Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel (5 page)

Chapter Five

Mary turned over in bed, shifting onto her left side, away from Anthony. The bedroom was dark and still, quiet except for some laughter from the street below, probably people returning from a restaurant or a night out, maybe a married couple, like she and Anthony were about to be. She knew she should be happy, but she wasn’t, then she felt guilty for not being happy, making a club sandwich of guilt.

Mary glanced at the clock, and its glowing red numerals read 3:05, big enough to read without her glasses or contacts. She shifted upward on the pillow, trying to clear her mind. She listened for Anthony’s soft breathing behind her, the sweet rhythm of human respiration, and though she appreciated the fact that he was alive and breathing, it didn’t help her sleep in the least. In fact, it only reminded her of what a jerk she was for not being over the moon at a proposal from the sweetest guy on the planet. He had been so happy she had accepted, and they had made love, then he had fallen asleep, but she wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.

She eased the covers off, slid out of bed, and padded naked to the back of the door, where she got her beloved pink chenille bathrobe, slipped it on, and left the bedroom. She went down the hall to her home office, closed the door quietly behind her, and flicked on the light, glancing around with satisfaction. Her home office was a converted bedroom, lined with white bookshelves that held law books, legal treatises, files from her active cases, and dumb stuff from her old room at home, which she couldn’t put anywhere else, like a bulletin board that had her medals from citywide Latin Club competition, and next to that were some old photos from high school, one in particular which she went over to see, close-up.

It was a photograph of Mary and her twin sister Angie, the two of them smiling their identical smiles, with identical braces, and even matching glasses, of hideous paint acetate in an oversize shape that was considered fashionable at the time, especially if you were a hoot owl. They both had on their navy uniforms, complete with old-school black-and-white saddle shoes, an outfit more recently found in amateur porn videos. They were grinning ear-to-ear, their faces pressed together, cheek-to-cheek, and their arms were wrapped around each other as if they were trying to merge one into the other, which was their problem, after all.

Mary scanned the photo, thinking about Angie, who had become a nun in order to find herself, or to differentiate herself from her identical twin, or maybe merely to escape from her entirely. Mary and Angie looked identical, but their personalities couldn’t be more different, with Angie the quiet, contemplative version of Mary’s yappy and outgoing nature. In time, Angie had embraced quietness more and more, turning ever inward, so that it seemed not only natural, but inevitable, that she would end up in a cloistered convent, as hard as they were to find after the Renaissance.

Mary swallowed hard, bitter still. She and Angie had been so close for so long, amazingly, for as long as they had been alive, but it had proved too close for Angie, and even when she’d left the convent, had embarked on one faraway mission after the next, the latest in Tanzania, where she couldn’t be reached by phone or email to be told that her twin had just become engaged to be married. As long as Angie was away, Mary would always feel like half of her was missing, but unfortunately, Angie felt whole only when they were apart.

Mary turned away from the photos, went to the desk, sat down, and woke up the computer, squinting against the sudden brightness. She rolled the chair toward the screen because she’d come in without her glasses, but she was nearsighted and didn’t need them for close reading anyway. She logged onto her email, clicked Compose Mail, and typed in Angie’s name, then stopped. It was an old email address, and she doubted it would work, but that wasn’t what stopped her. In the old days, when they had been close, they told each other everything and were each other’s best friends, even having their own language, the kind of twins that people read about but don’t realize really exist. Mary wondered if Angie remembered any of their special language now, or if they could even talk to each other at all, in any language.

She confronted the blank email, wondering what to say. She wished she could tell Angie how she really felt about getting engaged, how she was happy and terrified both, and that the old Angie was gone and would never come back again, but the lawyer in Mary worried about writing that down anyway. If Anthony happened to use her computer, he would see it.

Mary blinked at the super-bright screen, and the cursor blinked back at her. Then she typed:
Dear Angie, I love you and miss you. Me.
She stared at the sentence, the black letters so stark against the white screen, until her eyes blurred a little and she sniffled. She had no idea if Angie would get the email, because she’d sent emails before and had only rarely gotten a response, since the village Angie lived in had no electricity, much less Internet, and Mary told herself that was the reason Angie never wrote back. Still she hit Send with a prayer to St. Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

Mary’s thoughts turned to Allegra, and her brain shifted gears to work. She navigated onto the Internet, went to Google, plugged in Fiona Gardner, and hit Go. A line of newspaper articles filled the screen, and she clicked on the first one. GARDNER HEIRESS FOUND SLAIN, read the headline, on the
Philly News,
which was the city’s tabloid newspaper, and the photo under the headline broke Mary’s heart. It was what she’d heard reporters call the “money shot,” which was a photo of a body bag being carried on a litter from the Gardner offices and loaded into the open doors of the coroner’s black Econoline Van. Behind the van was a police sawhorse and a crowd, and Mary spotted a much younger Allegra, in her round glasses, long hair, and a party dress, hugging the waist of a woman who must have been her mother.

Mary palmed her computer mouse, drew a blinking square around Allegra’s little face, and enlarged it, without really knowing why. But the magnification only intensified the graininess in the photograph, because its focus was the body bag in the foreground, and Mary found herself searching the black, blurry circles that were Allegra’s eyes, indistinct and bottomless behind her glasses. She knew exactly how Allegra felt in that moment, because she had lived that moment herself. The sudden, shocking loss of her husband had hit Mary with the stunning force of a blow to the skull. She would never forget when she’d gotten the news, from the police. Incredulity had both paralyzed and saved her sanity, creating an awful sort of waking unconsciousness; she had lived the next few minutes after she’d heard in the interstices between believing and not-believing that her beloved husband was gone forever.

Mary shook her head to break the spell, clicked Print, and scrolled through the article, which also contained a photo of Fiona Gardner, obviously taken for school, and the sight caught Mary by the throat. She realized she’d had no idea what Fiona looked like, even though the murdered girl was at the center of the case. Fiona was an adorable brunette, with long, wavy hair that looked unstyled, heavy eyebrows that were natural and pretty, and dark, wide-set eyes, which were probably brown, but Mary couldn’t tell the shade from the photo, which was black-and-white. Fiona wasn’t a small, delicate girl like Allegra, and her cheekbones and forehead were large, and her shoulders broad and strong, which gave her a wholesome, athletic appearance. The slight tilt to her head seemed to prove what Allegra had told them, that she had a funny side.

Mary felt heartsick. Seeing Fiona alive only made her more real, and her murder more obscene. Suddenly she wanted to read, copy, and bring into the office every article about the murder. She had four hours before she had to be at work, and she knew it was more than her job that was driving her tonight.

What it was, however, she wasn’t exactly sure.

Chapter Six

Mary was running late the next morning, after a long and sleepless night, and stepped off the elevator carrying her coffee, purse, briefcase, and an old-school newspaper. She walked through the modern reception area with a blue patterned couch, chairs, and a glass coffee table with a fan of fresh magazines. Judy and Anne were hanging with Marshall at the front desk, and Mary crossed to them, hiding her ring and trying to figure out a way to tell them that she was somebody’s fiancée. “Good morning, ladies.”

Marshall smiled. “Back at you. How come you’re late, you usually beat us all in.”

Anne smiled, too, her lipstick freshly pink. “Those days are over, Marshall. She’s our boss now. We might get fired.”

“Ha!” Judy looked over. “Mare, want to know how great I am? I went over to Common Pleas Court and ordered us a copy of the Gardner file. It’s being copied.”

“Great, thanks.” Mary realized that she didn’t want to tell them the news because that would make it real, even though she knew it was real. She hadn’t even called her parents yet, telling herself they wouldn’t be up, which wasn’t true. Her father would be hosing off the front steps, and her mother would be getting home from Mass, where she’d have said novenas for grandchildren.

Judy sipped her coffee from a styrofoam cup. “Ask me why I’m wearing this dumb outfit.”

Mary smiled. Judy had on a white tank, a cropped navy blazer, jeans, and blue clogs, which was fifty colors less than her usual get-up. “Why?”

“Because of where we’re going today.”

“Where are we going?” Mary set down her cup, hiding her right hand, with the ring. The diamond looked so showy, and the band felt loose. She had already turned it around so the stone faced her palm, because she didn’t want to get ring-jacked as she walked to work. She’d felt so conspicuous with the big diamond, blinding passers-by like a driver with high beams.

“I have a plan of action for us. I was reading the case file, and they had a mountain of evidence against Stall—”

“OH MY GOD!” Anne squealed suddenly, finding the ring with time-warp speed. “Mary, seriously? Are you? Is it? What? A ring!”

“Mare, really?” Judy did a double-take, then her blue eyes flew open. “Are you engaged? Oh my God!”

“Oh my God!” Marshall leapt to her feet squealing, and Anne was jumping up and down, a neat trick in mules.

“Mary!” Anne shrieked, grabbing Mary’s hand. “Let me see that ring! It’s huge!”

“Mary, it’s so pretty!” Judy burst into happy laughter, then all hell broke loose and they went nuts, jumping up and down and screaming, which brought Bennie running into reception in alarm.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Ask Mary!” Anne yelped, and they all parted for Bennie to rush over, her khaki jacket flying open, her stride powerful, and her expression concerned under her curly topknot.

“Are you okay, DiNunzio?”

Mary realized she had to say it out loud. “I’m getting married?”

“Wow!” Bennie threw open her arms, grabbed Mary, and swept her into a big hug, then Judy, Anne, and Marshall joined in, and they were all swirling around like a girl hurricane, and Mary surrendered to their happiness, going along with the atmospheric pressure.

“Mare, Jeez!” Judy brushed her bangs off her face with a palm. “What a surprise!”

“Right?” Mary met her eye. “Did you know?”

“No way, not at all!” Judy grinned. “Jeez, you’re a partner
and
you’re engaged! Woohoo!”

“I know, right?” Mary smiled, knowing that her best friend would be happy for her, not in the least jealous. Judy had a great boyfriend in Frank Lucia, Pigeon Tony’s grandson, and they were happily living in sin.

“How did he propose?” Judy asked, astonished. “When? What did he do?”

Marshall nodded, excitedly. “Tell us! And when’s the date, and what’s your dress gonna look like?”

“Yeah, tell us everything!” Anne’s eyes lit up, and Marshall sat on the desk and even Bennie formed a little semicircle around Mary, so she began the story and told them every detail.

Everything except how she really felt.

Later, Judy caught up with her in the coffee room, after Bennie and Anne had gone off to trial, and Marshall was back at her desk. The room was small and cozy, ringed by pine cabinets with white countertops, like an office kitchen, which was why Mary gravitated there. Judy popped a Keurig cup into the coffeemaker, hit the Brew button, and turned to Mary, lifting an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well what?” Mary asked, her, but she knew. Judy could read her at a glance, and they’d talked about getting married a zillion times.

“He asked, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You said yes.”

“I did.” Mary sighed, then felt guilty for even having the conversation. “I do love him.”

“I know that. So what’s up? It’s a good thing. You love each other.”

“We really do.”

“It’s love love, right? Not roommate love or like buddies.”

“No, it’s love love.” Mary thought back to last night, when they had made love. Anthony was wonderful, sweet, and strong, and he’d made her toes curl. Twice. “He’s great.”

“He is great.” Judy smiled, nodding. “I love him, too. He’s a great guy and he’s great for you. So then what?”

“I’m not sure.” Mary felt oddly flustered. “For starters, the ring.”

“What?” Judy frowned at the ring. “I like it. What’s the problem? Is it a conflict diamond?”

“No.”

“But it’s conflicting you.” Judy smiled, trying to cheer her up. “Is it about Mike?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Mary had asked herself that question last night, because she had felt sad after meeting with Allegra, thinking about the Gardner case. Murder wasn’t something anybody ever got over, and it was the double-whammy of grief, not only do you have to deal with the fact that someone you love was murdered, but you also have to deal with the fact that they are gone for good. It was impossible for anyone, least of all Mary, who should have been voted Least Likely To Get Over Anything.

Judy sipped her coffee, black. “Do you want to marry him?”

Mary hesitated. “Let me put it this way. If I wanted to marry anybody, it would be Anthony.”

“I have an idea. Close your eyes. Imagine yourself walking down the aisle in a white dress, plastic hair, false eyelashes, the whole thing. How do you feel?”