Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

I cross to greet my parents before my father shouts again. “Ma. Pop. Are you guys okay?”

They reach for me and envelop me in their scratchy coats. They smell like home, a closed-up odor of marinara and mothballs. It’s crazy, all hell is breaking loose in my life, but I’m happy to see them. I hope Angie didn’t tell them everything. I don’t know how much more they can take, particularly my father.

“Maria, what happened? Where were you?” says my mother, half moaning. Her pancake makeup looks extra heavy, which signifies that she’s come downtown. “We were so worried!”

“We called Angie,” my father chimes in. “She said you went to see her. Are you in trouble, honey?”

The CEO leans closer to his lawyer and continues his conversation. The bag carrier has nothing to do but watch us, which he does. I don’t like the way he looks at my parents, with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. What’s the matter? I want to say. You never seen Italians before?

“Pop, I’m not in trouble. Everything’s-”

“What?” He nudges my mother, agitated. “What did she say, Vita?”

“She said she’s not in trouble, but I don’t believe her,” my mother shouts. “Look at her eyes, Matty. Look at her eyes.” She grabs for my chin, but I intercept her deftly, having had some practice with this.

I look over her shoulder at the smirking lawyer. “Come with me. Let’s get out of here.” I take her by one hand and him by the other and walk them out of the reception area. We gather in front of one of the conference rooms, away from the elevator bank. I stand very close to my father, so I don’t have to yell too loudly. “Listen to me. Everything is fine. I am fine.”

“Then why did you go see Angie?” my mother asks, blinking defiantly behind her thick glasses.

“What did Angie say?”

“Hah! You think I was born yesterday? You tell me why you went, then I tell you what she said.”

“What?” asks my father.

I hug him close and talk directly into his ear. “I went to see Angie. I was worried about something, but now it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“Angie said you were lonely.”

“That’s right, Pop. I was lonely. I was worried about her, missing her. Everything’s okay now. But I have to get back to work. I have a deposition. I have to go take it.”

“You givin’ us the bum’s rush?”

“I have to, Pop. I can’t help it.”

“Something’s wrong, Matty. I can see it in the child’s eyes. Ever since she was little, she can’t hide her eyes.” My mother trembles, agitated.

I touch her shoulder. “Ma. I promise you, I’m fine. If my eyes look funny, it’s because I’m about to lose my job.” I press the button to get them an elevator.

“No. We’re not leaving until this is settled.”

“What, Vita?”

“We’re not leaving until my daughter tells me what is going on. And that’s final!”

My father winces. “Veet, she has to do her job.”

I nod. “Right. Pop’s right. I have to do my job.” The elevator arrives. I step inside and press theHOLD button. “Ma, please. I have to work. I have to go, they’re waiting for me. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry I upset you, I really am.”

My father shuffles into the elevator, but my mother merely folds her arms. It’s easier to move the Mummers up Broad Street than it is to move my mother one inch. Especially when she folds her arms like that.

The elevator starts to buzz loudly. The noise reverberates in the elevator. Even my father covers his ears.

“Ma, please.”

“Vita, please.”

She wags a finger at me, her knuckle as knobby as the knot on an oak tree. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“Ma, I’m fine.”

The elevator buzzes madly.

She takes two reluctant steps into the elevator. I release the button and the buzzing stops abruptly. “Don’t worry, Ma. I love you both.” I jump out of the elevator.

“We love you,” says my father. The doors close on my mother’s scowl.

When I turn around, the bag carrier is standing alone in the elevator bank. He’s wearing a three-piece suit and a smirk I would love to smack off.

“You look familiar to me,” he says casually. “Did you go to Harvard?”

“No. I’m too stupid.” I start to walk past him, but he touches my arm.

“You look like somebody I knew on law review there, in 1986. I was editor in chief that year.”

“Editor in chief, huh?”

“Editor in chief.”

I lean in close to him. “Let me tell you something. I saw the way you carried that bag, and I must say I’ve never seen a man carry a bag as well as you did. In fact, it takes an editor in chief to carry a bag that well.” I chuck him one in the padded shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”

I take off and head for the stairs.

Fucking back. It’s getting to be fun.

I run up the stairs to the conference room, mentally switching gears on the way. I have a job to do. I have to ask Hart every question I can think of, and I have only this one shot before trial. I have to find out everything he has to support his case so I can get a defense ready. And I have to find out what the hell is going on with Ned’s father and my files.

I slip inside the conference room. It smells of fresh coffee and virgin legal pads. Pete’s already there, setting up his stenography machine. He gives me a professional nonpartisan-type nod. We both know this is bullshit. He’s my reporter and it will be my record. He’ll make me sound like Clarence Darrow before he’s done, with none of the uhs, hums, and ers that I come out with in real life.

The Harts stand together at the coffee tray. I reach for Hank’s hand. “Hello, Hank.”

“Hi, Mary,” Hank says. “I assumed the dep would be here, since you replaced Masterson as defense counsel.” He looks like an English schoolboy in a plaid bow tie, which is slightly askew.

“Right. I should have called you, but I was out yesterday.”

“I know, I tried to confirm.”

“I’m sorry. By the way, when did you get the Notice of Deposition? I don’t seem to have a copy in my pleadings index.”

He thinks a minute. “We got it when Masterson filed the answer, I think. No, we got it with the other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“You know, the discovery. Interrogatories and document requests. We answered them two weeks ago. You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

“No, actually. Maybe they got lost when the file was transferred to us.” Discovery. Of course, the written questions that Hart would have to answer and the papers he’d have to produce. Without those papers, I’m crippled for today. “Hank, would you mind if I borrowed your copy of the discovery for the deposition?”

“Not at all.” He sets his shiny briefcase on the table and opens it up. Anybody else would have denied having the documents and exploited my disadvantage, but Hank hands me a thick packet of paper. Candy from a baby. I’m almost too ashamed to take it. Almost.

“Thanks, Hank.”

“The documents we produced are on the bottom,” he says helpfully.

“Great.” I take the papers, but there’s too much to read now. I’ll do it over the lunch break, and wing it this morning. But why are the papers missing from the file in the first place? Who did this to me? “Who handled this case at Masterson, Hank? I forget. Was it-”

“Nathaniel Waters,” booms a deep voice, speaking for the first time. It’s Hart the Elder. “They pulled out their big gun.”

NSWis Ned’s father. Jesus H. Christ.

“Mary, this is my father, Henry Hart,” Hank says.

“Hello, Mr. Hart.” I extend a hand, but he ignores it. I withdraw it quickly, as Hank looks uncomfortably at me. Hart the Elder won’t even meet my eye and yanks a chair out from under the table. He’s an attractive man, tanned and trim. There’s almost no gray in his hair; I wonder if he dyes it. It would be consistent, for he seems vain, in a European-tailored suit and a light pink shirt. I can see why he was an executive at Harbison’s and can also imagine him being rude to employees, because he’s breathing fire at me.