Page 39 of The White Picket Fence

“No,” Gino said. “Not that I remember. He didn’t say much of anything. Kind of a loner. He got easily distracted, I do remember that. Cut the tip of his finger off one day on a band saw. That’s when the teacher assigned me to him. I was supposed to keep him from chopping off anything else. But we didn’t talk much.”

“Did he want to do woodworking?” Vito asked. “Or was he just taking the class for a random credit?”

Gino pursed his lips, thinking. “I think he wanted to learn to build things. When he did talk, he mentioned building a house someday. In the burbs with a picket fence. He’d have a family. I’d forgotten that.”

“That’s good,” Vito said. “He ever mention anyone he wanted that family with?”

Gino thought some more then slowly nodded. “Said he had her all picked out. But he never mentioned Charlotte. I’d have picked up on that, if only because we were all mad at her at that point for breaking Tino’s heart.”

Charlotte fought the urge to wince. It was true. She had done that.

But Tino had called her Charlie. He’d held her like he cared. And even if they never got back what they’d had, maybe he could actually forgive her someday.

It wasn’t what she really wanted, but she’d lost her chance at that. Tino had offered her a family, but she’d thrown it away because she wanted adventure. She’d wanted independence. She’d been afraid of tying herself down to one person, even though she’d loved him.

She’d been a fool.

But you were young. You didn’t know.

No, she hadn’t known what she was losing the day she walked away.

Except that shehadknown. She’d thought she’d get over the loss, but she’d been so wrong. Young, foolish, and wrong.

She’d blown her chance, but he’d called her Charlie and that would be enough.

“Charlotte?” Vito said loudly, like he’d called her name a few times already.

She blinked. “I’m sorry. My mind is...” She rubbed her temples. “I got lost in my head. What was that again?”

“I asked about the emails you received from the prison. Didn’t you open them to see the name of the inmate who wanted to talk to you?”

She sighed. “This is going to sound vacuous and awful, but I forgot about Kevin five minutes after our last tutoring session. Never gave him another thought until tonight. If I saw his name in one of those emails, I wouldn’t have recognized it. I was away from home for the first time and going to parties and all that. I had to have opened the first email, but I just deleted the rest.” She grimaced. “And that wasn’t the name I thought of when I saw him, anyway.”

“What name did you think of?” Tino asked.

“Simon.” She was surprised to see both Vito and Tino flinch, like that name hurt them, and then she remembered that their Simon had been a vicious killer. “Like the chipmunk. His voice was very high. I almost called him that once but caught myself in time.”

“No one has mentioned a high-pitched voice,” Vito said thoughtfully. “It might be lower now that he’s older, but it’s worth asking Kayla. What else do you remember about him?”

“He always brought me flowers. Every time we had a tutoring session. I always took them by Aunt Dottie’s classroom. She loves flowers.” A new memory surfaced, and she sucked in a breath. “He saw them there once. He asked me why I’d given the flowers away. He was really mad. Made me a little nervous. He was taller than me. Skinny as a pole, but I guess he bulked up.”

“A lot of guys do while they’re in prison,” Vito said. “What did you tell him about the flowers?”

“I lied. I told him I had terrible allergies, but I didn’t want his gift to go to waste, which was why I gave them to my aunt. He seemed to accept that and calmed down.”

“How might he have gotten your email address?” Vito asked.

“I gave it to him so we could arrange tutoring sessions. It seemed wiser at the time than giving him my phone number.”

“It probably was,” Vito said. “And now we know how he knew to hang out at your aunt’s house, waiting for you. But if he did that, why wouldn’t he have just followed you home? Why go to Lombardi’s to get your address?”

Charlotte rubbed her temples again. “Most of the time I didn’t go straight home. I’d always get a late dinner after seeing Dottie. She eats dinner at, like, five o’clock, and she isn’t as adventurous with food as she used to be. Meat and potatoes are her thing. I’d be hungry again by the time I left and wanting to eat something more interesting, so I’d try different restaurants. But even if I was going straight home, I never drove straight there. I’m in the habit of driving around before I go home so that no one follows me. Part of the paranoia since the attack.”

“Understandable,” Vito said quietly. “Don’t be ashamed of habits that help you feel safer. You might have saved your own life.”

“But lost Mr. Lombardi and Mrs. Fadil theirs,” she said bitterly.

“I’m not going to tell you that it’s not your fault,” Vito said, “because folks in your position are never ready to hear it. I will recommend a good therapist.”

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