Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
I had known Agatha Romano for twenty-two years.
She baked almond cookies every Christmas.
She complained about television news.
She kept basil plants in coffee tins on her windowsill.
And whenever I was frightened, she told me that courage wasn't the absence of fear.
It was refusing to let fear become your master.
Nothing about her suggested she was connected to the Moretti family.
Nothing about her suggested she had once been declared dead.
Yet Salvatore Moretti was staring at me as though I'd carried a message from another lifetime.
"Where is she?" he asked again.
I carefully placed the replacement dish on the table.
"Mr. Moretti, she's an elderly woman. I won't give her address to strangers."
Dominic's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Martin made a strangled sound behind me.
"Penelope, apologize immediately."
I turned.
"For protecting someone's privacy?"
Martin's face reddened.
"You're embarrassing this establishment."
Dominic finally looked at him.
"Mr. Galloway, I believe you've embarrassed yourself sufficiently."
Martin went silent.
Dominic turned back toward me.
"May I ask whether Agatha is well?"
The change in his tone surprised me.
"She has arthritis, but otherwise she's fine."
Salvatore laughed once.
It was a broken sound.
"That stubborn woman."
His eyes filled.
Then he looked at his son.
"Dominic, arrange a car."
I stiffened.
"Why?"
Salvatore stood.
"Because I've spent thirty years believing my sister was buried in Palermo."
My breath caught.
"Your sister?"
Dominic looked equally shocked.
"Papa, you never told me you had a sister."
Salvatore's face hardened.
"Your grandfather made certain nobody spoke her name."
I stared at the photograph.
Agatha looked so young.
Her dark hair was braided over one shoulder.
Her smile was exactly the same as the one she gave me every Sunday.
"Why would your family think she died?"
Salvatore didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he glanced around the table.
Several relatives looked uncomfortable.
One man avoided his eyes entirely.
Dominic noticed.
"Uncle Carlo," he said quietly.
The heavyset man near the far end of the table straightened.
"What?"
"You don't look surprised."
Carlo Moretti forced a laugh.
"This is absurd. Some waitress knows a woman with a common Sicilian name, and suddenly we're talking about family ghosts?"
Salvatore slammed his palm against the table.
"Enough!"
Everyone flinched.
He pointed toward Carlo.
"Agatha was my sister. And you know exactly what happened to her."
Carlo's expression changed.
For a moment, I thought he might stand and leave.
Instead, he stared at me.
Not with surprise.
With hatred.
A cold sensation slid down my spine.
Dominic stepped between us.
"Penelope," he said, "you should go somewhere safe."
I frowned.
"Why?"
He glanced at Carlo.
"Because someone at this table just realized a secret he's spent thirty years protecting may no longer be safe."
Then my phone vibrated inside my apron.
A message from Agatha.
Penny, come home immediately.
May you like
A second message followed.
And whatever you do, don't let Carlo Moretti see the silver necklace I gave you.
Related Stories
