Though exhausted by my near-death experience and way too much scotch, I am unable to wind down and fall asleep. I lie in bed and wait for the clock to cooperate. By seven, I’m on my fifth cup of coffee and ninth cigarette.
Ryan arrives around nine to set up the continental side of my farewell breakfast. “How are you doing, Mrs. Lewis?” he asks.
“Didn’t get much sleep, and I’ll be honest—I’m anxious to get home,” I say and then realize how rude I sound. “Not that this wasn’t wonderful. How can I thank you, Ryan? I’m pretty sure you guys saved my life last night.”
Ryan just smiles and nods. He gets busy setting up the pastries and sliced fruit. “TV on?” he suggests, flipping the living-room flat-screen TV to a local station.
“Muted,” I say, selecting a strawberry from the tray.
The suite door opens, and in walks Honey with my sisters Lucy, Blondie, and Bumby. There’s the usual shrieking that goes on when sisters greet each other after long absences. Everyone talks at once. Ryan looks confused and unfamiliar with big-family chaos. Lucy is the first to give me a hug. “Honey told us what happened last night.” Her voice is low and throaty, perhaps a bit hoarse from delivering speeches all week.
“Horrible,” adds Bumby, breaking me away from Lucy to get her hug. “You look fabulous!” she adds. “Honey mentioned you had some work done.” Bumby steps back, and Lucy and Blondie join her in looking me over.
Ah yes, the O’Leary intelligence network is again up and running. Nearly being murdered by a clergyman is not nearly as interesting as plastic surgery. I’m laughing now.
“Oh my word!” Honey shouts from the living room, interrupting our sisterly reunion. “Mauriello’s dead!”
The five O’Leary women gather to watch the news, and Ryan walks over and turns up the sound. Honey’s right: The TV shows predawn footage of multiple police cars lined up in a posh residential neighborhood. The tagline reads, “San Francisco archbishop Joseph Mauriello found murdered outside his Pacific Heights residence.”
“Still no leads on the murder of beloved Archbishop Mauriello,” the reporter reads. “Robbery is suspected, as the archbishop was shot with a single bullet in the back of the head. His wallet and watch were both missing.”
Ryan, without looking at the TV, continues to set up the breakfast. The broadcast continues as stock photos of Mauriello posing with dignitaries are interspersed among live interviews of grieving San Francisco Catholics, police officers, politicians, and residents of the Saint Benedict’s Homeless Shelter. Eventually, I can’t look at it anymore, and I ask them to turn it off.
Honey’s invited more than just my other sisters to the suite. Soon, Mrs. Cosmo arrives, accompanied by Spiro.
“Tanzie!” she says, finally recognizing me. The debilitating despair from the other day has been lifted, and she greets me with a kiss on both cheeks.
Not many tears are being shed for the beloved archbishop at this party, particularly after Honey and I fill them in on last night. Spiro stays quiet, but I’m sure he’s wondering, as we all are, who is responsible for Mauriello’s sudden death. Was it coincidence? Divine intervention? Sandy’s mysterious man in a Giants cap? The speculation continues with various scenarios while the group partakes in the brunch that Ryan has set up, compliments of Mr. Rodriguez.
“God works in mysterious ways,” Honey says finally.
“That reminds me—I have something for you, Spiro,” I say. I go to the bedroom and retrieve the icon. “It’s a final gift from the archbishop,” I tell him.
“Mrs. Vavuris’s icon!” Mrs. Cosmo exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I never thought we would see this again.”
The party buzz is still going strong when I check my phone and notice a text from Mark that arrived fifteen minutes ago.
Leaving early. Please get down to the lobby ASAP.
I kiss my family goodbye for the moment and finish packing up, promising to work on plans to return to the Bay Area—one day, anyway. I give my sisters hugs goodbye, but I save the last for Honey.
“You will be visiting us again soon, won’t you?” This is more demand than question.
“Can you arrange for this suite again?” I laugh.
“Of course,” Honey says, looking at Ryan, who nods.
Spiro walks me to the door. “What can I say, Tanzie? Thank you for everything.”
“So, is my penance complete?” I joke.
Spiro cocks his head to the side and give me a hug. “Never change, Tanzie,” he whispers, and then he releases me from the hug and kisses my cheek.
Once in the lobby, I find CoGenCo’s executives milling around the Eclipse, drinking coffee and looking serious. Mark is talking to Sandy over at the techno pod.
“Did you see the news about Mauriello?” I ask Sandy.
She nods. “Wasn’t me. I spent the night with an assistant DA.”
Mark just shakes his head, and I decide not to tell them about my close encounter last night.
“How did it go with Doug and Marshall this morning?” I ask, changing the subject.
“We were too late,” says Mark.
“Late for what?” I ask.
“The FBI was already at the Westwind offices early this morning, and they took Marshall and Doug into custody.”
“Sister Agnes’s brother?” I ask.
“No.” Mark shakes his head and chuckles. “It had nothing to do with your sister’s project. Apparently, some joint effort between UK law enforcement and the United States has been at work for months. Turns out Doug and Marshall had an ownership interest in Wind Fabricators. They’ve been selling the recalled Siemens blades all over the UK. People have been killed. It’s huge, and we had no idea.”
“So, what happens now?” Sandy asks.
“Jim takes over. And those guys over there—” Mark points to the executives “—will be in litigation for years.”
“But they didn’t have anything to do with this, did they?” I ask.
“No,” answers Mark, “but CoGenCo’s deep pockets will draw lawsuits globally. This will be tough on everyone.”
Mark heads over to schmooze with the CoGenCo leadership team, leaving Sandy and me to watch from the cheap seats.
“Kind of a coincidence that this all started with a hotline call, don’t you think?” Sandy asks, and I wonder if she suspects that I was the caller. I decide not to bite.
“Quite a coincidence,” I agree, trying to keep my smile from showing. “And very complicated.”