“Not with two Ys?”
“No, spelled like the guy’s version. My parents expected me to be a boy. They planned to use me to suck up to a rich uncle. When I came out they named me after Uncle Sid anyway.”
“Did it make him happy?”
“Not when it counted. He left all his money to the PETA crazies. Mom had a major cow. Dad ended up talking her down instead of venting like they wanted to. It turned out okay, because I got into college on a swimming scholarship.” She unbuckled her bag and took out a bobblehead in a Penn State swimsuit and a swim cap.
“What do you want for a password? Letters and numbers.”
“I don’t know... How about big10relay, um, all lowercase? That was my senior team. We kicked major butt in the Big Ten championships.” Her face scrunched. “Um, sorry, everyone says I kinda babble when I’m nervous.”
Giulia smiled as she tapped several keys. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do fine. There. You can boot up now. Your tower’s beneath the printer cart.”
Sidney opened each drawer and rifled the contents until her computer beeped. “What’s my username?”
“Your first name.”
A few taps on the keys. “It works. Oh, wow, a real job in a real office. I’ve been working full-time on the family alpaca farm since I graduated, but they’re like the only animals on the planet I don’t get along with. Plus spinning yarn from their wool throws my back out every year. You don’t know how much I look forward to my summer job—I coach swimming for the Y. No spinning, no straw, no bagging alpaca poop—if you’re a gardener, Ms. Falcone, I can tell you about that part later.” She tapped a few more keys. “This is so cool. What are you going to teach me first?”
“The C drive is your own. E is shared between all of us. Click on it, and you’ll see the correspondence folders.”
_____
Thump. Thump.
Giulia looked up at the rattling door. “Sounds like a foot.”
“I’ll get it, it’s my job.” Sidney hopped up and opened it on Frank, arms piled with three foam containers and extra-large cups in a gray cardboard holder.
“Lunch. Told you I’d be back. Giulia, can you grab the pop before I lose my balance? What happened to your face?”
“Self-defense class.” She plucked the pop holder from the top of the tower and set it on Sidney’s desk.
“What? How? Hi, Sidney.”
“Hi, Mr. Driscoll. Let me take those.”
“Top one’s yours, middle one should be Giulia’s, bottom one mine. You’re vegetarian, right?”
“That’s right, wow, thanks for remembering that from the interview.” She headed into his office with the bottom container.
“No, leave it here. I’ll use the windowsill. I need to stretch after this morning.”
“Why?” Giulia handed out paper towels from the bathroom to use as napkins.
“My legs hate being cramped up in the car for hours. I drove all over town. The last subpoena was the worst. The guy hadn’t paid child support for more than a year, and he knew his ex was after him. I had to break out the old ‘Neighborhood Watch’ ploy. When he signed the fake petition, I pretended I couldn’t read his name. When he said it, I handed him a fake brochure. When he opened it and saw the subpoena, I was at the street before he had time to question my parentage.”
Giulia blushed, and hated herself for it. Sidney laughed through a mouthful of spinach and feta calzone.
“Why subpoenas, Mr. Driscoll? I thought you found missing persons and spied on cheating husbands and all that.”
“Extra money, Sidney. The rent’s not high here, but now that I have two employees, I have to make payroll.” He winked at Giulia. “How’s the spaghetti parm?”
Giulia sucked the mouthful off her fork and swallowed. “Not bad. The sauce is homemade.”
“And you would know.”
“My grandmother would spin in her grave if I let bottled sauce pass my lips.”
“I figured. Mine is that way about soda bread. Now tell me about that double shiner. You know you look like a psychedelic raccoon.”
“Your sympathy is overwhelming. At least the guy who did this had the grace to apologize. More than once.” She took a long drink of lemonade. “As a preface, I’ll remind a certain person in this room that he required me to take the class to—ahem—protect myself.”
Frank laughed so hard when Giulia reached the “You don’t have AIDS, do you?” part of the story that he slipped off the windowsill and stamped like a horse. Sidney looked from one to the other and, like a student, raised her hand just to shoulder level.
“Ms. Falcone, why is that so funny? Everyone’s at risk for AIDS once you’ve slept with someone. You know you’re sleeping with everyone they’ve ever slept with—”
Frank pounded the wall and clutched his stomach. Giulia held up a hand to stop Sidney.
“You—you’re such a fast mover, right, Giulia?” Frank wiped streaming eyes with a paper towel. “You’ve racked up half a dozen conquests since last summer, right? Oh, my stomach.”
Giulia stuck the tip of her tongue out at Frank and smiled at Sidney.
“Up until last August, I was a Sister of Saint Francis for ten years.”
Sidney’s eyes got big. “You used to be a nun? Wow. I’ve never known a real nun before. Did you wear that long black dress and the headscarf? No, wait, that’s a different religion. Was it anything like The Sound of Music? Julie Andrews is so cute. Did you sing that ‘Dominique’ song? No, wait, isn’t that another movie?”
Giulia sighed. “Why does everyone ask that? No and no.” She smiled at Sidney’s embarrassment. “Although I do play guitar.”
Frank hiccupped and tossed his trash into Sidney’s basket. “Never laugh like that while drinking pop. Sidney, I have a stack of papers for you to sign. Giulia, now that we’ve established your HIV-negative status, what are you up to?”
“I need to run over to Quinn’s, but it’ll only take about half an hour.”
_____
Quinn refilled the 11 x 17 paper tray while Giulia waited. When he inserted her copy counter, he said, “Giulia, ask me how my day started.”
“Only if you turn your back so you don’t see what I’m enlarging. It’s confidential.”
“Deal.” His left arm’s elaborate tattoo of the Headless Horseman galloping after Ichabod Crane hovered just at her eye level.
“How did your day start, Quinn?” She hit the Start button.
“Discussing vaginal pH with my teenage brother.”
“What?”
“I drive him to school because it’s on my way here and I open at seven-thirty. I asked him about Homecoming, and he informed me that the expectation at school is that there’ll be one pregnancy after the Homecoming dance, one after the junior prom, and one after the senior prom.”
“Good heavens.”
“You know it. As I’m arghing at him, he said, ‘Yeah, I know, use a condom.’ I said, ‘No—keep it in your pants!’ Trouble is, what with our father getting his chippie pregnant, I’m pretty much the only discipline he has now.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’s still dealing with dad’s affair and the divorce. That’s why I drive Wes, so he gets some male role model time.”
“But vaginal pH?” Giulia jogged her copies into a neat stack.
“Then he came out with, ‘But they say there’s a pretty safe time to have sex.’ Of course I told him there isn’t.”
“He thinks it’s right after a woman finished her period, I bet.”
“Yeah. Dope.”
“Italian grandmothers used to tell women to eat broccoli if they wanted to have a boy.”
“Can I turn around now?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve covered everything up.”
He pulled out the copy counter. “Come to the register, and I’ll cash you out. I used that exact same example—my wife’s Italian. Then I explained how broccoli alters a woman’s vaginal pH, how some women are nat
urally more acid or more basic...” He keyed the totals into the cash register. “Or more hostile or receptive to sperm. I topped that off with the tidbit that some women have very receptive fluids and the sperm can wait in there until ovulation, and then, even if they haven’t just had sex, wham! Fertilization.”
“Tell him that some women ovulate on penetration, too.”
“Good God. I didn’t know that.”
“One of the perks of teaching Sex Ed.”
“I’ll spring that one on him at the next opportunity. That’ll be four bucks for the enlargements.”
“Your day’s been more interesting than mine, and thank you for not commenting on my face.”
He practically whimpered. “It’s killing me not to. You’re always so quiet and nondescript. Wait—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I mean, uh, that you, uh...”
She wanted to wince, but the thought of the lurking pain stopped her. “Don’t worry. I know I’m not going to be the next Victoria’s Secret model. I took a self-defense class last night and my partner didn’t pull his punch.”
“Man. I hope you got your money back.”
“I did. But I’m avoiding mirrors for a few days.”
“At least you weren’t discussing vaginal fluids at seven-fifteen this morning.”
“Giulia?”
She looked around the filing cabinets. “Hey, Mingmei. What brings you up here?”
“A messenger or something left this for you before lunch. We got busy, and I must’ve just missed seeing him. Or her. I couldn’t get it up to you till now.”
Giulia took the brown-wrapped shoebox from Mingmei’s hands. “Did you know the new chef’s aprons would look so good with your purple hair?” She made a complete circle around Ming-
mei. “And do I point out that they’re—ahem—coffee-colored?”
Sidney giggled. “Well, duh, Ms. Falcone.” Her mouth shut with a click of teeth. “Oh—I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sorry. It sounded like a joke—I apologize.”
“Sidney, relax.” Giulia smiled. “It was a joke. You’re fine.” Sidney’s brown eyes returned to their normal wide-eyed state.
Mingmei snorted. “A lame joke, too.”
“You have no appreciation of subtle humor. If you’d only read something besides MAD magazine—”
“Which is a classic of the comedic art.”
“Let’s stop before we come to blows and Sidney has to separate us.” Giulia hefted the shoebox. Weighed about a pound. “I wonder why the messenger didn’t deliver this to me?”
Mingmei shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t see your nameplate next to the door. We had ours propped open because it got wicked hot. I thought I heard a voice asking for Driscoll’s, but I was behind the counter, so when whoever it was left it on one of the tables, I couldn’t stop them.”
Giulia set it on Sidney’s desk. Smudged return address. She wasn’t sure she’d have the guts to pick it up again. Sidney and Mingmei were staring at her, and she forced a smile.
“It doesn’t matter. Frank told me we’d be getting a delivery today.” Liar. Confession this Saturday. Without fail.
Mingmei poked Sidney’s swimmer bobblehead. “Cute. You?”
Sidney grinned. “First place, 400 free relay, Big Ten championship.”
“Wow. I’m impressed. I swim like a rock: straight down.”
Sidney’s face conveyed that she had just encountered an alien life form. “You can’t swim, Mingmei? Really? That’s terrible. Everyone should know how to swim. What if someone you love needed help? Here—” She reached beneath her desk and opened her messenger bag. “I teach kid and adult classes at the Y all summer, weeknights and Sundays.” She handed her a brochure. “It’s only thirty dollars for six weeks if you’re a member. All the parents say I’m a real patient teacher.”
Mingmei’s blue-tinted eyelashes blinked at a rapid pace. “Um, thanks, Sidney. I’ll check my schedule.”
Another brochure appeared in Sidney’s hand. “Ms. Falcone?”
“Been swimming since I was ten.”
“Good.”
Mingmei slid the brochure into her apron pocket. “Giulia, I forgot to tell you that someone was asking about you guys the other day.”
“For business? Why didn’t he come upstairs?”
“She. You weren’t open yet. She wanted to have you guys check out a new personal assistant she was thinking of hiring. Wondered if I knew anything about you people.”
“Ah, the upper class.”
“You know it. She looked rich and dressed it, too: blonde, tall, fancy linen coat, fancy makeup, perfect hair, shoes that cost more than I make in a month.”
“Good. Sounds like easy money for us.”
“I never thought you’d be mercenary.” Mingmei looked at Sidney. “A promotion can corrupt the best of us.”
Sidney laughed.
Giulia said, “Oh, how I long to work with you again and give up eight hours a day with my polite, eager, funny officemate. Really.” Giulia faked a glare at Mingmei. “By the way, shame on you for making this poor woman buy me coffee.”
“Sidney, did it work? Was she nice to you?”
“I am always nice.” Giulia pointed to the door. “You may leave now. I resent these slurs on my character.”
“You know what they say about these ex-nuns, Sidney.”
Sidney’s mouth opened. “No. What? Tell me.”
Giulia shook a finger at Mingmei. “I’ll get you for this. Confusing the innocent. Think of purgatory.”
“Not Catholic, doesn’t apply, ha ha.”
Giulia blew a raspberry at Mingmei, and she left. Then Giulia picked up the box, went into Frank’s office without knocking, and closed the door behind her.
_____
Giulia stared at the Barbie doll in the shoebox. “Why are her wrists handcuffed?” It also wore a brown, curly wig, exaggerated makeup, and a passable imitation of lingerie she’d seen in a Cosmo “Better Sex” article.
Frank lifted the doll’s arms. “Why the slutty underwear?”
“Frank.”
“There’s no other word for it, Giulia. Nice girls don’t wear bras with the nipples cut out and open-crotch panties. I didn’t know you could get the legs to pose like that.”
Never in this or any other lifetime did Giulia think she’d be standing next to her—male—boss discussing X-rated underwear.
The phone rang. A moment later, Sidney buzzed Frank’s intercom.
“It’s a Mr. Parker on one, Mr. Driscoll. He sounds kind of upset.”
Frank looked at Giulia. “Let’s hope it’s just another pomegranate.” He took a deep breath and straightened his tie before he picked up the receiver. “Frank here, Blake. What can I—”
Giulia watched his face take on that soothing look he’d used on Blake in the office three days earlier.
“In her mailbox? What was it dressed like?... I see. You too?... Oh. Of course... No, no, I’ll come by and pick them up. Can Ms. van Alstyne bring hers to your condo today?... Yes, with the camera. I’ll be there after seven... We’ll discuss it then. Right.”
He set the receiver into its cradle and fell into his chair. “He got a Ken doll in a bridegroom outfit, complete with two wedding rings. She got her own Barbie. No handcuffs. I didn’t get exact details of the outfit, or lack thereof. The Perfect Fiancée apparently indulged in some shrillness.” He dropped his head into his hands. “If this weren’t so important, it’d be funny. Those two are utterly unprepared for this kind of love/hate intensity.”
Giulia snapped her fingers. “Frank, the doll distracted us. Where’s the note?” She turned over the lid. “Nothing in here. Can I pick her up?”
“Go ahead. I don’t need more fingerprints. Did I tell you I sent the ones we got to a friend in D.C. to check?”
“Why not here?”
“Because Blake doesn’t want police involvement yet, remember? My D.C. friend owes me a favor, so he’s running the check on the QT.”
The
note lay beneath the doll.
“ ‘Woe to you who are clever in your own sight. At every street you degrade your beauty, offering your body with increasing promiscuity to anyone who passes by.’ ” Giulia dropped the note like it singed her hand. “This is not in the Bible. Not like this. She’s corrupting the text to suit her own hate.”
Frank whistled. “I can just imagine what Pamela’s said. No wonder she had hysterics... wait a minute.” He searched his center drawer. “According to Blake, they found their dolls about half an hour apart. He gave me the time stamps from the cameras.”
“Cameras. Rats. I forgot to tell you. Mingmei said a tall, rich-looking blonde stopped in there and asked about us.”
“Us? You and me?”
“No. Sorry. About Driscoll Investigations. If only they used a security camera downstairs.”
“When? What did she say? What did she look like?” Frank found a piece of paper and wrote several bullet points.
“Before we opened. According to Mingmei’s description, she could only have been one of the exes. She was tall and blonde, and wore expensive clothes.” Giulia stared at the Barbie. “She gave Mingmei a story about needing a background check on a personal assistant.”
“Flimsy excuse. Did she think we wouldn’t hear about it?” He wrote. “No, of course not. She let us know that she’s on to us.”
“Our plastic friend here told us that.”
Frank jumped up. “You’re right. What if she tried to jimmy the lock?” He threw open his door and strode to the main door.
“Mr. Driscoll? Is something wrong?” Sidney half-rose.
Giulia squatted beside Frank. “No, Sidney, nothing’s wrong yet. Anything, Frank?”
Frank ran his fingers over the strike plate. “Can’t see any scratches. Can’t feel any, either. No wax residue, so she didn’t try to make an impression of the keyhole.” He stood, stumbling on his right leg.
Giulia put her hands on his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing. Ever since they put pins and screws into my leg, I have trouble getting up from that position.”
“Were you in an accident, Mr. Driscoll?” Sidney sank into her chair.
“Back when I was a cop.” Frank rubbed his kneecap. “We were on a high-speed chase. Someone ignored the siren and plowed into our passenger side—and me—at an intersection.”
Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation Page 7
