“K eep the change.” Mary handed the aged cabdriver a ten, and he accepted it without taking his rheumy eyes from the butts of the Mean Girls piling out of the backseat. She climbed out of the cab while they took their first drags on their cigarettes, and she surveyed the block. It was typical South Philly, a little grimy even in full sun, with identical brick rowhouses differentiated by their stoops, awnings, and bumper-sticker front windows. The Korean grocery store Trish had mentioned was to the left of the house, a dingy stuccoed affair with its windows covered by painted plywood and a faded Dietz amp; Watson sign that read HOAGIES CHEESE FRIES PLATTERS.
Next to the grocery, Trish’s house was well maintained, of newly painted brick with shiny black bars over the glass door and a black-framed bay window. Nothing was in the windowsill. Mary eyed the cars parked in front, a dusty lineup of older American cars, except for a shiny white Miata with a vanity plate that read DYE JOB. She pointed at the Miata. “Is that Trish’s?”
“Ya think?” Giulia laughed, emitting an acrid puff of smoke, and the others joined her.
“What’s he drive?” Mary asked, trying not to breathe.
“A BMW, what else?”
“Where’s he park it?”
“Anywhere he wants to,” Giulia answered, and they all laughed again. She pointed at an empty slot behind the Miata. “That’s his spot. You wanna be the jerk who takes it?”
“What color and year is his car?”
“Black. New.”
“Does he have a vanity plate, too, like DYE JOB?”
“Yeah, WHACK JOB,” Giulia answered.
“BLOW JOB,” Missy said.
“HAND JOB,” Yolanda added, and they all started laughing again except Mary, whose exasperation got the best of her.
“You ladies want to help or not? Because when Trish shows up, I’ll be happy to tell her how funny you all were.”
“Okay, whatever,” Giulia said defensively. “I don’t know his license plate. It wasn’t a vanity plate. It was normal.”
“Thank you.” Mary cleared her throat. “Okay, so obviously, wherever he and Trish went, they took his car. So she probably went with him voluntarily, because he couldn’t have forced her into the car and driven it at the same time.”
Giulia stopped smiling, and so did the others. She squinted through the cigarette smoke, or maybe her tattooed eyeliner made it look that way.
“He coulda drugged her,” Missy said.
“He coulda killed her and put her in the trunk,” Yolanda said, and Giulia turned on her, red-and-black curls flying like a blurry checkerboard.
“Shut up with that, Yo. It’s like you want T to be dead.”
“I don’t want her to be dead,” Yolanda shot back. “Ga’ forbid!”
Mary sensed another catfight. “While you guys mix it up, I’m going inside and look around. Can I have her house key?”
“Here.” Giulia clamped her Marlboro between her lips, dug in her black purse, and produced a key ring that held a red Barbie pump, a Taj Mahal ersatz-gold horseshoe, two red plastic dice, and a St. Christopher medal. Mary took the key ring without bringing up what had happened to St. Christopher, then walked up the two-step stoop, unlocked the door, and pushed it open, surprised by the sight.
In contrast to the house’s mundane exterior, inside it was glistening, modern, and expensive, with warm white walls, a shaggy white area rug, and white marble flooring. It had been remodeled to make one large room out of the first floor, with the entrance hall, living and dining room divided by frosted white screens, like a high-end Winter Wonderland.
Would this have been my life?
Mary walked through the contemporary entrance area, where a fake ficus provided a splotch of color, passing a white laminated side table and a louvered closet. Light shone from a white Murano-glass chandelier, and when she walked around the divider, the focal point of the living room was an oversized, colorized photograph of the couple, he in a wide-lapel tux and she in a low-cut, melon-hued dress. Mary’s gaze shot to the boyfriend, who had once been her boyfriend, at least for a time. His face hadn’t changed; the same eyes, the strong, wide nose, and a smile just this side of I-don’t-care. He had prominent cheekbones and a strong chin, and Mary used to imagine it on an ancient gold coin, but she was always too into Latin Club.
“That picture was taken at my wedding,” Giulia said, coming up from behind, her stilettos clacking on the marble floor. “The first one, that is. T was my maid of honor both times.”
“So how long have they been living here?”
“Five years or so.” Giulia crunched an Altoid, releasing a blast of toxic peppermint. “They remodeled the whole thing. Gorgeous, huh?”
“Yeah, wow.” Mary looked around. A sectional couch of white leather sat against the wall, catty-corner to two matching chairs and a white laminated coffee table, spotless but for a white marble ashtray and three silvery remote controls. Hanging on the opposite wall was a huge plasma TV.
“To me, it’s too clean, but T had to keep it that way, for him.”
“Trish told me.” Mary looked back at the entrance hall. “No sign of a fight or struggle on the way out.”
“Maybe Missy’s right. Maybe he drugged her. Or slapped her one.” Giulia pursed her lips. “I know he knocked her around. T told me once, and I think it was worse than she said.”
“I do, too.” Mary considered it. “But if he hit her, how would he get her out, then? Carry her? It’s still light at seven o’clock this time of year. People would see.”
“He could kinda hold her up, like she was drunk or somethin’.”
“Maybe, but look.” Mary gestured at the entrance hall. “The rug near the door is still flat, not even moved or wrinkled. It’s the kind that slips easily. That suggests they went peacefully.”
“You’re right, Mare.”
“We’ll see. It’s just a working theory.”
“I like it, a workin’ theory.” Giulia smiled. “That sounds good. Now what do we do? I mean, what’re you lookin’ for in here?”
“I’m trying to learn what I can and hope it gives us a clue about what happened to Trish. We’ll test our theory as we go along.”
“Another good idea. Thank God you’re here.” Giulia clapped her on the back, and Mary couldn’t help but smile.
“Giulia, what kind of coat does Trish usually wear?”
“Call me G, everybody does. I’m G, Trish is T. Yolanda is Yo.”
“What’s Missy?”
“A pain in the ass.”
Mary laughed. “When Trish came to my office, she had on a fox coat.”
“That’s what she wears to dress up. The one she normally wears is just like mine.” Giulia gestured at her coat. “We bought them together.”
“Okay, so do me a favor. Go check in the closet and see if her fox coat or her leather coat’s in there.”
“I’m on the case.” Giulia pivoted on her heel and clack-clacked over to the entrance hall.
“Thanks.” Mary walked ahead into a white dining room, which had a long, white laminated table and eight high-backed chairs. A matching breakfront displayed a Franklin Mint plate of Madonna and Child, next to photos of the couple with their arms wrapped around each other in front of Epcot Center, the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, and on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. There was even one of them in front of some palm trees with Joey Merlino, the mobster who kept South Philly on the crime map.
“Mare,” Giulia called out, clacking back to the dining room. “Her fox coat’s not there.”
“Interesting, good. So she took her dress coat and she had time to take it and to make a choice. So she wasn’t drugged. She went voluntarily. So far, our theory is holding up.” Mary picked up the photo with Joey Merlino. “They went away with Merlino?”
“Nah, that was taken in prison.”
Mary blinked. “But there’s palm trees.”
“That’s a fake background they have in the joint. Didn’t you know that?”
Uh. “No.” Mary set it down. “I was just looking at the photos, and they seem so happy. When did it turn bad?”
Giulia squinted, thinking. “About two years ago.”
“What happened?” Mary opened a drawer in the breakfront, but it was empty, then reached for the next.
“He’s old school. He wanted her home at night, dinner on the table, makin’ babies. Like a homebody, a wife. But T’s not that type. She liked to have fun.” Giulia’s expression darkened. “Then he started drinkin’ more and more. I hate him, I hate the way he treated her. He was a loser and he blamed her for everything, like that he wasn’t movin’ up fast as he wanted.”
“In the Mob, you mean?”
“Yeah, the Mob. Oooh.” Giulia made claw-hands with her fingernails, but Mary walked into the kitchen area.
“So why did she stay with him?”
“In the beginnin’, she kep’ hopin’ it would get better, then she was too afraid to leave him. I woulda been, too.” Giulia crunched her Altoid. “The only way out was if he dumped her. My husband says if you’re with a wiseguy, it’s like a roach motel. You’re gettin’ in, but you ain’t gettin’ out.”
Mary glanced around the kitchen, so clean it appeared unused. She walked over to a pad under the wall phone, and nothing was written there. She asked, “When did he get involved with the Mob?”
“After high school, I think.”
“I don’t remember that. His family wasn’t in the Mob, were they?”
“Sure, and his brother might even be made.”
“There’s something to be proud of.” Mary started searching the kitchen drawers, which contained only ladles, silverware, and the like. While she looked, she tried to remember what she knew about his family. He had an uncle who had raised him and an older sister. She didn’t remember him talking about a brother, but most of their conversations were about school or the Gallic war.
“Anyways, we haven’t hung here for a while. My house is our hang.”
“I didn’t see Trish’s purse. Did you?” Mary thought that Trish’s big black bag would have stood out on the sea of white.
“I don’t see it, either.” Giulia frowned, looking around.
“I keep mine in the living room.”
“So do I.”
“Hers isn’t here, not that I saw. If it’s not upstairs, then she took it with her, which supports our theory, too.” Mary opened the next drawer. “She took her purse and coat.”
“Our workin’ theory is workin’!” Giulia grinned, and Mary went through the contents of the drawer, but it held only potholders and napkins.
“Doesn’t she have a junk drawer? I thought everybody had a junk drawer.”
“I dunno,” Giulia answered, just as Mary reached the last drawer and pulled it out. It was a mess.
“Bingo.” Mary rifled through the drawer, keeping an eye out for receipts or anything that might suggest where they could be. Or maybe even the diary Trish had mentioned, or the gun. But there was nothing inside the drawer except old Chinese take-out menus, Valu-Pak coupons, and a YMCA brochure, along with pencils, pens, matches, and more matches. “You were telling me about how they were in the beginning, and why it went wrong.”
“Okay, right. At first, T liked it he was connected, and we all thought it was cool. My husband’s got a plumbing supply business, and Missy sees a maitre d’ at Harrah’s. Yo broke up with a guy works the docks. T was the one who got the big catch.” Giulia leaned against the counter. “Least that’s what we thought, then.”
Mary kept looking in the junk drawer, but wasn’t finding anything, which made sense because she didn’t know what she was looking for.
“He was so crazy about her. He loved her since high school. T was everything to him.”
Mary felt a stab of envy, then caught herself. Was she really jealous of an abused woman? Lusting after a mobster? Had she lost her mind? She closed the drawer and reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, and heard an interrupted dial tone, which meant there were messages. Verizon was the most common Philly carrier; Mary had it at home, too. She pressed 00, reached a prompt, then turned to Giulia.
“What password does Trish use generally, do you know?” Mary asked. “I want to check her messages.”
“Try Lucy. She uses that for everything. It’s her mom’s old dog.”
“Thanks.” Mary pecked the keys, then the voicemail said that there was one new message. She pressed 1, but it was a telemarketer. She hung up. “Rats.”
“No luck?”
“Not yet.” Mary thought a minute. “Trish told me she kept a diary. That’s probably in her bedroom, right?”
Giulia frowned slightly. “No, she didn’t. She said that? You sure?”
“Yes. She had a gun, too, didn’t she?”
“Sure.” Giulia seemed distracted, her forehead creased slightly. “I don’t think she had a diary. She woulda tol’ me.”
“Do you know where she kept the gun?”
“No.”
“I’m wondering if she took it with her.”
“I don’t know. Prolly.”
Mary thought the gun and the diary would be upstairs. “Let me ask you something else. Where would he take her for her birthday? Which restaurant?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t like to take her out. He liked her home. It drove her nuts.”
“Okay, where does he go when he goes to work, or whatever Mob guys do?” Mary didn’t know much about organized crime and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “Where does he sell drugs?”
“I dunno. We never talked about it. She didn’t wanna know the details, and neither did I.”
Mary remembered Trish had said that. They don’t know the whole story.
“Once she told me that the boys hang at Biannetti’s, down Denver Street. But he never took T there.”
Mary made a note on an imaginary legal pad. AVOID BIANNETTI’S AND DENVER STREET. “Did she ever mention any friends of his in the Mob, or just guys he knew? Maybe Mob guys he hung with at Biannetti’s? Guys who might know where they went?”
“No. Like I said, we didn’t talk about it.”
Mary scanned the kitchen and dining room one last time. “How many bedrooms in this house?”
“Two, one and a half baths, no cellar.” Giulia frowned again. “I can’t remember the last time I was even upstairs. It’s like she’s not allowed to have girlfriends.”
“How can you get along without your girlfriends?” Mary was thinking of Judy, and Giulia smiled.
“For reals.”
“Did Trish mention any other friends she had? Maybe a friend who might know something about where they could be?”
“No way. She had us. She was loyal to us.” Giulia frowned, and Mary let it go.
“Did you check the bedroom? I’m curious to see if her clothes are missing. Or if there are any signs she packed anything, or he did.”
“I didn’t check.”
“Where does she keep her suitcase, do you know?”
“I dunno. We keep ours under the bed.”
“I’ll check that, too.” Mary filed it away. “By the way, where’s their computers?”
“He didn’t have one, I know that. She told me he never liked ’em. He said he had ADD.”
Mary thought back. He had been a poor student. He could have been undiagnosed, back then. “No e-mail or anything?”
“T had it.”
“I want to look upstairs.”
“I’ll go out and smoke.” Giulia turned, but Mary touched her arm.
“Wait, I have a job for you and the girls. I want you to go up and down the street and interview the neighbors.”
“Why?” Giulia frowned.
“When there’s a crime, cops canvass the neighborhood to find out what people saw. They interview them to get witnesses.” Mary walked into the dining room and picked up one of the photos from the credenza. “Take this with you. Show it to the neighbors when you talk to them.”
“Don’t need it. I got a picture of them in my cell phone.” Giulia’s eyes narrowed, so that with the eyeliner tattooing, they looked like two black dashes. “So what do I ask in this interview?”
“Ask people if they saw Trish last night, or recently. Ask if anyone saw them leave and if they were alone.” Mary was thinking out loud. “Ask them, what time was it? Did they carry suitcases? Did they leave alone in the BMW? Did someone go with them and maybe follow them? Did it look like she was forced? Did they hear any yelling last night? How about a scream?”
Giulia frowned in confusion.
“I’ll write it down for you.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Giulia reached into her purse for her cigarettes.