Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

Then I see why.

At the top of the darkening stairway, my apartment door is open.

Wide open.

Ifreeze. Did I leave without locking the door this morning? Is that possible?

I feel my senses heighten. I strain to hear something from inside my apartment, but there isn’t a sound. The air smells vaguely of cigarettes, but then it always does, since my landlords are smokers. The door is open wide and it looks dark inside. Alice is nowhere in sight. I can’t believe this. Someone could be in there, right now.He could be in there.

I have to get out and away. I have to call the cops. I will myself into moving. I back slowly down the staircase, easing my back along the wall, my eyes riveted to the door. If he comes out, if anybody comes out, I’ll scream like hell. I inch painstakingly downward, trying not to make any noise. The plastic bag rustles slightly as I move, and I curse having bought the answering machine.

My apartment door grows smaller and smaller at the top of the staircase, and I reach the landing. Only a short flight to go. For a fleeting moment I worry about Alice. Would he hurt her? Would hekill her? I’m surprised to feel a twinge at the thought; I didn’t know I even liked the cat. Still, I’m too frightened to go back. I’m almost at the entrance hall when I hear:

Run.

And I do, bolting out the door, down the pavement, to the pay phone two blocks away. My hands are shaking as I press 911. The woman says they’ll have a car there in five minutes.

I walk back and hover at the corner directly across from the top of my street, holding my briefcase, purse, answering machine, and mail.

Five minutes later, there’s no police.

Ten minutes later, there’s still no police, and I feel like a pack animal.

Half an hour later, the only thing that’s changed is that I’m keeping company with Marv, the man who sells tree-height ficus plants on this corner. I’ve settled into his rickety folding chair to watch the front door to my building. My fear is gone, as is the steely cold taste of panic. Both have been replaced by a low-level tension. Whoever was in my apartment is probably gone by now. I just wonder what he took and what the place looks like. And whether Alice is safe. I squint up at my apartment windows, still dark. The cat isn’t on the windowsill.

In exchange for the chair, I had to listen to Marv’s life story. He’s spent thirty years selling anything that doesn’t move-encyclopedias, bronze baby shoes, Amway detergents, and now ficus plants. He told me how he drives a U-Haul down to a Florida nursery where he buys the plants for cheap, then how he brings them up here and sells them for cheap, and how he still makes out like a bandit. The U-Haul is parked in front of his apartment. Each of the ficus trees is chained to its own parking meter. Marv owns this corner. He says, Who better?

“They ain’t comin’, Mary,” he says. “You shoulda told ’em he had a gun. They hear gun, they come. They don’t hear gun, they don’t come.”

“I didn’t see a gun. I didn’t even see a person.” I watch the door across the street, but there’s no activity at all. The few passersby don’t look inside, which tells me nothing unusual is going on.

“So you say it anyway.” He rubs a pitted cheek and looks worriedly at the sky, which is almost dark. “I’m doin’ lousy today, I tell you. Can’tgive these plants away today.”

I watch the street for the cops. “Maybe I should call them again.”

“Won’t do you no good. They don’t hear gun, they don’t come.”

“Not even for a burglary?”

“You tell ’em it was a burglary?”

“No, not exactly. I don’t know if I was burglarized. I only know the door was open and I didn’t leave that way.”

He pushes up the brim of a grimy pith helmet, part of his jungle motif. “That’swhat you told ’em?”

I nod.

“Why’d you tell ’em that?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

He bursts into laughter. “Listen to this kid! Because it’s the truth, she says! You’re a lawyer, what’s the truth to you?” He guffaws. “Mary, you hear the one about the elephant and the tiger?”

I’m in no mood for more lawyer jokes. My chin sinks into my hand as I look down my street.

“Mary?”

“No.”

He licks his lips with anticipation. “So this elephant is walkin’ along in the jungle and a tiger is walkin’ behind him. And every five feet, the elephant, you know, drops a turd. Now the tiger, he’s walkin’ behind the elephant, and he eats it.”

“Jeez, Marv.” I wince.

“No, no, listen, it’s a good one. So the elephant, he gets disgusted. He turns around to the tiger and he says, ‘Yo! Why you eatin’ my turds like that?’ And the tiger says, ‘Because I just ate a lawyer and I want to get the taste out of my mouth.’” Marv bursts into gales of laughter.

I shake my head. “That’s disgusting.”

“You like that?” he says, delighted. “Wait, wait. I got another one. What’s the difference between a porcupine and a Porsche full of lawyers?”

Suddenly, a white police car turns onto my street. The cavalry. “Finally. They’re here.” I gather up my things and scramble to my feet.

“So they came after all.”

The squad car stops in front of my building and a cop climbs out of each front door. One cop is black and one is white; they’re both square-jawed enough to be from central casting. It looks like a movie is being filmed in front of my apartment, with a racially balanced cast. But it’s not a movie, it’s my life. My apartment. My cat. “I gotta go.”

“Wait, don’t you wanna hear the punch line?”

“I have to go, Marv.”

“In a porcupine, the pricks are on theoutside.”

I’m too tense to laugh as I hurry across the street.

“Come back if you need anything!” he calls out.

“Thanks,” I call back. I hustle over to the cops, who are standing together like the twin towers. I feel slightly in awe of them, of their authority. They’re the good guys. I consider telling them the whole story. About the notes and the car.

“Do you live here?” says the black cop gravely. The nameplate on his broad chest saysTARRANT.

“Yes. I’m the one who called. I came home and saw that my apartment door was open. I was too scared to go in.”

“Was there any sign of a forced entry?”

“No. But the door was open. I know I didn’t leave it that way. I don’t know if anybody is up there still. No one’s come out since I called you. I’ve been watching the front door.”

“Is there a back door?”

“Not to my apartment. I’m on the third floor.”

“No fire escape?”

“No.”

“We’ll check it out. Do you have a burglar alarm?” Meanwhile, the white cop, namedLEWIS, is squinting up at the building. When he looks up, I can see he has braces on his teeth.

“No.”

“Is the house yours?”

“No. My landlords are away.”

“You live alone?”

“I have a cat.”

Tarrant clears his throat. “May I have your key to the front door?”

I dig in my bag again. My father’s joke is miles away. With effort, I produce the keys. “This one is to the front door. The next one is the apartment door.”

He takes the key ring by the front door key. “We’ll check it out. Please stand back and clear the door.” He throws a brawny arm in my path and guides me away from the entrance. My stomach begins to churn. In a few minutes, I’ll find out what the fuck is going on.

They leave me there and enter the building. One of my neighbors across the way, the one with the Bianchi bike, watches curiously from the window. None of the other neighbors are at the windows. The shades are drawn again in the apartment across from mine. Whoever lives there is never home. A lawyer.