Back in the Habit (11 page)

The waitress took Giulia's plate. “Coffee for either of you?”

Frank looked at Giulia. “I could use a cup. What about you … Sister?”

Giulia didn't crack the ghost of a smile at Frank's slight hesitation. “Coffee for me, too, please.” When they had privacy again, she said to Frank, “Did they have anything definite?”

“No. Their suspicions are based on their daughter's drastic personality change after the merger. Seems she was on the quiet side but had a decent sense of humor until she moved here.”

“So it was more than homesickness?” Giulia leaned back in the booth as the waitress brought coffee. “Thank you.”

“They think so.” Frank sipped his coffee, grimaced, and added sugar. “You never know what will send someone over the edge. One homesick college student will blubber and call mommy twice a day, and the one in the next room will join three different clubs and get over it in a month. A third may dive into the bottle.”

Giulia's coffee cup hit the saucer with a
clink
. “Of course.”

“What? Something with Sister Bridget?”

“No. The other Novice, not the one who was friends with Sister Bridget, came to my room buzzed last night. She's not from this Motherhouse originally either.”

“One Novice kills herself, another's a drunk? What's wrong with that place?”

“It's not as bad as you make it sound. There's always an adjustment period after you enter. Moving far from home can compound that. That's why Formation—”

Frank's stare stopped her.

“Since when do you defend the convent?”

“Since always. I never said the convent as an institution was evil.”

“Maybe not in those words, but you sure hinted at it. Only two days and you're brainwashed again.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Listen to you. You sound like a repressed version of your old, repressed self.”

“What gives you the right to denigrate my opinions about a previous lifestyle choice? Perhaps you object to how well I've gone undercover? Although that would be a strange objection for my employer to make.”

He picked up his coat. “I think we're done here, Sister. If you don't mind waiting with me while I pay the bill, Sister.”

Giulia got Frank's repeated use of “Sister” and slid out of the booth, following him to the cash register without a word. Patrons three and four booths down nodded at her, and she gave everyone a polite smile.

“Hope you enjoyed Scarpulla's, Sister. I think you're the first nun we've ever had in here.” The cashier totaled the bill.

“Thank you, I did. Your sopressata is first-rate.”

He grinned. “My uncle will be happy to hear it. We import it from the Old Country.” He handed Frank his change. “Come again soon.”

The contrast between the warm, crowded deli and the wind plus threatening clouds made Giulia hurry to the car. Frank opened her door first and she dived in, already shivering.

Seventeen

Frank pulled out of
the parking lot, silence between them. Traffic was even heavier. He navigated through two four-lane intersections, ran another yellow light, and turned into the entrance of the Heavenly Peace Cemetery. Compared to post–lunch hour crowds, the bare, narrow roads inside the cemetery were quite peaceful. Frank drove to the far side of the cemetery's older section and parked.

“Don't open your mouth.” Giulia popped her seat belt and faced him. “You have no idea what it's like on the inside of those walls. I'm dealing with one woman just out of her teens and another one who's not legal yet.”

“I get—”

“I said ‘wait.' Barely two weeks ago their friend snuck into the huge, old cellars sometime in the middle of the night and drank a gallon of bleach. You think you'd be functioning normally after that?”

“I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about you. What happened to you in there? Suddenly you're throwing around buzzwords and acting all self-righteous and better than the poor unwashed laity.” He popped his belt and stuck his face in hers. “Yeah, I know some buzzwords, too. You're my partner, remember? Half of Driscoll Investigations? Sister Mary Latin-Whatever doesn't exist anymore.”

“Wrong. For the next few days she exists for Sisters Bridget and Bart and Vivian. I'm going to find out what's going on in the Motherhouse. The only way I can win their confidence is to be one of them again. That's not just a costume you wear for a play or makeup you apply to look a certain part. It's training yourself to think and act and talk and move a certain way. They're not going to trust an outsider. They barely trust themselves—I can see it. So if you don't like Giulia-as-Sister-Mary-Regina-Coelis, that's tough cookies. She's got a job to do.” Giulia was so angry that the air from the vents was almost too warm.

Frank backed away. “Point taken. Sorry. Look, this is what I was going to show you in the deli.” He took out a business-sized envelope from the opposite inner coat pocket. “Sister Bridget got a letter out to her old boyfriend a month before she killed herself.”

“She wanted to leave?” Surprise cooled some of Giulia's anger. Leaving wasn't easy—anyone could ask her about that circus from Hell—but the logistics weren't difficult, especially for Novices. “Why would she kill herself when she could've just walked out the door?”

Frank paused in opening the envelope. “She could've?”

Giulia huffed. “Of course. It's not jail.”

“Aren't there procedures to follow? Papers to fill out?”

“Of course, but if she was that desperate she could've gotten free and dealt with the mess from her parents' house.” A thought hit her. “Had she been seeing her ex while she was still a Postulant? Was she pregnant?”

Frank leaned over the stick shift, holding the letter between them. “Nothing like that. She was fine with the nun thing. Here—read it.”

Giulia squinted at the cramped handwriting.

It's different now that they moved us to Pittsburgh. This Motherhouse is huge and lots older than our remodeled one in Baltimore. More retired Sisters, too, and they watch us like wrinkled old hawks. I think they're trying to help the Novice and Postulant Mistresses, but, well … Retirement can be a difficult adjustment for people who've been busy all their lives.

Giulia touched the underside of the stationery. All the words were scored into the paper. “Her self-censoring isn't working.”

I'm writing to you because I could really use your help. This is confidential, and I have to ask you to deceive some people. The Novice who got moved here from Indiana has a drinking problem, and she's stealing altar wine. I want to help her, but I have to do it so no one in authority will find out. She may be released from vows if that happens, and she wants to stay. When you write back, please pretend you're my aunt for the return address so no one will open the letter and censor it.

Frank said, “Do they really do that?”

“Yes. And no, I'm not going to get into it with you here and now. It always sent me over the edge, too.”

“Damn. Sorry. Okay, the important part is next. See how she digs the pen into the paper on some words and how the dots on the
i
's get more erratic?”

Tell me some steps to wean her gradually from the alcohol, please. And there's one more thing: another Novice here has some drug issues. I'm not sure what she's taking, but the pills are small and white and they seem to detach her from the world. NyQuil does that to me. I remember how good drugs like that feel when you're sick or stressed or have too much on your mind. In a way it makes you feel like you have a pile of big puffy quilts between you and the bad stuff.

‘Would you research this for me and tell me how to gradually detoxify both of them? I don't want them to get caught. Vivian is somewhat self-important because she's finished 2 years of college, but Bart is so much fun. She's my only friend here, and she really helps me deal with it.

Giulia stabbed her finger at that last phrase. “Sister Bart and Sister Vivian said that, too—‘deal with it.'”

“Meaning the gargoyles perched around the place, watching them?”

“Put a sock in it.”

“Fine. Sure. You tell me what sent her over the edge, then. How's your self-possession holding up? Great, I see.”

“You go through a miserable divorce and then move back into your ex's house with his new wife. I bet the Driscoll charm'll wither pretty fast.”

“Oh, please. You're not gonna compare leaving the convent to a marriage breaking up.”

“You bet I am. Don't pronounce judgment on subjects you know nothing about.”

“God, you're just like my mother when you get high-and-mighty.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry. How did we start arguing about my mother?” He took the letter and returned it to the envelope. “Back on topic. The ex-boyfriend overnighted this to me. He's a big, tough amateur hockey player—I called him after I spoke to the parents. He said it was like a whole different person wrote this letter. Apparently Bridget always used to write like one of those airhead girls, using
like
and
yanno
and
oh my gawd
. He mentioned brainwashing. He also said that Bridget never could tell a convincing lie and that no matter what the other Novice was doing, she was taking drugs, too. He's not still in love with her, but he's ready to tear off a few heads. If someone in your Motherhouse turned those girls into addicts, they'd better hope Rick never shows up at their door.”

“It's not my Motherhouse,” Giulia said automatically, but her mind was preoccupied. “Could whatever drug she was addicted to have depressed her to the point of suicide?”

“Without knowing exactly what it was, I can't hazard a guess. Think you can ferret that information out from your Novice friend?”

“In one day? Why not ask me to walk on water while you're at it?” She looked away from him, out the window, before she lost her temper again. Pine and silver birch mingled with orange and red maples back here, the colors reminding her of the faded carpet in the Motherhouse hallways. “I'll figure something out. Even though I think Sister Bart's got a key to this, I can't just walk into her room and say, ‘I lied to you, I'm really an undercover detective and I want you to tell me everything that's wrong with you Novices, including the drugs.' ” Her brow furrowed. “But maybe part of that will work. She already thinks I ask a lot of questions and I'm different from the other Sisters. I don't have to tell her everything …”

“Three months ago you never would've said that.” Frank started to pat her leg, but stopped in mid-gesture. “Um … I mean … you're really taking to the job.”

“And I think what you really mean is that you're a bad influence on me.” She buckled herself in. “Let's go. It's already one-thirty. Someone's going to notice my absence.”

He looked at the dashboard clock. “Already? I'm meeting Jimmy in half an hour.” He began the long, winding drive back to the front gates of the cemetery.

Giulia watched the kaleidoscope of trees pass the car. “Are you earning a paycheck for Driscoll Investigations this week, or are you merely an adjunct to the Cottonwood police force?”

He laughed. “The latter, but hopefully not past tomorrow. Remember that new employee Blake's company wanted me to scope out? Turns out he funded his fancy clothes and car as a small part of the same wide-ranging dealer operation. Jimmy and the Pittsburgh Task Force are getting close to the top of the pyramid, but Blake's employee's no use anymore. Seems he's walking the path of righteousness now. His kid started school, and his wife wanted to join the PTO with a clean conscience.”

“It's a first step on the right path.”

“Giulia, if I ever wanted to change something about you, it would be the way you bring out your stock of moral aphorisms. You remind me of an eighteenth-century schoolbook when you do that.” He smiled, perhaps to take away the sting. “And I know whereof I speak, because my grandfather had dozens. He was a collector.”

Giulia wanted to kick herself. Sure, it was good that Frank kept her at arms' length while she wore the habit—it kept her in character, too. But her frustration mounted every time he made a remark like that or apologized for swearing in her presence. Their relationship—such as it was—seemed to have regressed to her barista days, when Cradle Catholic Frank was practically in awe that a former Sister would speak to him as an equal.

Giulia snapped her fingers. “I just thought of something. What if I don't clear this up by tomorrow? Will we forfeit the money?”

“Heck, no. Trust me to draw up a tighter client agreement than that. We get paid when we turn in our report in a timely manner. No date specified and whatever conclusion we reach.”

“Good, because Fabian expects me to rubber-stamp hers.”

“What a surprise.”

He stopped talking to navigate. Traffic was just as dense as before. Giulia fingered her overlarge crucifix and eased back into Giulia-as-Sister-Mary-Regina-Coelis. Ten minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb half a block from the Motherhouse driveway.

“Text me.” Frank shifted into Park.

“As soon as I know something.”

He unbuckled his seat belt. “Finish soon, okay? I want you back in the office.”

She smiled. “As a buffer between you and Sidney?”

He grinned back. “There's that. You have more patience with her than I do. But it's not just that, it's more like, well, I'm used to you around there now, and …”

“Is this where you sing two verses of ‘I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face'?”

He frowned. “That's not what I mean.”

She started to make a smart remark before she realized his face was closing in on hers. Both her hands came up between them. “What are you doing?”

He stopped with his chest just touching her hands. She watched the progression of thoughts on his face until the conclusion clicked and he jerked back.

“Sorry. Sorry, Giu—Sister.” The frown returned. “Forgot the boundaries. Won't happen again.”

Giulia suppressed a sigh. “It's just the wrong place and wrong time.” Her eyes looked over his shoulder at the mother with three young children crossing the street in front of the car. The mother glanced into the windshield as they waited for a space in the traffic.

Without another word, Frank exited his side and came around to open her door. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Sister.” He spoke to her, but his voice was pitched to be heard by the people around them on the sidewalk.

“Thank you.” She didn't offer to shake his hand or initiate any other physical contact. When she turned away, an older couple inclined their heads to her and she nodded back.
Nuns are like cable TV: always on. What on earth was Frank thinking to get in “kiss” mode with me dressed like this? Talk about burning hot and cold.

The wind knifed through her habit. She walked quickly—but decorously—up to the driveway. One hand held down her skirt in case it tried to imitate Marilyn Monroe's in
The Seven Year Itch
. She scanned the Motherhouse windows as she came around the end of the wall. No one looking out of the fifth floor or the fourth; movement on the third near the bathroom; two faces in the corner parlor on the second.

“Blow me into Fabian if it'll make your narrow little lives happy, ladies,” she muttered. “She'd love another reason to chastise me in public. She would've flipped her veil if she'd known I was parked one hundred feet away in imminent danger of a kiss.”

A car and a taxi passed her, the breeze fluttering her veil.
Cold
, she thought, and right on its heels,
Camouflage
.

Abandoning decorum at the edge of the wall, Giulia ran. As the new arrivals piled out of the car and taxi with suitcases, she ducked between them with welcomes and hellos. The first one out rang the doorbell and as the same delighted nun checked names against her clipboard list, Giulia slipped out of the foyer—and bumped into Sister Arnulf.

The little nun nodded at Giulia and blocked the path of the first Sister to make it through the arrival gauntlet. When Giulia saw Sister Arnulf's “game face,” she ditched any idea of trying to communicate with her in this chaos and tried to disappear into the main hall.

“Sister Regina Coelis, thank Heaven.” Sister Gretchen ran toward her. “Sister Fabian shanghaied my Novices, and all the flowers for tomorrow will arrive in fifteen minutes. Can I borrow you again?”

“Sister Regina Coelis?” The fluting voice of the “welcoming committee”—in reality, just Sister Alphonsus—cut through the gabble in the foyer. “May I beg your help for these two retired Sisters?”