“My heart is beating too fast,” he whispers. I notice that he’s able to form a complete sentence now, which is a good start.
“I think you’re having a panic attack,” I explain.
There is a rush of air, and then a few seconds later, Frankie’s voice returns to a mostly solid form. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next, I couldn’t feel my fingers.”
“I’m sure it was a panic attack. I’ve had them before,” I say. “Just concentrate on your breath. It will pass.”
I want to ask him a ton of questions, but I know I can’t do that over the phone. What brought on the panic attack, and did it have anything to do with his father? I’m dying to know, but I need to handle this responsibly.
“Do you want to meet up?” I ask, hoping that he will agree.
“Yes,” he exclaims, as if the invitation is exactly what he’s been waiting for.
“Okay, how about coffee at Brew Hut?” I suggest.
He inhales and exhales loudly. “I don’t like Brew Hut.”
“Okay, how about Cuppa Joe?” I offer.
“Let’s just do lunch,” he replies.
“You got it,” I agree. I don’t care where we go. I just want to meet him. This feels like a big deal, like something momentous happened and I need to know about it.
“Okay.” He sighs. “When?”
“As soon as you feel able,” I respond. “Maybe a half hour?”
“Okay,” he agrees.
There’s a pause before either of us hangs up, and in that moment, I can almost hear the unspoken words between us. I’m eager to see him, but not because I’m in love with him. I suspect he knows something more than he did an hour ago, something that caused the overwhelming emotions he can’t cope with.
But just because he has information that I need doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to him. In fact, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little worried. I have no idea how the Corello family organization is structured. Obviously, Francisco Corello is at the top, and I have an inkling about some other members. But I don’t know how deeply invested Frankie is.
His panic attack has given me pause. I’m sure that’s not what happens to a cold-blooded killer. If Frankie had that kind of reaction to something he saw or overheard in his home, then shouldn’t that mean he is innocent? And if he is innocent, then maybe we have a shot at a real future.
“See you soon,” I say quickly, before I can let something slip.
“See you,” he responds, hanging up the phone.
I exhale, glancing over at the circulation desk. The librarian in charge is trying not to stare at me, even though I’m clearly talking someone off the ledge. I give her a tight smile, walking back to the reading room to clean up my stuff.
My heart is pounding. I’m pumped full of adrenaline at the prospect of learning about Corello’s operation. And there’s even a significant part of me that’s looking forward to seeing Frankie again, apart from my secret mission. I actually like him, and the sudden opportunity to view him as something other than a participant in my brother’s murder has me elated.
I text him the address of a diner halfway between our two homes. It will take me about ten minutes to get there as soon as I get in the car, and I don’t want him to worry about picking a place. The diner isn’t one business I’ve located as being associated with organized crime. I hope that makes it a safe place to talk, but I will share my story anyway.
I had a lot of panic attacks after Danny died. Sometimes they would come on me out of the blue, forcing me to abandon whatever plans I had for that day. Investigating Francisco Corello has helped somewhat, but there are still times when I feel out of control. I won’t mention that to Frankie, of course. I’ll just say that I empathize without going into the specifics.
But I’m confident that I’ll be able to learn a lot now that we’re past the introductory stage and theoretically dating. I change my clothes and grab my keys, hurrying out the door. I hop into my car and drive to the diner, forcing myself to slow down for red lights. I’m excited, anxious, and nervous all at the same time. It’s a toxic combination that doesn’t lend itself well to driving.
I pull into the diner parking lot and shut the engine off. It’s game time. I have to pretend that I don’t know anything about his family or their business. I have to hold his hand while simultaneously pumping him for information. There isn’t a school in the world that will teach these kinds of skills, so I’m on my own.
I check my phone just to make sure that no one from the newspaper has texted me. I consider letting Mr. Harlan know what’s going on but decide against it. I’ll brief him when I’m through. Mario the photographer won’t be of much help here either. I need Frankie to trust me, and that trust would only be eroded if I gave away his secret too quickly.
I square my shoulders and walk into the restaurant. I’m early, so I take a seat near a window. I try to choose one that has the most privacy, far away from the counter where regulars sit to drink coffee.
“I’ll be right there!” a waitress calls out.
“Take your time,” I say.
