Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
But as much as I need to keep myself detached, I can’t look like I’m trying to keep my distance. So, for the good of the investigation, I allow myself to be moved.
“This is so sweet!” I cry, stepping through the trees to the babbling brook.
Frankie holds his hand out and helps me walk across the water. We kiss briefly, and it’s nice. In fact, I feel a spark, but I keep that observation to myself. I sit down next to him, and he stretches his legs out straight.
“Where did you find this place?” I ask.
“I just found it now,” he informs me.
“It’s perfect,” I say, playing the part of a lovestruck young woman.
“I’m glad you could come,” he replies. “I didn’t know if you could get away. Because of your job.”
“It’s just part-time,” I say, not giving him any details.
I should have come up with a backstory instead of leaving it to chance. I hate fumbling around and having to keep track of all the lies I’m telling him. Of course I don’t have any other choice, but it feels dirty. I would have been much better off if I sat down and wrote out everything that happened in my fake life with my fake parents and my fake job. At least then, I wouldn’t have to scour my imagination for ideas on the fly.
“What do you do?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” I respond. “How has your day been so far?”
“So far?” he wonders, leaning back to gaze up at the clouds. “It’s been okay. I did some studying. I had a very strange encounter with my stepmother.”
“What happened?” I encourage him to talk, taking mental notes.
“She’s pregnant,” Frankie says.
“Really?” I ask, showing a little more enthusiasm than I should be. “How far along?”
“I don’t know,” Frankie responds. “She’s barely showing. But she had a crazy reaction to my asking for a picnic basket.”
“Is she okay?” I interject, suddenly worried about this woman I’ve never met.
None of my research points to Marlena Corello as the instigator of anything. There are some fuzzy details about her past and her family, but I’m sure they’re meaningless. The point is, if she’s aware of what her husband does for a living. I don’t think she’s involved.
Unlike Frankie. I’m sure he’s both aware and involved. He would have to be. This kind of thing is like a monarchy; the power gets passed down from father to son. If Frankie isn’t calling the shots yet, he will be. It’s only a matter of time.
I wonder if Frankie knows about Danny. I decide to test the waters. It’s as good a time as any, and I have to admit, the picnic thing is getting to me. I almost feel safe here with a man I don’t even know. He’s saying all the right things and hitting all the right notes. If things were different, I might let myself get close to him. But I’m on a mission. And I’m ready to take things to the next level.
“She’s fine, I think,” Frankie responds to my last question.
“Frankie,” I begin, “do you have any other siblings?”
“No,” he says, reaching for the basket. “This will be my first. It’s kind of strange to be my age and waiting for a new baby brother or sister.”
“I had a brother once,” I say. The words feel like broken glass in my mouth. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Frankie immediately picks up on the tone in my voice. He puts a hand on my shoulder and gazes deep into my eyes. “What happened?” he asks with genuine concern.
“He passed away,” I say, forcing myself not to break down. I don’t talk about Danny very much. It’s just too painful. I haven’t made any progress in dealing with his death. Beyond trying to unmask his killer, I haven’t dealt with the grief at all.
To my surprise, Frankie says nothing. He picks up my hand and holds it. I feel a rush of compassion for him. He must have had a similar experience because only someone who’s been to the bottom of that ditch can sit silently without trying to fix things.
“I was the one who discovered him,” I hear myself saying.
Frankie still doesn’t speak. He’s giving me space to explore my own feelings on the matter. I haven’t been to a therapist, so I don’t have any experience with this kind of thing. I haven’t even really spoken to my parents about it. My life has been on hold since it happened, and this is the first time I can really feel my pain.
“I walked into the room, excited to talk to him. And he was sitting on the couch…” I trail off. I don’t want to add any more details than I already have. If Frankie is as normal as I suspect he is, I know he won’t immediately think of murder. He’ll probably assume that Danny killed himself. That’s what the police said, but I know it isn’t true.