Page 29 of The White Picket Fence

Her smile was small but genuine. “Thank you. Me too.” She sighed and turned back to Vito. “I felt terrified to enter my own home, Lieutenant.”

Vito flinched. “You don’t have to call me lieutenant. I’m just Vito. Please.”

She dropped her gaze to the tissue she held in her fisted hand. “Okay. Anyway, I couldn’t go home. I rented a furnished apartment where I could recuperate and figure out my next steps. I realized how alone I was. My ex-husband got our friends in the divorce, and my real name was now associated with my pen name because of the news reports on my attack. There were reporters on my doorstep and letters in my mailbox from angry restaurant owners I’d given bad reviews to in the past. Then there were the emails.” She grimaced. “A lot of people thought I deserved what I’d gotten. Even my ex’s family. It was isolating. I couldn’t breathe. And Aunt Dottie is getting up in years. I decided to come back to Philly and take care of her.”

“And did you?” Vito asked. “Take care of her, I mean.”

Charlotte frowned. “Of course I did. I know you don’t like me, but I’m not a bad person.” She threw a pained glance at Tino. “Not anymore, anyway.”

Vito shook his head, speaking before Tino could say a word. “You misunderstand my question. I meant, were you a constant presence at her house? Was it just taking her out to dinner once a week, or were you there every day?”

“Oh.” Charlotte exhaled, looking both sheepish and relieved. “Not every day, but if I wasn’t in New York or Baltimore doing restaurant reviews, I was at her house. I didn’t realize how lonely she’d become, too. She hid it from me whenever I called her. My uncle is gone and a lot of her oldest friends are, too. So I was there at least four or five times a week. Sometimes we’d go out, sometimes I’d bring a p—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide with horrified realization. “Pizza. I’d bring her pizza from Lombardi’s. If someone was watching me...” She covered her mouth with her hand. “They started killing that night at Lombardi’s. The man started there, then went to Mrs. Fadil’s dry cleaner’s and then to Mr. Lewis’s convenience store.”

Tino hadn’t known the order of the murders, but Charlotte was right. That the owner of the pizza place was first was too much coincidence.

But then Charlotte shook her head. “God. I sound crazy. I’ve been paranoid since my attack. This is not connected to me. It can’t be.”

“I’d completely agree with you,” Vito said, “but it appears that your aunt’s attacker came back to her house. That she’s in the hospital has been on the news. Her attacker knew she wasn’t there. We can’t ignore the possibility that he could have been looking for you.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “But why?” she asked, her wounded tone hurting Tino’s heart. “I didn’t do anything to anyone. I mind my own business.”

“Except when you’re criticizing people’s restaurants,” Vito said, then held up a hand when Tino opened his mouth to protest the words. “I’m not saying she deserves it, Tino. She most certainly does not deserve it. I’m only saying that her profession has the potential of making her a target.”

It was fair, Tino thought, but he frowned as he nodded.

Vito turned back to Charlotte. “Tino said that your Memphis attacker got your address from the newspaper’s office using your tax information and that you’re still reviewing under your old alias. If your real name and your alias were linked in Memphis, how do you know someone hasn’t tracked you here?”

“I don’t, I suppose,” she murmured. “But I’ve been really careful not to leave a trail for another stalker to follow, either electronic or paper. I’m not writing for a paper anymore, so I’m not on anyone’s payroll. I started a blog and used some of the notoriety I got after the attack as free advertising, to be honest. I gave a few interviews to reporters I trusted. I let people know I was still reviewing, but I’d be a traveling reviewer. I’ve done reviews in restaurants in Atlanta and St. Louis along with the New York and Baltimore restaurants.”

“But if someone still wanted to find you, they could,” Vito said gently. “Do you have an apartment here in the city? There will be rental records or property records. Mortgage information. Lots of ways someone could find you if they really wanted to.”

She shook her head. “I bought my condo with cash and in the name of a corporation I formed so that my name wouldn’t be in the property records. I’ve made it as difficult as I can for someone to find me.”

Vito’s brows lifted. “Cash? In Rittenhouse?”

She lifted her chin. “I got the house and half my ex-husband’s assets in the divorce. Then I sold my house in Memphis, plus I got a settlement from the newspaper in exchange for not suing them for giving out my personal information. I used it to buy the condo. I figured I was paying for security, and that’s more important to me than it used to be.”

“Completely understandable,” Sophie said kindly. “I’d do the same thing.”

Vito nodded, his expression the one that said he was thinking. “Okay, so...let’s assume for a moment that the murders on your streetareconnected to the assault on your aunt. And that someone saw you bringing pizza from Lombardi’s, which was why they started their murdering rampage at the pizza shop.” He closed his eyes, quiet for a few moments. Then he opened his eyes on a sigh. “Their files were stolen. Lombardi’s and Fadil’s, which makes sense. They do deliveries. They kept addresses of their regulars on file.”

“So a killer might have Charlotte’s address,” Tino said flatly.

“Then why go to her aunt’s house at all?” Sophie asked. “If he had Charlotte’s address, why didn’t he go to her apartment?”

“She has security.” Tino made a face. “Kind of. Not great security at night, but maybe he saw the person at the desk and decided not to chance it.”

Sophie looked skeptical. “Well, why not just wait for her outside her building? And why didn’t he demand to know where Charlotte was when he assaulted her aunt?”

“Good points,” Vito allowed. He picked up his tablet from the coffee table and swiped through several pages. “This is the report on your aunt’s assault. She doesn’t mention that he said anything, but she did say that he searched every room, dragging her along behind him. He even checked the closets and under the beds. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he began to beat her.” He looked up, his expression softening when he saw that Charlotte had paled. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I know this is difficult.”

“He took her phone,” Charlotte said thickly. “He beat her until she told him the password, then beat her some more when he’d searched her phone. But she didn’t have my new address in her contacts. And he wouldn’t have gotten it from either Mr. Lombardi or Mrs. Fadil.”

Tino covered her trembling hand with his. “Why?” he asked gently. “Why didn’t your aunt have your address in her phone?”

Vito put his tablet down, giving her his undivided attention.

She clutched Tino’s hand like a lifeline. “I told Dottie that I’d had some trouble with my ex. That I didn’t want anyone knowing where I lived. To my knowledge, she doesn’t know about last year’s attack. I never told her and she doesn’t go online for news. She knew the divorce had been ugly, so she never asked me any questions, just did what I asked. I’ve brought her to my place a few times. Made supper for her. But ninety-five percent of the time I go to her house because it’s hard for her to get in and out of a car.”

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