Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

“Come on, Dave. I gotta get to a drugstore before I croak.”

Tarrant is laughing too hard even to respond. I hand the Coke to Lewis. “I’m really sorry. Maybe this will help.”

He accepts the can miserably. “I can’t see it but I can tell it’s good.”

“Stay cool, Jim. It’s not a brew. It’s a diet Coke.”

“I know that,” he scoffs. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Thank you for your help.”

They get into the car, with Tarrant driving, and pull away. I’m left standing there with Marv. Even though I’m tired, I’m in no hurry to go back upstairs.

“You musta left the door open,” Marv says. He’s taken off his pith helmet, and his hair is plastered against his head in a ring.

“I guess. Thanks for the use of the chair.”

“Listen, I stuck around ’cause I want to tell you something.” He leans over. “You gotta think about protectin’ yourself.”

“I can’t get a dog, Marv. I’m never home.”

He looks furtively around. “I’m not talking about a dog. I’m talking about this.” He looks down and so do I. In the middle of his calloused palm is a small black gun. It has an embossed black trident on its handle. It looks like a shiny new toy.

“Is that real?”

“It’s a Beretta.”

“Marv, what are you doing with that? Are you nuts?” I look around wildly. The guy with the Bianchi is gone from the window. So is the Bianchi.

“Shh. Shh. I’m tryin’ to tell you somethin’.”

“You can’t just carry that around in your pocket, for Christ’s sake. Is it loaded?”

“Can’t drill no holes if it ain’t.”

I step back. “Jesus, Marv, are you crazy? That’s a concealed weapon!”

“It’s legal. I got a permit.”

“That doesn’t mean you can carry it around! Did you have that when you were talking to the cop?”

He smiles slyly. “Right under his nose and he didn’t even know it. I’m telling you, Mary, you need one of these. You live by yourself. All you got for protection is that scrawny cat. Wise up.” He shoves the gun into my hand.

It terrifies me, just the feel of it. Light and deadly. “Take it back. Get it away from me.” I hand it to him, but he pushes it back at me. I feel panicky. “Marv, take it back! It’s gonna go off!”

He takes it back, with a chuckle. “Can’t go off. It’s got a safety.” He slips it into his pocket as if it were loose change.

“Marv, why do you have that thing?”

“You think you can run a cash business in this city without a gun? Besides, it’s my right. It says it in the United States Constitution. I have the right to bear arms.”

“Don’t tell me what the Constitution says. The Constitution is talking about the need for an army. It’s so the army can have the guns, Marv, not guys who sell plants. You’ll get yourself hurt with that thing.”

“Oh please.”

“You will. I read that. They’ll take it from you and use it against you.”

“You sure you don’t want to borrow it for just one night? If you need to shoot it, you just take the safety off and hold it with two hands, like onCharlie’s Angels. Like this.” He makes a Luger with his fingers.

“No, thanks.”

“Sure?”

“I couldn’t use it anyway. I couldn’t shoot anybody. Now I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, you could. If you had to. If somebody was trying to kill you, you sure as hell could.”

“See you, Marv.”

His thin voice calls after me. “Don’t kid yourself, Mary. You’d use it. Every one of us would. Don’t kid yourself.”

I leave him standing there in the yellow square of light spilling out from my window. A hustler with a toy-sized gun in the pocket of his chinos.

Iget inside my apartment and check everywhere for notes, for damage, for something missing. For any kind of sign that someone has been here. I find nothing.

I try my best to feel at home. I go around and touch all of my things, rechristening them. I clean up the bedroom. I open a can of Progresso soup. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is different about the place. I settle down on the living room floor to figure out the directions for the answering machine, but I can’t concentrate.

Alice comes over and sniffs the open box. She saw the whole thing. “Did I leave the door open, Alice?”

She ignores me and walks away.

“You can be replaced!” I shout after her.

I sit in the middle of my floor with a mug of lentil soup and look around my empty apartment. I feel edgy and decide to call Judy. She thinks the whole thing is as creepy as I do but convinces me that I left the door unlocked. Everybody makes mistakes, she says, even you. Then she gets worked up about Marv’s gun; it takes me ten minutes to persuade her that I wouldn’t think of buying one. I hook up the machine and begin screening the calls after that. I pick up when I hear Ned’s voice.

“Hey, Mary. I didn’t know you had an answering machine.”

“It’s new.”

“You going to use it instead of star sixty-nine?”

“Until my number gets changed.”

“I like it, it’s cute. You sound like a kid.”

“Great. I wanted to sound like a hit man. Hit woman.”

He laughs. “Not on your life. So how are you doing? You’ve been burning up the phone lines.”

“Don’t ask.”

“Anything the matter?”

“Yes, but I’m too tired to talk about it.”

“Just give me the headline.”

“I thought a car was following me, but it wasn’t. I thought someone broke into my apartment, but they didn’t. Not a good day.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Now I’m tired. I was just about to go to sleep.”

“I should let you go then.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to tell you. Your father sends his regards.”

“My fatherwhat? ”

“I was at Masterson. He introduced himself.”

“To you? Why?” Ned sounds concerned, almost frightened.

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to meet me. I guess you told him that we-”

“I haven’t spoken to my father in fifteen years, Mary.”

“You haven’t? Why not?”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Can I stop by your office tomorrow?”

I offer a tentative okay and we hang up. None of this makes sense. Why would a grown man sound frightened of his father? Why haven’t they spoken in a decade and a half? How does his father know anything about me? I have so many questions lately, and no answers at all. I don’t like this feeling, that everything’s slipping out of control. I kept it together after Mike died, and it wasn’t easy. Now it’s all under attack. Threatened at the foundation.

I close the living room blinds and check the dead bolt. I decide to take a hot bubble bath to calm down. I push theANSWER CALL button on the answering machine and fill the tub. I undress quickly, throwing my clothes into a heap on the bathroom floor. I sink deep into the warm, scented water, artificially blue in imitation of the Caribbean. The box promised that the sapphire currents would wash my troubles away. Don’t worry, be happy. I lie still in the tub, listening for any sound in the apartment. The only noise is the crackling of the bubbles as they pop at my earlobes. I try to enjoy high tide, but as soon as I start, the telephone rings. I stiffen and wait for the machine to answer.

The rings stop, and there’s a mechanical noise as the tape machine engages. “Mary, this is Timothy Jameson. See me first thing in the morning. You know when I get in.”Click.

At least it’s nothim.

I relax in the warm, silky water. It feels good, therapeutic. I sink deeper, so the waves lap at my chin. I close my eyes. No problem, mon.