Lady Killer (22 page)

M
ary knocked gently, guessing Trish would think it was the mystery man coming back. The door swung wide open, and Trish’s expression morphed from delicious anticipation to abject shock. She had on a tight black sweater with sequins around its deep V-neck, and her makeup looked fresh as a tattoo. She’d expected a lover but got a lawyer, and it hardly seemed fair.

“Mare?” Trish asked, her mouth a perfect circle.

“What’s going on?” Mary pushed past her into the motel room, which reeked of burning cigarettes, rather than burning hair.

“I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?” Trish closed the door behind them, and Mary turned on her, not bothering to keep anger or hurt from her tone.

“Never mind that, Trish. You think I’m playing a game here? I’ve been worried sick about you. I thought Bobby killed you. So did the girls and your mom.”

“Mare, calm down. I know what I’m doing.”

“
What?
What’s going on? Do you know Bobby’s dead? Murdered?”

“Yeah, I do.” Trish edged backward. “I found out.”

“How? How did you find out? Did your boyfriend tell you?” Mary could see the question strike a chord, because Trish stiffened, defiant.

“It’s not your business.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Mary almost spat. “Was that Cadillac from the diary? Or the stockbroker from the salon?”

“My diary? You read my diary?” Trish’s eyes flew open in outrage.

“Sue me,” Mary shot back. “Now what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call and tell everybody you’re alive?”

“What are you, stupid? I couldn’t. I was afraid for them, if they knew. Somebody whacked Bobby. They could be after me, next. Do you know what that’s like for me?”

“For
you
?” Mary shouted. “What about everybody else? Your selfishness is breathtaking! The cops are looking for you. My friend Reg is looking for you. Giulia and the girls have been out there looking for you, for days, and your mom’s a holy mess. What the hell are you doing here? What happened on your birthday, at the house?”

“Who do you think you are, yelling at me? I’m not a little girl.” Trish’s tone echoed the old Mean Girl years, which only made Mary madder.

“Tell me what happened or I’ll call the police right this minute.”

“Fine.” Trish reached for a cigarette from a pack on the night table. “If you shut up and let me talk.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Good.”

Trish lit her cigarette and Mary took a seat in the chair opposite the bed, neither woman speaking for a moment, as if they were two prizefighters, returned to their corners. Trish sat on the olive green bed, sucked on the cigarette one last time, then stubbed it out in the ashtray in the light from a cheap brown lamp.

“The night of my birthday,” she began, “Bobby came home and said he had a surprise and we had to drive to it, so we came up here and he showed me this crappy little house in the woods.” Trish snorted. “He said he owned it and he was gonna get outta the Mob, and we were gonna move up here, have a slew a kids. He said I was gonna marry him. He didn’t even ask me, he told me, like I was some dog, and he had this ugly ring and I freaked and threw it at him.”

Trish’s tone rang true, though Mary couldn’t help but doubt her. Finding her with Mystery Man was too weird, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it yet.

“So when I did that, he freaked. Crazy mad, madder than I ever saw him before. He’d been drinkin’ the whole way up, so I knew I was in trouble.” Trish wet her lips, her cadence slower. “He tried to hit me but I ran around the dinin’ room, and he hollered at me was I cheatin’ on him and I told him I was because I wanted him to let me go, that I couldn’t marry him ever, and I wanted out.” Trish’s voice caught with fear, and Mary studied her face to see if the emotion was real, but couldn’t tell. She didn’t trust Trish any longer, and worse, she didn’t trust her own instincts.

“Okay, so then what?”

“Then I realized that nobody knows where I am, I’m in the effin’ mountains and he could get away with killin’ me, so when he grabbed me, I picked up the lamp and hit him on the head.”

The lamp. The blood. It was Bobby’s, not hers.

“He dropped like he got shot, unconscious. I’m no dummy. I took his car keys and drove away.”

“In the BMW?”

“Right. He had another car there, a black pickup truck. I didn’t even know he had a second car.” Trish shook her head, disgusted. “I didn’t know he had any of this goin’ on. I don’t even know how he found out about this hellhole.”

I do.
“Okay, go on.”

“So I called my boyfriend and we found this place to hide out in.”

“Is your boyfriend Cadillac?”

“No. Cadillac’s a wiseguy that hates Bobby.”

“How did you know Bobby was dead?”

“He told me.”

“Who?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Who is he?”

“Just a guy. A married guy. I met him at the shop, a businessman who doesn’t need any of this crap.”

“The stockbroker?”

“Yes.”

Mary thought a minute. “So he’s Miss Tuesday Thursday?”

Trish’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

“Why didn’t you write about him in your diary?”

“I was too scared to, in case Bobby ever found it in the car.” Trish eyed her directly. “Mare, I kept up that diary to make a record of what he was doin,’ in case they found me dead. Gimme a break.”

“Why didn’t you tell Giulia and them about the boyfriend?”

“Are you for real?” Trish chuckled. “The mouths on them? Why don’t I just put it on MySpace?”

“I thought you guys were so close.”

“They’re close to me, but I’m not close to them.” Trish’s tone was matter-of-fact, and so frank that Mary knew it was true. Nobody ever got close to the Queen Bee, which made her the loneliest girl of all.

“Okay.” Mary let it go. “Get back to the story. You called your boyfriend.”

“Right, and he drove up, and he told me to sit tight until we can figure out what to do.”

“Great advice.” Then Mary remembered. “Wait. When did you call your mom?”

“When we first came up to the house. Bobby went outta the room, and I saw what was gonna happen and I started to get scared. So I called my mom, but the connection was bad and I left a message. Then he came in and took the cell phone from me, and I could tell by that look in his eyes, that animal look, that he was gonna lose it. I was gonna be dead on my birthday.” Trish’s mouth twitched with something like pain, but Mary couldn’t stop doubting her story.

“Trish, be honest with me.”

“I
am
being honest with you.”

“What happened to Bobby that night, after you ran out of the house.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think? Spin it out for me. You know him.”

Trish sighed. “I think he went back home in the pickup, to the city, lookin’ for me, to kill me. And then he musta got a call to do some business, and somebody set him up and whacked him. Maybe Cadillac or maybe another guy did him. They’re cutthroat, like any other business. They all want what the other one has.”

Mary mulled it over, but something nagged at her. “I don’t get why you didn’t call anybody. The girls, your mom, somebody.”

“Like I said, I knew Bobby would ask them where I was. He mighta killed them if they knew. That’s why I didn’t go back to the city right away. If he’s lookin’ for me, they’re all lookin’ for me. Any one of them coulda taken me out. I couldn’t even go home.”

Mary wasn’t buying it. “But you called your boyfriend. You told him. Why?”

“Dummy, because nobody knows about him, not even the girls, so I couldn’t get him killed. He lives in the burbs, he’s legit. He was the only one I could call.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“You’re not my friend.”

“Thanks.” Mary burst into laughter.

“Sorry.”

Then she had a darker thought. “I didn’t find your gun. Where is it?”

“I got it with me.” Trish gestured at her purse on the bed, a black leather clutch. “I took it with me when we went out. I told you, I was afraid of what was gonna happen.”

“Then why didn’t you use it when he attacked you?”

“I couldn’t get to it fast enough.”

Mary thought about it, and it made sense. Trish was a hairdresser, not a ninja.

“The next thing I hear, Bobby’s dead.” Trish heaved a sigh. “We both knew the cops would think I did it.”

Mary felt her blood run cold. She’d been thinking the same thing, but hadn’t admitted it to herself until now. “Well, did you?”

“No, of course not. You believe me, right?”

Mary didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t process it fast enough.

“Thanks, back at you.”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” Trish waved her off like a fly. “Anyway, my boyfriend came up and we went out to this burger joint because I was starvin’ and this dump doesn’t even have a coffee shop, and he calmed me down. Then you showed up.” Trish cocked her head. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“Tell you on the way back,” Mary answered, rising.

“To where?”

“Either home or the Roundhouse, if I can get a hold of Brinkley.”

“The cops? You think that’s a good idea?” Trish looked up, worried. “My boyfriend said—”

“Forget what he said. I’m your lawyer, and you have no choice. We go and tell the truth.”

“But what if they charge me? What if they think I did it?” Trish didn’t move from the bed.

“They won’t. You were checked in here the night he was killed, and we can prove that.”

“No I wasn’t. I only found this place the next day, the morning after.”

Huh?
Mary frowned. “Where were you when Bobby was killed, Tuesday night?”

“Hell if I know. I drove around and around, and I got lost. It was all trees and more trees. I never been in the mountains before. I didn’t know where I was at.”

That, Mary understood, but she also knew that I-don’t-know-where-I-was-at sucked as an alibi.

“There’s no stores, no bars, no nothin’ up here.” Trish’s eyes widened, incredulous. “You believe people live like this? It’s nuts!”

“Okay, so what did you do?”

“I was too freaked to keep drivin’, and Bobby had my cell. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t find an effin pay phone. So I went off the road into the woods and parked there all night, outta sight.”

“You slept in the car?”

“Yeah, and the next morning I drove around till I found a phone and called my boyfriend and he came up. I didn’t check in here till Wednesday.”

“Okay, so you’ll tell them that. It is what it is.” Mary shrugged. “We gotta go. People are looking for you.”

“But I have no alibi, and I do have a motive to kill him. It’s like you said, how do you break up with a mobster? Only one way. You kill him.”

“You’re just being paranoid.” But Mary remembered, and it was making her nervous.

“You know, I used to lie awake at night and pray he’d get killed, that one of the boys would off him, or even he’d end up in a car crash.” Trish snorted. “Now that it finally happened, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that he’s dead and I didn’t kill him.”

“Nice talk, T.” Mary couldn’t manage a smile. She felt her anger rising again. “If this is supposed to convince me, try again.”

“I’m not trying to convince you. It’s the truth.”

“Look, get up, we’re going to the cops. As a legal matter, it takes more than motive to charge somebody with murder, even if you have no alibi.”

“Like what?”

“Like evidence. For one thing, the ballistics won’t match. They’ll be able to tell that the bullets that killed him didn’t come from your gun. They know by the grooves.”

“But the cops could say I used a different gun.”

“Where would you get another gun?”

“You kiddin’ me, with my connections? I could get you one, if you wanted it.”

Um, right.
“You weren’t in the city. You were up here.”

“So what? I had enough time to drive back to the city, find Bobby on his corner, kill him, and come back up here. I know where he worked. I coulda told you he’d be there.”

Mary felt confused and suddenly tired. “Then why would you come back here?”

“To set up my alibi. To make it look like I didn’t do it.” Trish arched an eyebrow. “See what I mean?”

“No.” Mary couldn’t deal. “This is crazy. You’re watching too much TV.”

“Face it, I look guilty.”

“Yes, but it’s only a circumstantial case. They don’t just charge people with murder, willy-nilly. You’re his victim, not his killer. Brinkley has the diary. He knows Bobby’s history, and the guy was connected, for God’s sake.” Mary waved her up and turned to walk to the door. “Either way, we’re coming clean. We’ll go sort this out and call your mother, too, on the way home. I can’t take the guilt.”

“I’m not going,” Trish said from behind her, and a new tone in her voice made Mary turn around.

The sight shocked her. Trish was standing there, her black purse tucked under her arm, a determined expression in her eyes, and in her two-fisted grip, something Mary had never expected to see.

A small black gun.

W
hoa.
Mary put her hands up, reflexively, her eyes on the gun in Trish’s hand. “Now you’re making me think you did it.”

“I didn’t, but I can’t take the chance in going to the cops.”

“If you didn’t kill him, then you won’t kill me.”

“I’m not gonna kill you. I’m just gonna shoot you a little.”

Yikes!
“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Move over and let me go.” Trish aimed the gun higher, stiff armed, but Mary didn’t budge from in front of the door. She prayed Trish wouldn’t shoot her, but she wasn’t about to let the girl walk out, not after all it took to track her down.

“Move.” Trish took a step closer.

“No,” Mary heard herself say, anger welling from deep inside. “Once a Mean Girl, always a Mean Girl. Judy said you’d hurt me, but I didn’t listen.”

“Move over and let me get outta here.”

“What’s the plan, Trish? Lose everything? Keep running? Never go home? If you wanted that, you could’ve done that in the first place, when you came to my office.”

“Move. Now.”

“Never. I got fired to help you. I lost clients to help you. I drove to wherever the hell we are for you. I’m not going back without you.” Mary lowered her hand slowly and held it out, before she could even judge the wisdom of her own actions. “Give me the gun.”

“Move.” Trish took another step closer, and so did Mary, hand still outstretched.

“Give it to me. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“You’re asking me to take a chance with my life.”

“No, I’m asking you to trust somebody. Trust me.”

Trish hesitated. “You said the law fails people like me.”

“It does. I won’t.”

Trish eyed her directly, and Mary met her gaze over the gun.

“I found you here, didn’t I? Please, give it to me.”

Suddenly Trish heaved a deep sigh and flopped the gun sideways in Mary’s hand.

“Thanks.” Mary raised the gun and immediately pointed it back at Trish. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Are you nuts?” Trish recoiled in alarm. “What’re you doin’, freak?”

“Teaching you something.”

“What?”

“Call your mother.”

Trish snorted. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

“No. Call your mother.”

“At gunpoint?”

“If that’s what it takes. Call her.” Mary smiled behind the gun, flinty as Clint Eastwood. “Go ahead. Make her day.”

“I was gonna call her,” Trish said defensively.

“So go ahead then. Me and my new gun will wait.”

“You are so ignorant!” Trish rolled her eyes like a teenager, stalked to the phone beside the bed, and picked up the receiver, pressing in the number.

“You need to be a better daughter and a better friend.”

“You need to shut up.” Trish turned away and spoke into the receiver. “Ma? Yes, Ma, it’s me, I’m fine, I’m alive…don’t have a heart attack…Ma, don’t freak…I’m here with Mary. DiNunzio. She found me…and it’s all right now…she’s bringing me home…we should be home by morning.”

Mary lowered the gun, and when Trish started to cry into the phone, she pretended not to hear. Her arms trembled as the adrenaline ebbed from her body, leaving her with the residue of doubt. Had Trish killed Bobby? It was scary how fast the girl had come up with the scenario. Nor did it help that Trish had pulled a gun on her. It was the kind of thing that made you doubt somebody.

“Okay, love you, too.” Trish hung up the phone, turning, but Mary raised the gun again.

“Now call Giulia.”

“Mare, get over yourself. That gun’s makin’ you mental. You’re trippin’.”

“Do it.”

“Arg!” Trish turned back to the phone and picked up the receiver, and Mary felt a certain degree of satisfaction. She’d make Trish a better person, at gunpoint.

Half an hour later, Mary was driving on the turnpike, with a silent Trish sulking in the passenger seat, her head turned to the window. Traffic was light because of the rainstorm, and she had to keep braking so as not to outrun her headlights in the downpour. The windshield wipers beat frantically, and she kept a bead on the red taillights in front of her, avoided trucks spraying water from their big tires, and switched the heat off so she wouldn’t fall asleep.

While she’d waited for Trish to get her act together, she’d called Missing Persons and told them Trish wasn’t missing anymore, and also left another message on Brinkley’s cell, telling him she had Trish with her. He hadn’t called her back yet, which was odd. They’d left the motel in her car, abandoning the BMW because she didn’t trust Trish to follow her to the city, not after that little attempted-murder thingy.

Mary flicked on the radio news to keep herself awake, and after weather and sports stories, the announcer came on. “This just in, there’s been another murder in the city’s rapidly escalating Mob war, which began Tuesday with the shooting death of Robert Mancuso.”

“My God. Listen up.” Mary gripped the steering wheel in surprise, and Trish shifted in the seat and cranked up the volume.

“Authorities report that the alleged mobster member Al Barbi, age thirty-four, of South Philadelphia, was shot to death as he entered his home at 2910 Redstone Street. Authorities have no leads at the present time, and a press conference will be held on Friday morning at ten o’clock to address the recent surge in violence.”

Mary put two and two together. “That explains why Brinkley hasn’t called back. He’s got his hands full.”

“You’re tellin’ me. That’s Cadillac.”

Mary almost veered off the highway. “You serious? You mean that guy who got killed, Al Barbi, is Cadillac? From the diary?”

“Yeah.” Trish nodded matter-of-factly.

“So what’s that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Trish snapped off the radio. “You can figure it out.”

Mary wished for a gun. “Help me out, can you? I’m driving in a monsoon, I haven’t slept for three days, and I don’t know much about the Mob because I’m not a felon.”

“Whatev.” Trish looked over, her eyes glittering in the dark car. “Cadillac knew Bobby was skimmin’ and he always had the knives out for him. Plus Cadillac was totally jealous of his business, I know that. So Cadillac musta been the one who whacked him.”

Mary shuddered.

“And somebody musta got pissed at Cadillac for it. Maybe he didn’t get the go-ahead. So he ended up dead for doin’ Bobby.”

“The go-ahead? To kill somebody?”

“Yeah, what’re you, stupid?”

Mary felt like a mother driving her kid to school. Reform school.

“Or maybe somebody didn’t want Cadillac movin’ up.” Trish paused. “Not that I know.”

“You know more than you say.”

“Yeah, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Mary didn’t laugh, but Trish did.

“Lighten up, yo. Way I see it, they all got what they deserved.” Trish folded her knees up and rested her spike heels on the dashboard.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Put your feet there.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the mommy, that’s why.”

Trish slid out of her fur jacket, folded it in two, and put it beneath her head like a fox pillow. “Do these seats go back?”

“On the right, there’s a handle.”

Trish eased the seat back down, turned away, and curled up like a very curvy ball. “Turn on the heat?”

“No. It makes me sleepy.”

“I know. I need it to sleep.”

“Do without.”

“I’m hungry. Can we stop?”

“Not yet.”

Trish looked over. “What’re you in such a bad mood for, Mare? Things are lookin’ up. We just got some great news.”

“A man’s murder is great news?”

“For me, it is.”

Mary laughed, but narcissists never get the joke.

“This proves it wasn’t me who did Bobby. It shows it had to be Cadillac or somebody in the Mob.”

Mary steered through the rain. “Not necessarily. Maybe it shows that somebody in the Mob
thinks
that Cadillac killed Bobby. Not that he actually did it.”

“Same difference.”

“Not exactly.”

“Either way, I’m in the clear.”

Mary considered it, uncomfortably. Barbi’s murder didn’t prove anything, but it made Trish look less like a suspect. Still, something was wrong, off-kilter. Mary should have been happier, having found the innocent Trish, but now she was worried that Trish wasn’t so innocent. Trish should have been sadder, because the man she once loved had been murdered.

“Trish, aren’t you sad about any of this? First Bobby’s dead, now Cadillac?”

“Bobby, a little,” she answered, though her tone sounded less than bereft. “I never liked Cadillac anyway. He shoulda minded his own business. If he killed Bobby, he got what he deserved.”

“But what if he didn’t do it?”

“I bet he did. He wasn’t a nice guy, Mare. You gotta wise up. These Mob guys, they’re not all nice like Tony Soprano.”

Huh?

Trish shifted in the seat, her back still turned. They traveled down the road in silence, then she said, “I wonder when Bobby’s funeral is.”

Mary felt her chest tighten. She’d been too busy to think that far ahead. “It depends on when the coroner releases the body. He was killed on Tuesday night, so my guess is Saturday.”

“You’re goin’, right?”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Mary answered, but she did want to go. Odd as it was, she couldn’t not.

“You’re my lawyer, and if I go, you should go.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll pick you up.”

“Nah, I’ll meet you there, with my mom and the girls. They didn’t like him, but they gotta pay their respects to his nutjob family.”

“You might not want to put it that way.”

Trish chuckled, her back turned like a sitcom husband, and Mary drove ahead, into the darkness, her own high beams suddenly no help. The red taillights she’d been using as a guide had vanished into the thunderstorm, and she drove ahead into the gray, rainy gloom. In time, she felt as if she and Trish were the only people afloat on a stormy sea, and she had to steer their little ship to harbor by herself. Weariness overcame her, and anxiety. She couldn’t imagine that tomorrow morning would ever come.

“Maybe this’ll work out, after all,” Trish said, satisfied.

But Mary looked over, uneasy.