Tony-From-Down-The-Block chuckled. “The movie with the guys. How’s she supposed ta know?”
Feet stiffened. “Everybody knows.”
“Everybody but you.”
“Rain Man,” Mary told him, to end the conversation before fisticuffs. Feet and Tony-From-Down-The-Block were bickering so much lately, but it wasn’t the time or place to press the point. She turned to Pigeon Tony, who was generally the quiet one because he spoke only broken English. “Pigeon Tony, our new client keeps bees. That’s like keeping pigeons, right?”
“Si, si.” Pigeon Tony shook his head, slurping his coffee. He was only five feet tall and bird-thin, with a nose curved like a beak and round quick eyes that would have looked fine on any one of his homing pigeons.
“They say bees know their territory, too.”
“Si.” Pigeon Tony shook his bald head, which was tan and spotted as a hen’s egg, from him being outside at his loft. “Pigeon racing, bees, alla old. Egiziano.”
“From the Egyptians?” Mary translated, surprised. “So is beekeeping.”
“I ’ave bees, in Abruzzo, alla time.” Pigeon Tony gestured with his gnarled hands. “I make ’oney, for Silvana, she love.”
“Aw.” Mary could see his eyes tear up at the mention of his late wife, so she let the topic alone. They all finished dinner, after which her father and The Tonys retired to the living room to watch the Phillies game, her mother went upstairs to bed, and Mary, Judy, and Anthony stayed at the table, talking over pignoli nut cookies and coffee strong enough to melt teeth.
The sun had set outside, the kitchen had cooled, and the play-by-play from the Phillies game blared from the living room, a half-step behind the play-by-play blaring from a neighbor’s TV, which wafted through the screen like an electronic echo. Mary felt her mood depressing, and it wasn’t a sugar crash. “I have to tell you,” she said, picking pignoli nuts off a cookie, “I’m worried about this case.”
Anthony put a gentle arm around her. “You shouldn’t be worried about anything tonight, babe. This is your day to celebrate. You’re a partner now.”
Mary forced a smile. “But we partners are responsible people, especially when there’s a kid involved.”
Judy nodded. “I’m having buyer’s remorse, too. You go first, Mare. Tell me what worries you.”
“It’s so emotional. If Allegra goes forward, it’s so difficult for her and her family. It’s hard enough to get over a murder the first time, much less to reopen it.” Mary didn’t need to remind anyone that she had lost her husband Mike Lassiter to violent crime, many years ago. He had been struck and killed when he was riding his bike, and though it had looked like an accident, it had turned out to be murder. They had been married so young, only a year, and Mary felt haunted by the loss, still. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously until Anthony, who had been so patient with the aftershocks of her grief. “And part of me thinks, what if her parents were right, and she is obsessed with her sister’s murder?”
“I know. Who wouldn’t be?” Judy shuddered. “Also she seems like the obsessive type, right? We get it, with the bees.”
Mary winced, on Allegra’s behalf. “She just likes bees. Why, didn’t you get into anything at that age? Buy all the stuff, wear all the gear? Like me, with Catholicism.”
Judy smiled because she was agnostic, and as such, incapable of disillusionment. “Do Brownies count? I was majorly into Brownies.”
“It would be the last time you wore brown.”
“Or matched.” Judy smiled with her, then it faded. “Anyway, I think Allegra’s wound too tight, for a kid.”
Anthony nodded, listening. Mary and Judy had briefed him on the way home, and he was a good listener. He had to be, in this crowd. “I think lots of kids are, these days. There’s too much pressure on them, and life is more complex than it ever was before. I see it in my students. Some of them, they break by the time they get to college.”
Mary sipped her coffee, which tasted like distilled caffeine. “And the fact that she’s a minor poses a lot of questions. Should we be talking with her parents before we go forward? We don’t have to legally, but it might make sense to meet with them, just to get them on board.”
Judy shook her head. “I don’t agree. She can hire us, and there’s nothing unethical about representing her. It’s like a custody case, where a guardian ad litem is appointed. Allegra may be a minor, but she’s entitled to an advocate.”
Mary met her eye. “I know, but I’m just saying we might want to meet with the parents. I’d like to hear why they think Stall did it, and they’re a good source of information until we get the police file.”
“Why give them the chance to discourage us, or worse, block us?”
“We can deal with that, I just think it’s respectful. Fiona was their daughter, and it’s her murder.”
“But Allegra is our client, and they gave her the go-ahead. We don’t need their permission to proceed, and neither does Allegra.”
“It’s more respectful.”
Judy snorted, and Mary didn’t need her to elaborate. She had to stop asking permission for everything, because she was a partner now. She had to be more badass, get a tattoo or a nose ring.
“Let’s both sleep on it.”
“Okay.” Judy wiped her mouth on a crumpled napkin. “You know what worries me? That this is a no-win situation. The way Allegra posed it today, she combined two questions that need to be separated. One, did Lonnie Stall commit the murder? That’s hard enough to answer, but the second issue is even harder. Two, if Stall didn’t do it, who did? It’s completely possible that we could find exculpatory evidence on Stall, but still not figure out the answer to question two. In other words, who-dun-it.”
Mary took an emergency sip of wine, which tasted dry and bitter. “Then Allegra and her family are left with no answer at all, like the rug was pulled out from under them. I don’t want to break that kid’s heart.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, it’ll be okay.” Anthony put an arm around Mary and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s go home, okay? You’re tired, I can see it.”
“He’s right, Mare.” Judy looked over at Mary, with a sympathetic smile. “You’re going into your pre-case funk. You think we’re going to screw this up. You think we’re not going to be able to figure it out. You can’t believe we got ourselves into this in the first place. Stop now.”
“I can’t.”
“You must. Go home, crazy. It’s Monday, we’ll deal tomorrow.”
“Wait, let’s do one thing before we leave.” Mary jumped up, fetched her messenger bag from the floor, and slid out her laptop. “When you’re nervous about work, the best thing to do is work.”
“Now, babe?” Anthony groaned. “Can’t we go home?”
“Soon, I swear, it won’t take long. I want to Google Fiona’s murder and get all the facts I can.” Mary checked the oven clock as she put the laptop on the table and opened the lid. “It’s only nine o’clock.”
Judy clucked. “Boyfriend’s right. Let’s call it a day.”
“Jude, you’re going to do this when you go home and so am I, so why not do it together?” Mary woke up the computer and navigated to Google. “I just want to read a few articles about the case. This will take half an hour, tops, and I’ll feel better if I can scope it out, so we can hit the ground running in the morning.”
Anthony rose with a good-natured sigh. “Okay, I’ll go watch the game with the boys.”
“We’ll be an hour.” Mary started typing.
“We’ll keep it short,” Judy said, pulling over a chair.
And the two lawyers got busy.
Chapter Four
“Thanks for hanging in,” Mary told Anthony, as he steered the Prius onto Twentieth Street, looking for a parking space near the house.
“No, I get it. I knew it would take longer than an hour.”
“But not by much.”
“Easy for you to say. You ever watch a game with Feet? He never shuts up.
They should call him Mouth.”
“Sorry.” Mary’s head was swimming with details of Fiona Gardner’s murder, though the media seemed more concerned with the wealth of the family than the details of the case. “I learned a lot from the articles, though.”
“How so?”
“The headline is that Lonnie Stall was a waiter hired by the catering company that the family used all the time for their parties.”
“Okay.” Anthony steered smoothly around the corner. There was almost no traffic and nobody was out on the street.
“They were going to make a presentation and somebody at the party realized Fiona was missing. They found her dead on the second floor, in the corporate library, which had been cordoned off, and Lonnie was fleeing the scene. She had been stabbed once, through the heart, but they caught him.”
“Sounds like he did it.”
“Also he’s black.”
“Who represented him?”
“A guy I never heard of. I can’t wait to see that file.” Mary bit her lip, looking out the window into the night. It was dark and muggy outside, and she felt encased in the air-conditioned car, insulated from the grit of the city. They turned onto Twentieth Street again, and she realized they were on their fifth drive around the block. They lived in the Rittenhouse Square neighborhood, which meant that they circled for a parking space like a spaceship in orbit, praying for a docking station. “Babe, now that I’m partner, we should rent a parking space.”
“We’re gonna luck out.”
Mary sighed inwardly. “It would be so much easier if we were in the garage. We could just pull in and be done with it.”
“It’s not that hard to find a space.”
“It would save time. They have a guy there twenty-four hours.”
“Nah, we’re fine without one.” Anthony fed the car gas. “We don’t need everything easy, do we?”
“Honestly, yes, we do. Why not?”
“There are $780 worth of reasons why not.”
Mary closed her eyes, frustrated with herself. She really needed to be more of a badass. She had the money to get them a space in the garage, and she shouldn’t have to ask Anthony’s permission to spend her own money. They’d had the same issue with the house, which she could afford but he couldn’t, and they’d almost broken up when she paid the down-payment. They’d worked it out, so he’d moved in, paying half the mortgage and expenses, but she felt like she was always asking him to spend her money or to do her job, like after dinner. Other than that, she was blissfully happy and in love, for the past several years.
“Don’t be that way,” Anthony said, softly.
“Sorry, but it bugs me.”
“I know. Gimme one more lap, then we’ll put it in the pay lot for the night.”
“I won’t have time to move it in the morning.”
“I’ll do it, no worries.”
“Thanks.” Mary knew it was a concession, since he had to be at school early, and her mood lifted when she looked over to see him smiling. He had a great smile, which came easily to him, and always dressed well, in a sport jacket and white oxford shirt, like a man instead of a boy, and kept his dark wavy hair neat, with long sideburns.
“Hey, look, a space right in front!” Anthony hit the brakes, flipped on the emergency lights, and grinned. Their street was tree-lined, and one of the most quaint in town. “Told you.”
“You live right.”
Anthony steered their car into the space, parked it like an expert, and turned off the ignition. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true.” Mary gathered her bag and messenger bag, got out of the car, and walked to the steps of their old colonial townhouse. It was three stories tall, with black shutters and a brick façade, replete with historic details that Mary adored, like mullioned windows with bubbled glass and windowsills a foot deep. Every time she came home, she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to live here.
“After you, partner.” Anthony unlocked the front door, and Mary flicked on the hall light and dumped her stuff on the chair, while he closed the door, turned the deadbolt, and picked up the mail. Their division of labor was that he sorted mail and she watered plants, then they had decaf tea, went to bed, and watched Jimmy Fallon. Anthony looked up from the thick stack of bills and catalogs. “What’s the deal? We having tea or are you working?”
“I was going to.” Mary met his eye, feeling a new tension between them, as if his question were a test. She felt torn between wanting to make him happy and wanting to work. The Gardner case gnawed at the edges of her brain, and she hadn’t finished reading the Google articles yet.
“But it’s a special occasion.” Anthony set down the mail without sorting it, and Mary couldn’t help but smile.
“Is that code for partnership sex?”
“Ha!” Anthony laughed. “I’d settle for tea with the love of my life.”
“Aw, have one with me instead.”
“I’ll take it.” Anthony shed his jacket and hung it up, and Mary kicked off her heels, then they headed down the hallway past the empty living room to the kitchen, to which they gravitated, both by nature and necessity. The house didn’t need work, but it needed furniture. They’d ordered a couch, coffee table, and chairs, but were waiting the requisite forever to get it delivered, which bugged Mary no end.
“When are we going to get our living room furniture?”
“You know the answer to that question. After they grow the tree, they cut it down, then mill it, and they have to plant the cotton seeds, pick the cotton, and make it into our dumb fabric, whatever it was called.”
“Bargelle.”
“Gesundheit.”
Mary smiled, padding into the kitchen, which was typically small for the city, but lovely and grown-up, with black granite counters, windowed cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. She could feel her worries about the Gardner case recede as she went to the sink, her favorite spot. During the daytime, a mullioned window over the basin flooded with sunlight, because of its southern exposure, and she was pretty sure she could get tan off the reflection of the refrigerator.
“You having normal or chamomile?” Anthony picked up the tea kettle, then put it on the stove and turned on the burner.
“Normal.” Mary grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, then a box of Lipton Tea.
“Nothing but the best, eh?”
“Damn right. An old-school, flow-through tea bag.” Mary went to the drawer, pulled out two napkins, and set them on the round cherrywood table, then crossed to the refrigerator to fetch the Half & Half. Anthony was getting two teaspoons and setting them on the napkins, but she didn’t even have to turn around to know that, their domestic routine was so familiar. “You want anything to eat?”
“God, no.”
“Me, neither.”
“How’s your fig tree doing?”
“Lemme check.” Mary picked up the pitcher next to the sink, filled it with water, and sprinkled some gently on the fig tree she was starting in a container on the windowsill, next to smaller clay pots of basil, rosemary, and bay leaves, which made her feel as if she actually gardened. Anthony had given her the fig tree, and its young leaves sprouted a fresh yellow-green, too floppy yet to be strong. The figs were still green, too, shaped like miniature hot air balloons.
“Is it your paradise?” Anthony asked, because the tree grew Paradiso, or Genova, figs, allegedly named for an old man in Genova, who used to say, “this is my paradise,” when he sat under his fig tree, eating its fruit with bread. Mary had no idea if the story was true, but she loved it just the same.
“Yes, it is my paradise,” she answered him, as part of their call and response. “Someday I’m going to be a farmer and have a grove of figs, or an orchard, or whatever you call the whole bunch of fig trees. How great would that be?”
“Great. How are the figs? Can we eat any yet?”
“No, not for a month or so.” Mary watered the basil, but happened to glance back and see something br
ight on a fig leaf at the base of the tree, near the soil. She set down the pitcher, reached out, and plucked it off, only to see that it was a diamond ring. For a minute, she didn’t understand, then she gasped and turned around, astounded to find Anthony behind her on his bended knee, looking up at her.
“Hi, honey,” he said, with a shaky smile.
“What?” Mary felt stunned. She held a gold ring with a round, sparkling diamond, but she couldn’t believe her eyes. “What is this?”
“Mary, I love you. You’re my best friend, and you really are the love of my life.” Anthony’s deep voice wavered. “More than that, I feel that we are so good together, so close, that we’re somehow, of each other. And that we have, over the years, become each other’s family.”
Mary swallowed hard, trying to process what he was saying. Trying to understand how she should react. Trying to figure out what to say. Because what Anthony was saying was so right, and so true, and she loved him to the marrow, but she didn’t know if she was ready to get married.
“You know what I’m saying? You know what I mean? You’re in me, you’re inside, a part of me.” Anthony’s hand went to his heart. “In here, and I love who you are and everything you are. You’re sweet, funny, smart, and you’re stronger than you think. And you’re beautiful, too, but you don’t know that, either. You’re my best friend. I understand you and appreciate you, and can make you happy the rest of your life, I promise you that.”
Mary felt her eyes fill with tears. It was such a lovely thing to say, and she thought he could, too, but she still didn’t know how to answer him.
“I hope you like the ring, and it’s your size. That’s why I’ve been so cheap lately, I’ve been saving for it.”
Mary felt a terrible pang of guilt for the nagging she’d been doing lately about money, the parking situation, and the furniture. She hadn’t realized that he’d been saving for a ring, and the diamond must have cost a fortune. It sparkled like a flashlight and looked gorgeous, about a carat and a half, as big as a meatball.
“I know we didn’t talk about this, but we always said that when you make partner, we’d talk about getting engaged, and now you made partner. In case you’re wondering, I did ask your father and mother for your hand, and they said yes. So did The Tonys.”
Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel Page 3
