The GPS informs me to take the next right. Turning the wheel, the church is easily visible as I round the corner. It looks like it’s the only thing cared for here. Teenagers loiter across the street outside a shop. Some younger kids kick a ball on a small patch of green within the entrance walls to the church. Finding a space to park, I lock the car and head straight inside, ignoring the catcalls from the teens.
The place smells of mildew and poverty. The paint on the walls is scuffed. The wood flooring is worn and in desperate need of refurbishment.
Approaching an older man sticking up a poster on a notice board, I clear my throat. “Excuse me, sir.” He doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Rude. “Excuse me, sir?” I try again, this time tapping his shoulder. His body jolts like my fingers created an electric current.
“I’m sorry to startle you.” I step back, giving him some room. He’s breathing heavy, holding a hand to his heart.
Pointing to his ear, he shakes his head.
“He’s deaf and stubborn,” a woman calls out, chuckling to herself as she flits a pen over some name labels on a rickety fold-out table.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, not sure why. I wave a hand to the man and move toward the woman. “I wonder if you can help me instead.”
“I can try.” She looks me over with a doubtful look. Her glasses barely hold on at the edge of her nose. She’s plump, a mass of hair piled high on her head. She reminds me of one of the sisters from Hocus Pocus.
“I’m looking for anyone who has been working here for over a decade,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back.
“Why?” She looks up at me through her lashes.
“There’s information I’m hoping to obtain about a Marcia Gallo.” My heart pounds.
The woman drops her pen and frowns.
“Why are you asking about Marcia?”
She knows her…
“My mother is a distant relative and the story intrigued me. I’m majoring in journalism,” the lie slips off my tongue with ease. Maybe I’m more like Father than I want to be.
“You shouldn’t dig around in that story, child.” She shakes her head, picking her pen back up.
“Did you know her?” I ask, already knowing she did. The way she said her name was familiar, personal.
Silence, then she looks around and gestures for me to follow her into an office room. It’s tiny. The desk barely fits in here. She squeezes around the edge and sits in a chair.
“Marcia was a wonderful woman.” She looks off out the window, through the black bars covering them, to a brick wall, lost in thought, memories. I wish I could see what she’s seeing. “Her husband had ties with unsavory people.” Lines crinkle around her eyes and mouth.
“Mafia?” I already know that much from the articles. She doesn’t confirm, but her skin pales. “What about a man, a Mr. Remington?” I edge.
She stands abruptly, her stomach hitting the lip of the table, making it wobble.
“Don’t go looking for that man. He’s dangerous. Knowing him is what got Marcia in trouble.” She begins to chew on her thumbnail. “You should drop this and look into something else, somewhere else. This road leads to a cliff edge.”
My heart races, a pain forming in my chest. “What was their connection? How did Marcia know Remington?” I need answers, need to know more—and she knows.
Breathing heavily, she sighs, “Marcia was in love with him.”
Thud.
Like I’ve been punched in the gut, all the air seizes in my lungs and my throat constricts. “She was having an affair?” I choke out.
“I’m not sure if her husband found out, but she wasn’t herself the last day she was here. Then, the next day, she didn’t show up for work.”
“What do you think happened to them?”
“I don’t know, but I do know better than to hazard a guess openly. There are ears everywhere in neighborhoods like this one. I implore you to go back to wherever you came from and pretend you never heard of the Gallos.”
She opens the door, ending the conversation, and I leave on shaky legs. My mother was having an affair. That’s what caused all of this.
Twenty-Five
Remi
“We cover it,” I reiterate to Noah, staring at the pool. “Drunk people fall in or start a pool party, and we don’t want those people contaminating the water.” I shiver.
“The water is treated. Chlorine.” He looks at me like I’m dumb.
“No amount of chlorine can clean those people.” He’s wearing a suit, and it’s boiling out here. My balls are sticking to my leg. I want to shove his ass into the pool and myself with him.
“It’s not like it’s a fucking frat party, Rem.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. I don’t know why he even bothers asking my opinions. I stress him out and he’ll go with what he thinks in the end anyway.