Lisa Scottoline - Killer Smile

There was no traffic on the street, so she sat outside the house a minute, wondering what to do. Crash the party? Sneak around the back? And she wasn’t sure what she’d learn by going in. No, not yet. And she had better leads to follow anyway, when she launched the next stage of her investigation.

Starting as soon as she got back to the city.

Only fifty-six more to go. The late-morning sun peeked through Mary’s office window as she typed at her laptop. She was researching the Saracones’ funeral guests and finding their home addresses. She hit the enter key and checked the monitor.

Richard Matern, Business address: 1837 Chestnut Street Phone: 215 546-2982

Home address: 314 Delancey Street, Philadelphia, PA 19103 215 454-9848

She copied the information to a new document and penciled a checkmark on the pink sheet, underneath Melania’s Memo. Then she plugged in the next guest’s name, hit enter again, and in a second, the next address and phone number popped onto the screen. Ten addresses and phone numbers, so far. The Internet made all sorts of information public, and home addresses were a warm-up to bra sizes and HDL levels.

“Missed you this morning,” Judy said, appearing in the doorway. She looked remarkably corporate in her blue sleeveless dress, but she still had bedhead, her blonde hair going everywhich way. Mary thought it might be intentional, because nobody but her actually parted their hair anymore, especially everybody in whatever generation she was supposed to be in.

“Sorry, I was out.” Mary kept typing.

“Where were you?”

Uh . “Out.”

“What’re you doin’?” Judy asked, her tone suspicious.

“Stuff.”

“Translation, you’re back on Brandolini. Me, I’ve been in a deposition all morning. Your deposition in Alcor.”

“Thanks. How’s it going?”

“It’s all finished, it went great, and you don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“Then why’d you give me guilt?”

“For fun.”

Mary smiled.

“I also successfully served Premenstrual Tom, and the TRO hearing is next week. It’s yet another deposit in the karma bank for me. I’m beating you, even though you surged ahead with all this pro bono work.” Judy entered the office and came around the desk to snoop. “Guess you know that Keisha’s still unconscious.”

“I called, too.” Mary ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The way she could help Keisha best was by doing exactly what she was doing. She cut-and-pasted another address into her document. Fifty-five more to go. “Bill’s with her, so at least she’s safe.”

“I know.”

“Tell me what the papers say. I didn’t take the time to grab one this morning, and they barely mentioned it on the radio.” Mary had listened on the way in, after the shortcut. The attempt on Keisha’s life rated three whole seconds of airtime, and only because the knifing took place in Rittenhouse Square. “They don’t get excited unless you die.”

“Or you’re white.” Judy shook her head. “The newspaper has the attack as only a small piece. That reporter evidently didn’t make the connection between Keisha and Saracone, so it’s just street crime.”

“For the moment.” Mary kept working. Fifty-four to go.

“Hear from Gomez?”

“No.” Mary had left two messages.

“Bet he didn’t go to Saracone’s yet.”

“No takers here.” Fifty-three. Only one phone unlisted, so far. Mary tried to ignore Judy, who was reading her computer screen, and she braced for the inevitable lecture. “Isn’t this where you tell me this case is too dangerous?”

“No. This is where I make you give me half that list, so that it gets done in this century.”

“Really?” Mary looked up, feeling a rush of gratitude.

“Gimme.” Judy held out her hand, and Mary complied.

“Thanks. You’re going straight to heaven, girl.”

“Since what happened to Keisha, I’m all about you getting those animals.”

“Even the Dalai Lama would approve.”

“Bennie wouldn’t.”

“So we’ll keep it a secret,” Mary said, but she was worried. She couldn’t keep a lid on everything forever. Sooner or later, Bennie or Chico was going to blow, and Mary wasn’t sure which was worse. Okay, she was. “How much longer can I keep ducking her phone calls?”

“You can’t. Beat her to the punch.”

“What do you mean?”

“You disappoint me, Mare. Call her cell right now and say hi. Act like everything’s fine. Don’t give her any reason to worry.” Judy made a little skating motion with her hand. “Smooth as glass.”

“Call her now?” Mary checked her watch. 10:30. “She’s on trial. Her cell will be turned off.”

The two girls locked eyes. “Perfect!” they shouted, in happy unison.

And Mary reached for the phone.

By midafternoon, she was sitting in front of the glistening mahogany desk of Richard Matern, a V.P. at Philadelphia National Bank. He looked to be about fifty years old, much younger than Saracone. It probably would have saved time to call the guests on the maid’s list instead of meeting them, but Mary could learn more if she saw them face-to-face. Also they couldn’t hang up on her. She’d gotten in to see Matern only by harrumphing her way past his secretary and dropping Saracone’s name. And right now he was looking at her expectantly, his smile coolly professional.

Showtime. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Matern,” Mary began. “I’m Rikki Broughley, an investigator here on behalf of Melania Saracone. She would have called you to introduce me, but she’s resting today, understandably.”

“Of course she is. It’s awful about Giovanni.”

“Yes, it is. Melania mentioned that you were at the house for the luncheon and also sent her some very nice calla lilies.” Mary had remembered one card, and shot her wad.

“Thank you. It’s the least we could do.”

“Mr. Matern, for my records, could you give me some background about yourself?” Mary pulled a small legal pad from her purse, as a prop. And a security blanket. “How long have you known Mr. Saracone?”

“Ten years or so. He was a client of mine.”

Mary would have to get back to that. “Now, Melania tells me that you often fished with Mr. Saracone, on the Bella Melania .”

“Yes, my wife and I have gone out on the boat, as his guests.” Mr. Matern cocked his head in a critical way. “What did you say this was about?”

“Well, confidentially,” Mary said, lowering her voice, “it’s come to Melania’s attention that certain guests on the boat have had some of their valuables go missing after their fishing trips, and she suspects the culprit may be one of the crew. She’s asked me to look into it, to substantiate terminating him.”

“Oh, I see.” Mr. Matern’s shoulders relaxed, and Mary guessed he bought the story. She had made it up with Judy, who said it was more fun than working.

“As you were saying, you used to go fishing with Mr. Saracone.”

“You’re half right. I didn’t fish, I’m a golfer. All I did was sit on deck and drink margaritas.” Matern chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“You don’t fish?”

“Nah. Giovanni didn’t fish either, truth be known.”

Huh? “He didn’t?”

“Nah, he loved his boat and he made great margaritas, but he didn’t fish. He thought it was boring. Face it, it is boring.”

“I see.” Mary made a note on her pad, only to hide her surprise. How could that be? It didn’t square with all the fishing pictures in Saracone’s office. “Did you or your wife ever miss any valuables after a trip on the Bella Melania ?”