Page 20 of The White Picket Fence

She visibly steeled herself to look at the photo, staring at the man’s face for a long, long moment before her shoulders sagged. “Not him.”

Tino covered her folded hands with his. “Good.”

She laughed, a brittle sound. “If it had been, at least we’d have an ID for Dottie’s attacker.”

He wanted to promise that the police would find the man who’d beaten her aunt and left her for dead, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not every case was solved, despite the best efforts of everyone involved.

She swallowed hard. “Thank you for not promising you’d find him. It’s a promise with no teeth.”

“How did the cops find your attacker?” he asked, unable to help himself. “Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. His mother took him into the ER.” Her chin lifted. “I stabbed him in the leg with a screwdriver. He didn’t go right away because he didn’t want to answer any questions about how he got hurt. The wound got infected. By the time his mother got involved, he was pretty out of it.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “For a while we were in the same hospital. At least he was handcuffed to his bed.”

Rage flared up within him and Tino had to take another deep breath. “Good for you,” he said, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. He squeezed her hands gently. “I’m glad you had a screwdriver handy. Was it rusty?”

She hiccuped a laugh. “A little, yes. I’d been tightening a screw on the sconce next to my front door, and I’d left the screwdriver on the table in my entryway, intending to put it away later. He was waiting in my kitchen when I got home that night, and he grabbed me when I went to the refrigerator to start making my dinner. He bound my hands and taped my mouth so I couldn’t scream. He’d been there long enough to gather up all my knives and any other utensils I could use as a weapon.” Her jaw clenched. “He used my own knives on me. Then he freed my hands because he wanted me to...well, to...”

Tino could guess. “Service him?” He nearly choked on the words, but was glad he’d said them when gratitude filled her eyes. At least she hadn’t had to say it.

“I was going to fight him, but I was weak by then. I’d lost a lot of blood. I managed to crawl away, trying to get to the door. He’d ‘taken a break’ and was drinking my twenty-year port. Guzzling it like it was a beer. Worked in my favor because he was a lot less steady on his feet by that point. I got to the door, but he caught up with me, so I grabbed the screwdriver and stuck it in his leg. He screamed so loud that my neighbor came over to see if I was okay. He ran then, or hobbled, at least. My neighbor called the cops.”

Tino didn’t know what to say. He could only close his eyes and be grateful she was still alive, that she’d been clearheaded enough to use the one weapon at her disposal.

She freed one of her hands and patted his. “It’s okay, Tino. It’s over and done. He’s in prison. I’d like to be a better person and say that I hope he’s getting the help he needs, but I’m not a better person.”

“Neither am I,” he ground out. He opened his eyes to find her looking around the restaurant.

“Someone should have come to take our order by now.”

She sounded like a restaurant critic, but he had the feeling that falling back into a familiar behavior was how she was coping with reliving her nightmare.

Tino spied Polina standing across the room watching them, her expression concerned. “She’s waiting for us to stop talking, trying not to interrupt us.”

“Oh.” Charlotte forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticize. This is a no-criticism date.”

Date.Was that what this was? Tino wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

You like it.

That he did was supremely stupid. He waved at Polina and she came over to their table.

“Tino,” she said warmly, leaning down to hug him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Same. Gino said he came last weekend and he told me all about his amazing meal, even though I was in a hotel room eating burgers from a carryout bag.” He said it pitifully, causing both Polina and Charlotte to laugh.

“Poor baby,” Charlotte said sarcastically.

“I know,” Polina said, then extended her hand. “I’m Polina. This is my place. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“It smells wonderful in here, and I understand your baklava is to die for.”

Polina beamed, just as Angela had earlier. Charlotte certainly knew how to compliment restauranteurs.

They placed their orders and Polina left, leaving them in awkward silence.

Once again, Charlotte folded her hands in front of her. “Did you see Mrs. Murphy?”

“I did. She’s a real pistol.”

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