Courting Trouble raa-9

by Lisa Scottoline

  “My, my. You’re an interesting girl, Murphy.” With a crooked smile, Bennie slipped the revolver back into her bathrobe pocket. “I want you to know the gun is here and it’s loaded. We’re safe. I’ll keep it in my night table.”

  “Why don’t you leave it with me?”

  “That’s not a good idea. Do you have experience with this type of gun?”

  “Can Eakins paint by numbers?” Anne smiled, and so did Bennie.

  “Just the same, I’ll keep it in my night table.” She turned to the computer monitor and scanned it with swollen eyes. “What’s the point of this search, when you should be getting ready for bed? So what if Dietz has a criminal record?”

  “I can use it on cross, for impeachment.”

  “True, but I don’t know what that gets you. If it really matters, we can sic Lou on him, after the holiday. Bill Dietz isn’t your enemy in Chipster.”

  “I know. His wife is.”

  “Wrong. You’re the lawyer. Your opponent is her lawyer. Matt Booker.”

  “Of course.” Anne resolved instantly not to tell Bennie her feelings for Matt, and vice versa. “That’s a given.”

  Bennie squeezed Anne’s shoulder. “Do me a favor and go to sleep. You’re running on adrenaline, and you have a big day tomorrow. Now, good night.” She turned and padded out, sniffling, with Bear click-clicking after her down the hall.

  Anne took a deep breath and resumed her search. She eliminated 302 through 397, hoping against all odds that this would be her Bill Dietz. She slowed just after 426, then clicked on the very last entry, feeling unaccountably as if she were rolling the dice. But the screen read only: William Dietz, birth date 3/15/80, Cochranville, PA. Misdemeanor theft.

  “No!” Anne said aloud, without meaning to. There was nothing. Mel picked his head up quickly, his ears flat.

  Anne felt suddenly lost. She had been wrong. Bill Dietz did not have a criminal record. He was just a jealous, protective husband who had committed no crime, not even a misdemeanor. She felt stupid, useless, and depleted of energy and emotion. Nothing was going right. She was too exhausted to think. It had been too crazy a day.

  She got up, turned out the desk light, shimmied out of her skirt, and slid into bed, slipping under the covers in her T-shirt. In time, the house fell quiet except for a loud, breathy snoring from Bennie’s bedroom down the hall. Anne assumed it was the dog, and hoped that she hadn’t made Bennie completely sick. At the foot of the bed, Mel circled a few times, then curled against her covered feet, just like home. But it didn’t feel like home. She could never go home again. She lay in the dark, feeling suddenly that she didn’t belong anywhere, with anyone. She had lost whatever context she had. It was just as Bennie had said, with characteristic bluntness:

  You don’t have anywhere else to go.

  Anne closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind, and in a minute the snoring from down the hall was joined by street noises. Cars honked, people laughed and yelled, fireworks went off. A party somewhere must have ended, or she just hadn’t heard the noises before. She put the down pillow over her head but it didn’t help. It wasn’t her bed, and she missed her own pillow, with its woven photo of Lucy kissing Desi from “Redecorating the Mertzes’ Apartment.” Episode No. 74, November 23, 1953.

  Anne flopped over and tried not to think about her house, then Willa, who had died there. And her mother, whose daisies did nothing to scent the room. And Mrs. Brown, sitting all by herself with her puzzle books. And especially not Kevin, with his gun. Would they be able to catch him tomorrow, at the memorial service? They had to. After losing him today, it was her last chance.

  An hour later, she still hadn’t fallen asleep. She was jittery and anxious. She flopped back and forth, thinking of Matt. His flowers on her front stoop. The emotion in his voice at the office. The way he’d looked, grief-stricken. Would he come to her memorial service? She wished she could tell him she was alive, and she wished she could see him. She felt a politically incorrect need for a strong shoulder to cry on, a warm chest to burrow into. Anne loved men, and, before Kevin, she had dated a lot; fallen in and out of love a few times, and been very happy. Was Matt where she belonged?

  Fifteen minutes later, Anne had dressed, closed Mel in her bedroom, and grabbed her messenger bag, which contained her cell phone and a borrowed revolver. It had been almost too easy to sneak into Bennie’s bedroom and steal the gun from the drawer. The snoring had been the dog’s, thank God.

  She steered the Mustang through the streets of Philadelphia. She knew she was taking a risk being out, but it was calculated. She could protect herself, and her odds of seeing Kevin were slim to none. He’d be hiding from the cops, laying low, and still he had no reason to think she was alive. It was almost two in the morning, but the sidewalks were hardly deserted. Tourists club-hopped and walked in groups, laughing, talking, and holding hands. People carried brown bags with bottles inside or swung six-packs joined by plastic loops.

  Anne cruised to a red light, eyeing the partiers on the street. No Kevin. The night was sultry, with a wildness in the air. Everybody was misbehaving, Anne most of all. Driving where she shouldn’t be, for no justifiable reason. All bets were off. She pointed the Mustang toward the colonial part of the city and Matt’s house. She had gotten the address from 411, but hadn’t called ahead. Olde City lay east, centering on Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence had been signed. It would be the most crowded section of the city, now that Philly was throwing itself the nation’s birthday party. She sped downtown, and soon colonial brick rowhouses covered with ivy were whizzing past the car window.

  Anne could feel the summer night ruffling her short hair, and accelerated. She forgot about her mother and the Chipster case. Put distance between herself and Kevin. She felt like she did when she first moved here. Hopeful. Excited. Her heartbeat quickened. She drove around for a parking space and finally took an illegal one out of necessity; even at this hour of the morning, the holiday partied on. She cut the ignition and was about to go when she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. She had forgotten her lipstick. The stitch in the middle of her upper lip showed.

  So be it.

  She reached for her purse, removed the revolver, and stuck it in the waistband of her skirt, just in case. She slipped on her sunglasses and climbed out of the Mustang with a confidence that comes cheap with a concealed weapon. She walked a few blocks until she found Matt’s house, a brick rowhouse like hers, only with older brick, a faded, crumbly melon color. The shutters and door were black, and a light was on on the first floor, shining through the blinds, so he must be working late, as she had been. She knocked on the front door and after a minute, the outside light went on and the door swung open.

  Anne gasped when she saw Matt. “What happened?” she asked, astonished.

  16

  Matt looked like he’d been punched in the face. An inch-long cut tore though his left cheek, jagged and freshly red, and underneath it rose a goose egg, almost swelling closed his left eye. He still had on his Oxford shirt, but it was spattered with tiny droplets of blood. His one good eye widened at the sight of Anne.

  His lips parted in disbelief. He bent closer and peered into her face. “My God, you look like—”

  “I am. It’s me. Anne. See?” She took off her sunglasses, not wanting to linger on his front stoop. A couple on the street was already turning around. She didn’t think they could see her, much less recognize her, but still. “Let me in, Matt. I’ll explain inside. It was all a mistake. I’m alive.”

  “What? Anne? A mistake? Alive?” Matt stalled in confusion, so Anne took his arm and pressed him into the house, shutting the door behind them. A lamp was on in the living room, which had exposed-brick walls and a contemporary black couch and chairs. Yellow legal pads, Xeroxed cases, and documents with the Chipster.com logo covered the coffee table and buried a laptop. Matt’s house was enemy headquarters, but Anne couldn’t think of it that way. Or him that way, no matter what Bennie
had said. He was bursting into a joyous smile at the sight of her, alive in the lamplight.

  “My God! Anne, it is you! I see you! Anne!”

  “Like my new hair?” she asked, flicking it with her fingers, but before she could fish for more compliments, Matt had gathered her up in his arms. He felt strong and solid, and relief flooded through her body, spreading warm as lifeblood. It was so good just to be held, even by someone who had never held her before.

  “You’re not dead!” Matt began laughing, with evident relief. He squeezed Anne tighter, his arms so long they wrapped almost completely around her. “I can’t believe it! I’m not letting you go! I have you. I have you now!”

  Anne hugged him back, letting her emotions come, and felt a tear slide down her cheek. She hadn’t cried since her shower, which seemed like ages ago. She buried her face in the rough cotton of Matt’s shirt, nestling against his chest. She didn’t know if she belonged here, but she needed someone to lean on, and hadn’t realized how much until this very minute.

  “Tell me what happened. No, don’t! Forget it. Don’t talk, I want to talk. I have something to say. I’ve been regretting not saying it every minute since I heard you were dead.” Matt released her and looked down at her, wiping wetness from her cheek with a warm thumb. “Don’t cry, this is a good thing. What I have to say is—I love you, Anne.”

  Wow. Anne started smiling then, her tears ebbing away, and reached up for him, kissing him fully, in a way she’d wanted to for a long time. She could feel him reaching for her with his kiss, too, with the urgency of his entire body. When he released her, he eased her into sitting on the couch, and sat down next to her, brushing uneven bangs from her forehead.

  “What happened?” Matt asked, managing a concerned expression despite a beat-up cheek. “This is crazy. You’re alive?”

  “First off, you can’t tell anyone. This is the worst-kept secret in the world, and I can’t risk it getting out to Kevin. He thinks I’m dead.”

  “Kevin. You mean this guy they’re looking for, on the news? Satorno? Is that why you changed your hair?” Matt listened while Anne told him the whole story, and when she had finished, he remained in stunned silence for a moment before he spoke. “You took a risk coming here. Why did Bennie let you?”

  “She doesn’t know, I snuck out of her house. You’ve been asking me out for a year, I figured it was time to say yes.” Anne couldn’t look at him without seeing his injury, and close-up it was worse than she thought. The gash rent his cheek and fresh blood filled the cut. He might even need stitches. Anne was an expert. “What happened to your face?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s privileged.”

  “How can that be? A privileged fistfight?”

  Matt waved her off. “Forget it. Why did the police think you were—”

  “A privileged fight would be a fight with a client.” Anne thought a minute and arrived at the answer with a start. “It was Bill Dietz! He hit you, didn’t he?”

  “He didn’t mean it.”

  “That asshole, I knew it!” Anne flashed on the Bill Dietz listings. No assaults, except the one tonight on his own lawyer. So she had been right about the rage in Dietz. “Why’d he hit you?”

  “This isn’t confidential, so I’ll tell you. But we have to observe certain boundaries here. He is my client.”

  “You’re loyal to him? You should fire his ass!”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  Right. “Well, it should. So what happened?”

  “We were at my office, after the dep.” Matt paused again. “I hate to tell you this. It’s not unethical, it’s just stupid, and this is the beginning, where I tell you only the good stuff about me.”

  The beginning. Anne liked the sound of it. “Just tell me.”

  “Well, Bill said something I really didn’t like, and no, I’m not telling you what it is, so don’t start asking me”—he wagged his finger at her—”and I told him so. Then he told me not to talk to him that way, that I was only his mouthpiece, which is such a stupid term, and then he hit me. I still can’t understand it.” Matt touched his wound gingerly. “He didn’t mean to cut me, but when he threw his punch, he had on a big college ring and that did it. He felt worse than I did. He apologized, and so did Beth. They offered to take me to the hospital.”

  “Oh, what a guy. A full-service client.”

  “The Dietzes are really nice people.”

  “The Dietzes are lying scum.”

  “No way. Gil’s the liar.”

  Anne sighed. “Matt, you’ve gotten to be friends with them, and it’s clouding your judgment. Dietz has issues. I wouldn’t be surprised if he abuses his wife. Normal people don’t have physically violent reactions. He socked you for something you said.”

  “It doesn’t mean he beats his wife. He loves Beth. He would do anything for her.”

  “So would you, and you have. You’re her lawyer—and his!”

  “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t want to punch out a lawyer. And half of them are lawyers! Maybe you’re the one who’s gotten too close to your client. You just don’t like the Dietzes.”

  “But they’re extorting money from an innocent man. They’re taking down his company and ruining his chance for IPO. Chipster is one of the most successful—”

  “Anne?” Matt reached out and touched her arm. “Let’s not talk about the Dietzes, or Chipster, anymore. I liked what we were doing before.”

  “Come on, what did Dietz say to you? Just tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  “No! I will not tell opposing counsel anything my client tells me!” Matt turned serious. “You’re getting paranoid, and I don’t blame you, but we can’t keep talking about the Dietzes. Agreed?”

  “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “I can and I do. And I’m still pissed about that stripper thing.”

  “You’re less fun than I thought.” Anne pouted as Matt’s arms slipped around her shoulders. She sank deep into the couch’s cushy pillows, then felt a hardness against her hip. Oops. “Hold on, wait a minute.” She unclinched enough to extract the revolver from her waistband and set it on the coffee table on top of his scribbled notes.

  “Jesus!” Matt edged away, shocked. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s Bennie’s.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Of course. You can’t shoot anybody if it’s not.” Anne edged over to Matt and touched his arm, but he kept staring at the gun.

  “Does it have a safety?”

  “What’s a safety, big fella?” she whispered, planting a soft kiss on the good side of his face.

  “A safety’s the thing they have on guns so they don’t go off.”

  “I’m kidding. It’s a revolver, so it doesn’t have a safety.”

  Matt recoiled. “Will it go off?”

  “It can’t. You have to pick it up, aim it at somebody you don’t like, and pull the trigger.”

  “Well, point it away or something. I can’t relax with it aiming at us.”

  “Fine.” Anne took pity on him, reached over, and spun the gun so that its barrel had a clean shot at the entertainment center. “I think everything will be okay now, unless the gun decides to shoot your DVD player. Now, if you kiss me like you did a minute ago, I can forget about what a big baby you are.”

  “You liked that?” Matt grinned down at her, pulling her closer, and the part of his face that wasn’t injured went soft. “God, you’re so beautiful it’s scary.”

  “No, not really.” Anne pointed impulsively at her scar. “Attractive, huh?”

  “So what? You got nothin’ on me right now.”

  “That’s it? ‘So what?’” Anne blinked, nonplussed. “I was a freak, at birth. I have a scar, and unlike yours, it’s permanent.”

  “It’s not a scar, it’s a target, and I think it’s not big enough.” Matt covered her mouth with his, kissing her softly, then again, slowly, overc
oming her shame with each kiss. She kissed him back, letting him lead her away from herself and her fears. She was careful with him, too, going slowly so she didn’t hurt his wound, getting to know him better, with a deeper kiss.

  She eased back onto a sofa covered with his papers and felt him pressing onto her, her body warm with his weight. She ignored the crackle of Xeroxed cases under her and didn’t give a second thought to which precedent he was citing. She didn’t even try to peek at his laptop screen later, when he reached over to turn out the lamp.

  Mental note: Some people have to choose between making love or making war, but lawyers can do both.

  Nobody was on the sidewalk at dawn Sunday morning, and only a few light trucks and vans rumbled by, hauling ice, tables, and tents for the city’s festivities. Anne hurried from Matt’s house through the streets of Olde City, happy and reenergized, after a night with a man who loved her. She couldn’t say she loved him yet, but she was very much in deep like, and it was a slippery slope.

  She picked up the pace, keeping a hand near her messenger bag so the revolver wouldn’t fly out. Okay, she wasn’t a model of firearm safety, and she wasn’t wearing underwear either. She hadn’t had time to find it. She had gotten up early to get back to Bennie’s, so she wouldn’t be worried. Or discover that her rookie associate was sleeping with the enemy. Anne needed to cover her ass. Literally.

  She hustled down the cobblestone sidewalk, breaking a sweat in the thick air. Philadelphians always said, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” but Anne didn’t agree. It’s hot, stupid. She pushed up the sunglasses sliding down her nose and jogged the remaining two blocks to the street she’d parked on, slowing to catch her breath when she saw a line of cars she recognized from last night. She cooled down past a blue minivan, a white Mercedes 430, and a blue Ford truck, which was the last one at the top of the row.

  Anne stopped, looking around in confusion. Dude, where’s my car? There was no red Mustang on the street. In fact, there were no cars at all where the cars had been parked last night. Had they all left? Was she on the wrong street? She checked the green street sign. Delancey Street. Right. She had parked here last night.