Think Twice Page 14

“Pick us up, but not in a cab.” Alice would have to leave the money bag in the car. She couldn’t take it into the courthouse, through security. “Call a hired car, and it can wait for us after court.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. But who’s ‘us’? You said ‘us.’ ”

  “We’ll have co-counsel today.”

  “What? Who?”

  “My other partner,” she said, smiling at Grady.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Mary had to pretend she wasn’t nervous, so she couldn’t scratch the blotches under her high-necked white blouse. She sat in the second pew of the packed gallery with Bennie and Grady, waiting for their case number to be called. It wasn’t easy to get a restraining order, because courts are loath to restrict a person’s civil liberties without a convincing showing of threat. Mary had only gotten one or two restraining orders in her career, and even they were a long time ago—and her boss wasn’t the client. She sent up a prayer to Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes and lawyers who were in over their heads.

  The Honorable Francis X. McKenna was presiding, a bald, blocky, ruddy-faced judge in his sixties with steel-rimmed glasses and a permanently even temper. He was known to be compassionate and smart, but there was an outside chance he could deny their restraining order. There hadn’t been any physical threat to Bennie, which was usually necessary.

  The courtroom was old, with a dull gray marble bench, high ceilings painted a fading cerulean blue, and a brown Emerson air conditioner that rattled in a tall, mullioned window. The bar of court was made of dull mahogany, its top rail supported by ornately carved spindles, and behind it were the mismatched wooden desks of the law clerk, court crier, and court reporter, who went about their business, filing papers and tapping away on the stenography machine, their faces professional masks. Suddenly, the judge ruled, and the court crier rose and called for case number 53263, which was one away from theirs.

  Mary watched as one restraining order after another was issued to the women and children of the City of Philadelphia, each one telling its own horror story of fathers attacking children, boyfriends stalking girlfriends, and grudges taken out on beloved pets. It made her feel even worse, but she told herself that they were getting what little justice the law could offer.

  She glanced over at Bennie, who smiled back at her. Bennie had gotten a million restraining orders in her day, but she hadn’t tried to interfere when Mary had fumbled her way through filling out the forms in the Clerk’s Office. But that was Bennie Rosato for you.

  “DiNunzio,” Bennie whispered, patting her hand. “Have faith in yourself. I do, in you.”

  Mary felt a surge of gratitude, and when the court crier called out their case number, she felt taller than she ever had before. She went to the podium, stood before the judge, and said, with pride:

  “May it please the Court, I’m Mary DiNunzio, of Rosato & DiNunzio.”

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Bennie sat in the police cruiser, parked outside of Alice’s house. The day was sunny and hot, and it was sweltering in the car, but Officers Villarreal and Dayne had made her wait while they’d gone inside. She’d led the cops to the house, though she knew that Alice would have flown the coop by now. Oddly, it looked as if she’d left her front door unlocked, because they had walked in easily.

  Bennie felt strange, sitting where criminals usually sat, in the backseat behind a perforated metal grate. It only added to her feeling of not being herself, and she had on clothes unlike any she’d ever wear, a blue tank top with glitter around its plunging V-neck, tight jeans shorts, and shiny gold flip-flops. The outfit was all that the social worker could scrounge up at the hospital, evidently left behind by a country hooker, if not Daisy Duke herself.

  The cops emerged, Officer Villarreal frowning in the sunlight and Officer Dayne behind him. He was the older of the two, thin and taciturn, playing up his elder-statesman role. They walked to the cruiser, and Officer Villarreal went to see her in the backseat, since he was the nice one, who did all the talking.

  Bennie shifted to the half-open window. “She’s gone, huh?”

  “Not exactly.” Officer Villarreal eased the brim of his cap upward on his forehead. “Alice Connelly doesn’t live here. The house belongs to someone else.”

  “That’s not possible.” Bennie tried to think. It was the right house. She’d remembered the address. “I was in this house. This house belongs to Alice Connelly.”

  “You’re confused.”

  “No, I’m not,” Bennie shot back. “Let me go in. Let me look around. I have to see it.”

  Officer Villarreal scowled. “Only if you conduct yourself appropriately and the homeowner agrees.”

  Officer Dayne interjected, “This isn’t a game, Ms. Rosato.”

  Bennie inched to the window. “I swear, it’s Alice’s house. Please let me out, I want to see it.”

  Five minutes later, Bennie was looking around the kitchen, dumbfounded. The chairs sported flowery pads, and family photographs sat on a table, and there was even a window air conditioner. She realized instantly that Alice had merely used the house and told the officers as much, though they withheld judgment. They introduced her to the homeowner, one Sally Cavanaugh, an older woman with bright eyes, short gray hair, and a loose-fitting shift that read SO MANY BOOKS, SO LITTLE TIME.

  Bennie turned to her. “Ms. Cavanaugh, were you at home on Friday night?”

  “No, I was on vacation, in the Poconos. I came home early because the weather was bad.”

  “Where there any signs of forced entry? Broken screen, an open window?”

  “Not at all.” Mrs. Cavanaugh gestured at the cops. “As I told the officers, this is just the way I left it. Everything’s in order. I never like to come home to a messy house. It’s too depressing.”

  “Can I see your wineglasses?”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Cavanaugh went to the cabinet and reached for a glass in the front row, but Bennie stopped her with her bandaged right hand.

  “Wait, they could be evidence.”

  Officer Villarreal came over. “Wouldn’t she have washed them before she put them back?”

  “Yes, but how careful could she have been? She didn’t expect me to live, and she could have washed them by hand. If you test them, I’ll bet you’ll find some latent prints and drug residue.”

  “Drugs?” Cavanaugh’s hand flew to her mouth. “Uh-oh. We used those glasses last night.”

  “What?” Bennie asked, dismayed.

  “My book club came over, and it’s time to pick the books for the year, and well, you know how that goes.” Cavanaugh smiled sheepishly. “Janey gets a little carried away, and so do I. We had some vino to smooth things over.”

  “So you washed the glasses?”

  “Of course. I did wash them by hand.” Cavanaugh turned to the cops. “What type of drug was it?”

  Officer Villarreal answered, “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. May I ask, do you have a paper bag?”

  “Yes, right here.” Mrs. Cavanaugh fetched one from a stack behind the microwave and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” Officer Villarreal accepted the bag and reached for the wineglass, but Bennie grabbed a paper napkin and handed it to him.

  “You might want to use this.”

  Cavanaugh said, “Yes, I saw that on Law & Order. Wait’ll I tell my book club. We’re going to read a mystery this month, and now we’re in one.”

  Officer Villarreal put the glasses into the bag. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and we’re sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to Bennie. “Time to go.”

  “No, I’d like to see the rest of the house, and I have more questions.”

  “We do the police work in Cambridge County. Thanks for your help, though.”

  “It’ll just take a minute. There might be clues as to where Alice went.”

  “I said, we have to go.”

  “But we need to find
her. God knows where she could be, by now. We’re here, and if we looked around and—”

  “No.” Officer Villarreal put a heavy hand on Bennie’s shoulder, steered her to the door, and ushered her outside, where he handed the evidence bag to Officer Dayne and stowed her in the backseat, his smile cooler. He had given her a chance in the hospital, but he was losing faith.

  “Why don’t you call the farmer who found me? You talked to him already. Ask him where he picked me up, then I can show you the box she buried me in, in the field.”

  “We’re a step ahead of you, Philly.”

  “You mean we’re going now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we need to find Alice, as soon as we’re done.”

  “Please, sit back.” Officer Villarreal closed the cruiser door, went around the front, and got in, twisting on the ignition.

  Bennie shifted toward the metal divider. “Also, Officer Villarreal, could you call dispatch again about my car? Maybe it’s been spotted.”

  “We already put the APB out. If it turns up, we’ll hear about it.”

  Officer Villarreal accelerated, Officer Dayne manned the police radio, and Bennie sat back, left to her thoughts. The box in the field would prove her story. The cops would see the tunnel, the broken lid, the pieces of her clothes. They might even find blood samples, hair, and fibers that could lead them to Alice.

  Officer Villarreal hit the gas as they sped along one-lane roads for almost twenty more minutes. Humid air blew into the backseat as they whizzed past clapboard farm houses, tall blue silos, soybean fields, and black Amish buggies, their drivers’ faces hidden under the brims of straw hats, their bay horses lathery with sweat. She noticed a commotion down the road, where police saw horses blocked the street and traffic was being detoured. An array of cruisers, newsvans, and pickup trucks sat parked along the side, until the road veered out of sight. Over the ridge, a hazy gray cloud puffed into the blue sky like a random thunderhead.

  “What’s going on?” Bennie asked, and Officer Villarreal slowed to a stop in front of the roadblock, put the cruiser in park, and turned around, his eyes hard.

  “Why don’t you tell us? We’re less than a mile from where you were found.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Why are we stopping? Let’s go see the box.”

  Officer Dayne snorted. “The box, eh?”

  Officer Villarreal shook his head, his lips flat. “We can’t go any farther. It’s the biggest fire we’ve ever had in the county. Somebody torched a field of hay rolls. It’s a disaster.”

  Bennie was stunned. She couldn’t process it fast enough.

  “The fire burned all night. We only got it put out an hour ago. It took fire trucks from thirty different counties, and police from all the surrounding counties. That’s why it took so long for us to get to you. Five firefighters sent to the hospital, so far, for exhaustion. No fatalities, luckily. So far, it burned up almost three hundred acres, untold property damages, $140,000 in lost hay and near $75,000 in equipment. An almost-new John Deere harvester burned up.”

  Bennie flashed on the hay rolls, then the harvester she’d seen, parked.

  “There’s no houses around here, or people would have been killed.”

  Bennie knew what must have happened. She felt sick inside, not only for the lost evidence, but for the damage. Alice had scorched the earth to destroy the evidence of that box.

  Officer Villarreal took a deep breath. “Now, Ms. Rosato. Do you want to tell us what really happened last night?”

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Alice strode to the security desk, followed by Grady and Mary, and flashed a smile at Steve. “Good news, pal. We’re just back from court, where Mary got a restraining order against Connelly, so she’s not permitted within a hundred feet of us, the tenants, the clients, or the building.”

  “Good. If we see her, we call the cops, then you.”

  “Also, we ordered extra security, to backstop you. Rothman Corporate.” As Alice spoke, she slid the log book toward her, forged Bennie’s signature, and signed Grady in, as her guest. “They should be here any minute.”

  “We know those guys. They’re retired cops, too, most of ’em from the Fifth.”

  “Now, I still have a business to run, and new clients, Rexco, coming in at two o’clock. Keep it low key if nothing is going on.” Alice slid the log book to Mary. “Sign yourself in, champ, and give Steve a copy of the court order.”

  “Will do.” Mary opened up her canvas briefcase, withdrew a few copies of the order, handed them over, and signed herself in. “One is for you, and the Rothman guys will need one, too.”

  “Thanks.” Steve started to read the order, but Alice gave a little rap on the desk, a Bennie move.

  “Gotta go,” she said, moving toward the elevators. She hoisted her purse and the messenger bag, heavy with money, to her shoulder, then swiped her card and hit the button. Grady met her eyes for a minute, and his expression looked strained, but she couldn’t read his thoughts. She hoped that he couldn’t read hers either, because she was trying to figure out how to stage his accidental death in a building lousy with security.

  Maybe if I got him up on the roof?

  The elevator pinged, and they all piled inside.

  Alice had never met the firm receptionist, whose nameplate read Marshall Trow. She looked like a sixties throwback with a long braid and a Mexican peasant dress, and when she spotted Grady, she broke into a big smile.

  “Grady! Great to see you again!”

  “You too, Marshall!” Grady gave her a quick kiss. “How’ve you been? How’s the baby? She driving yet?”

  A rustling came from the hallway, and Judy Carrier bounded toward them in a tangerine T-shirt, baggy blue capris, and hot pink clogs, with her short hair dyed red as a Christmas ball. Alice didn’t know what to make of the girl. Either she was colorblind or insane.

  “Grady!” Judy met him at the reception desk, and he lifted her off her feet.

  “Nice hair!” Grady set Judy down, ruffling her red locks. “You a fire engine?”

  “I’m totally primary.” Judy whirled around on her clogs, and Alice wondered how to get the girl up to the roof, too.

  “So you’ve all heard that Alice is back in the picture. We have a restraining order in place, but if she manages to get up here, call the cops immediately. I don’t want to cancel Rexco and I’m not going to let her mess up my life.” Alice spotted the envelope from USABank, marked Personal and Confidential, on the receptionist’s desk. Inside would be the signature cards to open the Bahamas bank accounts. “Marshall, any messages and mail for me?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” The receptionist picked up the packet and placed a stack of pink message slips on top. “Marla said you should call her, ASAP.”

  “Will do.” Alice took the stuff and turned to Grady. “I have a spare office, since Anne Murphy is on vacation. You want to use it to check your email or get some work done?”

  “Yes, but hold on, aren’t you forgetting something?” Grinning, Grady gestured at Mary.

  “Oh, wait. Of course.” Alice suppressed an eye-roll. “Everyone, I’m proud to announce that Mary DiNunzio has become a full partner in the law firm of Rosato & DiNunzio.”

  “Awesome!” Judy jumped up and down, then Mary and Marshall joined in, and the three women celebrated together while Grady laughed.

  Alice wondered if she could have a party on the roof and shove everybody over the side.

  But not until after she’d called USABank.

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  “Can you believe it?” Mary asked, now that she and Judy were behind closed doors, in her office.

  “No, I can’t believe it!” Judy’s fair skin flushed with happiness. “You’re a partner! Tell me everything! How did it happen? When did she tell you?”

  “Wait. It gets better.” Mary couldn’t stop smiling. “I bought a house! If they accept the offer.”

  “What?” Judy’s eyes almost fell out of her
face. “You what?”

  “It’s gorgeous, it’s right in town, and I made an offer! In only one day! Just like that!”

  “It’s unbelievable! A house? So you and Anthony worked it out!”

  Mary deflated instantly.

  “What?”

  “I think we might be over,” Mary answered. It wasn’t until she heard the words aloud that she realized they could be true. “Can you believe it? Just like that.”

  “What happened?”

  Mary told her the story, beginning with the fight in the master bedroom and ending with the phone call on Sunday night. She got through the entire thing without shedding a tear, because if she met the Rexco people crying over her boyfriend, she’d be not only fired, but shot.

  “This is terrible.” Judy sat down. “Do you think he really means it?”

  “Yes.” Mary knew it was true. She felt it inside. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

  “Yes. You have every right to buy the house, and if you waited, you would have lost it. He’ll come around, he has to.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “But you didn’t do anything wrong, and he can’t punish you because you bought something you wanted. Or because you wanted something he couldn’t buy. Money has nothing to do with love.”

  “Except in the real world, where you buy things.”

  “It’s not fair to you.” Judy frowned.

  “It’s not about fairness. He’s ashamed. That’s how he sees it, and it’s not going to change.” Mary’s cell phone rang in her purse, and they locked eyes.

  “I bet it’s him,” Judy said.

  “I bet it’s not.” Mary dug in her purse, retrieved her BlackBerry, and checked the display screen. “Told you.” She answered the call. “Hey Ma.”

  “Maria, e vero, you and Anthony, no more?” Her mother sounded as if she’d been crying, which made Mary feel even worse.

  “We’re taking a break, Ma. We needed some space, that’s all.”