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  “How are you gonna tell him about John?” Mary dreaded the task at hand, for Judy’s sake.

  “I don’t know.” Judy looked pained. “We’ll take him out. John and I used to take him down to the duck pond. We haven’t been there in a while, it was too cold. He likes it there, and we watch the ducks or sing. He likes to sing.”

  “Do you want to take him home with us, until the funeral? I can make room for him, too.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll ask him, but he won’t want to go. His support system is here. He’ll go to the funeral, so I’ll come back and take him out for that.” Judy’s lip trembled. “I’ll tell him out at the duck pond. It’s going to be so hard for him.”

  “You want me there, or you want me to wait back at his house?”

  “No, of course, come with us. He likes to meet new people. He’s going to be devastated.”

  “Maybe Mike can get him therapy or grief counseling? Do they have that here?”

  “Good idea, I’ll ask him.” Judy sighed. “The problem is that Mike can be chilly. Like he’s professional, but he’s a cold fish.”

  “That’s not a good personality for this job.”

  “That’s what John always said.” Judy looked up as they reached a sign that read POPLAR HOUSE, in front of a squarish redbrick apartment building, given a homey feel by multicolored pots with plants outside of its glass front door. “Oh, here we are. Follow me.”

  Mary fell in behind Judy as she knocked briefly, then entered a large sunny common area. Three men were sitting in wheelchairs, which faced opposite a large-screen television playing a baseball game. The man on the end had to be William, because he looked like John and as soon as he spotted Judy, his eyes came alive with animation behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Jud’!” William called out, beaming.

  “William, hi! Hi, everybody!” Judy beelined to William and gave him a hug, and William tried to hug her back, raising his clenched hands slightly, though his skinny forearms remained mostly rigid at his sides, as if he were pinned by the elbows. “William, this is my friend Mary.”

  “Hi!” William grinned up at her, raising his arms slightly, and Mary gave him a hug.

  “William, I’m so happy to meet you. I heard such nice things about you from Judy.”

  William nodded excitedly, still beaming, though his facial muscles were so drawn back that that it looked almost painful. He had on a plaid shirt and baggy jeans with black sneakers, his feet resting askew in the stainless-steel footrests of his wheelchair, which had a tall padded back. Around his neck was a pair of Dr. Dre headphones, and a smartphone was clamped to his wheelchair arm. He had darker, curlier hair than John, but his blue eyes reminded Mary of his brother’s, piercing, wide-set, and connecting with her intently. William was trying to tell Mary something, struggling to form the words, and spittle appeared in the corners of his mouth.

  Mary put her hand on his, bending over. “What is it, William?”

  William smiled hard, and his lips quivered with the effort of speech, then it burst forth: “You have a … baby in there!”

  Mary laughed, too. “Right, I do! I have a baby, right in here.” She rubbed her tummy, and William kept grinning, though a new look in his eyes made Mary think he was curious. On impulse, she asked, “Do you want to touch my belly? The baby is inside.”

  “Yes!” William nodded with excitement, his head jittery and his neck tilted to the side, frozen in that position. He tried to reach his hand out, with its knobby clenched fist, but Mary leaned over and her belly made up the extra distance.

  “Here we go, William. Can you feel that?”

  William brushed it gently with his knuckles. “Ha!”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s a boy!” William burst into merry laughter, and so did Mary, since she hadn’t seen that coming. As they were laughing, a tall, middle-aged man came over with a professional smile. He was well-built in a white polo shirt with the Glenn Meade logo, khaki Dockers, and sneakers.

  “Judy, hi, glad you could make it today.”

  “Hi, Mike.” Judy gestured to Mary. “This is my friend Mary DiNunzio.”

  “From the phone? Nice to see you.” Mike extended a beefy hand, and Mary shook it.

  “You too, thanks.”

  “Sorry about William, his excitement gets the best of him.” Mike frowned down at William. “William, you’re not supposed to touch pregnant ladies. It’s rude and—”

  “No, it’s okay,” Mary interrupted. “I invited him to and I have no problem with it, actually. Total strangers on the bus touch my belly. I’m like a walking Blarney Stone.”

  Mike blinked. “My wife tells me it’s not politically correct.”

  “I’m Italian-American, and even though that’s only a label, we like to be touched.” Mary smiled down at William, who was still grinning, so Mike’s rebuke hadn’t fazed him. “William, you can pat my belly anytime.”

  William looked at the door, raising his chin slightly. “Where’s John?”

  “I’m taking you out today, with Mary,” Judy answered quickly, walking around the back of the wheelchair and taking the handles. “Let’s go see the ducks.”

  “Okay! Can we feed them?”

  “Yes, I have change for the machine.”

  Mike went to the door, opening it. “Judy, we packed him a water bottle and strawberry yogurt for a snack, if you want to give him that. It’s in his bag on the back of the chair.”

  “Thanks, see you soon.” Judy pushed William through the door in his wheelchair, with Mary following.

  “Bye, Mike!” William called out over his shoulder, and Mary didn’t think he was that hard to understand, after she got used to him.

  Judy rolled William into the sunshine, checking in the large black bag that hung on the back of his wheelchair. “William, do you want your prescription sunglasses? They’re in your bag.”

  “No. I like the sun.” William grinned, still blinking against the brightness.

  “So how have you been?”

  “Good.” William smiled, and a soft breeze ruffled the curls in his hair. Now that they were outside where it was quieter, Mary could hear hip-hop music playing through the headphones resting around his neck.

  Judy rolled him past yellow crocuses blooming beside the asphalt path. “William, look, flowers. Everything is blooming, and spring is here. No more winter.”

  “I don’t like winter. It’s cold!” William smiled, still blinking. He leaned forward in the wheelchair, his excitement plain.

  “I don’t like it either. I like spring.”

  Mary fell into step beside William’s wheelchair. “I like summer.”

  “Me too!” William looked up at Mary, delighted. “I can go fast! Judy, make me go fast!”

  The path led gently downhill, and Judy leaned over to William. “Here we go down the hill! Hold on tight, William!”

  “Whee!” William cheered, though he was in no danger, strapped into the wheelchair by belts at his waist and chest.

  “Don’t fall out!”

  “I won’t!” William laughed, thrilled, as Judy wheeled him downhill. The path led behind the back of Poplar House, and ahead lay a grove of tall evergreens and underneath a verdant blanket of kelly-green ferns and hosta. Beyond was a large pond dotted with grayish-brown mallards and ringed at regular intervals with weathered cedar benches. The sight would have been idyllic, but for the fact that Mary knew Judy was going to tell William the worst news of his life there.

  William grinned up at Mary, breathless. “Are you Judy’s friend?”

  “Yes.” Mary found herself wishing that they could walk slower, just to prolong William’s last moments of happiness. “I’ve known her for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “I have to think about that a minute.” Mary caught Judy’s eye, and they both smiled. “I don’t even remember. A long, long time.”

  Judy chuckled. “I don’t remember, either. William, can you believe that?
I’ve known Mary for so long I don’t even remember how long? Isn’t that silly?”

  “Ha!” William laughed. “I have friends. Tom and Jason and Big Bill.”

  “You have a lot of friends.” Judy smiled. “You’re a friendly guy.”

  “I know them a long time.”

  “You’ve lived here a long time. Everybody likes you.” Judy leaned down to William as they walked. “Remember what I told you about the name of your house?”

  “What?” William raised his head, squinting.

  “It’s called Poplar House but I said you should call it…?”

  “Popular House! Ha!” William laughed again.

  “And do you remember why?”

  “Because I’m popular!”

  “That’s right! You’re very popular.”

  “John is my best friend.” William smiled, looking happily around as they traveled down the gentle hill.

  Judy swallowed hard, and Mary felt her chest tighten. They reached level ground, heading toward the duck pond, and Mary could see grayish-brown mallards floating around on the glassy surface.

  “Ducks!” William shouted happily.

  “Ducks, here we come!” Judy glanced over at Mary, as they approached a cedar bench. “Mary, why don’t you wait for us here? I’ll take John to feed the ducks. We don’t want to scare them with too many people. Is that okay?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Mary answered, keeping her tone light. On impulse, she patted William’s hand, clenched tightly atop the padded armrest of his wheelchair. “William, I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay, bye!” William’s attention was already drawn to the ducks, and Mary met Judy’s eye, feeling her pain.

  Judy turned away and traveled ahead, pushing William toward the lovely scene, and Mary found herself standing still, watching them go, hearing Judy chatter and William giggling as they walked along.

  Mary sank into the bench, trying to imagine how he would bear the news that John was gone, and she felt new rage at whoever had killed John. The killer had taken John’s life—and William’s lifeline. They were the true victims, this tiny, lopsided Foxman family, formerly only two members, now only one.

  Mary watched as Judy and William reached the pond. William kept pointing to the ducks, but Judy leaned over talking to him, then sat down on the cedar bench and turned his wheelchair around, so that he was facing her. Judy leaned over, her face close to William’s as she spoke, and though Mary couldn’t hear her words, she witnessed their impact.

  William cried out in pain, then hunched over crying, his spiny back and clenched fists shaking with sobs, and Judy enveloped him in a weepy embrace of her own.

  And that was when Mary made a vow.

  To find out who killed John.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The afternoon sun stalled in the hazy sky over South Philly, and Mercy Street was typically sleepy on Sunday, with nobody out except for a few neighbors in plastic chairs on the sidewalk, which had all the charm of a concrete beach. Mary stood with Judy at the front door to her parents’ house, hesitating before they went inside. Mary wouldn’t have come home for Sunday dinner but for the fact that Judy had begged her to, after the heartbreaking afternoon with William. Mary had called her parents on the way to town, and they’d been delighted to have her home. Mary had texted Anthony that Judy needed some girlfriend-time, which he understood. Plus he’d had enough carbohydrates for the week.

  Mary put her hand on the doorknob, eyeing her best friend, who looked heartbroken and exhausted. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and even her happy pink hair had dulled. “Judy, are you sure you want to go in? This is your last chance to come to your senses.”

  “Totally, I want to. You know I love your parents, and they’re exactly what I need tonight.”

  Mary could hear the sound of the Phillies game coming from the TV inside, at maximum decibel levels. “Did you remember that my father shouts when he talks?”

  “That’s how I know he loves me. When he screams.”

  “My mother’s going to hug and kiss you. And fill you with carbohydrates in mass quantities.”

  “Yes, I want her to feed me. Literally, with a spoon. I want her to feed me, hold me, rock me, and maybe even burp me.”

  “MARE, JUDY? IS THAT YOU? COME IN ALREADY! WHAT’RE YOU WAITIN’ FOR?”

  “Coming, Mr. D!” Judy sidestepped Mary and her belly, opening the screen door. “Mr. D, I need a hug!”

  “JUDY, COME ’ERE, DOLL! IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!” Mary’s father bear-hugged Judy, and Mary entered the living room, loving that her parents adored her best friend. From day one, they had made the tall, countercultural Northern Californian an honorary DiNunzio, even though Judy stood out in this family like a lighthouse among tugboats.

  “JUDY, WHAT’S A MATTER, HONEY? IT’S ALL GONNA BE AWRIGHT. WE’LL MAKE IT ALL BETTER.”

  “Mr. D, I missed you!” Judy burst into tears, and Mary’s father held her tighter.

  “DON’T WORRY, DOLL. IT’S GONNA BE AWRIGHT. EVERYTHING’S GONNA BE AWRIGHT.”

  “Jud’, Jud, che cosa, cara!” Mary’s mother scurried from the kitchen on her black orthopedic shoes, drying her hands on a cloth dish towel, her flowered housedress flying. She threw her short arms around Judy, who melted into her embrace, too.

  “Mrs. D, it’s so terrible, everything is so terrible!” Judy clung to Mary’s mother, who stroked her back and soothed her in Italian, which Judy didn’t understand at all, but it didn’t matter. In time, Mary’s parents calmed Judy down, guided her into the kitchen, and placed her in a chair at the table, which had been set for Sunday dinner.

  “JUDY, DRINK SOME WATER. YOU’LL EAT, YOU’LL FEEL BETTER, YOU’LL SEE.” Mary’s father eased into his chair, and Mary’s mother hovered over Judy, clutching her arthritic hands in front of her.

  “Thanks, guys.” Mary put an arm around her mother and kissed her fragrant hair cloud, which smelled of old-school Aqua Net and fresh tomato sauce. “Judy needs some love, Ma.”

  “Si, si, Jud’, di’ me.”

  Mary sat down, comforted to hear her mother say di’ me, her favorite Italian expression, which meant tell me. She had grown up in a family that loved to talk, but it also loved to listen, and for that, she was so grateful. Judy was closer to Mary’s family than her own, and Mary was thrilled to lend Judy her parents’ listening ear, even if it did have a hearing aid.

  Judy sniffled, wiping her nose with a napkin, then launched into the story, catching Mary’s parents up on the facts that John had been murdered, that she had been dating him, that the police had found the engagement ring, and that they had just come from delivering the bad news to William, which was when Mary’s father had teared up behind his bifocals.

  Mary’s mother had listened to every word, as she managed to serve dinner, which was a plate of steaming ravioli with slow cooked tomato sauce and broccoli rabe glistening with olive oil, garlicky enough to leave an aftertaste for days, until it finally left Mary’s body via her pores. Judy wolfed down her meal as she finished the story, which did Mary’s heart good. If Judy was eating, sooner or later, world order would be restored. But what preoccupied Mary was John’s killer.

  “MARE, YOU UPSET, TOO, AREN’T YA?”

  “Yes, I am.” Mary pushed her plate away, since she had eaten for three. “I can’t imagine who would kill John. I want to touch base with Lou and see if he found out anything. I called him and Bennie, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

  Judy looked over, miserably. “They would’ve called us if they found anything.”

  Mary knew it was true as soon as Judy said it. “So what do we do tomorrow? Just business as usual, with all this going on?”

  Judy nodded sadly. “We have to, we have no other choice. You have a deposition to defend in London Technologies. The show must go on—until I get arrested.”

  “JUDY, JESUS, GOD! DON’T SAY THAT! THEY CAN’T DO THAT! YOU DIDN’T KILL NOBODY! YOU NEVER WOULD!”


  “Che, che?” Mary’s mother asked irritably, just as some car commercials started blaring on the TV in the living room, making it harder for her to hear.

  “Ma, I got it, don’t worry.” Mary rose, went to the living room, and picked up the remote, about to turn off the TV when the screen changed with a teaser for the evening news, but the lead story showed a picture of Nick Machiavelli. LAWYER CLAIMS KNOWLEDGE OF SUSPECTS IN SLAYING OF CENTER CITY ATTORNEY, read a banner under the screen.

  “Judy, come in here quick!” Mary shouted, appalled, and Judy hurried into the living room, followed by Mary’s mother and father, who stood in a shocked circle around the television.

  A female anchorperson was saying, “Our lead story tonight involves bombshell allegations by Center City attorney Nick Machiavelli in connection with the murder of fellow Center City attorney, John Foxman. We take you now to Attorney Machiavelli’s offices, where he is speaking live with our reporter…”

  Mary froze as Machiavelli appeared on the screen, interviewed in his office, behind his ornately carved desk. He was leaning forward earnestly, his hair slick as an oil spill and his manicured fingers linked in front of him. He gave the appearance of being honest and believable, unless you knew better, which Mary did.

  “The police claim they have no suspects in the murder of John Foxman, but they’re covering up the truth. I’m calling on them now to expose the conspiracy that I believe exists behind John Foxman’s murder. Because it is my opinion that he was killed by the partners of the law firm of Rosato & DiNunzio.”

  “What?” Mary said, astonished.

  “Did he say conspiracy?” Judy’s eyes flew open.

  “HE SAID YOU DID IT!”

  “Deo!” Mary’s mother said, frightened.

  The reporter frowned, though he held the microphone under Machiavelli’s face. “But to be fair, Mr. Machiavelli, the authorities reported today that they have no suspects, so what are the facts on which you are basing your opinion?”

  Machiavelli lifted an eyebrow. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? They took Mary DiNunzio, Judy Carrier, and Bennie Rosato into the Roundhouse for questioning this weekend. Those are the three partners that I am trying to bring to justice because they discriminated against my clients. And John Foxman’s statements that those three women discriminated against him formed an important part of my proof against them. He was going to be my best witness—and now he’s dead.”