She looked around for the Mustang but it was nowhere in sight. She turned on her heels and came face-to-face with a red-lettered sign that she hadn’t noticed the night before, when she was in heat. It read: NO PARKING TOW ZONE. But it could just as accurately have read:
RANDOM.
17
L oser! Anne’s heart sank. The Mustang had been towed! She cursed herself and her red roots. Her bad planning and her lack of undies. What was she going to do? She could go back and get a ride from Matt, but she didn’t want to reveal her stupidity. Now she knew what he had meant, “This is the beginning, where I tell you only the good stuff about me.”
Anne got another idea, a better one than parking a getaway car in a tow zone. Sooner or later a cab would show up, and until then she would start walking. It would take an hour to get to Bennie’s house, walking from one end of town to the other, but it was in the no-choice category.
She started to hoof it, heading west, up Delancey, and taking mental inventory. The Mustang was a rental anyway, and she still had a cell phone and a knock-off Smith & Wesson. What else did a girl need? And even though the gray sky was lightening to a watercolor blue, she was reasonably safe. Kevin would still be hiding from the cops. There was only one problem: she’d never make it to Bennie’s in time, now. What to do? Anne wracked her brain for a good lie, but came up empty, which worried her. Maybe the sex had sapped her superpowers. Disarmed, she’d have to tell the truth. She’d have to admit that not only had she committed high treason, she’d been too horny to read a traffic sign.
She kept walking and took her cell phone out of her purse, calling Bennie’s home number. “It’s me,” she said, when the call connected.
“Murphy?” Bennie sounded sleepy. “You’re calling me? Aren’t you in your room, in bed?”
“Not exactly.” Anne looked for a cab as she headed uptown. The street was littered with trash and paper cups from the night before. Plastic poppers lay popped in the gutter. “I’m so sorry, I thought I’d be home by now. I’m calling so you wouldn’t worry.”
“What shouldn’t I worry about? Where are you?” She sneezed, and Anne cringed.
“Gesundheit. I’m sorry, really sorry. I’m on my way.” She bit her lip. This was a lousy way to repay Bennie’s kindness. No wonder she never told the truth. It was hard. “I was at Matt’s house last night. I’ll be home in an hour unless I can get a—”
“Did you say Matt? Matt Booker? Why? Was it settlement talks?”
“Not exactly.” Anne flushed, but maybe it was the heat, or the humidity. “I spent the night with him. I’m seeing him, Bennie. I think.”
“Matt Booker? You’re seeing Matt Booker? What? How long has this been going on?”
“One night. Look, I know it sounds terrible, but this is personal, not business.” Then she remembered about Matt’s injuries, and didn’t know if she should tell Bennie. Would she be betraying Matt if she told? Would she be betraying Bennie if she didn’t? And what about Gil? Mental note: There are many good reasons why you shouldn’t sleep with opposing counsel.
“You and Matt Booker are personal? Are you crazy?”
“I shouldn’t have done it, I know.”
“He’s plaintiff’s counsel!”
“I was weak.”
“God, I keep forgetting how young you are!” Bennie shouted, then caught herself. “We’ll discuss it when we see each other. But here’s more bad news. I’m looking out my bedroom window, and the press has taken up residence in front of my house, waiting for me to come out.”
“They weren’t there last night.”
“That’s because they sleep at night, like you should have been. Bottom line is, there’s no way you can get back in without you or the car being recognized.”
The car is no problem.
“Meet me at the office,” Bennie said, sternly. “Use the back entrance. We have to get ready for the memorial service. It’s today, at noon. It would be nice if you attended. You’re the guest of honor.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Okay, see you at the office. Be careful.”
“Don’t worry.”
Bennie harrumphed, then hung up.
Anne slipped the phone in her purse and hurried to the corner for a cab. None was in sight, so she kept walking. It was less than an hour to the office from here, and she headed for work, picking up a free tabloid from an open box on the way. It was City Beat, that paper she’d heard about, and its circulation must have been local only. THE FUGITIVE, read the headline, above a blown-up mug shot of Kevin, and Anne was thrilled. Everybody would be looking for him now, even regular citizens.
She read the story as she walked, and it was all her history with Kevin, with a sidebar about Mrs. Brown. She glanced up at the byline: By Angus Connolly. The gonzo reporter in the Australian bush hat had gotten his big scoop. She wished him luck, then tossed the paper into the nearest trash can.
Anne was sweating big-time by the time she got uptown and ducked the horde of reporters, TV cameras, and Nikons massing outside the office on Locust Street. She scurried back down the alley behind the office building, hid her breasts past Hot and Heavy, and finally escaped upstairs to the office and past the empty reception area to Bennie’s office in the back.
Bennie’s door was open, and Judy and Mary occupied the two chairs in front of her desk. The office was cluttered with law books, awards, and dark-red accordion files, and the lawyers were huddling over something Anne couldn’t see. She called a guilt-ridden hello, and all three heads looked up at once. Mary and Judy smiled instantly, but Bennie shot her a look that said you-are-in-such-big-trouble, deep-shit-would-be-an-improvement.
“I’m so sorry to have worried you, Bennie,” Anne said quickly, meaning it. She’d had ten blocks to think about what a jerk she’d been, and she’d concluded that as wonderful a man as Matt was, she didn’t belong with him, not yet. Tuesday she’d be in court against him, and a man wasn’t always the answer. Anne felt vaguely like an alcoholic who’d fallen off the wagon. Mental note: Men rehab sucks.
“We’ll discuss it another time. We have work to do.” Bennie’s scowl seemed all the more severe because of her ersatz-mourning clothes. She wore a black suit with an off-white shirt and black pumps, and her curly blond hair had been tamed by a black linen barrette. “Someday in the future, I may accept your apology. Right now I’m taking it under advisement.”
Sitting on the desk, Judy was smiling. “Have a nice time, Murph the Surf?” She had on a black cotton sweater with short sleeves and a funky black skirt, shin-length. With black fake-ponyskin clogs.
“Oh, stop, Jude,” Mary jumped in. She looked like a friendly nun, in a plain black A-line dress. “I think Matt’s hot, too, and you deserve to be happy, after what you’ve been through. And I trust you not to tell him anything about the case.”
“Thanks,” Anne said, but Bennie still wasn’t smiling.
“By the way, I’ll take my gun back.”
“Sure. Sorry about that.” Anne tugged the revolver from her purse, and Mary blanched.
“Is that really a gun?”
Judy jumped. “Is it loaded?”
“No,” Anne and Bennie said at the same time.
Anne handed Bennie the weapon. “I only used one bullet.”
“That’ll be ten cents,” Bennie said, and their eyes met in a temporary truce over the weapon. Bennie opened her desk drawer, placed the gun inside, and twisted the tiny key in the lock. She extracted the key and slipped it into her suit-jacket pocket. “No more gun. Everybody remain calm.”
Judy shuddered. “I didn’t know you had a gun, Bennie.”
“Now you know everything. Favorite color is golden retriever, favorite sport is rowing, favorite hobby is winning cases. Pet peeves? Cats, no pun.”
“How is Mel, I was just about to ask.” Actually Anne had been afraid to.
“He meowed for you this morning. I wanted to shoot him but somebody stole my gun.”
“Bennie
!” Anne and the other associates looked horrified.
“Just kidding.” Bennie plucked a yellow legal pad from her desk. “Okay, kids, we all have our jobs today, right? Carrier, you’re on flower detail. You have your list of kitchen staff, right?”
Judy nodded, consulting a piece of notebook paper on Bennie’s desk. “Most are women, so we’re in good shape there.”
“Make sure the only kitchen staff are the ones on that list, and you meet each one.”
“Got it.”
Bennie looked at Mary. “DiNunzio, you’re press person, which is a big job. Satorno might come in with a camera hiding his face, or with TV makeup on. No press admitted. None at all. It’s too risky.”
“Right.” Mary nodded. “Like we said, I verify all press passes outside and call the cops if I find him, but don’t alert him to it. And nobody gets into the service but attendees.”
“Yes.” Bennie glanced at her list. “Murphy, you handle the physical plant, the set-up before. You’ll play the grieving cousin from California. What if your mother happens to show up? Are you prepared for that?”
“It won’t happen, but if it does, I’ll ignore her.”
“Can you do that?” Bennie’s lower lip buckled with doubt.
“Not a problem. I have years of practice.”
“You think she’ll recognize you?”
“No. Not with my new hair, and she hasn’t seen me since college.”
Judy and Mary exchanged looks, then Mary smiled. “Nobody will recognize you, not even your own mother, in the disguise we picked out for you.” She turned to a red, white, and blue Liberty Place bag sitting on the floor. It was what they’d been rummaging in when Anne first walked in.
“What is that?” she asked, edging to the bag, but Judy held her arm and pressed her into her chair.
“Last night, we went shopping for your bereavement outfit.” Mary reached excitedly into the bag. “All the stores were open and there were tons of great Independence Day sales. Look at these shoes! Aren’t they so cute?” She pulled a pair of black flats from the bag like a rabbit out of a hat.
Eeek. “Wow, they’re great!” Anne lied, automatically. The habit came back to her easily, like riding a bike.
“Try them on!” Mary bubbled. “They’re Superstriders, really comfortable. I wear them all the time. They wear like iron. I figured you were a size eight, like me.”
“Good.” Anne had never worn Superstriders in her life, but she kicked off her Blahniks and stepped into them. They had absolutely no heel and were made apparently of rubber, but they fit like Cinderella’s slipper and felt better than mules ever could. She cheered instantly, maybe because her toes could move for the first time in years. “I can catch a killer in these babies!”
Mary nodded happily. “We also got you a dress. Judy picked it out.”
“It’s very cool.” Judy crossed her legs on the desk. “You’ll love it.”
Anne looked up to see Mary holding up a dress, the requisite black, but otherwise utterly unconventional. It had a high neck, a dropped V-waist, and a winged collar. The skirt billowed past the knee and the material crinkled like crinoline. It was beyond fashion faux pas, it was well into Halloween costume.
“It’s kind of dramatic,” Mary said tactfully. “But Judy thought you’d like it. And it covers you up, like a good disguise.”
Judy nodded with pride. “It’s one of a kind. I got it in the crafts store. Slip it on, let’s check the fit. It’s not just a dress, it’s wearable art.”
Huh? “Art is good. I like art.” Anne took the dress, slipped it over her head, and shimmied it down over her T-shirt and skirt. It fit in the waist, but its black skirt flowed to the floor like an oil spill. “We’ll have to staple the hem, but it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Even Bennie was beaming. “You haven’t seen the best part yet. The last, essential piece.”
“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 ligh
t-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.
Courting Trouble raa-9 Page 16
