Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

And when she turned to lead them back to her office, an exuberant Judy Carrier was standing in the hallway, flashing her a joyful thumbs-up.

M ary and Judy walked among the crowds packing the sidewalk at lunchtime. Men wore ties and wrinkled shirts, their ears plugged with iPods and Bluetooth receivers, and women talked and laughed in groups, toting oversized purses and undersized cell phones. Sunlight filtered through the new leaves of skinny city trees, and everybody but Mary was enjoying the freshness of the cool day, one of the nicest so far in a chilly March. She felt haunted after the morning meeting with Trish.

Judy walked along, wrinkling her upturned nose. “You have nothing to feel bad about. You tried to help her even after all she did to you. She made your life miserable.”

“That was high school.” Mary walked with her head down, making her feel even shorter than usual next to Judy. Her best friend, at a full foot taller and from northern California, was like a walking sequoia.

“I wasn’t mean in high school, and neither were you.”

“Still, she doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her.”

“Okay, there I agree with you.”

Mary couldn’t shake her bad feeling. She’d had Trish in the back of her mind all morning, unable to concentrate on her mail, e-mail, meetings, or phone calls. She’d even forgotten to call Mrs. Foglia about Dean Martin. “What if Trish is right? What if he kills her tonight?”

“If she won’t get help, there’s nothing you can do.” Judy looked grim. “I’d say we should call the police, but that could endanger her further, and what she told you is privileged anyway.”

“I called the salon but she hadn’t come in yet, and her home number is unlisted.”

“Gangsters like their privacy.”

Mary didn’t laugh, and Judy touched her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. It sounds like he’s an abuser, not a murderer.”

“I hope you’re right.” Mary couldn’t believe he was either, not the way she remembered him.

“Also you said she was a drama queen in high school.”

“But I feel really scared for her. I have a bad feeling, like my mother, you know how she gets vibes? She can tell things.”

“You mean like that evil eye business?” Judy scoffed. “You’re just upset.”

“I feel guilty.”

“You wake up guilty.”

Mary managed a smile. “Did I let Trish down?”

“No. She got herself into this mess. How could she fall for such a loser?”

Mary kept her own counsel, studying her navy pumps. She wasn’t about to tell Judy that she’d dated him, too, and that he was the most popular guy in their class, a football player with a wacky sense of humor. All the girls loved him, and when he asked Mary out, she was sure he did it for free tutoring.

“What is it about bad boys?”

“He wasn’t bad,” Mary blurted out, but Judy was looking at her funny.

“Did you know him?”

“Not well, and that was pre-Mob.”

“What’s that? Like pre-med, with weaponry?” Judy grinned, but it faded. “Look, you couldn’t have done more than you did. If Trish won’t leave town or go to court or the cops, there’s nothing you can do. You’re a lawyer, and the law has its limits.”

Mary looked up, almost comforted. Judy’s white-blond hair caught the breeze, and it blew her bangs back, the strands fine as dandelion seeds. She loved the law, having caught the bug in law school. Mary never did; she still vacillated about whether she wanted to be a lawyer. At work, she daydreamed about other jobs and at night, she cruised www.monster.com like it was online porn.

“Now, Mare, enough about Trish. I have big news.” Judy stopped on the pavement, holding a brown bag of their leftovers, take-out Chinese. The scent of chicken lo mein wafted from the bag’s open top, and foot traffic flowed around them. “I got a call from Marshall this weekend because she couldn’t figure something out on payroll. So I went over and got to see the billing for everyone in the office. You, me, Bennie, and Anne.”

“Isn’t that confidential?”

“Not when Marshall needs help, it isn’t. So here’s the amazing thing I learned.” Judy’s blue eyes glittered. “You are responsible for bringing in more fees to the firm than Bennie.”

“What?” Mary couldn’t have heard her right.

“You’re billing the most hours, of all of us. You’re at almost 215 a month, which is killer. Anne and I come in at about 160 each, and so does Bennie. We’re all busting our asses, but you, my dear, bill more time and collect on more bills than Bennie, and that’s been true for the last three quarters.”

“Quarters?”

“Business quarters, dufus. Bennie bills you out at $250 an hour, but pays you only $125. Same with me and Anne, but we do her work, not our own clients, like you.”

Mary was getting confused. It had been a long morning. The conversation felt vaguely illicit. “So what’s the point?”

“The point is, the income you bring in is huge. You’re a profit center.”

“That can’t be. None of my bills is more than five grand and they’re all defective sunroofs, storm windows that leak, and garage doors that don’t open. This morning, I arbitrated a dispute between Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra.”

“Whatever, they pay on time.”

“Well, that’s true.” Mary knew that her base clients, the children of immigrants, were like her parents; they paid their bills before the due dates, in the naive belief that it maintained their reputation with the American aristocracy, which existed only in their own minds.

“Right now, and for almost the entire year, you’ve been bringing in more in fees than Bennie does.”

“Huh?” Mary was astounded. “But Bennie is the owner.”

“Right, and you’re keeping her firm afloat, as far as I can see.”

Mary couldn’t wrap her mind around it. It was topsy-turvy.

“Your numbers look like they’re growing. Bennie has big cases, mostly trials, and they only pay, like, once every two years. Those civil rights cases, and the police brutality, they don’t pay until the court approves the fee application. Take it from me, those are the matters I work on, and I haven’t billed anybody in three months.” Judy’s eyes focused with a piercing clarity. “You know what that means?”

“No.”

“You should ask Bennie to make you a partner.”

“What?” Mary looked around nervously, for no reason except that the conversation was high treason. Luckily no one was listening, and the only attention they were getting was because of Judy’s crazy outfit. “That’s so wrong.”

“No, it’s so right.” Judy grinned, but Mary didn’t.

“I feel sick.”

“You should feel great. You attract clients. You should be a partner.”

“But we’re associates.”

Judy shook her head happily. “Anne and I should be, but not you. You’re the rainmaker of South Philly. Think of it. Rosato amp; DiNunzio.”

Mary felt her knees give way. She looked around for support but the closest object was a grimy fire hydrant, which she lurched toward and sank onto anyway. “Ouch.”

Judy followed with the fragrant bag, and bypassers flowed around them. “I’ll e-mail you the docs. They’ll show you your billings and Bennie’s.”

“Don’t. I don’t like knowing things I’m not supposed to know.”

“You really should talk to Bennie about making you partner.”

“That would be like Pluto asking the sun for equal billing, and Pluto’s not even a planet anymore. It got demoted, like Saint Christopher, who I always liked.” Mary shifted on the fireplug. She felt queasy. It had to be the lo mein, wafting in her direction. “And now there’s no limbo. Purgatory’s next. What’s going on in this world?”