Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation Read Free Page B

five miles south, and her third interview wasn’t till 12:30. The five dollars in her wallet would cover a cheap lunch at the food court.
    She sniffed her armpits. More deodorant wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Good afternoon. I’m Giulia Falcone, and—”
    “Oh, yes. You called this morning.” Isabel Groesbeck—another tall, slim blonde—pulled her inside and shut the door to the pillared veranda. “Please don’t look at the mess. My sister is getting married in August, and the seamstress is fitting us for bridesmaid gowns today.”
    She led Giulia past a formal sitting room. Four girls stood on ottomans while two women with measuring tapes crawled around them.
    “Would you mind terribly if we talked in the breakfast nook? The maid just started to clean the lunch things from the dining-room table.”
    “That’d be fine.” She followed Isabel through a twisting hall covered with carpet so thick her heels turned with every other step. What would happen if she kicked off her shoes and let her hot, pinched feet sink into the rug?
    “Here we are.” Isabel pushed a swinging door and they entered a room as big as Giulia’s entire apartment. A bow window gave her a clear view of the pool, hot tub, and tennis courts beyond. The table could seat twenty—forty if they were all dieting. The chair she sat in could practically hold her and Isabel side by side.
    Nook. Right.
    Giulia set her purse on the table and unzipped the Day-Timer. “Would you rather I didn’t take notes?”
    The geniality left Isabel’s smile. “I’d certainly prefer it. I don’t wish to feel that I’m being interrogated.”
    Giulia smiled and zipped it back up. “Not a problem.”
    Isabel rested her hands on the blue linen tablecloth. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”
    “Thank you, no.” Mnemonics worked best with no distractions.
    She settled her hands in her lap. Before her conscience launched another enraged sermon, she began, “The van Alstynes are anxious that their daughter makes the right marriage decision for herself and the family...”
    _____
    Four down, one to go. She finished the Groesbeck notes and tucked them in the glove compartment with the rest. Keeping all the interviews under half an hour hadn’t overloaded her brain yet.
    Unzipping the Day-Timer before the first question had worked every time. The tall blonde sophisticates had shuddered at its newspaper-reporter image and then became almost confidential when she zipped it closed. Not quite, though. Giulia might have been wearing a neon sign on her lapel: Social Inferior .
    So she worked for a living. Life was rough. She looked in the rearview mirror. Hair and makeup still passable; lipstick could use a retouch. And she needed a bathroom.
    Pittsburgh next. She opened Frank’s directions. Half an hour from the office... that’d make it forty minutes from her current location. The library was on the way; she could use their bathrooms. The appointment wasn’t till 5:30. Plenty of time.
    Her conscience poked and pinched her. Sister Mary Hypocrite! What a Confession you’ll have this Saturday!
    She turned on the radio. More waves crashing on some shore accompanied by mellow guitars. She pressed SEEK and found “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Cranking the volume, she rolled down the window and headed north, singing as loud as possible.
    It didn’t drown out her conscience.
    _____
    “I apologize for squeezing us both into my car, Ms. Falcone, but AtlanticEdge has one of those open office floor plans. Not a door in sight.” Camille Osborn smiled at Giulia.
    Giulia wasn’t taken in. Camille’s weekly paycheck wouldn’t cover the price of her suit, let alone her shoes. Giulia lusted after those shoes.
    This is about stalking, not Jimmy Choos. Wake up.
    “So Blake’s charmed another one? Let me guess: she’s dripping with both money and status.” Camille drummed her fingers on the gearshift. “I’ll bet he’s still using the organizational charts I created for