“Frank, what is all this? Where did my bag come from?” She looked like a refugee in her slept-in sweats and T-shirt. Frank looked impeccable—a modified Philo Vance. She couldn’t change without help, though. And she was certainly not asking Frank for help. Maybe Sidney...
“Giulia, you’re zoning. Drink that coffee. You need the caffeine. All this is breakfast. And your suitcase came from your apartment. After I left here last night, I called Jimmy and he sent someone over to watch me as I packed some clothes and stuff for you. Lest I abscond with the silver and the rare tomato plants.”
He was so sweet again. After all the foul things they’d said to each other the past week, the real Frank had returned. And she hadn’t even thanked him for saving her life.
“Good Lord, Giulia, why are you crying?” He stopped a forkful of waffle halfway to his mouth. “You’re not in that much pain, are you? Should I get something for it?”
“I’m sorry. I’m a wreck.” She blew her nose on a cloth napkin. “I just realized I never thanked you for yesterday. You saved my life and killed the bad guy—no, bad girl—just like in the movies.” She flexed her hands a little. “Can I take you up on the painkillers? They’re in the bathroom where you left them.”
After she swallowed two ibuprofen, she said to the worried look on Frank’s face, “By the way, I’m also upset because you went through my underwear drawer again, Mr. Driscoll. Is there nothing sacred left between men and women?”
Frank laughed. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I kept my eyes closed the entire time.”
“Frank, your mother’s not dead.”
“Okay, on my pet hamster’s grave. We buried him in the backyard when I was seven.”
Giulia gave a theatrical sigh. “I liked this conversation better when your mouth was full of waffle.”
_____
Sidney ran down the office stairs so fast she slipped, and only the handrail saved her.
“Ms. Falcone! You’re really okay! Hi, Mr. Driscoll. Ms. Falcone, you’re so pale. Mr. Driscoll told me what happened, sort of, but he woke me up and I didn’t get all of it. He just said to open the office and be careful not to touch the paint and that you’d be late because the police sealed your apartment.” She sucked in a huge breath. “I told you it would work out. I’m so happy—” She flung her arms around Giulia.
Giulia gasped. “Sidney, let go.”
Sidney jumped back and tripped on her floor-length broomstick dress. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should’ve thought about your injuries. Who did it, Ms. Falcone? Which girlfriend?”
“Sandra Falke. Her brother was involved, too.”
Sidney closed her eyes and pointed her fingers into the air between her and Giulia like she was running down an invisible list. When her eyes opened, she said, “The one who matched everything to everything else?”
“You could describe her like that. Yes. That one.”
“Olivier didn’t think it was her. I am going to rag on him so bad for that.” Sidney clapped her hands together.
“Sidney, I think Giulia wants to get off her feet.” Frank gave a pointed look up the stairs.
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, Ms. Falcone, I already forgot you’re all glued up.” Sidney’s hands covered her mouth, but only for an instant. “Oh, my gosh, think of the toxins. Have you ever seen the list of ingredients in disinfectants? And glue is nothing but chemicals. I bet you’re on synthetic pain meds, too. Mr. Driscoll, everything’s all set upstairs. Ms. Falcone, I’m going online right now to look for whole-herb alternatives for pain. I know you want chamomile and meadowsweet tea, and aloe as a topical healer. You’ll need a detox flush, too. Just give me a few minutes.” She ran upstairs, tie-dyed gauze fluttering around her ankles. “Wait’ll you see the flowers Mr. Parker sent you!” She darted inside, saying, “A messenger delivered them along with a big, fancy envelope for you, Mr. Driscoll.”
“You’ll have to drink that tea, you know.” Frank grinned. “Be grateful she didn’t mention tofu.”
“I’ll offer it up.”
He laughed. “Spoken like a true Catholic.”
She walked upstairs, Frank hovering at her elbow.
“Frank, I’m not going to break. I’m just stiff and a little sore...” Giulia’s voice faded as they reached the office.
The lettering on the frosted glass was different. Driscoll Investigations still covered the center. But now the bottom left read Frank Driscoll, and the bottom right, Giulia Falcone.
“It’s a little premature, because you won’t get your license for three years. But I called the sign painter at six a.m. and paid him an extra fifty bucks to finish by eight.” Frank shifted from one foot to the other. “You’re staying, right?”
Giulia reached out to touch her name.
Frank caught her arm. “I’m not sure it’s dry yet.” He waited. “Well?”
Giulia bit her lip. How could she convey her unexpected, amazing sense of belonging?
Silly—it’s a job, not your life. Keep some perspective.
Frank cleared his throat. “Giulia?”
He wasn’t perfect. So what? Neither was she. All the ugly things they’d said to each other still festered, but they could get past them. Besides, she wouldn’t discourage a little groveling from this restored Frank.
Giulia raised one eyebrow. “I’m certainly not going to make you throw away good money. Think what it would cost to redo the lettering again.”
Frank started to pick her up, but her startled “My glue—” stopped him. He nodded and said, “So tell me how to erase everything we said to each other last week.”
She pictured a date—a real date with the Frank she thought had changed for good. I could beg Mingmei to help me find a silk blouse to go with his Philo Vance suit.
“Giulia?” Frank’s confident voice wavered.
“Dinner would be a start.”
“Great. Takeout in your hotel room it is.”
She spluttered, and he laughed.
“I’m just yanking your chain, partner.” Frank sketched a bow. “May I have the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening at... at...”
She grinned. “The Japanese place on Maple? I hear their wasabi is like a miniature flamethrower to the sinuses.”
His eyes widened. “You can eat that? All right, you’re on. I want to see you beg for water.”
“If I do, Sidney can feed me tofu for a week.”
The office door opened and papers rustled. “Of course you should be eating tofu, Ms. Falcone. You’ll need to replenish your antioxidants, too. I printed out these recipes—”
Giulia tried to scowl. “Sidney, if you don’t start calling me Giulia, I’ll replace your whole-wheat bagel and green tea with Twinkies and beer.”
Sidney’s mouth hung open for five full seconds. “Ms. Fal—Giulia, you don’t mean that!”
Then she ruined it by laughing. That pulled at her ribs. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”
“I didn’t—oh. Joke.” Sidney scowled at the printouts. “Giulia, you can’t cook with your hands all stitched up. Oh, this is great!”
Frank laughed.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Sidney tossed the papers on her desk and picked up her purse. “I’ll run to the co-op and pick up some silken tofu. Mingmei will let me use the blender to make you a chamomile smoothie.” She bounced down the stairs.
“You’ll love it!”
The End
Acknowledgments
Writing may be a solitary occupation, but this book had help from many people. At the top of the list, my agent, Kent D. Wolf, whose skill and experience made years of hard work pay off in the best possible way. Hard on his heels is my wonderful editor, Terri Bischoff, whose e-mails always make me smile. And Brett Fechheimer, my production editor, whose brain works eerily in the same ways as mine. Thank you for adding Giulia and Frank to Midnight Ink’s team of sleuths.
I’m also grateful to the people who made me much smarter than before: Su
san Owens for her medical knowledge, Bryan Koczur for his MMORPG expertise, and Mary Kinahan and Danielle Greene for fixing my Irish. Marguerite Butler, Marge Fotheringham, and Jay Young, my beta readers. My husband, Phil, for support, encouragement, and helping me block the fight scenes. (Marry an actor! It has all kinds of benefits.)
And of course, Purgatory. *vamp dust* for all of you and a huge /bootay shake. You’ve been there through years of ups, downs, vents, and celebrations. You—and Absolute Write—helped Force of Habit find its place on bookshelves. I love you all. Especially those of you who agreed to “become” nuns in the next book. Mwahahaha!
© D. Steven Hodge
About the Author
Alice Loweecey is a former nun who went from the convent to playing prostitutes on stage to accepting her husband’s marriage proposal on the second date. A contributor to BuddyHollywood.com, she is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. She lives with her family in Western New York. Force of Habit is her first novel.
Please visit Alice’s website, at www.aliceloweecey.com.
Table of Contents
Cover
Contents
Title_Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Acknowledgments
About_the_Author
Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation Page 24