Page 29 of Little Last Words
“Any chance you know her name?” I asked.
“Give me a second. Penelope mentioned it when the woman first walked in. It was like Jodi or Josie, I think.”
I hopped out of the Bronco, and my brother did the same.
“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “We better get our butts inside before Mom loses her mind.”
CHAPTER12
As my birthday lunch came to an end, my cup was overflowing with the love my family and friends had shown me. And yet, as hard as I tried to push the events of the morning out of my mind, they lingered, playing over and over on a repetitive loop. Diving into the mystery of who killed Penelope and why was an itch I was struggling not to scratch.
Giovanni slung his arm around my shoulder, and when we reached the car, I spied two overnight bags sitting in the back seat—one for me and one for him. We drove to the airport where a private jet was waiting, destination unknown, to me anyway. Giovanni was still keeping our evening plans quiet, but it didn’t stop me from speculating. I entertained a few ideas and then remembered my brother’s advice. I needed to lean into the surprise, and that meant exercising even the smallest amount of patience.
We boarded the jet, and the first clue revealed itself when Giovanni explained we’d be flying through the night and wouldn’t land until the next morning. His original plan had been to leave much earlier in the day, but given the unforeseen circumstances we’d faced, adjustments had been made.
While Giovanni spoke to the pilot, the stewardess accompanied me to the rear of the cabin, where I was surprised to find a stateroom equipped with a decent-sized bed. Luka was lazing on top of it, yet another surprise on our mysterious getaway.
After we’d been in the air for several minutes, I changed into a nightgown, and it wasn’t long before the two of us were sipping on wine, grazing on a charcuterie board, and catching up on the final season ofSuccession. I didn’t last more than a couple of episodes before I fell asleep, and I woke the next morning to find we’d landed at LaGuardia Airport in New York City.
A driver was ready and waiting when we disembarked. He whisked us to our hotel, and we got settled in. Breakfast was delivered soon after, and while I dug in, Giovanni showered and changed clothes. I figured he’d join me afterward. He didn’t. He gave me a kiss and said, “I have an errand to run this morning. I won’t be long.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll relax for a while and wait for you to get back.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to unwind later, sweetheart. Shower, get changed, and be downstairs at half past nine. A driver will be waiting to pick you up.”
“Pick me up and take me …”
He shook his head and grinned. “Nice try. I’ll see you soon.”
We kissed once more, and he walked to the door, leaving me with more questions than answers. I opened the bag he’d packed and removed the clothing inside. The night before when I’d changed into my nightgown, I’d noticed there were a handful of outfits to choose from. It suggested we’d be staying in New York for a few days at least.
I assessed my options and settled on a casual, yet stylish outfit for the day—a fitted, forties-era, spaghetti-strap dress with a pink-aqua-and black plaid design.
Glancing at the time, I realized I needed to get moving. I had less than an hour to shower, get cleaned up, and be downstairs if I was going to meet the driver on time. I did so with two minutes to spare, and as soon as I entered the lobby, the concierge was ready and waiting for me to make an appearance. With a snap of his fingers, one of the hotel employees approached me, calling me by name as he escorted me to a car that was waiting out front.
The driver pulled away from the hotel without so much as a word, and the longer I sat there, the more the quiet became …tooquiet for my liking. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind.
“So, do you work for Giovanni’s family?” I asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Have you worked for them for a while?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Do you like it—your job, I mean?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
It was clear the driver had zero interest in striking up a conversation with me. But I was in a chatty mood, a mood that called for a question that couldn’t be answered in the same way the others had.
“I’m Georgiana. What’s your name?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
What is it with this guy?
“Okay, so you’re not going to tell me your name, and you’re not interested in having a conversation with me,” I said. “I get it. I should let you off the hook now. Thing is, I probably won’t. I’m far too excited.”