Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

“I’m not going,” Trish said from behind her, and a new tone in her voice made Mary turn around.

The sight shocked her. Trish was standing there, her black purse tucked under her arm, a determined expression in her eyes, and in her two-fisted grip, something Mary had never expected to see.

A small black gun.

W hoa. Mary put her hands up, reflexively, her eyes on the gun in Trish’s hand. “Now you’re making me think you did it.”

“I didn’t, but I can’t take the chance in going to the cops.”

“If you didn’t kill him, then you won’t kill me.”

“I’m not gonna kill you. I’m just gonna shoot you a little.”

Yikes! “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Move over and let me go.” Trish aimed the gun higher, stiff armed, but Mary didn’t budge from in front of the door. She prayed Trish wouldn’t shoot her, but she wasn’t about to let the girl walk out, not after all it took to track her down.

“Move.” Trish took a step closer.

“No,” Mary heard herself say, anger welling from deep inside. “Once a Mean Girl, always a Mean Girl. Judy said you’d hurt me, but I didn’t listen.”

“Move over and let me get outta here.”

“What’s the plan, Trish? Lose everything? Keep running? Never go home? If you wanted that, you could’ve done that in the first place, when you came to my office.”

“Move. Now.”

“Never. I got fired to help you. I lost clients to help you. I drove to wherever the hell we are for you. I’m not going back without you.” Mary lowered her hand slowly and held it out, before she could even judge the wisdom of her own actions. “Give me the gun.”

“Move.” Trish took another step closer, and so did Mary, hand still outstretched.

“Give it to me. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“You’re asking me to take a chance with my life.”

“No, I’m asking you to trust somebody. Trust me.”

Trish hesitated. “You said the law fails people like me.”

“It does. I won’t.”

Trish eyed her directly, and Mary met her gaze over the gun.

“I found you here, didn’t I? Please, give it to me.”

Suddenly Trish heaved a deep sigh and flopped the gun sideways in Mary’s hand.

“Thanks.” Mary raised the gun and immediately pointed it back at Trish. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Are you nuts?” Trish recoiled in alarm. “What’re you doin’, freak?”

“Teaching you something.”

“What?”

“Call your mother.”

Trish snorted. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

“No. Call your mother.”

“At gunpoint?”

“If that’s what it takes. Call her.” Mary smiled behind the gun, flinty as Clint Eastwood. “Go ahead. Make her day.”

“I was gonna call her,” Trish said defensively.

“So go ahead then. Me and my new gun will wait.”

“You are so ignorant!” Trish rolled her eyes like a teenager, stalked to the phone beside the bed, and picked up the receiver, pressing in the number.

“You need to be a better daughter and a better friend.”

“You need to shut up.” Trish turned away and spoke into the receiver. “Ma? Yes, Ma, it’s me, I’m fine, I’m alive…don’t have a heart attack…Ma, don’t freak…I’m here with Mary. DiNunzio. She found me…and it’s all right now…she’s bringing me home…we should be home by morning.”

Mary lowered the gun, and when Trish started to cry into the phone, she pretended not to hear. Her arms trembled as the adrenaline ebbed from her body, leaving her with the residue of doubt. Had Trish killed Bobby? It was scary how fast the girl had come up with the scenario. Nor did it help that Trish had pulled a gun on her. It was the kind of thing that made you doubt somebody.

“Okay, love you, too.” Trish hung up the phone, turning, but Mary raised the gun again.

“Now call Giulia.”

“Mare, get over yourself. That gun’s makin’ you mental. You’re trippin’.”

“Do it.”

“Arg!” Trish turned back to the phone and picked up the receiver, and Mary felt a certain degree of satisfaction. She’d make Trish a better person, at gunpoint.

Half an hour later, Mary was driving on the turnpike, with a silent Trish sulking in the passenger seat, her head turned to the window. Traffic was light because of the rainstorm, and she had to keep braking so as not to outrun her headlights in the downpour. The windshield wipers beat frantically, and she kept a bead on the red taillights in front of her, avoided trucks spraying water from their big tires, and switched the heat off so she wouldn’t fall asleep.

While she’d waited for Trish to get her act together, she’d called Missing Persons and told them Trish wasn’t missing anymore, and also left another message on Brinkley’s cell, telling him she had Trish with her. He hadn’t called her back yet, which was odd. They’d left the motel in her car, abandoning the BMW because she didn’t trust Trish to follow her to the city, not after that little attempted-murder thingy.

Mary flicked on the radio news to keep herself awake, and after weather and sports stories, the announcer came on. “This just in, there’s been another murder in the city’s rapidly escalating Mob war, which began Tuesday with the shooting death of Robert Mancuso.”

“My God. Listen up.” Mary gripped the steering wheel in surprise, and Trish shifted in the seat and cranked up the volume.

“Authorities report that the alleged mobster member Al Barbi, age thirty-four, of South Philadelphia, was shot to death as he entered his home at 2910 Redstone Street. Authorities have no leads at the present time, and a press conference will be held on Friday morning at ten o’clock to address the recent surge in violence.”

Mary put two and two together. “That explains why Brinkley hasn’t called back. He’s got his hands full.”

“You’re tellin’ me. That’s Cadillac.”

Mary almost veered off the highway. “You serious? You mean that guy who got killed, Al Barbi, is Cadillac? From the diary?”

“Yeah.” Trish nodded matter-of-factly.

“So what’s that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Trish snapped off the radio. “You can figure it out.”

Mary wished for a gun. “Help me out, can you? I’m driving in a monsoon, I haven’t slept for three days, and I don’t know much about the Mob because I’m not a felon.”

“Whatev.” Trish looked over, her eyes glittering in the dark car. “Cadillac knew Bobby was skimmin’ and he always had the knives out for him. Plus Cadillac was totally jealous of his business, I know that. So Cadillac musta been the one who whacked him.”

Mary shuddered.

“And somebody musta got pissed at Cadillac for it. Maybe he didn’t get the go-ahead. So he ended up dead for doin’ Bobby.”

“The go-ahead? To kill somebody?”

“Yeah, what’re you, stupid?”

Mary felt like a mother driving her kid to school. Reform school.

“Or maybe somebody didn’t want Cadillac movin’ up.” Trish paused. “Not that I know.”

“You know more than you say.”

“Yeah, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Mary didn’t laugh, but Trish did.

“Lighten up, yo. Way I see it, they all got what they deserved.” Trish folded her knees up and rested her spike heels on the dashboard.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Put your feet there.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the mommy, that’s why.”

Trish slid out of her fur jacket, folded it in two, and put it beneath her head like a fox pillow. “Do these seats go back?”

“On the right, there’s a handle.”