Page 25 of The Gallagher Place
“More than that,” Marlowe said. “He did a little bit of everything for us. He was born in Italy but moved all around Europe, working in kitchens and vineyards and doing carpentry. He ended up in Queens in the eighties.”
“Is that when your family met him?” Ariel asked.
“That’s right, he came to install a door at our apartment in the city. When my mother learned about his background, she asked him to do a few more odd jobs and, eventually, to help her cook for a dinner party. And then it just seemed like he was always around. He started watching us as kids, cooking our meals. He was the one who oversaw the renovations at the Gray House and babysat us all summer. We never had a nanny, but I guess Enzo was something close to that.”
It was an odd situation, but once people met Enzo, it made sense. All his experience and charm had suited the Fishers, and he adapted to their changing needs, year after year.
“Well, it seems like that work is over now, and even if something needed fixing, he’s a bit old for that. Why keep him around?”
“Loyalty, I guess.” Marlowe shrugged, moving toward the door. “And perhaps some pity. He has no one else. No family, no children. It’s a sad way to go, all alone.”
Marlowe and Ariel entered the house, bringing with them a draft of icy air. Glory snapped to attention as Ariel shed her coat, folded it over one arm, and walked over to Enzo’s seat.
“Hello,” Enzo said. “Have we met?”
Ariel didn’t answer but simply studied him for a few uncomfortable moments. Marlowe had the urge to step between her and Enzo.
“I’m Detective Ariel Mintz,” she said at last.
Down the hall, the study door swung open, and Ben and Frank emerged.
“We have a few more questions for all of you,” Ben stated.
“Go ahead.” Frank settled into the armchair. Glory perched on the edge of the hearth, and Marlowe sat beside her.
“Now that Mr. Fisher and I have looked over the threats”—Ben nodded at Frank—“we’d like to hear from the rest of you about your relationship with the three Gallagher brothers. Were there any tensions? Any disagreements?”
“I grew up in this area, and my own father was Tom Gallagher’s good friend,” Glory said. “They were good men, and we were happy neighbors. The issue was never withthatgeneration.”
Glory was adept at playing up her farm-girl background when it served her and then quickly tucking it away, far out of sight.
“There was no feud, no bad blood whatsoever,” Frank added.
“So these threats Harmon sent—none of you believe they originated with the brothers across the street?” Ariel asked.
“Not at all,” Frank said.
“Enzo.” Ben narrowed his eyes and turned his head, suddenly shifting his attention. “Did you have much interaction with the Gallaghers?”
“They are dead,” Enzo whispered. “All of them. Very sad.”
“But when they were alive?”
“Some say sadness like that is in the blood.” Enzo sighed and stared at the fire.
“And what about Nora Miller?” Ariel asked. “Do you recall how the Gallaghers felt about her?” She didn’t seem to direct the questions at anyone in particular but simply threw them out toward the fire for consideration.
If she was hoping for a dramatic reaction, she didn’t get one. Frank and Glory regarded her with puzzled yet sympathetic expressions, as if Ariel were a child mispronouncing a word. Enzo’s gaze remained distant.
“She was their neighbor as well,” Frank said, finally. “Harmon only mentioned her to pick at an old wound in our community, nothing more.”
“This all came from Harmon’s imagination, then?” Ben asked. “No story he might have heard from relatives?”
“The Gallaghers we knew wouldn’t have spread stories like that,” Glory said. “They were decent men.”
“Of course.” Ben nodded.
The detectives rose, bid everyone farewell, and headed for the door.
