Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

Mary cruised through the drizzle, and her thoughts clicked ahead. She was already thinking of ways to help the cause, maybe with a well-placed leak to the press, to help spin the story in Mrs. Gambone’s favor. She could even notify women’s groups and domestic abuse organizations and tell them what had happened. They might file briefs on Mrs. Gambone’s behalf or support her in the media. Certainly the neighborhood groups would get involved, and Mary made a mental note to contact local magazines like South Philly Rowhome and the newspapers, too.

Mary stopped at a light and glanced over, with concern. Trish’s face was turned away to the window, her shoulders slumped. “How you doin’?” she asked.

“Okay.” Trish voice was hoarse.

“It was a really good deal.”

“I know.”

“Four years, if they go for it, isn’t forever. She might not even serve the whole time.”

“I know.”

“Your mom did the right thing. The smart thing.”

“We’ll see.”

“Brinkley and Kovich will take good care of her. Believe me, they take no satisfaction in locking up someone who could’ve been their own mother.”

“I saw.”

Mary stopped trying to make conversation. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Trish must be feeling, knowing that somehow she was responsible for her mother’s ruin, and even Bobby’s murder. It would change her life. It would change everything. In time, they hit South Philly, and Mary steered the car through the neighborhood. Most of the houses stood dark at this hour, and Mary flashed forward to how difficult it would be for Trish in the morning, when everybody in the neighborhood knew.

“One more thing,” Mary said, and Trish turned, shadows flashing on her face as they drove under the streetlight haloes.

“What?”

“I was thinking we should call Giulia and the girls. Have ’em come over. Agree?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?” Mary asked, and Trish looked away again, out the rainy window.

“What’re they gonna do?”

“They can help.”

“How?”

“Be your BFFs. Do girlfriendly stuff. Hold your hand. Listen to you cry.”

“Gimme a break.” Trish reached for her purse, anticipating Mary’s turning onto her street.

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“I’m fine.”

“It would be nice to have some company. Who wants to go home to an empty house?”

“I better get used to it, huh?”

Mary didn’t reply, but pulled up in front of the Gambones’ and set the emergency brake. “Hope you’re not mad at me, but the girls are inside waiting for you.”

Trish turned in surprise. “What girls? Who is?”

“G, Missy, and Yo-Yo Yolanda. I called Giulia when you were with your mom, at the Roundhouse.”

Just then the front door opened, sending a sliver of warm yellow light slicing through the darkness, and there appeared in the threshold three curvy silhouettes, topped by curls. In the next second, the girls hurried down the steps in the rain to meet the car.

“It wasn’t your worst idea,” Trish said, her voice suddenly thick. She looked back, her eyes glistening. “By the way, that thing with Joe is over.”

“Good,” Mary said, relieved. Before she could say good-bye, Trish got out of the car and closed the door, and the girls surrounded her, then swept her up the stoop and inside the house. They closed the door behind them, plunging the street back into darkness.

Mary sat alone with her thoughts, in the idling car. She’d worn a brave face the entire night, the professional mask that came with her law degree. Now that she didn’t have to pretend for anybody else, the reality was hitting home. She stayed in the car for a minute, watching the raindrops creep down the windshield, then pressed the gas and cruised down the deserted street. She steered the car toward Center City on autopilot, then fast-forwarded to a picture of herself at home, in bed, under her comforter in her Eagles jersey.

Who wants to go home to an empty house?

On impulse, she turned left two times and headed back. She knew the address; she remembered it. She didn’t know if she was ready, but she was going anyway. She figured she’d know for sure when she got there, or maybe six months from now.

In no time, she found herself parked in front of the rowhouse Anthony was renting, looking up at the second floor, where a light was on. In the window she could see his head and shoulders as he sat in front of a laptop. The monitor lit his handsome profile with white shadows, and he typed quickly, working away. Mary turned off the engine, dug in her purse for her BlackBerry, and texted him:

Come to the window.

She hit Send and waited, her heart starting to pound. She wasn’t a forward girl. She’d never even asked anybody out. She didn’t know if it was crazy or not, or if she was getting ahead of herself, or him, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t thinking of the end point, or the destination, or even the purpose. The future or the past. She was thinking only of the present, and her heart was telling her she couldn’t do anything but what she was about to do, right this minute.

And upstairs, Anthony jumped from his seat, came to the bedroom window, then left just as quickly, and Mary climbed out of the car, hurried to his front stoop, and reached it just as he threw open his door. She didn’t say anything because she was crying, and Anthony scooped her up in his arms and took her inside.

Finally, out of the rain.

T he morning sun shone through the window, making a lemony parallelogram on the comforter over Mary’s feet, warming them like a curled-up tabby cat. The house was quieter than in Center City, and the bedroom was larger. The walls were a darker blue than hers, the bedroom had a neater dresser, and the air smelled of better coffee.

The other side of the bed was empty, with only a messy white comforter, a thin pillow, and an excellent instant replay to remind her that she had slept with Anthony. She squirmed, happily nude under the covers, and checked the clock on the night table. It said 9:20, in numbers big enough to read without her contacts, which must have gotten lost in the melee.

“You’re up, huh?” Anthony appeared in the doorway, holding a mug in one hand and with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He was barefoot but dressed, wearing a pair of jeans, his white shirt partway open. His dark hair glistened wetly from a shower, and he came into the room, smiling. “I let you sleep. You needed it.”

“Thanks.” Mary pulled up the covers, self-conscious. She didn’t know if her body was ready for daylight, though she’d shown the good sense last night not to worry about it. Anthony came over, set the coffee on the night table and the paper on the bed, then propped himself on one hand while he leaned over to give her a soft kiss. Mary clamped her lips shut. “No, stop. Save yourself. You’ll die on contact with my breath.”

“Aw, come on.”

“Let me have the coffee, then let’s try again.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Anthony handed her the mug, and Mary accepted the coffee and took a quick swig, which tasted hot, sweet, and delicious.

“Okay, now.”

“Done.” Anthony leaned over again and gave her a softer, slower kiss that tasted of Colgate, and Mary felt herself respond as naturally as she had last night. He smiled and stroked her hair from her eyes. “Nice.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I like the way you kiss.”

“Kissing is fun.”

Anthony kissed her again. “I’m so glad you came over last night.”

“Me, too.”

“I have a craving for peppers and eggs. How about you?”

Mary smiled. “Is this a dream?”