Page 12 of The White Picket Fence

Her smile was wry. “Figured you’d poke around until you figured it out. Saved us both some time.”

“You did. And here is the best meatball sandwich you’ll find in Philly,” he said when Angela slid two plates in front of them with two takeaway boxes.

“In case you need to eat and run,” she said.

“Thank you, Angela,” Charlotte said, drawing in a deep breath. “It smells heavenly.” She took a bite and groaned. “Oh my God. This is good.”

“Told you,” Tino said smugly, telling himself not to react to her groan. He’d heard it before, many times. Sometimes it was because she’d just tasted something wonderful.

Sometimes it was becausehehad tasted something wonderful.No, no, no.He was not letting his mind go there.

Angela grinned and left them to their meal.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Charlotte said. “Thank you, Tino. For taking care of me today.”

He could only nod. He would have gladly taken care of her forever once upon a time. Those days were gone, but he was glad that he could take care of her today.

He cleared his throat, the words exiting his mouth before he knew he’d planned to say them. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Her eyes widened, her jaw freezing mid-chew.

Shut up. Shut up now. Tell her she doesn’t have to. That you were just kidding.But those weren’t the words that he said.

“I’ll show you another one of my favorite restaurants. You can enjoy a meal without having to review it.”

She finished chewing the bite she’d taken, then tilted her head, studying him. “Okay.”

He was surprised. “Okay?”

She smiled hesitantly. “Okay. We were friends once. We can be again.”

Friends.He made himself smile. “Of course we can.”

* * *

Mount airy, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Tuesday, March 29, 1:15 p.m.

“You’re back from Knoxville,”Vito said when he answered Tino’s call.

Tino shook the bag of dirty clothes into the washing machine in his basement. He made it a rule to do laundry as soon as he got home from a trip, because if he put it off, it would never get done. “This morning. I got a call about the victim of a beating.”

Mrs. Johnson’s assault wasn’t being investigated by his brother’s department. Vito was the lieutenant over Homicide, but he might be able to make some calls on Charlotte’s behalf.

Tino wanted to make damn sure that the asshole who’d hurt her was still behind bars.

Vito was quiet for a moment and Tino could hear road noise in the background. Vito must be in the car. “You sound off, T,” Vito finally said. “What’s going on?”

“What’s wrong?” a woman demanded. “Is Tino okay?”

That was Vito’s wife, Sophie, one of Tino’s favorite people in all the world.

“Tell Sophie that I’m fine. Mostly. A little rattled,” he confessed. “The victim is Mrs. Johnson, my old art teacher from high school.”

“Oh no,” Vito said, sounding both shocked and sad. “I liked her. Is she going to make it?”

“Who?” Sophie demanded louder. “Dammit, Vito, put him on speaker.”

---