Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation (18 page)

“Stupid bus schedule. Stupid
cheap shirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid me. Ow!” Giulia sucked the blood from her fingertip and jammed the needle into the shoulder of her new long-sleeved black shirt. “Serves me right for buying clothes at the dollar store.”

She knotted the thread and bit off the excess. Even though she only had seven minutes to make the bus, she retouched her lipstick, wiped away a few flakes of mascara from under her eyes, and dabbed on a bit more concealer. “There. Almost as glamorous as this afternoon.”

6:29
. She snatched her flute case and sheet music, and of course the key slipped out of the lock and of course she fumbled it on the second try.
What’s wrong with this lock?
It turned sticky, then smooth, then sticky again.
Must be the humidity
.

6:31
. The building’s front door slammed into her heel, she ran half a block, and plopped onto a sideways bus seat.

Now what was she going to do? She could’ve dealt with Frank’s attitude at least for another week, but no, she had to let her mouth run like a sewer. It didn’t matter that Frank was a pig-headed, gutter-mouthed jerk. She wanted him to look at her the way he used to. She certainly didn’t think of herself as sacrosanct, but if Frank did, that would explain his occasional fits of shyness. His odd moments of gentleness, too, in the middle of banter or accounting or spreadsheet creation.

Scott didn’t know about her past, so he’d never look at her that way. That could be an advantage. A blank page to draw herself on however she wished. Giulia Falcone, twenty-first century woman ready to embrace life. Sounded like a talk-show hostess speech. Bring on the makeover consultant, the shrink, and the volunteer male escorts.

Focus on the checking account balance. If nothing else, she could temp. She hated temping: always a new set of people to get used to. Sometimes people just looked right through her, because temps weren’t officially co-workers.

She weighed invisibility against the past week of working with Frank. No contest.

In the distant past—last month—invisibility had been one of her goals. She’d lost sight of it in the temporary happiness of Frank promoting her to partner, learning how to piece together clues, falling for Frank, teaching Sidney.

She was going to miss Sidney. No more Penn State fight song at 8:30 in the morning. No more lectures on the benefits of tofu and green tea. Her throat closed and her eyes blurred. How had her life disintegrated so completely in a mere four days?

“Wanna bite, lady?”

Giulia blotted her eyes on her sleeve. The mechanic from the garage on the corner sat opposite her, winking in an exaggerated manner and holding out a brownie. The diamond studs in his ears glinted beneath his long blond hair. He smiled, and a matching diamond on his left incisor glistened with saliva. “You look like you could use a hit of happy. No charge or nothing. You always say hi and stuff when I see you. Makes me feel human.”

“Thanks, no. Have to work tonight.”

“Cool. Nobody wants to have weed-breath talkin’ to the boss.” He bit off half the brownie, chewed slowly, and swallowed. A lazy smile spread over his face. “Anytime you need to feel good, you come by. After the place closes, you know.”

“Thanks. You be careful. Stay out of trouble.”

He slid the rest of the brownie into his mouth. “I got no troubles.”

The bus pulled up at the theater, and Giulia hustled through the stage door.

“Giulia! There you are.” Scott took her music and walked beside her to the orchestra pit. “Guess what? Urnu PM’d me tonight!” They weaved among the music stands, Scott jabbering about Urnu and Hrunting and Raging Death.

“Breathe, Scott. I’m glad you’re so happy about this.” She positioned her music and unlatched her flute case.

Scott took her hands off the lid. “Set up later. Listen. Urnu says he wants to expand Raging Death in a new way: a Siren-Wizard pair. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Absolutely. Urnu’s initiation is tough, but the rewards are worth it.”

“Scott, I don’t know the first thing about RPGs. And I don’t own a computer, remember?”

“Not a problem. I know this guy who rooms with the Wizard of Raging Death. He’s good-looking and almost a gentleman, and he’d just love to show you all about quests and battles.” Scott turned on a thirty-klieg-light grin. “What do you say?”

She didn’t care. She needed a job. She needed... She needed a vacation from her current life. Why not a fantasy alter ego? “You make it sound like fun.”

“It is. It will be. You and me, sharing a chair in front of my PC late into the night, a bottle of wine, developing character skills.” Scott nudged her chin up. “Hey, you look awesome tonight. Is that beautiful face for me?”

Giulia attempted a coy smile. “Maybe.”

“Well, then.” He treated her to a lingering version of last night’s kisses.

When they parted, Giulia took a deep breath and said, “I’ll give your idea serious consideration, apprentice, um...”

“Wizard. Maybe I should print you out a character chart.”

“Sure, but you’ve distracted me long enough. It’s seven o’clock, and I’m not set up yet.” She leaned to her right to see the violin section. “And neither are you, Second Violin. Git.”

“Bully. Talk to you at intermission.”

Giulia smiled and lifted the lid of her flute case. He was a kid at heart, kind of like Sidney. A month or two of Scott might be just what she needed right now.

A plain-white piece of paper folded into sixths lay on top of her flute’s head joint. Her smile stretched even wider. Scott stuck a note in when she wasn’t looking. What a sweetheart.

Your day has come, the time for you to be punished. Now then, listen, you wanton creature. All your friends have betrayed you; they have become your enemies. There is no one to help you. Disaster will come upon you, and you will not know how to conjure it away. Your enemies will look at you and laugh at your destruction
.

I have to tell Frank.
She turned it over and saw a line of minuscule type across the bottom:
Fallen are you, never to rise again
.

Oh, shit.

She never swore. She needed to regain control. The stalker wasn’t threatening her, she was taunting her with the past. The photos and the job—how would the stalker know about the job? She had to be assuming. Maybe she’d been in the restaurant on Wednesday. Sure, she’d be following Blake to see everyone’s reactions to her photos. But Pamela broke off the engagement. That should’ve made the stalker happy, so why this new note?

Giulia refolded the paper and slid it in her pants pocket. With mechanical precision, she opened her music, put her flute together, and warmed up.

What if Pamela got a note, too? No, not like this. Pamela wasn’t being painted as a seductress. The stalker seemed to be jealous of her, Giulia, the one Blake slept with.

But she hadn’t slept with Blake. If the stalker was the photographer, she’d know this.

Good heavens. The stalker did have an accomplice.

Giulia balanced her flute on the closed case and headed toward Frank, who’d finished tuning and was talking to the drummer. She waited behind him a moment, then touched his arm. “Excuse me.”

Frank turned his head, frowned, and turned back to the drummer.

Giulia touched his arm again. “It’ll only take a moment.”

Frank’s mouth smiled at her, but the rest of his face radiated irritation. “I’m afraid I don’t have a moment.”

She stared at his back for a beat, then returned to her stand and ran up and down scales on her flute. C, E, A-flat, D, B-flat, one after the other, fast and loud.

Insufferable jerk. Arrogant, know-it-all, pig-headed moron. He wasn’t her boss anymore. She had zero obligation to share her insight with him, let alone this latest note. She wouldn’t put it past him to repeat the worst bits out loud with that sneer on his face. And what would anyone in earshot think?

Fine. He had the experience. Let his superior skills reach the same conclusion. Now that Giulia wasn’t working for Driscoll Investigations, Blake’s stalker wasn’t her problem anymore.

_____

Scott pounced on Giulia as soon as she exited the ladies’ room during intermission. “So what do you say to tomorrow after the matinee? We can grab a pizza. I’ll move my laptop to the coffee table, and we’ll snuggle on the couch as we learn.”

Giulia fingered the note in her pocket. What if Scott was the accomplice? No one else came near her flute case. No. No, not possible. Scott was too straightforward, too little-boy-ish.

Frank had to be told. She could deal with him being rude if it gave them the telling clue. No one had approached Pamela’s house between four and six that morning, but the ex in her messenger disguise could’ve delivered something later.

“Kyle’s working two shifts tomorrow to make up for Friday, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

If she’d received “death by Prophets,” Blake had most likely received something, too. He might have given it to Frank by now. In a perfect world, the camera trap had finally caught her face when she sneaked into Blake’s yard.

“Are you still working at four in the morning? I get out at six. That’d give us at least two hours on weeknights before you had to get home.”

Unfortunate that she hadn’t memorized the Song of Solomon. What verses could top the last set? Something about the ex’s breasts, most likely. Solomon liked cleavage.

Scott’s breath warmed her ear. “Earth to Giulia.”

“Mm?”

“Have you heard anything I said?”

She replayed the noises his voice had made while she considered the note’s ramifications. “Battle training?”

The lights blinked off and on. A pause. Off and on.

“Rats. Intermission’s over.” They walked back amidst audience and orchestra members. “Here’s the gist. You. Me. Pizza. Tomorrow after the matinee.”

“I might have to...” No. Not anymore. No more job. “I’d love to.”

Scott stopped her at the conductor’s stand. “We will make a kick-ass team.” He leaned down and kissed her.

The sound of a throat being cleared broke them apart. The conductor raised an eyebrow and gave pointed looks toward their respective seats.

Giulia sidled to her stand and warmed her flute. When she looked up, Frank’s frown assumed biblical proportions.

_____

“Call is one-thirty tomorrow, people. Kindly forego the Pirates game and be on time.” The conductor stared at the clarinet and piano players. “And no texting until intermission.”

Giulia pulled a cleaning cloth through the flute body and shook it out. Frank loosened his bow and tucked his music into the case’s inner pouch. Giulia waited until he’d fastened all four latches and walked up to him.

“If you have a minute, Frank, there’s something—”

“Excuse me, Ms. Falcone, but I’m in a hurry.” He picked up the case. “An employee quit, and I have to cover her duties as well as my own.”

“Frank, stop being so pig-headed. I got a new—”

“Enjoy your date tomorrow. Remember to smile for any hidden photographers. At least your face is camera-ready this time.” He turned his back on her and walked away as fast as the unwieldy instrument allowed.

Giulia slammed her flute case. Her music slipped through the back of her folding chair and scattered.

Damn the man. Because of him, she’d cursed more this past week than in her entire life. If she hadn’t violated her service contract with God, she’d badger the angelic host to send down... Yes. To send Frank a particularly cranky messenger angel who’d whack him upside the head. And when he couldn’t do anything but hold an ice pack on the bump, the angel would give him the true explanation of everything that happened since the night she let Blake crash on her couch.

“Ms. Falcone?”

Giulia looked up at the first row of seats. “Sidney?”

“We could hear your flute. You play really well.”

“Thanks.” Why on earth had Sidney come here? With the landscaper/social worker boyfriend too.

“I, um, well, do you have to be anywhere right now?”

No rest for the wicked. Sidney and boyfriend must need advice. “No. Did you want to go for coffee?”