“My God in heaven! What happened to you?” Marshall asked. She glanced up from the reception desk and did a double-take when she saw Mary’s bruised cheek, then stood and examined the wound with the laserlike absorption of a new mother. “Mary, what happened? You need to get that looked at!”
“I’m fine.” Mary was about to explain but noticed the reception area was full of clients ensconced on rental furniture. One of them was that reporter, Mac, who was already making a beeline for Mary. His eyes weren’t espresso anymore but were closer to shit brown. Mary said under her breath, “I have a deposition, right?”
“Great minds,” Marshall muttered back, and Mac joined them at the desk, his handsomeness arranged into a mask of concern.
“Mary, what happened to your cheek? It looks like you took a really nasty punch!”
Marshall interjected, “Mary, you remember Mr. MacIntire. I told him you have a deposition this morning, but he insisted on speaking with you.”
“I have a deposition,” Mary repeated matter-of-factly. “Sorry, I can’t talk now. Though I checked with my Uncle Joey and he said he doesn’t know any reporter named Mac from the Philly News.”
“He calls me Jim, and I never told him I was from the News. I doubt he knows what I do.”
Mary filed it away. Skinny Uncle Joey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Still she didn’t trust this guy. “Also I called you twice. Did you get my messages?”
“No, so what happened to your face? Did somebody punch you?” Mac leaned over and squinted. “It’s so fresh, like you just got slugged.”
“It’s not. I didn’t.” Mary prayed for a good lie. “It happened when I was out west.”
“Someone hit you in Montana?”
“No, it was a horse.” Yikes. “A horse kicked me.”
“A horse kicked you in the face?” Mac’s eyes flared. “I had a friend who got kicked in the face by a horse, and it broke her cheek. She needed a whole series of operations to even talk again.”
“No, that’s not what happened.” Please God help me. I said a good lie. “The horse didn’t kick me in the face. It kicked me on the leg, and I fell down and hit my face.”
“Now, I understand,” Marshall said helpfully, and Mary faked a smile, which stung.
“Sorry, Mac, I have to go get ready for my dep.”
“But we said we’d meet again, so I could write the second installment of our Brandolini story, remember?”
“You never did the first installment, and I have to go.” Mary started to leave, but Mac fell into step with her.
“I was waiting until both installments were done, to show them to my editor. And we should talk, since Frank Cavuto has been murdered. Shame, isn’t it? You two went way back, didn’t you? I heard you played softball on his team. Word is, you had a mean right arm.”
Mary picked up the pace. “How did you know that?”
“I called Frank after we met. He liked you very much. He said you were a great lawyer, doing your best for Brandolini.”
Hmm. “My comment is that it’s awful and sad that Frank Cavuto was murdered. Now I have to go.” Mary turned on her heel in the tight hallway. “Listen, you can’t follow me to my office. I have to get ready for a dep.”
“I can wait until after your deposition is over. I need to catch up, and you could tell me what you learned about Brandolini at Fort Missoula. After all, I was the one who suggested you go there.”
Mary gritted her teeth. “I have another dep in the afternoon. It’s wall to wall today, and I didn’t learn anything in Montana anyway.”
“Is that for the record? Because that’s not what the director said, at Fort Missoula. He and the staff were very impressed with you. He said you’d tracked down an old mechanic, a Mr. Milton, at the camp.” Mac frowned. “He said you found some old pictures, and even identified a friend who was with Brandolini when he committed suicide.”
The reporter had learned everything. I hate the First Amendment.
“Then he put me in touch with a widow you met, who said the friend was named Giovanni Saracone. I spoke to her yesterday, and she really liked you. She seemed to think you’d head right for this Saracone.”
Die, asshole! “Nah, I have to get back to work. Please, I gotta go.”
“Call me ASAP!” Mac called out as Mary hurried away.
She escaped into Judy’s office, where she closed the door with herself on the inside. When she turned around, she let out a little yelp of surprise. Judy was sitting behind her cluttered desk, and leaning against the wooden credenza opposite her was Bennie Rosato herself, her blonde hair up in its tangly twist and her arms folded in her trademark khaki suit.
Help! “Bennie, you’re back!” Mary tried to sound delighted, but her cheek wound and true emotions combined to thwart her. “Did you win, boss?”
“DiNunzio?” The boss’s eyes widened when she saw the bruise, and Judy’s jaw dropped open.
“Mare, are you all right?” the associate asked, rising alarmed from her desk chair. “What happened?”
Mary quickly considered her options, and there were none. One woman was her boss and the other her best friend. She was fresh out of lies, even lousy ones. Busted. So she wasn’t bulletproof after all. She dropped her bag, set down her messages and mail, and sank into the chair opposite Judy’s desk to give her second confession of the day. When Mary was finished telling them everything, both Bennie and Judy looked terribly grave, their lips set in almost identical hyphens, so that side by side their mouths formed a dotted line. At times like this, Rosato amp; Associates would morph into the Supremes; Bennie would became Diana Ross, so she’d yell in the lead, and Judy, or any other associate, would yell backup, like Cindy Bird-song.
“DiNunzio!” Bennie began, her hands on her strong hips. “How could you possibly, ever, ever, get yourself in this much trouble? What were you thinking? Were you thinking?”
“I was thinking. I had to follow up on Amadeo, and when I found out that -”
“Don’t backtalk me! You lied to me! Running around Montana, breaking into murder scenes, stealing evidence, losing evidence! How’d you act so nuts?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Mary reverted instantly to her old forte. It was a serviceable forte, applying to so many different situations, and she should never have abandoned it. Also, not everyone was good at apologizing, and Mary had heard of people who couldn’t part with a single I’m sorry, even when they were totally in the wrong.
“You almost got yourself killed! Do you realize that? Instead of dumping you in your car last night, they could have dumped you in a shallow grave! You could be dead today!”
“You could be dead!” Judy yelled backup. Doo-wap, do-wa.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Mary said, meaning it. She did feel bad. She could be dead, and she had lied to Bennie, which was even worse. The phone on Judy’s desk started ringing but everybody ignored it, and Bennie began to pace the office like a Bengal tiger. In a bread box.
“I have no idea what to do about this! I’m too furious with you to even think straight! I came down this weekend, thought I’d give you a little support at the funeral, and this is what’s going on?” The phone’s ring turned to buzzing, which meant Marshall was trying to signal Judy to pick up. “Get that call, Carrier!” Bennie yelled, not even breaking stride, then she focused again on Mary. “DiNunzio, this time you’ve gone too far! This is over, you get it? Over! No more Brandolini! No more Saracone! It’s done! You hear me? DONE!”
“Yes, Bennie,” Mary said, and Judy turned her head to listen to her phone, clamping a free hand over her other ear.
“Starting right now, DiNunzio, you will get back to work, unless I decide to fire you! You will write briefs, bill time, and go on blind dates! Above all, you will start acting like yourself again!” Bennie stopped pacing long enough to glare down at Mary, her skin color shading to Harvard beet. But Mary tried not to think about beets right now. Or Fort Missoula. Or knots.
“Excuse me, Bennie?” Judy said, turning with the phone in her hand. “The phone -”
“Tell whoever it is I’ll call back!”
“No.” Judy looked at Mary. “It’s for you, Mare. Marshall transferred the call to my line.”
“Who is it?” Mary and Bennie asked in unison.
“Detective Gomez from Homicide.”
My God. Mary jumped to her pumps, but Bennie reached for the phone first.
“Gimme that!” she shouted, then cleared her throat before she spoke into the receiver. “Detective Gomez, this is Bennie Rosato speaking. We haven’t met, but I expect we will soon.”
Mary went weak in the knees. What was Bennie going to do? Had Gomez talked to Saracone? Was he on his way to Birchrunville right now?
“Detective,” Bennie continued, “I want you to understand that I’m representing Mary DiNunzio in the event that she’s charged with burglary or any other crimes. I’ve talked with her, and our position is that she acted appropriately in every respect and that any such charges would be frivolous!”
Mary couldn’t believe her ears. Two minutes ago, Bennie had been screaming at her. Now, she was screaming for her.
“Before you file, Detective Gomez, I want you and the department to understand that I’ll fight any such charges with every resource my firm can muster. Charges like that could destroy the career of one of the finest young attorneys in this city!”
Huh? Me? Mary swallowed hard at the praise. It felt good and bad at the same time.
“I won’t permit you or the D.A.’s office to ruin this lawyer’s good name. You’ll have to get through me to get to her, do I make myself clear? My next call is to the sergeant, and I’m sure that he and I can come to terms before this goes any further. Thank you so much.” Bennie seemed to catch her breath, and the redness ebbed from her face. “I’ll permit you to talk with Ms. DiNunzio, provided that I’m a party to the conversation. May I put you on speakerphone? Thank you.” Bennie pressed hold and turned quickly to Mary. “Okay if I’m on with you? You’re represented now, by me.”
“Yes, thanks,” Mary answered, overwhelmed, and Bennie winked, then hit another button on the phone. The red light went on and they were on speaker.
“Detective Gomez,” Bennie said. “My associates, Judy Carrier and Mary DiNunzio, are here. What is it you want to discuss?”
“Mary, can you hear me?” It was the detective’s voice, and it didn’t sound good.
“Yes, Detective Gomez. I’m listening.”
“I see you got yourself a good lawyer.”
“Damn right. Did you call Saracone?”
“I have some bad news,” Gomez began.