Courting Trouble

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Can you be so sure?” Mary looked up at Bennie, her forehead creased with fresh grief. “Who knows what difference it would have made? If we had talked to her, taken her to lunch even once, maybe she would have told us about this stalker. Or if we’d been friends, maybe we would have been with her last night when he came. She’d be alive now, if we’d been together.” Mary almost started to cry again, and even Judy was looking regretful.

  “That’s true,” she added, her bandanna droopy. “That much is true.”

  I can’t stand this. Anne couldn’t watch them feel bad for nothing. First, she was alive. Second, not everything was their fault. She wasn’t any good at women. She always had tons of dates, but no girlfriends. For as long as she could remember, she’d thought of herself as Lucy, without Ethel.

  “I’m not pretending anything,” Bennie was saying. “We did wrong by Anne, and we can all mourn her in our own way. For me, the best way is to find whoever killed her. I suggest you follow suit.” She gave Mary a final pat. “I want to check out the back. You stay here, okay? Carrier, stay with her.”

  “I need a Kleenex.” Mary rose slowly, her hand cupping her nose, and she looked around the living room. “Anybody see a box?”

  Maybe I can tell them I’m here. Anne had to be able to get their attention without tipping off the cops. She eyed the front door. The detectives were outside, and something down the block was holding their attention. She decided to go for it. She shifted Mel to her right arm, tore off her red-white-and-blue stovepipe, and waved it wildly.

  “Mary! Mary!” she called out in a stage whisper, but the women didn’t look up. “Mary!” she whispered again, but Mary was preoccupied with her drippy nose and Judy was looking for the Kleenex. The detectives, apparently sensing that the sobfest was over, were heading back inside, the smoker flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter.

  “There’s no Kleenex anywhere,” Judy said, checking the top of the TV. “There must be a bathroom, with toilet paper you can use. In trinities like this, it’s usually upstairs, at the top of the stairs.”

  The bathroom! Yes! It’s here! Behind me!

  “Good idea,” Mary said, and headed for the stairs.

  Without thinking twice, Anne turned, ducked inside the bathroom, and closed the door.

  7

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Mary gasped, just before Anne clamped a firm hand over her mouth and backed her against the bathroom door. Mel’s tail curled into a question mark against the small pedestal sink, where he’d been dumped.

  “I’m alive, Mary!” Anne whispered. She yanked down the Uncle Sam beard. “See? It’s me, Anne. I’m alive. I’m not dead!”

  “Mmph!” Mary’s reddened eyes rounded with shock, and Anne’s hand pressed down harder.

  “Shhh! I don’t want the police to know.”

  “Mmmpu!” Mary shook her head, her eyes like brown marbles.

  “I’m going to take my hand from your mouth, but don’t say anything, okay? The cops can’t know I’m here.”

  “Mmph!” Mary nodded vigorously.

  “Don’t be upset, okay?”

  “Mmph!”

  “Everything’s all right.”

  “Mpphuo!”

  “It’s really me, and I’m alive.” Anne removed her hand, and Mary started screaming.

  “HELP! HELP, POLICE!!!!”

  No! “Mary, shhhh! What are you doing!?”

  “I saw you dead! On the table! You’re a ghost! A devil!” Mary blessed herself in record time, and Anne looked around in panic. She could already hear shouting and footsteps clattering up the stairs. Loud, like clogs.

  “Mare? Mare?” Judy shouted. “Is that you?”

  “HELP! JUDY!” Mary hollered. “POLICE! ANYBODY! HELP! BENNIEEEEEE!!”

  I can’t believe this. “Shut up! I’m alive! It’s me! It was my cat-sitter who got killed! See the cat?” Anne pointed behind her at the sink, where Mel’s tail had straightened to an exclamation point.

  “No, you’re dead! I know it! I saw you! Dead, dead, dead! You had on your shirt! You were shot downstairs! Blood—”

  “It was my cat-sitter, her name was Willa. I lent her the shirt!” Anne grabbed Mary’s shoulders. “It wasn’t me!”

  “DiNunzio! I’m coming!” Bennie yelled, joined by the detectives.

  “Miss DiNunzio? Miss DiNunzio?” They were almost at the landing, the voices were so loud.

  Anne freaked. She’d run out of time. The damage was done. The doorknob was turning. She whirled around, jumped into the bathtub, and pulled the shower curtain closed just as the bathroom door swung open. Nobody would be able to see her through the shower curtain. It was opaque, a fancy flower print from Laura Ashley with a thick white liner. If it got her out of this, maybe it was worth the forty-six dollars. Mental note: Shoes, clothes, and makeup were allowed to be overpriced, but shower curtains had to prove themselves.

  “Mary, Mary, are you all right?” It was Judy, alarmed.

  “Miss DiNunzio!” It was the detective’s voice. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “DiNunzio? You okay?” It was Bennie, who must have burst into the room and flung open the door, because the shower curtain billowed. “Why did you scream?”

  Please, Mary, don’t blow it. Anne held her breath behind the curtain and stayed perfectly still against the white tile wall.

  “Uh . . . I don’t know,” Mary answered, her voice shaky.

  “But you screamed,” Judy said, then laughed. “Oh, I see. The cat.”

  Bennie laughed, too. “A cat!”

  The detectives laughed along. Everybody was ha-ha-haing. It was suddenly a bathroom party. “The cat startled you.”

  Mary, get a clue. They’re feeding you lines.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Mary said finally. “The cat. It surprised me. When I came in, it was sitting in the sink. Just like that. Sorry I screamed.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Anne thought with relief, though she was hardly on a first-name basis.

  “I guess Anne had a cat,” Judy said. “The litter box is right there, under the sink. See?”

  “I remember now,” said the detective. “We made a note of the cat box last night, but we didn’t find the cat. Well, here he is.”

  Excellent detective work. And the guy in prison is where?

  “You should take him, Mare,” Judy was saying. “He needs a home now. Can you have a cat in your apartment?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want a cat.”

  Judy scoffed. “Somebody has to take him, and me and Bennie have dogs. You had a cat once, didn’t you?”

  Take him, you idiot. I’m not dead, remember?

  “Okay, I’ll take him. Well, maybe we should go now.”

  “That’s the spirit, DiNunzio,” Bennie said, and the next sound was the opening of the bathroom door. “Maybe taking this cat is the thing you can do for Anne, huh?”

  “Maybe,” Mary answered, and the curtain ruffled again as the three lawyers, two detectives, and one confused cat left the bathroom.

  Anne climbed out of the tub after she heard the front door close, then slipped out of the bathroom and hurried downstairs. She knew Mary would tell the others she was alive as soon as she had the chance. That meant Uncle Sam had to get to the office.

  She slipped on her cartoon sunglasses and skedaddled.

  Anne had parked the Mustang in the closest lot she could get, five blocks up Locust Street, so she had to hoof it past small shops, businesses, and a string of rowhouses converted to architect, accountant, and law offices. She kept her head down but everybody thinking she was dead was a damn good disguise. Not to mention that the sidewalks were full of people dressed in green foam Statue of Liberty crowns, George W. Bush masks, and red-white-and-blue umbrella hats. Anne counted two more Uncle Sams, and they waved.

  Locust Street was a tangle of traffic. Like most of Philadelphia, the street was wide enough to accommodate only a horse-drawn buggy, and permitted just one-way traffic. She had
been told ad nauseum that Ben Franklin himself had designed the city, but she thought his famous grid lead only to gridlock. She looked ahead, down the street in front of the building that housed Rosato & Associates. The traffic bottlenecked there, because of news vans from ABC, Court TV, CNN, and the local networks parked illegally. Even at this distance Anne could see that reporters, photographers, videocams, and satellite feeds besieged the office building. The press presence had more than doubled. Who would have guessed that a pretty lawyer being murdered before a sex trial was news?

  Anne pushed up her cartoon sunglasses and plowed ahead. She scanned the street almost constantly. Kevin could be here. In a twisted way, he would want to be near her, even if she were dead. He might even want to catch a glimpse of Bennie. Or Judy. It worried her. Could they be in danger from Kevin? Not likely, but not impossible. She had learned from Erotomania 101 that the delusional often transferred their fixations.

  She checked her watch. 12:30. The deposition was at one o’clock, but she didn’t know how the press had found out about it. It wasn’t public record, and she was sure Rosato & Associates hadn’t leaked it. She hurried closer to the melee, lowering her stovepipe. Two blocks away, then one. No one should be looking for her, but a few of the reporters had come to know her from chasing her around on the Chipster. She pulled her red brim down. She had been worrying so much about Kevin, she hadn’t focused on the fact that Uncle Sam would have to withstand media scrutiny, too.

  Anne reached her office building and threaded her way through the crowd of media, keeping her eyes peeled behind the big glasses. Reporters sweated through their summer suits and TV makeup. She spotted one TV anchorwoman she knew and tilted her head down, checking her watch. 12:45. Tourists and onlookers thronged on the sidewalk, adding to the glut. She had to get going. She waded into the thumpa-thumpa of a rap CD and inhaled a puff of cigarette smoke.

  Suddenly a cell phone started ringing, and it took Anne a minute to realize it was hers. Who could be calling? The whole world thought she was dead. She unlatched her messenger bag, withdrew her cell phone, and flipped it open. “Yes?” she said, keeping her voice low.

  “Ms. Sherwood, this is Dr. Marc Goldberger.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anne answered, surprised.

  “I understand now why you were calling me. I just spoke with my supervisor. You weren’t completely honest with me, Ms. Sherwood. If that is your name.”

  Oh, no. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. Kevin Satorno escaped from prison a few days ago. Did you know that when you called?”

  “Escaped?” Anne felt her heart stop. She had guessed as much, but it terrified her to think it was really true.

  “Are you going to tell me that you didn’t know that? That it was just a coincidence that you called me today?”

  Kevin is out. Kevin is free.

  Anne couldn’t reply. She couldn’t speak. She pressed End and fought a frantic urge to crawl under something and hide. She didn’t know what to do, except not panic. She forced herself to breathe until her heartbeat returned to normal. Suddenly alone in the noisy, smoky crowd, she looked up at her office building. It took her only a second to punch in the number on her cell.

  Mary must have been waiting for her call. “Anne, where are you? Are you here?”

  “Help!” was all Anne could say, then she got it together. “I’m right outside. Can you get me past security?”

  “It’s Herb, and we told him to expect a new messenger, dressed funny. You still wearing your beard?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on my way down.”

  Thank God. Anne flipped her phone closed, suddenly eyeing every passerby. Her stomach tensed with fear. There. A blond man, with his hair Kevin’s color and cut short, as if he’d been in prison. Anne was about to scream when the blond man looped his arm around the woman next to him. On his bicep was a tattoo that read Semper Fi. A marine, not an inmate. Not Kevin.

  Anne wedged her way through the press and hurried through the revolving door to the building, which delivered her into the air-conditioned chill of a large marble lobby with restored plaster walls. She took a deep, relieved breath, but the mahogany security desk stood like a hurdle in front of the elevator bank. Mary may have called down to get Anne admitted, but there was still a chance the guard would recognize her, especially Hot And Heavy Herb. She had disguised her face but not her chest, which was all he ever noticed. Thanks to him, Rosato & Associates had the safest breasts in Philadelphia.

  Herb’s gaze zoomed in on her independent woman as she reached the desk. “Hello, honey,” he said, with what he hoped was a sexy smirk. He reeked of Aramis, and his navy uniform fit taut against his short, heavyset frame. He wore his pants with the belt buckled high, like Fred Mertz. “Why are you dressed like Uncle Sam, for a job interview?”

  “It got me past the reporters, didn’t it?” Anne kept her head down, pulled over the black spiral log book, and scribbled 36C on the solid line. “If I’m hired today, I don’t want them recognizing me and following me everywhere.”

  “So why don’t you take it off? You’re inside now.”

  “I like the power.”

  Suddenly the elevator doors opened with a discreet ping, and Mary rushed out like the cavalry. She couldn’t hide her smile. “Dressing for success?”

  “You must be Mary DiNunzio.” Anne extended a hand as if they hadn’t met, just as a commotion began at the entrance, behind her. They turned around in time to see a familiar figure coming through the revolving door, with a group of people.

  Oh, no. Now Anne was in real trouble.

  8

  Anne fled to the back corner of the elevator as Matt Booker stepped in with his clients, Beth Dietz and her ponytailed husband, Bill. On his right side stood Janine Bonnard, a pretty young woman in a gray Gap suit, who was being deposed today. Anne kept her stovepipe down and prayed Matt wouldn’t recognize her, though he seemed so preoccupied he wouldn’t have noticed if she’d been Godzilla.

  She stole a sideways glance at him. Dark circles ringed his normally bright eyes, his broad shoulders slumped in a navy suit with no tie, and his thick hair wasn’t neat enough for a deposition. She wondered if he was upset because of her. His briefcase at his side, he looked over at Mary.

  “Mary, I’m so sorry about Anne,” he said. Grief weighed down his usually confident voice. “Have you heard anything more from the police, since we talked? Don’t they have any leads on who . . . killed her?”

  Oh, jeez. Anne’s face was on fire. She felt terrible, seeing him like this.

  “Not yet,” Mary said. “But they’re working on it, I know.”

  “Please give my condolences to her family, and if there’s anything I can do to help you . . . or the police, please let me know. Keep me in the loop, okay? I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  “I can’t imagine who would do this. I just can’t . . .” Matt’s voice trailed off and he hung his head.

  “None of us can,” Mary told him, her face tight. Obviously, she didn’t like lying as much as Anne did.

  “Please give our sympathy to her family, as well.” It was Beth Dietz, and her husband nodded.

  “I will,” Mary said. “Listen, I’m running a little late for the deposition. I have to get this new messenger started.” She gestured quickly at Anne, who kept her head down. “Can you let me have an extra ten minutes?”

  “Of course. Like I told you on the phone, I would have agreed to move the dep back if you wanted to.”

  “Thanks, but it won’t be necessary.”

  “Who will be trying the case, now that Anne is—”

  “God knows.”

  Ping! The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. Rosato & Associates, read the brass letters on the wall, above the familiar rug, cloth chairs, and glass coffee table. Anne felt strangely as if she were coming back into her own life, but she couldn’t risk lingering. She got off the
elevator last and hurried out of the reception area, with her back turned to Matt.

  Mary lead Matt and his clients to one of the two conference rooms off the reception area and opened the door for them. “If you’ll wait for me in there, I’ll be right out. The bathrooms are on the left, and the court reporter’s already set up inside. I’ll be back in ten.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said, and Mary scooted down the hall, right behind Anne.

  “You’re alive!” Mary bear-hugged a startled Anne, yanking her close to a linen blouse that smelled of Ivory soap and powdery antiperspirant. Anne’s Uncle Sam disguise lay discarded on Mary’s neat desk, where Mel was sniffing her fake beard delicately. His coat looked silky in the sunlight streaming through the window, a fuzzy cat against smooth legal briefs. Lawyer Cat. Mary was beside herself. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! This is so great!”

  “Let her go before you kill her,” Judy said from the door to Mary’s office, but even she was smiling. Bennie stood next to her, grinning over a white porcelain mug that read java diva.

  “I’m so happy!” Mary segued into rocking Anne. “I’m so happy you’re alive!”

  “Is she always like this?” Anne asked as she swayed back and forth, and Bennie nodded.

  “Yes, I’ve delegated all of my emotions to her. She has them for me, Carrier, and the entire Philadelphia Bar Association. It frees us up to bill time.”

  “This is so great!” Mary finally released Anne and stood in front of her tan credenza near the door. Her hair was still a messy ponytail and her brown eyes flashed with animation. “Tell us everything, girl! I thought you were a ghost!”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Anne said, but Mary’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Of course there is.”

  Chick is a little crazy. Anne let it go and reached for Mel to give him a kiss hello. He greeted her with a where-were-you sniffing of the tip of her nose. Eskimo Cat.

  “Tell us what happened, from the beginning,” Bennie said. She eased onto the credenza with her coffee, and her smile faded. “I identified you, Murphy. I swear I saw you, dead, at the morgue. It was horrifying.”