Nun Too Soon (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 1) by Alice Loweecey Page B

lungs...hold it...contract the diaphragm and force out the air.
    Four of those and her head cleared. She checked her hair—like it made a difference—and headed to apartment 517 to meet the mama bear in that bar fight video.
    Mama bear must have been on the lookout, because her door popped open when Giulia was still five feet away from it.
    “Mrs. Driscoll, I am very happy you are here. Please come in. Thank you for arriving on time. Not everyone remembers to be courteous to old women.”
    Giulia said something polite and followed her in. The blond-and-black streaked hair had been replaced by plain black speckled with gray. She was still rail-thin, but her shoulders stooped a trifle now and frown lines marred her otherwise flawless skin.
    The apartment was smaller and darker than Geranium’s. It also had signs of more than one person occupying it. A well-used recliner faced the TV on one side of a low table and a slider rocking chair faced it on the other. Two cell phones lay on the kitchen counter, and when Giulia came all the way into the kitchen, she saw a laundry basket with lacy bras and tightie-whities on top of a pile of clothes. The sound of a running shower reached her from somewhere to the left.
    “Come and sit down, please. Would you like coffee? A beer?”
    “Thank you, no. I’m fine.”
    Cassandra sat kitty-corner to Giulia, hands interlaced before her on the table. “Why are you working for the piece of mierda who murdered my Loriela?”
    Giulia blinked. “Because there is a chance he didn’t. I’m going to find out who’s responsible, whether it’s Roger Fitch or someone else.”
    A sharp nod. “You are a fair woman. I will prove to you he is the killer so I may watch his execution and drink a glass of champagne at the moment he dies.”
    Before Giulia could form a neutral yet encouraging response, the shower turned off.
    “George!” Cassandra called into the silence, “We have company. Put on pants if you are coming out here.” Her voice modulated for Giulia with the next sentence. “He works seven-to-three at the nursing home. Sometimes he’s so tired he comes out in nothing but his underwear and drops into his chair for a few hours. He is a hard worker.”
    Giulia answered the pride in Cassandra’s voice. “Hospital work can be grueling. A friend of mine is an emergency room nurse. The stories she tells make me tired just listening to them.”
    Cassandra perked up. “George is a nurse too. I thought it was strange, a man being a nurse and not a doctor. Then he told me of the muscles it requires to lift the old people who cannot walk and I told him that I am not too old to learn something new.” She resettled herself. “Where do you want to start?”
    “Tell me about the restraining order.”
    Loriela’s mother indulged in several unprintable Spanish words. Giulia had heard worse in her years of teaching high school. A tall man with long, wet hair in a ponytail walked into Giulia’s line of vision. Wearing ( oh, good ) pants and a t-shirt.
    “Cassie, stop it.” He kissed the top of her head. “She knows you’re angry. Use it.” He held out his hand to Giulia. “I’m George Barras.”
    “Giulia Falcone-Driscoll.” She shook his hand, if her own hand disappearing completely in his gigantic muscled fingers could be called a legitimate handshake.
    “I’ll leave you two to business. The TV volume won’t disturb you, I promise.” He snagged a Bud from the refrigerator and settled into his recliner.
    Cassandra pressed the heels of her hands into her temples. “George is right. I apologize. What do you want to know about the restraining order?”
    “Let’s start with the video someone took at the bar.”
    More Spanish invective.
    “He and Loriela stayed here that Christmas. She wanted me to meet him. I told her he was bad business, but she told me I had made too many bad decisions to throw stones at her.” She pressed her lips together and breathed deeply. “Loriela