woman who’s more assertive in bed.” He glanced at a teenager walking two poodles and texting at the same time. “Who’s paying you? Her sister? Tell her if she wants to do something useful, she should set up a cooking scholarship in Josie’s name. She would’ve liked that.”

Eleven

At eight thirty Wednesday morning, the Nunmobile entered Sunset Shores’ circular driveway. Diane had described Sunset Shores as a huge complex of buildings. Apparently Diane indulged in the occasional understatement.

Sunset Shores was a miniature city. A four-story apartment building faced the street. Along the left and right sides of the driveway, rows of single-story condos. As she drove farther around the circle, a smaller building came into view. Its manicured gardens with wide flagged paths were enclosed by a tall wrought-iron fence. The driveway curved in front of the fence and branched into ten handicapped parking spots. Giulia continued past those to another branch behind the back of the main apartment building with forty empty parking spots.

The double entrance doors slid open on their own. Frosty air enveloped her. Talk about winter in the middle of summer. The air-conditioning here would keep polar bears comfortable. A few steps farther into the lobby and her nose inhaled a complex mix of bacon, coffee, flowery air freshener, and disinfectant. The sand-colored wallpaper complemented the carpet design of primary shapes in maroon, navy, and mustard.

The clatter of silverware and buzz of multiple conversations came from a huge dining room on her right. On her left, she noted a craft boutique and four unisex bathrooms. Facing her, a receptionist more than twice Giulia’s age sat at a kidney-shaped desk crocheting a baby blanket.

“Good morning,” Giulia said. “I’d like to speak with Milo Chapers, please.”

The receptionist set down her crochet project. “May I have your name?”

“Giulia Driscoll.”

“One moment. I’ll see if he’s in his office.” She picked up the phone, but instead of speaking into it waved it at a thin, balding man coming out of the dining room. “Mr. Chapers, you have a visitor.”

He squinted at Giulia. “Can it wait? We’re near the end of the breakfast rush.” He vanished through a swinging door down the hall.

The receptionist changed a brief frown in his direction into a smile at Giulia. “You can have a seat in the visitor’s lounge.” She pointed to a doorway next to the craft storefront.

Giulia made it halfway there when a plump old woman blocked her way with a metal cane.

“Mary Ellen, why aren’t you in school?” She scowled at Giulia’s…clothes? hair? makeup?

After a moment’s hesitation, Giulia said, “We have today off.”

The cane thumped a dark blue circle on the rug. “Schools mollycoddle you kids these days. You need more homework, not more days off.” She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and snorted into it. “Back in my day, Sister Mary Catherine beat the catechism into us with a wooden pointer.” She stared at Giulia over the handkerchief. “Did Sister Immaculata put you in detention again?”

A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform hurried up to them. “Hortense, it’s quilting time. We have to get your puppy quilt supplies from your room.”

The old woman huffed. “Nag, nag, nag.”

The nurse put a knobby hand on Hortense’s arm, but the cane came up and the nurse backed off a step.

“Leave me alone. I’m not feeble yet.” She reversed the cane and banged it on a crimson carpet triangle.

The nurse made an apologetic face at Giulia, who smiled.

A moment later, Hortense hooked her cane around the nurse’s elbow. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m going with you to find your quilting basket.”

“What are you waiting for, then?” She tugged the nurse closer with the cane. “Help me balance. Do your job.”

“Ms. Driscoll?” Milo Chapers took the nurse’s place as she led her charge away. “What can I do for you?” He had the harried air of a middle manager saddled with an inexperienced staff.

Giulia didn’t need Lady Rowan the psychic to tell her this man needed minions. “Is there an office where we can talk for a few minutes?”

“What’s this all—” He glanced around at two wizened ladies a foot away comparing knitting patterns and a man looking at the daily activities sheet while adjusting his hearing aid. “Let’s use my office.”

He led Giulia past the swinging door and opened the door after it. A bronze nameplate at eye level read “Food Services.”

At least two managers shared the small office. On the right-hand wall hung several photos of a man and woman with a baby and a Scottie dog: in front of a Christmas tree, on a beach, at Halloween. On the left-hand wall two photos of Milo with an older man and woman: at a birthday party and crossing the finish line in a bicycle race. The top of the desk couldn’t be seen under in-out files, an outdated computer, and stacks of paper in various colors.

Giulia sat on the edge of a doctor’s waiting room type chair and explained her purpose at Sunset Shores. Chapers changed his hassled expression for an annoyed one.

“At first I was worried Ms. Philbey had met with foul play or an accident of some kind. But when her landlord and I entered her apartment, it appeared more like the living space of someone who had left for an extended vacation rather than of someone who expected to return home at any time. Do you see what I mean?”

Giulia’s impression of him from his police statement had been correct. The man might have been born with a pole up his butt.

She played a disingenuous card. “What exactly did the apartment look like?”

“Every surface had been scrubbed clean. The refrigerator was empty. There was no open mail or an unfinished book on a table or even a newspaper in the recycle bin.” His narrow chest swelled.

Giulia typed in her iPad as cover. Indignant Chapers looked way too much like the famous
National Geographic
photo of the angry bluebird. She said, “You assumed she simply walked away from her life here?”

The bluebird’s feathers ruffled. “It was perfectly obvious to me. Her landlord disagreed, but he was likely thinking about the rent. The police agreed with my conclusion. I said as much to Ms. Philbey’s sister when she came here.”

This hallway of an office would have been too small for such a confrontation. Giulia had to resort to the note-writing smokescreen again.

A pager on Chapers’ hip went off. He frowned at the message on its small screen.

“I’m afraid I have to truncate this interview. If you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to our morning chef. He was much more intimate with Joanne than I was.” His pale face flamed scarlet. “I mean, that is, I—”

Giulia tucked her iPad in her messenger bag and stood. “I understand. Thank you.” She watched the back of his pulsing red neck as they passed through the swinging door.

Interesting.