Courting Trouble

by Lisa Scottoline

  “More?” Anne looked over in fear, and Mary was holding up a black straw hat with a bigger brim than most beach umbrellas. She handed it to Anne, who set it on her head, impulsively tilted it to the side, and pivoted like a prom queen.

  Bennie, Judy, and Mary broke into collective grins. “Wow!” Mary clapped.

  “Awesome!” Judy said, then her face changed. “Oh wait, I almost forgot. You can’t go without these.” She reached into her pocket and extracted something that fit in her palm, then held it up. It was a pair of long earrings, with tiny, irregularly shaped red, black, and blue glass beads, in wild zigzag and swirling patterns. The beads caught the sunlight and glowed like fireworks.

  “How beautiful!” Anne was amazed. She’d never seen anything like them and she’d shopped everywhere. “Where did you get them? The art store?”

  “Not exactly. I made them for you. The beads are glass.” Judy handed them over with a sheepish smile. “Welcome to Philadelphia, Anne.”

  Anne clipped on the earrings, touched. These women were so generous to her, each in her own way. They were trying to help her. They actually seemed to care about her. Her throat was suddenly too thick to permit speech, so she did what came naturally and threw herself into their arms, hat and all. “Thank you so much!” she managed to croak out, and her hug spanned three lawyers with some success. “You guys are the best!”

  Mary hugged her back the hardest, then Judy, who laughed with surprise. But it was Bennie who patted her back and whispered into her ear: “Everything’s gonna be all right, honey.”

  It filled Anne with a warmth she had never experienced. Mental note: Girlfriends are more necessary than underwear.

  “Okay, ladies, it’s showtime!” Bennie announced, breaking the clinch, and the three mourners sprang into action, with one lagging behind: Anne.

  “Bennie, would this be a good time to tell you what happened to the Mustang?” she began.

  18

  The Chestnut Club was one of Philadelphia’s grandest gray ladies, a Victorian mansion with a huge, paneled entrance hall, a sweeping, mahogany staircase, and a landing with an immense, stained-glass window depicting William Penn negotiating with the Native Americans. Their lawyer wasn’t present.

  Inside, Anne checked her watch, tense. 11:30. Half an hour before the start of the memorial service, and a few people were still arriving. It was a small crowd, which she’d expected; not because of the holiday or the shortness of the notice, but because nobody liked her until twenty minutes ago. She circulated among the mourners, her face artfully made up, her head bent under the wide-brimmed hat, with her sunglasses on. Nobody could see her, much less recognize her, and she was able to spy through the lattice weave of the straw.

  She spotted a nice client on one of her commercial contracts cases, Marge Derrick, another commercial client, Cheryl Snyder, and a lovely woman, Lore Yao, whom she knew from a benefit for the Free Library. The staff of Rosato & Associates appeared in force, and Anne wished she could have let them in on the secret, but Bennie had ruled against it. Kevin was nowhere in sight.

  Anne walked to the front entrance of the club and looked outside. The press thronged on the street, now joined by onlookers and holiday partiers. Photographers held their cameras above the throng, snapping away, and TV anchorpeople stood to the side, talking to videocameras. They spilled off the sidewalk into traffic, uncontained by too-few uniformed police and sawhorses. Still, no sign of Kevin.

  She shifted her gaze to the four rent-a-muscle men Bennie had hired, mixing with the crowd in suits. They were dressed as lawyers, but the biceps straining their suit seams betrayed them. She spotted the Australian bush hat of Angus Connolly, and saw Mary circulating, checking press credentials, passes, and faces. Anne didn’t see Kevin in the crowd. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked over, startled.

  It was Bennie. “Relax, Murphy,” she said. “Everything’s fine. The kitchen, the press, and the flowers are all taken care of, so far. Maybe you’d feel better if you came in and sat down.”

  Anne nodded, just as she spied Matt outside, in a dark suit and light-blue tie, breaking from the gauntlet of the press and climbing up the stairs. The swelling had gone down on his cheek, and her heart leaped at the sight, then hardened. Matt wasn’t alone. Right behind him came Bill and Beth Dietz, dressed in black. Anne couldn’t believe her eyes. Why had Matt brought them?

  “Do you see this?” she murmured to Bennie, who clearly had, from her expression. Her mouth set grimly and her blue eyes had gone flinty. She took Anne by the elbow.

  “Time to go inside,” she said, leading Anne back into the entrance hall. “Get going. I gotta mingle.”

  Anne walked to the large room, as Matt passed her on the right without recognizing her, shepherding the Dietzes. Why would he bring them? For the press? He had to know it would upset her, either way. She kept her head down and her wits about her, then became aware of a man falling into stride beside her, looking right at her. It was Gil Martin.

  It gave Anne a start. She had pushed Gil to the back of her mind, but she was in denial. This could be the day she got fired. There was no telling from Gil’s expression, which was professionally grave. He wore a dark suit, a shiny Hermès tie, and a renewed tan. His hand touched her arm briefly.

  “If this is you under the hat, we need to talk,” he said in a low voice.

  Damn. “Now?”

  “Yes. Jamie’s inside the service already. We only have a minute.”

  Anne led him past the staircase, a hall of old-fashioned wooden telephone booths, and toward the smoking lounge. Nobody would be in there; it was tucked away. She reached the room, pushed on the paneled door, and found the small room empty. She slipped inside, with Gil behind her.

  “Gil,” Anne said, beginning her opening argument. “I really think you should let me keep—”

  “Stop.” Gil squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to convince me. I thought about what you said, about the case, and frankly, about the media. I bet on you before and I’m staying the course.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Anne felt so grateful she hugged him, Victorian hat and all. But just then the door to the lounge opened with a loud creak, and Anne and Gil looked up from their embrace. Gil’s wife, Jamie, was standing in the doorway in a black Chanel suit, shaking with anger.

  “Here, too, Gil? Can’t you keep it in your pants at a funeral? With me in the next room?” Jamie’s pretty face was red, her lipsticked mouth contorted. “Who’s this one? Forget it, I don’t care! You promised, Gil! We made a deal!” She turned on her heel and left, letting the heavy door bang closed behind her.

  Anne backed away from Gil, stunned. She tried to process what had just happened. She always believed Gil and Jamie had a good marriage. “What was she talking about, Gil? What deal?”

  “I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Gil answered, his features calm and in control. “Jamie always thinks I’m having affairs, which I’m obviously not. Are we having an affair? No. She’s just crazy.”

  “Bullshit!” Anne had been hit on by too many married men to believe him now. Had she been played? Had Matt been right? Was Gil the liar, not Beth Dietz? “Is Beth telling the truth? Did you force her to have sex with you?”

  “Please!” Gil’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “I never forced myself on anybody, I don’t have to.”

  “You had an affair with her, then?”

  “All right, fine. You’re my lawyer, you have to keep it confidential, right?”

  “Gil, tell me the truth!” Anne shouted, but Gil gripped her arm, angry.

  “Shh, don’t make a big deal. So what? Me and Beth had an affair, we were fooling around for months. But I didn’t make her screw me to keep her job. She wanted to. She hates her husband. He’s an abusive jerk.”

  My God. Anne edged away. What was true? Was it really a consensual affair? Dietz was an abusive jerk. Her thoughts raced, but Gil seemed superbly in control.

  “There’s no basis t
o the lawsuit, Anne. Beth filed it because I broke off the affair and she wanted to get revenge. My defense is the same as before. This changes nothing.”

  “It changes everything! I asked you more than once if you had an affair with Beth, remember? You lied to me!” Anne couldn’t believe how gullible she’d been. She’d believed him because she’d wanted to believe him. He was her client, her friend. “You told me you were insulted by the question! You made me feel like shit!”

  “I didn’t want you to know about the affair. I was embarrassed and afraid you’d tell Jamie. Or at least you wouldn’t be able to hide it around her. But it still doesn’t make any difference to the lawsuit. I’m telling you, I still didn’t make her have sex.”

  “What deal did Jamie mean? What deal did you make?”

  “She stays with me through the trial, then IPO. I want to be squeaky-clean. Besides, if she waits until after the IPO, she divorces me and gets ten million. If she does it now, she gets zip. Which would you choose? And she’ll lie at trial if we want her to.”

  “We don’t want her to!” Anne couldn’t think fast enough. She didn’t know this side of Gil. How could she have been so stupid? “I won’t put Jamie on the stand to lie for you! And I won’t put you up there either! I don’t want your defense anymore. Find yourself another shill!”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be so emotional.” Gil’s tone was supposed to be soothing, but it disgusted Anne. He reached for her to calm her, and she pulled back. She couldn’t wrap her mind around any of it. She had just kept the case of her career, only to find out she was defending a total sleazebucket. And she didn’t have time to deal with it now. Kevin might already be out there. The memorial service would be starting any minute.

  She turned on her heel, enjoying the rather theatrical swirl to her skirt, and walked out on her client without another word. She had no explanation for her behavior, now that she was a brunette. Mental note: Impulsiveness may not be related to haircolor.

  She hurried down the corridor, past the entrance, and entered the service. The room was paneled, large and boxy, with rows of tan folding chairs in two blocks with a center aisle. Only the first three rows of seats were taken, and Anne took a seat in the back row, for the best view. She tried to get back in control. This was her last chance to catch Kevin. She searched every head, every set of shoulders in front of her. No Kevin. She checked her watch. 11:55. The service was about to start. Were was he? Was he coming?

  Anne checked the room. Judy and Bennie stood in the front, talking together off to the side, and Mary entered and joined them. Matt sat on the right side of the room, next to the Dietzes. Gil was seated two rows behind them, his head bent in an impression of a man with a conscience. Near him sat Detective Rafferty, in coat and tie, and his chain-smoking partner, whose back pressed heavily against the folding chair. The gathering seemed to settle as the last of the stragglers came in. Anne tried to ignore the fact that her mother couldn’t be bothered to attend, her lover had betrayed her, her client had lied through his bleached teeth, and her psycho killer was still on the loose.

  A flower deliveryman came in, and she watched Judy hurry to meet him at the door, check his ID, then wave him to the front of the room, where he set the flowers down with the few others: lilies, mums, and white sweetheart-roses. The white roses were a corporate gift from a client, and the other flowers were from various Center City law firms, and there was one from the gym. None was from friends, because Anne had no friends, and if that wasn’t a graphic enough illustration, no one in the crowd was weeping or even looking mildly bothered.

  She felt an echo of the same emptiness she’d experienced in Willa’s house, looking at her black-and-white drawings. She didn’t want to continue on Willa’s path, closed up and alone, and it was where she’d been going. All around her was proof positive. She resolved on the spot to let her death change her life. But first she had to stop Kevin, once and for all.

  Bennie was already at the lectern. “Good afternoon,” she began, adjusting the black stem of the microphone. “I’m Bennie Rosato, and thank you very deeply for coming to this memorial service. Today we honor a young woman I greatly admire, Anne Murphy. I hired her a year ago, because she struck me as an intelligent, well-trained, and hardworking young lawyer. But, in truth, I didn’t take much time to get to know her, this past year. It was my loss, and not hers.”

  Listening, Anne felt her mouth go dry. This wasn’t the script they had discussed back at the office. Bennie had hated the idea of lying to the people, so she was supposed to keep her eulogy generic and impersonal. On the sidelines, Judy and Mary exchanged looks, and the office staff whispered to each other in their seats.

  “But more recently,” Bennie continued, “I have come to know Anne Murphy, and actually to love her. Her boldness, her courage, and her doggedness. Her resourcefulness, even her recklessness—”

  Suddenly, a young man stood up at the far end of the third row. “Judy Carrier! Ms. Carrier!” he shouted. “Ms. Carrier! You!” He pointed to Judy, standing at the front of the room. “City Beat wants to know, Ms. Carrier!”

  Bennie’s lips parted in surprise, and Judy edged away, appalled. Anne didn’t get it. Was it a joke? Who was this clown? The crowd turned to the young man, who kept shouting.

  “Ms. Carrier, why were you in Anne Murphy’s car the day after she was murdered? What do you have to say for yourself?” The man had leaped from his folding chair and headed straight for Judy before anybody knew what was happening, pulling a tiny digital camera from his jacket pocket. “City Beat wants to know!”

  City Beat? It was the paper Anne had read on the way to the office. The one with that wanna-be journalist, Angus Connolly, with the bush hat. But this guy wasn’t Angus Connolly, and what did he want from Judy, for God’s sake?

  Anne rose to her feet, watching in shock as he snapped pictures, advancing on Judy. Detective Rafferty jumped from his chair and lunged toward the reporter, as did his heavyset partner.

  All of a sudden a second man started yelling from the other side of the row. “Judy Carrier! Carrier! Answer our allegations! What were you doing with Anne Murphy’s car? You killed Anne Murphy! City Beat has the story!”

  What? Anne was stunned. Judy’s eyes widened, her arms pinwheeled, and she tumbled backward into the flowers. Anne rushed to help Judy, but she saw Gil bolt for the exit with the Dietzes right behind. Matt and Bennie tried to get to the second reporter, who was charging toward Judy, brandishing something.

  “Judy Carrier!” he shouted. “You killed Anne Murphy! We have the proof! City Beat has the proof! An exclusive undercover investigation!” He was shouting as Bennie grabbed him. Matt and two other men piled on, but the young man wouldn’t stop yelling. “Confess! You had her car! We have the proof! You were driving her car the day after you shot her!”

  My God! Anne froze on her feet, her mind racing. These amateurs thought Judy was her killer!

  “You did it!” yelled the first reporter, as Detective Rafferty and his partner forced him to the ground. “You can’t do this! We are the working press! We are the working press! We have rights! Constitutional rights!”

  The service was thrown into pandemonium. People darted from their seats, tripping on chairs. Anne was pushed against the guests when a vivid flash of red at the door caught her eye. A dozen red roses, held by a deliveryman, his face visible over the roses. His hair was dyed matte-black, but his eyes, nose, and mouth were recognizable.

  It was Kevin.

  “Stop him!” Anne screamed above the din, but Kevin vanished in the next instant. “Stop him! Stop that man!” She yelled but her voice got lost in the uproar.

  “No!” she screamed again, then turned around and took off after Kevin. She wouldn’t lose him this time. Not again, never again. She threw herself into the people hurrying toward the exit. Cops charged into the room, blocking her way. She grabbed the short sleeve of one, trying vainly to get his help.

  “Officer, I need you. Come with me!” Bu
t the cop was already past her and reaching for the handcuffed reporter being hauled off by the detectives. She’d have to do it herself.

  “Move! MOVE!” Anne shouted at the people running from the room. She found open road for a brief instant, then pressed her way into the hallway, trying to see Kevin over the fleeing guests. Suddenly someone in front of her got pushed back, and Anne almost fell. Someone trounced on her hem. Her hat and sunglasses got knocked off. She looked wildly around, jostled this way and that. Kevin was nowhere in sight. She had lost sight of him. Not again! She felt like crying, like screaming. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes.

  “Hey!”’ she yelped as she was shoved from the side, then felt herself falling backward. She grasped for someone’s handbag on the way down but the woman yanked it away. The next thing she knew she had hit the carpet and was in danger of being trampled. She covered her head with her hands and tried to roll away, with flower petals sticking to her hands and face.

  Red rose petals.

  Anne opened her eyes and squinted through the moving feet. Red petals lay scattered everywhere on the carpet. They had to be from the red roses Kevin had been carrying. He must have run out with them, then dropped them. Black pumps blocked her view and the spike heel of a dress sandal almost speared her in the ear. Ahead, an empty glass vase rolled on its side. Beyond the vase lay a white paper of some kind, bright against the blood-red rug. A small card, the kind that came with flowers. Kevin’s card.

  Anne crawled forward on her elbows, risking life and limb. The heavy rubber sole of a wingtip almost stepped on her nose, but she kept an eye on the card. A straight pin affixed it to a headless rose. If she waited until everyone was gone, the card could be as torn up as the bouquet. She got kicked in the ribs by indeterminate footwear and winced in pain.

  She was only three feet from the card, then two. The card lay just out of reach. She stretched out her hand but a stack heel crunched down on her index finger.