Page 38 of Little Last Words

“I care. Tell me. I’m listening.”

“It’s not aboutyounot hearing me. It’s aboutthem.” He glanced around the room. “All I ever wanted was to be included by you people. But you’ve always treated me like an outcast, like I’m nothing, a nobody. Andyou, Angelica. You never thought I was good enough for your daughter.”

“That’s not true,” Angelica said.

But itwastrue.

I could see it in the way she looked at him, like she was the elite, the one percent, and he was nothing more than a menacing lowlife.

I turned toward Angelica, lowering my voice as I said, “You’re not helping.”

“I’ll say and do whatever I please,” she said.

She may have appeared tough, but she looked scared.

I approached her, pulling her close as I whispered into her ear, “Let me handle this, okay? I don’t want anyone here getting shot today. Do you?”

She stared at me a moment but said nothing.

I raised my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Angelica, take your husband’s hand, sit down, and shut up.”

Eyes wide, Angelica jerked back, pressing a hand to her chest.

She was a grieving mother, and it pained me to say what I had. I’d make my apologies later. Right now, my focus was on giving Dean the illusion that unlike everyone else in the room, his feelings mattered to someone.

“Come on, Sergio,” Angelica said. “Let’s sit down.”

Dean cracked a smile, shaking his head and saying, “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day when someone put that old bag in her place.”

“Have you said everything you needed to say to everyone here?” I asked.

“For now.”

“Good, then why don’t we let all those gathered to honor Penelope’s life the chance to leave the chapel,” I said. “I’ll stay. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say for as long as you like. You can say your goodbyes to your wife, have some private time with her before the burial. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Just when I thought we were moving in a positive direction, something I’d said seemed to have struck a sensitive chord.

“You think that’s what I want? Iwantto know who killed her.” He began waving the gun around again, aiming it at one person and then another and another. “Who did it? Who killed her? Which one of you scumbags ended her life? Tell me now, and I’ll let the rest of you go.”

They all looked at each other, but no one spoke up.

My attempt to make peace had just taken a turn for the worse.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” I said. “Think about your daughter. She’s scared right now. She doesn’t understand why you’re acting like you are. When she thinks back on this day, is this how you want her to remember you?”

“She’s scared ofme? Nah. You don’t mean it. You said it just to get to me.”

“Put yourself in her place, Dean. She’s just lost her mother, and you show up here, threatening violence. How do you think this is going to end? If you harm anyone, she’ll lose you too—her motherandher father in a span of a few days. Is it worth it? Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“The person who killed my wife needs to pay for what they did.”

“Theywillpay,” I said.

“Stop telling me what you think I want to hear.”

“Listen to me, Dean. I can help you. I’m not just Penelope’s neighbor.”

“What do you mean?”