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  “No, that’s not what happened. If it were, the burglar would’ve stolen the ring, too.”

  “Maybe he didn’t see it? Maybe it rolled under the chair or the couch, and the police found it, but the burglar didn’t. It’s possible. The burglar would’ve been in a hurry, but the police weren’t.”

  “Oh, honey.” Mary gave her a hug, catching sight of the papers on John’s workstation. She blinked twice when she saw the form on top, which sat inside an open manila folder thick with correspondence.

  DEPT. OF HUMAN SERVICES, Complaint, read the caption, and it was the draft of an official form that John had filled out, in his handwriting. In the box for Complainant, John had written, John Foxman, Esq., as Guardian for William R. Foxman, and under Respondent, John had written, Michael Shanahan, Supervisor, Poplar House, Glenn Meade, Devon, Pennsylvania.

  “Judy, did you know that John was complaining about Mike Shanahan to the state?”

  “Really?” Judy asked, rising.

  “Look.” Mary scanned the form. In the block where the description of the complaint was supposed to be supplied, John had written in light pencil:

  I am filing the complaint regarding negligent treatment of my brother, who has cerebral palsy and is a longtime resident of Glenn Meade. I am reporting negligence and neglect by Michael Shanahan, supervisor of Poplar House. It takes a caretaker about half an hour to feed my brother, because he has tongue thrust and that makes it difficult for him to swallow, which is typical of many adults and children with cerebral palsy. Mr. Shanahan is a new supervisor at my brother’s group home and in the past two weeks, he has been complaining to me that my brother is “taking too long at mealtimes” and this is “throwing off” the schedule of the house. Mr. Shanahan has suggested to me that my brother be put on a feeding tube, but this is absolutely ridiculous. It is not for my brother’s welfare, but for the convenience of Mr. Shanahan. My brother opposes this, and his consent is necessary, and so is mine. None of this was a problem before Mr. Shanahan became supervisor. Because Mr. Shanahan and I have not been able to resolve this informally, so I am

  Mary looked over at Judy. “Did you know about this?”

  “Only generally. He told me that he had issues with Shanahan, but not the details. I didn’t know he was going to file a complaint.”

  “Do you think Shanahan knew John was going to file a complaint?”

  “I doubt it.” Judy frowned. “If John didn’t tell me, I doubt he would tell Shanahan.”

  “What effect would this complaint have, do you know? Could it get Shanahan fired?”

  “I don’t know. You know disability law better than I do.” Judy met Mary’s eye, as a realization dawned on her. “What, are you thinking that Shanahan had something to do with John’s death?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Judy recoiled. “That would be an extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” Mary said, reconsidering. “but I don’t know Shanahan at all. Do you?”

  “No.”

  Mary shrugged. “Maybe we need to learn more about him. I would feel better if I ran it down, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know, this suggests that John and Shanahan had been talking about it. Some of the talks could have been face-to-face and maybe some would be in email.”

  “So there should be some emails between the two of them. We should be able to recover John’s emails, even though we don’t have his laptop or his phone. If he used his work email, we could get them off the firm server. Did he have personal email as well?”

  “Yes, Gmail. JGFoxman@gmail.”

  Mary felt stumped. “It takes a subpoena to access somebody else’s Gmail, and they’re not easy to get.”

  “John might have made copies of the emails. That would be like him.” Judy started looking around the desk. “Knowing him, there’s a William file here, somewhere. I know he had the records for William, like birth certificate and the trust document.”

  “Here’s the hard question—do you think that John told William that he was going to file a complaint about Shanahan’s treatment? Because if John did that, that could even mean that William was in jeopardy.”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Judy frowned, concerned.

  “Take a guess. You knew them both.”

  “I’m sure that they would’ve talked about the problem with the eating and swallowing, but I don’t know if John would’ve told William he was filing a complaint. On the other hand, he could have. John always wanted William to know that he was looking out for him. They were close.”

  “So you’ll have to ask William.”

  “Right. I’ll do it when I see him. It’s easier than over the phone.” Judy grimaced. “This worries me.”

  “Me, too.” Mary’s gaze fell on the file cabinet. “Okay, let’s get on it. I’ll search the cabinet and you search the desk.”

  “Okay,” Judy said, starting to dig.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It wasn’t until two o’clock in the morning that Mary finally slipped into bed, having stayed up to decompress with Judy in the guest bedroom, flopping around with her gaseous golden retriever, talking about John, William, and theories of the murder. They had searched John’s file cabinet in his apartment, but they hadn’t been able to find a William file or emails from John to Mike Shanahan, so they’d resolved to look at the office at work tomorrow. Mary had emailed Lou to run a background check on Shanahan and see if he could turn up anything interesting about him. She wasn’t about to leave any stone unturned.

  Mary pulled the sheet up to her chin carefully, so as not to wake Anthony, whose back was to her. Oddly, she didn’t feel as tired as she had last night or most of the pregnancy. Her brain crackled with activity, and she breathed deeply, trying to settle down because she knew she had to get up early. She had to review the London Technologies file so she could prepare to defend the deposition. She didn’t mind flying by the seat of her pants, but she didn’t even know the name of the deponent, which would be an all-time career low.

  “Mary, do you really think I’m asleep?” Anthony asked quietly, his tone unmistakably unhappy.

  “Oh sorry, yes, I thought you would be. We tried to be quiet.”

  “You didn’t wake me, I’ve just been awake, wondering when you were coming home.” Anthony turned over on his side, facing her, and Mary could see the silhouette of his head and shoulder in the light flowing through the curtains.

  “Well, I mean it was a long night, I spoke with you before Judy and I went to see William—”

  “I know but—”

  “—and I spoke with you saying we were going to my parents, and I texted you saying we were going to the crime scene—”

  “My point isn’t that you didn’t tell me where you’re going. My point is that I don’t know what you’re doing.” Anthony’s tone sounded bewildered and slightly critical, in the darkness.

  “There’s a lot going on, we’re trying to figure out who killed John, make sure Judy doesn’t get charged, deal with Machiavelli and—”

  “Babe, you’re not understanding me. You went to the doctor yesterday, you are having issues. She told you to take it easy. Did you forget you’re pregnant?”

  “Of course not,” Mary shot back, becoming irritated. “How can I possibly forget I am pregnant? The fact that I’m pregnant is every single waking second of my life. I smell weird things, I feel nauseated, I throw up. Don’t tell me that I forget I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re not acting like you’re pregnant. You’re not doing what the doctor said. You’re running around as if you’re not pregnant at all.”

  “No I’m not,” Mary started to say, angrily, but then she realized that Anthony might be right. “You know, I stand corrected. Today might be the first day that I really didn’t think about my pregnancy first, above everything. I didn’t feel my symptoms as much. I was hardly nauseated. I just didn’t think about it for once.”

  “I know, and that’s what’s both
ering me.”

  “Is it bothering you?” Mary asked, more sharply than she had expected. Suddenly it occurred to her, with a flash of insight, what was going on. “You know, as soon as I learned I was pregnant, I changed everything. I thought about the baby first, all the time. I ate differently, I made sure I was hydrated, I ate yogurt to build the baby’s bones, and I don’t drink anything but decaf. I don’t even have a Diet Coke. I’ve changed everything because I’m carrying a baby.”

  “Since when do you have a problem with that?”

  “I didn’t think I did, but maybe I do.” Mary heard the words coming out of her mouth, surprising even herself. “Because I can tell you that today I felt terrific. I didn’t think about the baby first today. I thought about John, who was brutally murdered by some thug or God knows who. I thought about William, his brother who has cerebral palsy, who was devastated that he lost his brother, leaving him alone in the world. I thought—”

  “Honey, where is this coming from?”

  “—about Judy, who thought she was going to get married, but now has lost John and all of her dreams. And I even thought about litigation, London Technologies, a client who came to us to save their business and is wondering if we’re a cabal of murderesses, like witches. I have to defend a deposition tomorrow, and you know what, I feel good about that. I like the idea of being a lawyer again. I like putting a client’s interests ahead of my own and fighting for them—”

  “Okay, but I think you’re overreacting—”

  “—so excuse me, if just for one single day in seven months, I didn’t think about the baby first. I thought about me. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like myself.” Mary stopped talking abruptly, having realized how strongly she felt. Now that the words were out of her mouth, she wasn’t about to disown them.

  “So, babe, what are you saying?”

  “I was pretty clear, don’t you think? I said a lot of things.” Mary tried to suppress a flicker of irritability. “I have a lot on my mind and there’s a lot going on, and I really don’t need to come home and have you tell me that I’m a bad mother, when I’m not even a mother yet.”

  “Wow. Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.” Mary let herself reply angrily, which was something she ordinarily didn’t do. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this cranky, not at Anthony. They hardly ever fought, truly. But she’d never been through anything like this before.

  “You sound like you resent the fact that you’re pregnant.”

  “No I don’t,” Mary replied, reflexively. “Or maybe I do. I didn’t think I did, but I do when you tell me that I’m a bad person for doing what I need to do for myself and for everyone around me.”

  “But not for the baby, honey. You’re not doing what’s best for the baby.”

  “Yes I am!” Mary said, taken aback. “The doctor didn’t say I had to sit still all day long and stare out the window. And besides, what am I supposed to do? Anthony, you tell me. Did you see Machiavelli on TV today? He called me a murderer. He’s telling the world that I killed John. I have clients calling me about it and I didn’t have a spare second to return one of those calls. I’m avoiding my email because it will be more of the same. So you tell me, what would the doctor say I’m supposed to do, a pregnant person accused of a colleague’s murder? Maligned in public, freaking out my parents? Really, these are extraordinary circumstances.”

  Anthony sighed slowly, his breath shuddering from his lips, and Mary could even feel it on her face. Her nasal superpowers told her that he had his favorite late-night snack, a glass of red wine, roasted peppers, and black olives. Somehow the image of Anthony eating his snack by himself softened Mary’s heart.

  “Look, Anthony, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pop off.”

  “Babe, I’m sorry too. I wasn’t trying to criticize you.”

  “But you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Mary knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. “You told me I’m running around too much.”

  “But you are,” Anthony shot back, without hesitation. Or rancor. “It’s just the truth. I have to be able to tell you the truth.”

  Mary considered it. “You’re right, you do. But I have to be able to tell you the truth too, and I think I just laid a truth bomb on you.”

  “You sure did.” Anthony chuckled slightly, and Mary’s anger began to ebb away.

  “Maybe I just feel like I need more breathing room now. We’re obviously in a crisis at work.”

  “O-kay,” Anthony said slowly. “But you’re also in a crisis here. Not with me, but with your home life. With the baby.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt the baby, you know that.”

  “But I’m worried what you’re doing could hurt the baby, or you.”

  “And if I don’t do it, it hurts me.” Mary felt as if she were thinking clearly for the first time in seven months. “I’m doing everything I said. I cut back my cases. I’m going to stay home when the baby comes. But I just can’t ignore what’s happening around me. John, Judy, now William. Machiavelli. London Technologies.”

  “So what do you do? What do we do?”

  “Trust me to sort it out and handle it the way I see fit.” Mary thought hard, trying to wrestle with it in her own mind. “You don’t know what it’s like to be pregnant. It’s really, in some ways, strange. My body is doing things I never thought it could do, it’s completely out of my control. It’s hijacked, in a way.”

  “Hijacked?”

  “Honestly, yes. I don’t own my own body anymore. It’s obeying its own rules and rhythms. The baby’s calling the tune.”

  Anthony groaned. “That’s a negative view, honey.”

  “Well, it’s true,” Mary told him, torn. “And I’m not negative about the pregnancy, not really. I’m excited about it, but these other things are also true, so it’s a mixed bag. And just now, with so much happening, I have to be able to deal. I want to come home and not get grief.”

  “You’re not getting grief, you’re getting truth.”

  “I’m getting both,” Mary said, though she knew that he was partly right. But so was she, which might have been why marriage wasn’t easy.

  “All right,” Anthony said, his tone newly final. “I won’t give you grief or truth anymore. I’ll let you do what you’re doing, your own way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I want you to remember what I’m telling you tonight. Because you aren’t who you used to be. You’re pregnant now, and anything can happen.”

  “Nothing is going to happen.”

  “Mary, you were rushed to the doctor yesterday—”

  “I wasn’t rushed.”

  “Honey, come on.”

  “I wasn’t rushed,” Mary repeated. “I was sitting in a meeting and I had to leave the meeting.”

  “All I’m saying is, you don’t want anything to happen to the baby and neither do I. Because that would be unthinkable, and you would never forgive yourself.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to the baby.” Mary felt nervous even saying so, as if she were jinxing something. Herself. Her pregnancy. Maybe even the baby.

  “Okay, good night.” Anthony leaned over, kissed her quickly, and lay back down, throwing an arm over her. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Mary looked at the ceiling, knowing she’d never get to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mary and Judy stepped off the elevator the next morning, ready for the day, or as ready as they would ever be. Mary hadn’t been able to sleep after the conversation with Anthony, then had finally given up and read through the London Technologies file, so she was prepared to defend the deposition, at one o’clock. Judy hadn’t been able to sleep either, so she had been up early, too, calling funeral homes to arrange a memorial service for John.

  “Mary, Judy, hurry!” Marshall called from the reception desk, with a frown. “I was just about to text you guys.”

  “What’s
up?” Mary hurried/waddled to the desk, and Marshall leaned over, keeping her voice low.

  “Jim and Sanjay from London Technologies are in the conference room.”

  “Why?” Mary asked, taken aback.

  “I don’t know, but everybody just went in. You’d better go.” Marshall handed Mary and Judy thick packets of phone messages. “Also these are for you, mostly the press but some clients. They say they’ve been trying to reach you but they haven’t been able to.”

  “Thanks.” Mary and Judy took the messages, then Mary said, “Marshall, I need you to do something. I want you to go through John’s email on the firm server and search under the name Michael Shanahan, a supervisor at Glenn Meade, the group home where his brother William lives. Print all of them for me. I’m looking for anything about Shanahan’s care of William or a complaint about William’s care that John was intending to file with the DHS.”

  “Okay.” Marshall made a note.

  “And look through his desk and file cabinets, too. We need to know what the cops took, if anything. I’m looking for a file of his personal papers, like anything relating to his guardianship of William.”

  “I got it.”

  “Where’s Lou?”

  “He came in but he went out again. He said to tell you he’s on it.”

  “Thanks.” Mary and Judy took off, hustled down the hallway, and reached the conference room, where Bennie and Anne looked up, smiling in a professional way.

  “Mary, Judy, perfect timing!” Bennie said lightly, from the head of the table.

  Anne gestured at the clients. “Hi, please, meet Jim and Sanjay.”

  Mary and Judy shook hands as Anne introduced the two men taking their seats. Jim was a tall, lanky forty-year-old, with hipster glasses, a scruffy haircut, and an unstructured black jacket and jeans. Sanjay was in the same cool-guy outfit, but handsome, with thick dark hair and melting brown eyes, generally crushworthy if Mary had been in the mood, which she wasn’t.

  Mary flashed them a smile meant to inspire confidence, which was her job. Unfortunately, she could see the men alternately staring at her belly or trying not to stare at her belly, even though she had worn a navy blazer over her maternity dress. There were a lot of things they didn’t teach in law school, and lawyering while pregnant was one of them. Most male clients wouldn’t generally feel protected by a lawyer whose belly had a mind of its own.