Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

“Be right there!” a voice called back, and a short, middle-aged man with black hair and dark skin emerged from the back pantry, holding a commercial-size can of Cento tomatoes. “I’m Jorge, can I help you?” he asked, his accent Hispanic.

“I didn’t see a waitress.”

“Sorry, she’s late. Please, go sit, and I’ll be right out.”

“Actually, I’m looking for a man named Eyes. I don’t know his real name, but I think he was a friend of Bobby Mancuso, who worked here a long time ago. I’m hoping that he still might come in here and that he brought Eyes with him.”

“Bobby?” Jorge asked, his expression somber. He set down the big tomato can, clank against the steel counter, then wiped his hands on his full-length apron. “We’re all so sad about Bobby. So sad.”

“You know him?” Mary asked, surprised.

“Yeah, sure. Bobby, he come in here, all the time. It’s terrible he died. Such a young man.”

“He was.” It struck Mary that nobody at Biannetti’s had looked like they were in mourning, even the day after his murder. “How often did he come in?”

“Like I say, all the time, for dinner. He liked the cannelloni. Three times a week, maybe more.”

“Was this recently?” Mary felt her heartbeat quicken.

“Sure, all the time.”

Mary didn’t understand it. Trish’s diary had said that Bobby went to Biannetti’s all the time, but there hadn’t been any references to Rolli’s. Between here and Biannetti’s, he must have been in a carb frenzy.

“You a cop, Miss?”

Mary introduced herself. “No, I’m an old friend of Bobby’s, from way back.”

Jorge’s dark eyes narrowed.

“For real. I dated him in high school. Did he ever come in with a man named Eyes?”

“No.” Jorge shook his head. “He come in alone.”

“Always alone?”

“Yes.”

Damn. “Not even with Trish, his girlfriend?”

“No.”

Mary made a mental note. She was fresh out of leads, unless she wanted to follow a fleet of Cadillacs. “So you don’t know who Eyes is?”

“No, sorry,” Jorge answered, then gestured at the doorway behind Mary. “But she might. This is Latreece, our waitress. She used to wait on Bobby all the time.”

Mary turned around, and standing in the doorway was a petite black woman wearing an oversized Baby Phat coat with tight jeans and a midnight green Eagles cap, pulled low.

“Sorry I’m late. It was just too hard to get here today.” Latreece slid the cap from her head, and Mary almost gasped. She was a young woman with a beautiful face, and her skin set off her most striking feature-a stunning pair of jade-green eyes, faintly Asian in shape.

“Eyes?” Mary blurted out, in disbelief.

M ary and Latreece sat down in white plastic chairs in a hallway to a tiny pantry of unpainted drywall, lined with boxes of canned goods and rolls of plastic-wrapped paper towels. A panel of fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows on Latreece’s face, but it couldn’t make her ugly, even grieving as she was. Her eyes, puffy and slightly bloodshot, still shone that exotic green and her fine, high cheekbones tapered to a delicate chin and soft mouth. She wore her hair natural and short, with simple gold hoops. In a different life, Latreece would have been a model, and Mary wanted to know everything about her.

“So you’re Eyes?” she asked, amazed.

“Yes. Bobby called me that the first time I waited on him.” Latreece smiled, her face lighting up. “I loved it. Made me feel like a spy. Most men, all they see is my boobs.”

Mary believed it. Latreece had on a stretchy black T-shirt, revealing an amazing body. “Not a problem I have.”

“You’re lucky.”

Right. “So when did you meet him?”

“About four years ago. I waited on him and we got to talking.” Latreece’s tone was feminine and girlish, which made sense, because she looked about twenty-five. “He worked here a long time ago. He loved this place, even though, well, you see it.” Latreece gestured down the hall. “It’s had better days. He said it was like some old TV show. Cheers. He always said Rolli’s was a place where everybody knows your name.”

Mary thought of Rosaria. It had been about four years ago that she had become estranged from Bobby.

“We got to know each other, and we started, you know, seeing each other. I knew about Trish, but that didn’t matter, not really. He loved me and he took good care of me and my daughter. She’s seven.” Latreece’s lower lip trembled. “Damn, I thought I was all cried out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know what it sounds like. What I sound like.” Latreece recovered, eyeing her pointedly with those fiery green gems. “Just so you understand, it wasn’t just sex. We loved each other. He had a good side, a wonderful side, and I loved him.”

“I understand.” More than you know.

“I didn’t want to marry him. Stop. I’m lying.” Latreece paused. “Well, in the beginning I did, but then I saw it wasn’t gonna happen, and the way it was, it worked for us.” She got lost in thought, momentarily. “Early on, I kept thinking, maybe he’ll leave her. But I always knew he wouldn’t. My brain knew better than my heart, you know?”

“Yes.”

“He was crazy about Trish. He loved her.”

Mary flashed on the horrific Polaroids, in the diary. “But he abused her, Latreece.”

“I know, I guessed it. I’m young but I wasn’t born yesterday. I left home when I got pregnant and I’ve been supporting myself since then. I danced for a long time.”

“Danced?”

Latreece laughed softly. “In a club.”

“Oh.” Mary smiled. “That kind of dancing. I don’t get out much.”

“Anyway, I knew he had a temper, especially when he drank.”

“He drank a lot.”

“I know. It was part of the reason I didn’t wanna marry him.” Latreece shook her head sadly. “But I can’t believe what happened…it’s horrible.”

“Do you think he killed her? She was terrified he would.”

“God knows.” Latreece looked crestfallen, her eyebrows sloping down. “I don’t think he would. Not if he thought about it, not if he had the chance to think. Not if he was sober.” She emitted a deep sigh. “He wasn’t mean, inside.”

“Did he say anything about asking to marry her soon? Or would he not talk to you about that?”

“Sure, he talked about it. We’d be in bed, talking about it.” Latreece shrugged. “Sounds weird but it’s true. We talked about her a lot, mostly that he thought she was cheating on him.”

Whoa. “Really?”

“He used to worry she was, all the time. He got obsessed. He called her all the time, to try and catch her.”

Mary didn’t get it. “But he was cheating.”

Latreece smiled crookedly. “So? Okay if he did it, not if she did.”

“Did he suspect any man in particular?”

“Anybody, everybody. Men who came into the salon, mostly.”

“Did he name anyone, that you remember?”

“No.”

Mary wasn’t sure why she’d asked, anyway. “Did you see him last week at all?”

“Sure, twice.”

“At the restaurant?”

“He came in late, ate, and then took me home. That’s what we always did.”

Mary thought of Trish’s diary, and the fights they’d had after he’d come home from Biannetti’s. Rolli’s hadn’t been mentioned once. The conclusion was obvious. “He didn’t tell Trish he came here, did he?”

“No way.”

“I think he told her he went to Biannetti’s, but really, he came here, where he could see you.”

“Probably.”

Mary filed it away. “Did he mention that he was going to ask Trish to marry him, on her birthday?”