She was always the last to leave her department. Work was solace. Her life seemed to be unraveling. There was her father—it fell on her shoulders to put the old man to bed after each binge. He was always weak. Each time there was another problem, he would turn to his wine. And now, there were more crises—a lot of them. Would he be able to cope? She had been surprised to see the nun at her father’s barbeque. What had the woman asked Carlo during their little adventure? What was Sister Angela investigating there? Garibaldi stood on the landing as she turned to lock the department door. He waited for her. “Enzo, I thought you would have gone home already.” “No, no. There’s nowhere to go. Gina’s on another trip. The apartment seems so empty. You know that. Do you want to get something to eat maybe?” “No thank you. I’m tired,” she said firmly. “But a glass of wine would do you good.” “I said, ‘No thank you,’ Enzo,” she repeated. “I’m not interested.”
