Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

Anthony pulled up the emergency brake and looked over with a tight smile. “Was it something I said?”

“Why? What do you mean?” Mary felt her face flush.

“You’ve been so quiet and well-behaved.”

“This, from an altar boy,” Mary shot back, more harshly than she’d intended. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just that this was such an awful night.”

“In some ways. But in other ways, it was great. I got to know you.”

Mary smiled, but somewhere inside she felt like crying.

“No, really, going to your house, it felt like home. It was wonderful. It was…real.”

Mary heard a soft, masculine note in his voice that she liked, even though she wasn’t ready to like it yet.

“Your parents were terrific, the food was delicious, and we’re in agreement on my sexuality.”

Mary reached for the door handle and saw Anthony’s eye catch the movement. If he was even thinking about kissing her good night, which it was way too early for anyway, she’d head it off with her patented going-for-the-door-handle move.

“I’d love to see you again. Okay with you?”

No. “Yes.”

“Are you free this weekend?”

Yes. “No. Maybe next, I’m not sure. Gimme a call.”

“Okay, well-”

“See you later and thanks for everything. ’Bye.” Mary grabbed her bag and got out of the car, closing the door. Through the glass she could see the corners of Anthony’s mouth turn down, and superimposed on his troubled expression was her own reflection, frowning back at her. She couldn’t begin to deal with him. She couldn’t make it better for him. She couldn’t even make it better for herself.

She turned away and escaped to her building, let herself in and grabbed her mail without looking at it, then climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was unlocking her door when she heard her phone ringing inside.

She burst through and flicked on the living room light.

M ary dropped her purse and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s Reg Brinkley.”

“Reg, thanks for calling.” Mary couldn’t miss the chill in her old friend’s voice. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I didn’t know they’d go on TV, I swear.”

“I figured. I got your messages but didn’t want to call you from work or on your cell. This conversation is confidential, correct?”

Gulp. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. Nothing like that will ever happen again, I promise.”

“I gotta make this fast, we’re busy tonight. Please don’t call me at work anymore. You’re radioactive.”

“I won’t,” Mary said, taken aback. She sank onto the living room couch.

“Take my cell number. If you need to contact me, call me there.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mary grabbed a pen from the table and scribbled his cell number on her hand when he rattled it off. “I hope I didn’t get you in too much trouble.”

Brinkley chuckled, which made Mary feel worse. She’d let a friend down, not to mention endangered his job, and all because he’d tried to help her. It didn’t feel good. She was screwing up left and right this week.

“Reg, yell at me or something.”

“Don’t worry about it. Officially, I have to bow out of the picture. As far as your friend Trish Gambone goes, let Missing Persons do its thing. They didn’t appreciate me sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, but they’re on it, even if they are busy with the Donchess case.”

“I heard Trish called her mom.”

“I know. How’d you know?”

“Her mom told me.” Mary gave the details. “Do the cops have any idea where she could be? Can they locate where the call came from?”

“I’m not discussing it further. Missing Persons knows about it and they’re on it.”

“So that’s the only lead?”

“Enough, Mare.”

Mary took it as a yes.

“Also, please tell your nutty friend Giulia to stop calling me.”

Mary moaned. “She’s calling you?”

“All the time.”

Great. “By the way, I have Trish’s diary. Does Missing Persons want it?”

“Yes. Anything in it?”

“Like what?” Mary asked.

“References to a getaway place they like. Their habits as a couple. People have patterns.”

Mary made a mental note. “I haven’t even had a chance to read it yet. Today was wall to wall.”

“Messenger it to them tomorrow.”

“I could take it over myself, first thing in the morning.”

“No,” Brinkley answered quickly. “I don’t want you anywhere near the Roundhouse.”

Mary tried not to take it personally.

“Sorry I can’t help you anymore. Hope they find your friend. Give my best to Mama.”

“I will,” Mary said, and Brinkley hung up before she could say she was sorry again.

Half an hour later, she was leaning against the soft down pillows in her bed, wearing her Eagles sweatshirt, her hair on top of her head in its Pebbles ponytail, and wearing her glasses, getting ready to read Trish’s diary. She would look for the references that Brinkley mentioned, and it could tell her more about their relationship. Not that it would be fun reading.

My daughter came to you for help.

Mary felt a deep pang, then pressed the image of Mrs. Gambone to the back of her mind. She grabbed a pen and propped her legal pad up on her knees. The best way she could help Trish was to do exactly what she was doing. She took a sip of decaf Lipton and began to read on page one.

My birthday!!! Yay, T!! We went out for a great dinner and he gave me diamond studs, 2.3 carats if you add them together!!! G’s are only 1 carat each and also they’re flat, so it’s a cheat. They look bigger but aren’t really heavier and the cut isn’t as good. BTW, I’m starting a journal. But tonight, I drank too much to write much. TTYL.

Mary made a note, then thought a minute. So that was why she didn’t find any other diaries in the house. She read on, and pretty quickly the November and December entries fell into a pattern. Trish seemed to write at night, on a weekly basis, after they’d gone out to dinner and a movie, a club, or a party. The entries were glowing and loving. Entries about the Mean Girls concerned weight gained and lost, and the time Yolanda got a butterfly tattooed on her lower back, which led to a flock of butterfly tattoos.

It hurt like a mother!

Mary smiled, sadly. Trish could be so cute, even conscientious, recording details about work, her increasingly large number of clients, formulas for mixing lowlights, and gripes about one Shawna, who appeared to be the salon’s Mean Girl. Trish wrote about her mother, worrying that Mrs. Gambone never went out and needed a man. She worried even more about Giulia, who seemed so moody lately, and Yolanda was so jealous of me.

Mary sipped some tea, and by February, the entries were changing. After the dinners, there were fights. He drank too much, again. Or, He yelled at me for no reason. There were fewer exclamation points, fewer dates they went on together, fewer notes about the Mean Girls.

Many of the entries read that He came back late from Biannetti’s, drunk. Mary recorded and counted them, finding 28 such entries until March. And about that same time, Trish wrote that he’s skimming, I just know it. He always has so much cash on him, and always when he comes back from work.

By June, Trish was becoming frightened. The fights became worse, the drinking more frequent, and the skimming worried her more and more. On June 4 and June 10, she worried that they’ll find out. On June 23, she wrote that Cadillac thinks he’s stealing because at a wedding, Cadillac said that my watch must have cost an arm and a leg, and said, I didn’t know your boyfriend was earning that much. Mary made a note of the name Cadillac, but couldn’t find a last name.