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“Didn’t I mention? I explained everything to Mama Palazzo. The family who isn’t at the restaurant have been working at the Patterson’s all day,” he explains, a mischievous twinkle in those coal-black eyes.
I feel my jaw drop, then my head shake.
“The pool though,” I protest.
“Gino,” answers Xander, not even blinking.
“The yard,” I gasp, remembering how bad it is. Was.
“Mario,” Xander says proudly.
I try to punch a hole in his story, somehow still thinking this must be some kind of wind-up, but he has the name of a person for every task I can think of.
“Then how did they get in?” I ask defiantly, knowing if it is a bad practical joke I may as well have the last laugh by exposing the fraud.
“Poppa Palazzo’s a locksmith,” Xander retorts, thumbing his chin in thought.
“But I imagine the key under the potted plant out front would’ve let them in,” he says, a matter of fact, shrugging to himself as he decides to have the last cannoli after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Xander
Were there two reasons for choosing Palazzo’s over anywhere else to eat?
Of course, there were.
I just didn’t think Gillian would be so suspicious, but I wanted it to be more of a surprise than come across as a joke at her expense.
“I know how worried you were about it,” I say. “And yeah, I should’ve told you with Mama Palazzo at the table, but she does love a good surprise,” I tell her truthfully.
“I was only trying to surprise you,” I say again, not meaning to make her cry.
“Then how did you know about the key under the plant? How could anyone possibly know that?” She sniffs.
I frown. “Gillian, most people who live in close-knit neighborhoods have a plant with a spare key. It’s only logic. The backup was Poppa is a locksmith, or to simply ask for your key if they couldn’t get in,” I explain to her. Feeling and sounding a little somber for the first time in a couple of days.
She smiles, mouthing the words thank you as I raise my hand in a mock gesture of calling over the waiter.
Carlo, the eldest who is maître d’ smiles and comes over, asking if we need anything else.
“The bill of course,” I exclaim, and he wags his finger, pinching his fingertips together and telling me I’m crazy as he laughs like a child.
He asks me in Italian how they can charge their greatest friend a dime. I retort that there’s all the work done on the house, and everyone needs to eat.
He frowns and nods.
The polite, family way of knowing he has to make money without asking for it and I don’t embarrass him or the family either.
I slip the cream envelope, thick with crisp hundred dollar bills to Mama as we all hug and kiss goodbye at the door. Not a quick process.
“They were the first and kindest people I met,” I explain to Gillian after we finally manage to pull away after more goodbyes at the car.
“In town you mean?” she asks, a little note of sarcasm in her voice but I don’t correct myself.
“The restaurant would’ve gone under years ago, but they all pitch in, like a family should to keep it going. Tradition.”
“I thought you said you didn’t really know anyone?” she adds cryptically, and I guess she’s right.
“I guess what I mean when I say that is that nobody really knows me,” I tell her.
“So it’s all an act? I don’t believe that,” she replies.
“Not an act. More like a part of me still learning things, about how people operate. How things work,” is the only way I can put it.
“And me?” she asks, I knew she would.
“Oh, I’m getting to know you best of all.” I smile, reaching over to take her hand again.
“Let’s go find that damned dog, shall we? Then we can go see the house.”
I take an unusual route towards the woods, and Gillian doesn’t notice until it’s almost getting dark.
“Uh, are we taking the scenic route?” she asks. “Or are you really the woodland killer,” she jokes.
“Sorry,” she admits. “Bad joke.” But I’m smiling.
“What would you know about the woodland killer?” I ask, surprised she mentions it.
“Oh, when I first started college. I thought it was an urban myth. But turns out some girls did go missing near here, but a long time ago.”
I didn’t know that, but although Gillian knows I’m no killer, I think we are being followed, hence my detour to prove it to myself.
I park nearest where I usually would and send a quick text message before talking her hand in mine, asking how much she thinks she’ll be able to walk.
“I never even thought of that, I was okay getting from the restaurant to the car,” she tells me, taking a few uneasy steps on the uneven ground before wincing.
