Page 75 of Little Hidden Fears

She snapped the compact closed, slipping it back inside her purse, looking sheepish. Her cheeks were flushed, tinged with red, no doubt in reaction to Giovanni’s tone. While he’d always respected her, his respect was secondary to his protectiveness of me. His tone had conveyed a clear message—she’d pushed me enough for today.

He faced me, entwining his hand with mine. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

It was fuzzy, at best.

“I remember locking the office door and walking to my car,” I said. “I’m almost always aware of what’s going on around me, but last night, I was in my head, instead of focusing on my surroundings like I should have been.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t. I put myself in this situation by taking this case. I’m supposed to be ready for it, ready for anything, and I wasn’t.”

He winked and said, “A fall into a pit, a gain in your wit.”

“Chinese proverb?”

He nodded. “We learn from our mistakes—not that I’m saying you made one.”

“You’re right. I didn’t make one. I made several.”

A woman ambled into the room, humming as she carried a tray of food. My mother held out her hands, intercepting the tray before it reached me.

“Just stopping by to bring Miss Georgiana some lunch,” the woman said.

My mother took one look at the tray’s contents and scowled. “Ehh, thank you.”

The woman nodded and left the room, at which time my mother tossed the entire tray of food into the trash. Before I could get a word out, she grabbed an insulated bag off a coat rack and unzipped it, pulling out an egg-based Buddha bowl. I had to admit, it looked delicious.

“Your Aunt Laura made this for you this morning. Still warm too.”

She handed it to me along with some silverware, a napkin, and an orange-flavored drink with electrolytes. I accepted the offerings, setting the items to the side until I finished the conversation.

“As I was saying before, when I got to my car, I tossed my handbag onto the passenger seat. I was just about to get in when I felt someone’s breath on the back of my neck.”

“Did you get a look at your attacker, by chance?” Giovanni asked.

“I didn’t, and because my gun was in my handbag, I had to think fast.”

“What did you do?”

“I headbutted my attacker, slammed the back of my head onto him as hard as I could. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“You said your handbag was on the passenger seat?” Giovanni asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“When Foley and Whitlock searched your car, they didn’t find a handbag.”

The thought of my bag being stolen infuriated me.

First, I hadn’t had the chance to go over the file Barbara gave me. Now, the file was gone, along with what could be valuable clues relating to Noelle’s murder.

Second, the stolen handbag was a vintage Chanel tote, one that had belonged to my grandmother.

“Do you know why anyone would take your handbag?” Giovanni asked.

I made one more attempt at sitting higher up in the bed, and I was a lot more successful the second time around. “I do. I had two important file folders inside the bag. One contained everything I’d gathered about the case so far—all my notes. I was planning to go over the case file last night to see if there were any clues I may have overlooked.”

“And the second?”

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