Page 8 of The White Picket Fence

CHAPTER2

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Tuesday, March 29, 11:05 a.m.

Mrs. Johnson had triedto describe her attacker. She’d really tried. But she’d been far more worried about her niece and her mind had wandered. And then she’d been overcome by the pain, her words becoming slurred, her thoughts fragmented.

Tino had seen it so many times before. He’d learned to listen to what the victims said because they often buried snippets of the description of their attacker in what seemed, on the surface, to be random conversation.

It was their way of coping. All he had to do was be patient and whoever he was interviewing would usually come around to the point. Mrs. Johnson would, too, but it might happen faster if she were no longer worried about Charlotte.

Charlotte, who leaned on a cane, pain tightening her features. She’d tried to hide it, but Tino was a trained observer. He hadn’t missed the twinges, the winces. The lifting of her chin as she walked beside him.

He’d already slowed his pace so that she wouldn’t have to race to keep up. She was five-six to his five-eleven. When they’d been kids, she’d been full of bounce and vigor, often racing ahead of him before turning back with a teasing smile.Hurry up, Tino. We’re going to be late.

She’d never been late to anything—except their last dinner together. The dinner where she’d told him that she was going to school in California. All the way across the country. He’d immediately considered how he’d follow her, what kind of job he could get. How he could leave his parents. His brothers and sister.

But he hadn’t needed to do that. She’d been adamant that they were over, that she was going to chase her dreams. He’d been heartbroken, watching her walk away from him.

He wondered now what had happened to Charlotte’s dreams. She said she wasn’t a chef anymore and he needed to know why. But he recognized the set to her jaw. She was stubborn, so he’d have to be as patient with her as he was with the victims he interviewed.

“Here we are,” he said, stopping at the door of Burt & Angela’s. “This place is in my top five favorite restaurants in the city.”

Charlotte lifted her brows. “That’s saying a lot. Philly’s got some of the best restaurants in the country. I don’t remember this place.”

“I only discovered it a few years ago. I do a lot of work with victims and their families at the hospital. One of the nurses brought back a meatball sandwich from this place and she shared it with me. I was instantly in love.”

“With the nurse?”

Tino chuckled. “With the sandwich. The nurse was flirting, but she wasn’t for me. Nice woman, just...not for me.” He opened the door for Charlotte. “After you.”

She entered, looking around with interest. It was a diner with old booths, many of which were held together with duct tape. The walls were covered in posters of magical destinations—Paris, Athens, Rio. But Charlotte wasn’t looking at the booths or the walls. She was staring at the big window into the kitchen, watching as the food was prepared.

“This is going to be delicious,” she said.

“It definitely will.”

“Tino!” Angela came out of the kitchen, a huge smile on her face. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”

Tino opened his arms and enveloped Angela in a bear hug. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Like I said, too long.” She patted his face as she stepped back, giving Charlotte an interested look, head to toe. “And who do we have here?”

“My friend Charlotte. Her aunt’s in the hospital and she’s been sitting at her bedside. She needs to be fed.”

“Ah. Taking care of others before herself. Wewillfeed her.” She grabbed a menu and gestured for them to follow. “This way.” She seated them in the back of the restaurant where it was quieter. “You can chat without all the noise.” She placed the menu in front of Charlotte. “I hope your aunt recovers, honey.”

Charlotte’s smile was small but genuine. “Thank you.”

Angela patted Tino’s shoulder. “This one will take good care of you.”

Charlotte met Tino’s gaze. “I know.”

Tino waited until Angela had bustled off to take care of another customer then folded his hands on the table. “Everything on the menu is good.”

Charlotte frowned. “She didn’t give you a menu.”

“Because I’ve memorized it. I’ve tried everything on it, but I usually get the eggplant parmigiana if I’m eating here. I get the meatball sandwich if I’m taking it home.”

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