Page 85 of Highball and Chain

“Resting. She’s not feeling well.” Enzo pulled lettuce and several other veggies from the crisper drawer. “I’m making dinner tonight. How do you like your steak?”

“Bloody enough to moo and leave tracks in my potatoes.” I motioned to the hall. “Mind if I go check on her?”

“Thank you. I’m sure she’d appreciate that.” His expression went all gooey like I’d presented him with a golden retriever puppy instead of suggesting I look in on the housekeeper.

Marco quirked a brow at his brother and muttered something under his breath.

“Can it.” Just like that, grumpy Enzo returned. “Hildie’s room is the third on the left.”

I’d always wanted siblings, but after witnessing the Marchionni brothers in action, I rethought the merits of being an only child.

When Enzo said the third door, I’d assumed the housekeeper’s room was close to the kitchen. I was wrong.

The hall stretched and wound to the right and stretched again before I reached the room.

The door stood partially open, but I didn’t feel right peeking inside. Knocking lightly, I said, “Hildie, it’s Shanna.”

The elderly housekeeper called from inside. “Come in, dear.”

I expected to enter a bedroom, but instead I found myself standing in a living room flanked on one side by a kitchenette and the other by floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Hildie sat in a recliner with a blanket across her lap and a book in her hand. “Do the boys need dinner?”

“No ma’am.” I hadn’t called anyone ma’am since my Bubbe passed away, but somehow it seemed right. “Enzo said you weren’t feeling well. I thought I’d see if you needed anything.”

She smiled, but her eyes went soft and watery. “Thank you.”

Judging by her reaction, I had to wonder when the last time someone had shown interest in her as a person and not a servant. But hadn’t Enzo said she and Evelyn were more friends than employee and employer? Was something else bothering her?

Oh God, the porno.

Hildie motioned to an empty chair. “I wouldn’t mind a little company, if you have a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Sitting, I glanced over her extensive collection of well-worn paperbacks.

“Are you a reader?”

I shook my head. “I always wanted to be, but I’m dyslexic.”

“So am I. Of course, they didn’t call it that back when I was in school.” Laughing, she set her romance novel aside. “It takes me so long to get through a book, by the time I finish, I forget what happened in the beginning.”

“Sometimes, I forget what happened at the start of the page. I get so frustrated when I know I’m mixing up the letters and sounds, I can’t focus on the story.”

Hilde nodded. “I think that’s why I read the same books over and over.”

“I wish I had that kind of patience. I give up long before I finish.”

“Patience is easier to come by when you’re my age.” She laughed. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m training to be a private investigator, but I can’t seem to pass the exam.”

Nodding, Hildie looked away. “I wanted to be a bookkeeper. I’ve always been good with numbers, but getting the certificate required reading. My parents were so disappointed when I dropped out of school.”

“I can relate. My mom’s a doctor. She always has a book in her hand. It drives her nuts that I’m not smart like her.” My cheeks flushed. I hadn’t admitted that out loud to anyone besides Maggie.

“Don’t you dare give up on your dreams and don’t let anyone make you believe you’re less than them because you have a different way of learning.” She made a tsking sound. “Mothers are their children’s biggest fans and worst critics.”

I had a feeling we weren’t talking about my mom any longer. “Like Evelyn?”

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