“Noella!” Nonna gasps. “Drake!”
“Told you,” I hiss, grabbing his shirt.
He bats my hand away. “Hey, Nonna. How you doin’?”
Nonna pulls her shawl around her shoulders—it’s almost fucking ninety degrees—and smiles slyly. “I am-a good. And-a you-a?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Noella? You-a well?”
Drake nudges me.
“Fine, Nonna.” I force a smile.
“You-a never come-a to church.”
Ah, she’s a bright one, my nonna. “Well, you know. What’s life without a little craziness?”
“Church-a is-a not-a crazy,” she says, shaking her head in disappointment. “It is-a en-a-lightening!”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant. What’s life without a little enlightenment?” I mean, I could probably get it by switching on a lamp and reading a bunch of those crappy inspirational quotes on Facebook, but sure.
“This is-a it? You-a just here for-a no reason?”
I elbow Drake and glare at him.
Nonna gasps.
“No!” I snap, instantly seeing her mind travel at warp speed to its usual conclusion. “No, Nonna. Look? See?” I wave my left hand in front of her face.
She grabs it with long, wrinkled fingers and holds it in front of her eyes. She squints. Then her face drops. “Ah, cazzo. You will-a be-a zitella!” She turns to Drake with fire in her eyes. “Why no-a ring on-a her finger, ah? You no-a keep-a her a zitella! I tell-a your mamma!”
When he doesn’t reply, she huffs and walks toward the church.
“Thanks for that,” he finally mutters to me. “Always wanted my ass kicked by a crazy, old Italian woman first thing on a Sunday.”
I shrug. “What can I say? It’s part of dating me. Plus, you didn’t save me when she was asking questions, so that’s your punishment.”
“She’s not going to let up, is she?”
“Oh, no. If you thought she was bad before, now that she doesn’t have Dev and Amelia’s wedding to focus on, she’s gonna be all over you like Winnie the Pooh in a beehive.”
“Yeah… We might have to break up.”
I snort, grabbing the pen to sign in under Father Luiz’s watchful eye and playful wink. “Watch it. She’ll tell your mamma.”
“She’s in Hawaii, climbing a volcano right now. I doubt she’ll care. You know she’s crazy.” Drake takes the pen and signs his.
“Is she? I seem to remember a sweet pie-making woman who provided me with a pie every time you were mean to me when we were kids. She owes me, like, ten for the times you’ve been mean to me as an adult, for what that’s worth. You might wanna start writing this down.”
Drake rolls his eyes, and we take our seats in the very back pew, in the corner, where we can see everyone. He leans over to whisper in my ear.
“I don’t think my mom is going to be home to bake you pies any time soon. She’s seeing how many states she can visit before she turns sixty. Never mind that she has another five years until that date.”
“Well, that sucks.” I tuck my purse beneath the pew under my feet.
“I’ll repay you. Not in pies. I can’t bake.”
I look at him sideways. “I’m gonna need information on how you’re gonna repay me.”
His lips curve to one side. “Can’t say it here. I might go up in flames.”
Oddly the sexiest way I’ve ever been promised an orgasm in my life.
I pat his leg. “Okay. You tell me later. I have a feeling your being burned won’t help.”
He winks then puts my hand back on my lap. “Watch it. Nonna just gave you the death stare.”
“Oh, please. If the death stare worked, I’d be a zombie by now.” I spy her glaring at me from a few pews forward. “I think we were supposed to sit with her,” I whisper.
“Nope. Need to be here.”
“I know that. She doesn’t. Aaaand here she comes. Fuck it.”
“That’s a sin,” Drake says, his eyes scanning the room. “Although I’m starting to think that...”
“You start-a to think-a what?” Nonna snaps when he trails off. She drops herself into the seat next to me and rests her cane against the pew.
“That you’re the best cook I know,” Drake improvises, flashing her a devastating smile.
“Hmmm.” Nonna purses her lips, but the twinkle in her eye is satisfied. “Why you-a sit-a so-a far back? Is-a good at-a the front!”
“We like the back,” I say. Hello, Lame Excuse! Nice of you to drop by. Can you send your cousin, Believable Reason, next time?
Nonna gasps and leans in. “Are you-a working?”
“I’m working on a way to reclaim my personal space,” I mutter, pushing her away.
“You can-a tell-a me.”
“Nonna, no one can tell you anything. Silvio keeps secrets better than you do.”
“Ah, the boy has-a to learn-a!”
“Hopefully he learns from someone else,” I say under my breath.
“What-a you say-a?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Just clearing my throat.” I make a point to actually clear my throat. “Look. Father Luiz is up there now. Be quiet.”
“But-a—”
“Nonna. Shush.”
Thankfully, she shushes. In doing so, she allows me to focus on the service. The attendees, that is.
The thing about suspicious behavior is that it isn’t always suspicious in the way you think. Someone could be restless and fidgety because they’ve been forced to be here, like me. Ahem. Or the teenager with the shifty eyes could be scanning the room because he’s looking for his friend, also forced to be here, so they can hang out after and bitch about it.
That’s the problem we have. Suspicious behavior rarely is suspicious.
Some of the travelers are here too, but I don’t recognize any of them. I probably haven’t literally walked into them yet.
What if the killer is a traveler?
It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought, but if it’s true, it opens up a huge pool of people we know nothing about. Can we even let them leave town if we suspect them?
This is our other problem. I know everyone in town, at least by name and profession. If I don’t know them, you bet your ass I know someone who does. I can’t imagine everyone in town being a Satanist. In fact, I’m pretty sure that every inhabitant of Holly Woods is Catholic. Christian, at least.
Except Dina. She’s Wiccan. But not a Satanist.
The more I think about it, the crazier it seems. It just isn’t right, is it? These kind of killings in a small, religious Texas town. What is the point of them, besides to rouse an entity that has no proof of existence? If word got out around town, there would be a kind of mass hysteria saved for those horror movies set on prom night.
Or like when they stopped making Twinkies. That was a sad, sad day.
A part of me wants the killings to just stop. A part of me doesn’t want to find the killer because I don’t know if I can come face-to-face with someone…like this. I don’t want to. The idea is terrifying.
More terrifying?
If religion really is the link, then there isn’t a single female in Holly Woods, young or old or in between, who is safe.
I’m going to have nightmares about that until the killings stop or the people responsible are caught.
My best friend. My sister-in-law. My future sister-in-law. Sweet Rosie, who serves me coffee. Melanie at the bookstore with my favorite raspberry cupcakes. My niece. My mom. Hell, even Nonna. Although she likely would impale them on her cane, so maybe there’s not too much to worry about there.
Fact is, this town is full of us.
All of us are ripe for the picking. None of us have any kind of safety barrier unless we’re armed and can get there before any kind of kidnapping or poisoning happens.
Drake’s forcing me to get into his truck makes a whole lot more sense right now. He figured all of this out before I did.
Oh, dear God. I hope I haven’t just earned myself a permanent shackle in the form of a six-foot-odd, two-hundred-pound, growly, grumpy, muscular male.
I mean, it could be worse, but independence is also better. But then safety trumps that… But then I have a gun.