Carlo Pagano, Sr. was listed. He had a house on Caravel Road. She lifted the receiver on the landline phone—her knowledge of technology was only adequate for her own use, but she thought that a landline would be safer—and dialed the number. Still, what if James had the line tapped as a matter of course? The phone was ringing, though, so she put that worry aside. That was too paranoid. Wasn’t it?
A young, feminine voice answered, “Hello?”
Sabina felt her tongue clinging to the bottom of her mouth, but she forced words out. “Yes, good afternoon. I am not bothering you, please, but I may speak with Carlo? Sorry, Carlo Jr.? He is there, please?”
She could hear the words coming out oddly, the syntax wrong for English and not entirely right for Spanish, either, some bizarre syntactical hybrid, but she was nervous, and that happened more when she was.
A few seconds of quiet greeted her request. “Um…who should I say is calling?”
“This is Sabina? We met this morning, yes? You are…Rosa?” She took a guess; Carmen lived elsewhere.
“Yes. Hi. Um. He’s here. Just a sec.”
In the ensuing pause, Sabina almost hung up. Was this a thing that could be said through plastic in someone’s ear? Indecision tore at her. But then his voice was there, deep and reassuring. And a little confused.
“Hello? Bina?”
“Yes. Carlo. Hello. I…I…” Refusing to let words fail her now, she took a breath and started again. “I need to speak with you. The phone maybe is wrong for this. I would like to meet. Will you? For a few minutes only?”
“Bina, are you all right?”
She wasn’t asked that question often, because there weren’t people in her life who had that kind of concern for her. But Carlo had asked it before anything else. She should say yes. Yes, I’m fine was the correct answer. But it was not a true answer, and it wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Finally, she simply reiterated her question. “Will you meet? Is there someplace?”
After a pause, Carlo answered, “Yes. Of course. Do you know Quinn’s? It’s a pub on Gannet Street. It’s not fancy at all, but there’s a patio out back. I can meet you there in…half an hour?”
“Yes. Yes, thank you. I’ll not be long with you.”
“It’s all right, Bina, if you need help. I’ll see you there.”
He hung up before she could say more.
~oOo~
She didn’t change her clothes to go to this Quinn’s pub; she thought it would be better if she looked like she’d gone out to run errands, in case the Escalade was still nearby. She left her sweater and shorts on and put her sore feet into a pair of no-show sport socks and her white Keds. Those felt much better than the boots she’d worn to Mass. Dressed this way, and with the cover-up makeup she’d used on her wrists this morning worn away, all of her recent hurts showed—her wrapped ankle, her scabbed knees, her bruised wrists. She thought long and hard about changing into clothes that made her less…exposed, but in the end held to her idea that she should not look as if she expected to meet anyone who would remark on her condition.
And the Escalade was, in fact, parked just around the corner from her house. Still the large man behind the wheel. Either he was not very adept at surveillance, or James wanted her to know he was watching. James would never hire anyone who wasn’t the best in his profession. So she was supposed to notice the Escalade. Why? To keep her in line? That was too passive for a man like her husband.
He wanted her to be afraid.
And then the next thought chilled her. James wanted her to call him about it. He wanted a record that someone was following her, and that she had called him to get his help. He was setting the stage for her demise and for his alibi. He would probably make some show about asking someone to check in on her.
Thinking it through, she actually smiled. He was brilliant. Truly brilliant.
What would he do, though, if she didn’t call him? If she pretended she hadn’t noticed? She thought it would be interesting to find out.
~oOo~
Quinn’s was in the middle of a block, right down in the main part of the Quiet Cove shopping and entertainment district—such as it was. She was pleased, though, to see that the entrance was down a little colonnade and not visible from the street. The driver of the Escalade would not be sure, from his seat behind the wheel, into which business she’d gone.
Sabina passed it and parked in the lot at the end of the block, then walked back and turned down the colonnade. She pulled open a padded red vinyl door beside which the name QUINN’S glowed in neon, and she went into her first pub.