Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

Mary didn’t know what to say, so she decided to be honest. “You guys had trouble?”

“You could say that. Haven’t spoken to the man in ages. This is about as far from South Philly as you can get, in my book.”

“Plus it has driveways.”

“There is that.” Rosaria smiled. “So what are you doing here, out of the blue? You came to see me, after all these years?”

“I’m trying to find your brother.”

Rosaria looked grim again. “I haven’t spoken to him in about four years. I have no idea where he is.”

Mary wondered what had happened. “You knew he was living with Trish, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you heard, but he and Trish are missing.”

“Ask me if I care,” Rosaria shot back.

“The police haven’t contacted you?”

“No.”

Mary let it go. “He abducted her. She was able to get a call to her mother that she needed help. He may have killed her.”

Rosaria kept walking, her dark expression contrasting with the perfect suburban setting and the happy little dog, who pranced along with her baby muzzle in the air.

“I’m trying to find them, which means I have to find him. Hopefully before he does something stupid.”

“Too late,” Rosaria said flatly, and Mary felt that chill again.

“I can’t give up on Trish. She’s in trouble.”

“Trish Gambone?” Rosaria laughed, without mirth. “This may be poetic justice.”

“You don’t mean that.” Mary hid her surprise. Rosaria had always been such a sweet, benevolent girl. “I don’t want anything to happen to Trish, I don’t even want anything to happen to your brother. I want to prevent something terrible.”

“You a cop now, Mare?” Rosaria picked up the pace, her soft jowls jiggling with the faster step.

“No. They’re investigating, but there’s things I can do, too. Find you, for example.”

“Look.” Rosaria stopped and faced her matter-of-factly. “I don’t know where my brother is or what he did to Trish. I washed my hands of him.”

“What turned you so bitter? What happened?”

“That family was a dark, dark place to me.” Rosaria started walking again, faster this time. “That’s all I want to say on the subject.”

“Okay, I understand,” Mary said quickly. She was thinking of Mr. Po’s hand on her leg.

“They’re sick. My so-called father and his son, that pig.”

“Ritchie?”

“You met my cousin? What a waste of life.”

Mary couldn’t disagree. And she couldn’t keep up the pace, either. They had made their way all the way back to the park, and she spotted a bench. “Can we just sit down for a second and talk about this? I need help. Trish needs help. Also my feet hurt.”

Rosaria sighed heavily.

“Please, for me? For old times’ sake? For Jesus, Mary, and Joseph?”

“Oh, all right.” Rosaria smiled, becoming herself again. She tugged the little dog away from a fascinating stick, and they walked to the bench and sat down, where Mary kicked off her pumps.

“I’m so professional.”

Rosaria smiled. “I heard you became a lawyer.”

“So news travels, all the way to paradise.”

“Is Brick paradise?”

“Looks like it to me.” Mary surveyed the huge houses across the river, which must have cost over a million dollars. They were three stories tall, with plenty of shiny windows and facades of gray stone. Other people would have called them McMansions, but Mary was no snob. She’d take a McMansion. Then she could be a McHome-owner. “I would love to have a house.”

“Why don’t you?” Rosaria asked, with the bluntness Mary remembered from high school.

“The down payment’s tough, but I almost have it.” Still, Mary knew that wasn’t what was holding her back. “You married?”

“Divorced.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Best decision I ever made. I’m getting smarter and I got great alimony. And the dog.” Rosaria smiled.

“Then I’m happy for you.” Mary chose her next words carefully. “Look, you don’t need to tell me your personal history. I know we weren’t that friendly. But if you could just tell me where you think your brother could be, or where he could have taken Trish, it could save a life.”

“No idea,” Rosaria shrugged, but close up her nonchalance looked more contrived.

Mary felt on edge. She wasn’t getting anywhere, and coming here had taken so much time.

“I don’t know who he is anymore. He drinks. He’s mobbed up. He sells drugs. I cut him out of my life. I couldn’t stand to see the path he was going down and I didn’t want my son exposed to that. The curtain went down between us when he told me he opened his first ‘store’”-Rosaria made quote marks in the air-“as he called it, at Ninth and Kennick. That became his corner, though he always said that one day when he made enough money, he’d get out.”

Mary made a mental note. She knew that corner.

“We used to be so close.” Rosaria smiled at the memory, almost talking aloud, her voice soft as a tear. “He used to tell me everything. I was his big sister, and it was just the two of us, really. He needed a best friend, and I was that, for him, all through grade school and high school.”

“He used to tell me about you.” Mary thought back, remembering.

“He used to tell me about you,” Rosaria said, pain flickering through her eyes. “He really loved you, you know.”

Mary’s throat caught.

“I think you were his first love.”

It was impossible to believe, given what had happened.

“You look surprised,” Rosaria said, and Mary’s mouth went dry.

“Try shocked.”

“Why?”

He didn’t tell you everything. “He didn’t tell me he loved me, or show me, in any way.”

“I’m not surprised. In that house we weren’t exactly taught how to express affection.”

Mary felt herself go into a sort of emotional stall.

“After you broke up with him, he just shut down. Closed up. We talked about it, but I don’t think he ever got over you.”

Mary felt a wave of sadness. How did it all go so wrong?

“I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault, what he did or the choices he made later. He chose to hang with Ritchie and his hoods, who were in and out of juvy. He chose Trish, too, but they were never happy, at least they never seemed happy.” Rosaria sighed. “Then the drinking got worse. I think his life didn’t turn out the way he thought it would.”

Mary let her gaze run over the lush green grass and the shifting splotches of light that filtered through the leaves of the tall trees. An older man drove on a riding mower, its green-and-yellow John Deere gleaming like new. She wished it had all been different, or at least part of it.

“But that’s in the past. It doesn’t matter now.”

How wrong you are.

“The fact is, my uncle’s toxic, that’s what my therapist says, and so is my cousin.”

Mary came out of her reverie, her heart heavy. She had to get back to the city. She didn’t have time for the guilt, for the second-guessing, for the woulda coulda shoulda.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Mary straightened up and slipped her heels back on. “So he sold drugs around Ninth and Kennick. Anything else you can tell me?”

“No. That’s all. I have no idea where he could be now, or what he’s thinking, taking Trish. You know, I used to try to talk to him, but he said he knew what he was doing.” Rosaria paused. “Oh, wait a minute.”

“What?”

“He might have a place, somewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to tell him I was afraid for him, getting in with the boys, but one time, he said not to worry.” Rosaria frowned in thought. “That he had a place to go, to get lost, when he finally got out.”