Nun But The Brave (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

detectives’ group office was a mirror image of Cottonwood’s as well. Six desks so close they might as well be on top of each other. Older, clunkier computer screens obscured by coffee mugs and stacks of file folders. More scuffed linoleum flooring beneath well-used rolling chairs.
    The shouting from the depths increased in volume. “Don’t mind the trio in the holding cells,” the detective said. “They’re at the mutual recrimination stage of their latest arrest.”
    Giulia gave her a genuine smile, not one of the numbered ones reserved for various levels of annoying interactions. “I’m used to it. My husband’s a detective back in Cottonwood.”
    “Oh, good. I have an empty desk for you and a pile of reports for your reading pleasure.”
    Her desk and Giulia’s temporary one snugged into the corner nearest the lobby door. A crooked stack of manila folders perched in the center of the empty desk.
    Giulia sat in an armless chair and took a legal pad and pen out of her messenger bag. “This is very kind of you. What am I looking at?”
    The detective lifted the top folder. “The initial missing persons report.” She ran her fingers down the rest of the stack. “Compiled interviews of friends, family, and coworkers. My reports from three weeks of investigation.”
    Giulia opened the first folder and saw a copy of a copy of a copy of a fill-in-the-boxes form. Firm, broad handwriting overflowed most of the little boxes.
    “Would you like a coffee?”
    “Thank you, no,” Giulia said. “I’m good.”
    “Smart choice,” Detective Okorie said. “Our coffee is punishment for our failure to find rich, eligible spouses to entrap.” Her desk phone rang. “Poke me if you need anything.”
    Giulia blocked out the ambient noise of multiple conversations, suspect intake drama, and still more shouts from the holding cells.
    Milo Chapers, Human Resources director of Sunset Shores, had made the phone call on April tenth to initiate the missing persons report. An ID card photo of Joanne Philbey was paper-clipped to the report, in which she looked much the same as in the twenty-fifth birthday picture.
    Details about Joanne filled the rows of narrow boxes: Height, weight, eye color, hair color, skin color. Tattoos, none. Drat. So much for an easy way to identify Joanne if she’d gone the “make a new life” route.
    Home phone, work phone, cell. A note next to the home and cell phone numbers read, “Cell goes to voicemail; home phone rings without ans. mach. picking up.”
    Giulia wrote down everything. Chapers’ story filled the bottom half of the report. His version mirrored Diane’s, but in dry officialese.
    “Ms. Philbey last showed up for her usual shift on April second. She has always been punctual and conscientious. We telephoned her several times over the course of the next three days. When we received no answer, we contacted her landlord. He and I entered her apartment on April fifth. The apartment was neat and organized. There was no sign that Ms. Philbey had been in the apartment recently. At this point, I made the decision to contact the police, as Ms. Philbey’s nearest relative lives out of town and I didn’t wish to alarm her.”
    He didn’t call her sister. Good Heavens. Giulia would have to exert extreme control when she interviewed Mr. Pole Up His Butt.
    Okorie hung up from a second phone call and rolled her chair next to Giulia’s. “I’m not surprised the family hired you. We see a lot of desperation. Not all PIs are as polite as you, though.”
    Giulia finished a sentence. “It would be short-sighted of me not to be polite when you’re doing me a favor. Should I ask about the PIs with whom you’re comparing me?”
    “Oh, you should. We got an imitation Mike Hammer last year. Dressed and acted the part, especially treating us like the enemy. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he got little cooperation from us. Better than him was the Archie Goodwin: 1940s suit, imitated the walk