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  “How does that work? Do they break in? Do they leave the door open?” Simon rubbed his face. “I’d call the neighbors but they’re on vacation. It’s that time of year.”

  “It’s okay, we’re on it.” Mary touched his arm. “Your password is where?”

  “I always keep it in the same place. You know my home office, on the first floor? Desk drawers on the left, the top one. It’s hidden in a Phillies schedule.”

  Suddenly Feet looked up, his eyes welling again. “Mare, you want me to sign this power-of-attorney in case they take Simon away? Do you really think they’re gonna take him to jail?”

  Mary touched his arm. “Feet, don’t get upset. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “But you brought the papers. You want me to sign the papers. Bennie does and so does Simon. That means you all think he’s going to jail. The cops think he did it. His company thinks he did it. They think he killed his boss because he got fired.” Feet held the papers in the air, his lips starting to tremble. “They’re going to take my son away? They’re going to put him in jail for a murder he didn’t do? He didn’t do it!”

  “Feet, no,” Mary said, trying to calm him.

  “Dad, it’s okay.” Simon got up and went around Feet’s other side. “It’s just a formality. That’s what I was saying to you this morning. It’s like insurance. You get car insurance, it doesn’t mean you’re going to crash. It’s just in case.”

  Just then, Bennie’s phone started ringing, and she checked the screen, looking at Mary. “It’s Nate.”

  “Who’s Nate?” Simon asked, next to Feet.

  “He’s the president of Dumbarton Industries, the parent company.”

  “You mean he’s the big boss?” Feet’s lined face flushed with emotion. “The capo di tutto capi?”

  “Excuse me.” Bennie rose, answering the call, “Nate, what is it?”

  Suddenly Feet jumped out of his seat. The POA papers fluttered from his hand, and he lunged toward Bennie. “Gimme that phone!”

  “Dad!” Simon shouted, going after him.

  “Feet?” Mary called out, as Bennie whirled around in surprise and Feet grabbed the phone from her hand.

  “You’re the big mahaf, you bastard?” he shouted into the phone. “You never shoulda fired my son! He did a great job and he would never murder nobody! You’re not gonna take him away! I won’t let you! Mary and Bennie won’t let you! My granddaughter needs her father—”

  “Dad, stop!” Simon grabbed him, holding him around the shoulders. Mary arrived at Feet’s other side and was about to take his arm when suddenly Feet let out an agonized cry, dropped the phone, and crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest.

  Mary screamed. “He’s having a heart attack!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Bennie experienced what happened next as an awful blur. Mary screamed, loudspeakers barked. Simon knelt on the lounge floor, cradling his father, whose lined face had gone ashen. Nurses and doctors came running, racing into the lounge, performing CPR. A crash cart arrived, more personnel swarmed, and they brought the old man to life just as a stretcher arrived with even more personnel. Trained aides lifted him onto a gurney with an expert 1-2-3 count, taking his vitals all the while, then whisked him down the hallway to the emergency department of the University of Pennsylvania Hospital, which was just next door in the medical complex. A stricken Simon hurried behind the group, calling instructions to Mary to stay behind with Rachel.

  Bennie remained on the periphery during the commotion, then accompanied Mary as they walked back to Rachel’s room. They didn’t talk because Mary was busy texting her father and mother to tell them to call her, and after they’d reached Rachel’s room and ascertained that the child was sound asleep, Mary stood outside the room, kept an eye on Rachel, and called a slew of relatives and friends, informing them as calmly as possible of what happened and answering all their questions.

  Bennie was amazed to see how calm Mary was in an emergency, and couldn’t help but feel that the tables had turned, with Mary taking charge of the situation and Bennie standing numbly aside, her emotions churning within her chest. She remained outside the child’s hospital room, struggling to control herself, looking through the window at the little girl.

  She had never been in a children’s hospital and couldn’t get used to the incongruity of the Mylar balloons and plush animals next to the IV stalks and the blood pressure monitors. And little Rachel looked so frail, her bald head so like a baby bird’s, with sparse flyaway hairs and dark circles under her eyes, even though her eyelids were closed. Her dimpled hand rested on her chest, showing a plastic IV port that sported a Monarch butterfly sticker.

  Bennie kept replaying in her mind what had happened in the lounge, feeling a wave of guilt for having brought the power-of-attorney forms. She didn’t know what she had been thinking. Well, she did, which was worse. She had thought she was being helpful, but she had failed miserably. She’d grabbed the papers just as she’d left the office, thinking that she had made a heads-up play, but she’d been horribly wrong.

  Bennie watched Rachel’s chest rise and fall, her thoughts turning. She didn’t know Feet and had no idea of his emotional state. She didn’t know how old he was or even why he was called Feet. She avoided using the nickname because it seemed so goofy, even disrespectful. Or maybe it was because she felt like such an outsider to Mary’s South Philly community. Somehow, she didn’t deserve to use the nicknames of people she hardly knew.

  Bennie shook her head, only vaguely aware that she was doing so. Beyond Rachel’s bed was a window that overlooked the atrium, and there were even more happy Mylar balloons, mobiles, and a massive staircase of families moving up and down, living their lives in a hospital while their child went through some of the hardest ordeals the planet had to offer. And Bennie stood on the other side of the glass, wondering how she could not have realized what a mistake she had made.

  Bennie felt tears come to her eyes, but kept her head turned from Mary as she blinked them away. She should have realized that showing Feet the papers and confronting him with the fact that his son was about to be arrested for murder could have provoked a heart attack. Especially since his grandchild was mortally ill. Worse, he had just learned that she had lost her marrow donor.

  Bennie felt her chest tighten with fury at herself. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so blind, so thoughtless? Just because she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve didn’t mean she had none. She always tried to be professional, but she’d been so professional that she’d almost killed someone.

  Bennie swallowed hard, trying to seal in the pressure building up inside. She prayed that Feet survived and she would never forgive herself if he didn’t. She didn’t know how Simon would survive it, with his daughter so sick and his father in an emergency department, an entire family in mortal jeopardy. And Bennie could finally understand what Mary had been talking about all these years, about how close she was to the South Philly community. As Mary made phone call after phone call, it became clearer and clearer to Bennie that Mary was as close to Simon, Feet, and his family as she was to any blood relative.

  Listening to the phone calls, Bennie realized that her younger partner was at the center of a loving network, all of whom counted on her, relied upon her, and looked to her for guidance. Mary was completely in control, deserving of their respect, and Bennie wondered how she had missed all of this before and for so long. She had told Mary that she would be second-chair on the case and take orders, but had forgotten all about that with the power-of-attorney forms. She hadn’t even thought to mention them to Mary, much less to ask her if it was okay to present them to Feet or Simon. She had simply reverted to form, functioning as if it were her case.

  “Bennie?”

  Bennie looked over, coming out of her reverie. “Oh.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” Bennie blurted out, swallowing hard.

  “You look upset. Simon alway
s tells me, ‘See the child, not the illness.’”

  “It’s not that, not only that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry I showed his father those forms. I never should’ve done that, I didn’t know and I should’ve asked you—”

  “Bennie, whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s okay.” Mary stepped back, surprised. “You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know him.”

  “That’s the point, I couldn’t have known and yet I acted. I didn’t know him, and yet it was a terrible decision, Mary, he couldn’t handle it, he was too upset, and it’s all my fault—”

  “Bennie, I’m as much at fault as you. You’re the one who was right. He shouldn’t have been in that meeting. That’s what he couldn’t handle. Being a part of the whole discussion about the murder case, it was all too much for him. We should have taken it outside—”

  “No, that wasn’t it, it was the papers.”

  “No, it was the murder case, that’s why he grabbed the phone and yelled at Nate. Anyway, listen.” Mary stopped, brightening. “Simon just called and he’s stable.”

  “He is?” Bennie felt tears begin to well up, but she willed them back down. “What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack. They’re doing tests now. Simon is on his way back and then we can go.”

  “But he doesn’t have to leave his father.”

  “The cousins are there, my father and mother are on their way.”

  “So? He can stay. We’re here.”

  “What?”

  “We can keep an eye on Rachel,” Bennie heard herself say, which sounded uncharacteristic even to her, and Mary frowned slightly.

  “We have to get going, Bennie. We have to get to Simon’s house. I want to get those passwords. I want to get into the cloud. Simon can be arrested at any—”

  “But Simon will need to talk to you when he comes back.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “He might need to rest or eat or shower. We can stay here and watch Rachel, then go.”

  Mary smiled slightly. “Are you the real Bennie Rosato? Since when does work wait for anything?”

  “Since now,” Bennie said, inwardly stung. “I’m an old dog but I can learn new tricks.”

  Mary straightened up. “I’m a young dog and evidently I’m learning new tricks, too. Because as soon as Simon gets here, we’re leaving.”

  “You sure? Because it’s your call, and I really mean it this time. It should have been your call with the papers, too.”

  “Forget it.”

  “So we’re going?”

  “Totally. We have a job to do.”

  Bennie glanced at Rachel, uncertain.

  “Bennie, we’re lawyers. When it’s time to go, we go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It wasn’t until seven o’clock at night that Mary and Bennie got to Chantilly Mews, the development where Simon lived. It had taken longer than everybody thought to get Feet situated in the main hospital, and Simon looked exhausted by the time he returned to Rachel’s room at CHOP. He’d said he’d be fine, but Mary wondered how much a human being could take. She remembered the other day that Simon had talked about his breaking point, but she realized that CHOP was full of parents who were finding strength in themselves that they hadn’t known they had. And so were their children.

  Mary drove through the winding streets of the development in silence. Bennie hadn’t said a word the entire trip, nor had she checked her phone or email, and Mary had never seen such a change in her. Bennie was never the type to be prone to guilt, and Mary had always thought she herself had won the office pool on that particular emotion. She didn’t blame Bennie for showing Feet the power-of-attorney forms, and on the contrary, blamed herself for having the discussion in front of him. She had always believed that business was personal and family could be included anywhere, but she was starting to question the assumption. Bennie may not have known Feet, but Mary did. He was her father’s best friend and the most intelligent, as well as the most sensitive, of The Tonys. Mary should’ve known that Feet was nearing his breaking point, and it made her more worried than ever about her father, who had been so depressed the other night in the lounge.

  Mary steered through one street, then the next, almost at Simon’s house, her fingers gripping the wheel. Something about the act of driving reminded her of her own power. She was in the driver’s seat and she could do more than she thought she could, too. She had to keep the pressure on and find out who killed Todd and why. She knew that Simon was innocent, but the police were working around the clock to collect evidence against him. It was only a matter of time before they got the hair and fiber tests back, proving that Simon was in Todd’s car.

  Mary felt time ticking away on Simon’s freedom, which was why she had made sure that the power-of-attorney forms were signed before they left the hospital. Simon had chosen her for power-of-attorney, so she was truly in charge and she wasn’t about to let him down. She turned left onto his street, which was at the periphery of the development, with a forest of newly cultivated evergreens beyond, undoubtedly as per local zoning ordinance.

  The sun had hidden behind the oddly regular treeline, and a purplish sky had fallen, dropping a final curtain on the day. Modest brick homes with attached garages and large front lawns lined the street, which seemed unusually quiet, with only a few kids playing. It could have been the heat, but Mary was guessing that families were away on vacation, since more than one garden needed weeding or the lawns looked especially dry.

  Mary pulled in front of Simon’s house and turned off the ignition, remembering when Simon had thrown a housewarming party here, years ago. His wife, Ellen, had been alive and Rachel was the adorable dark-haired infant they all believed was healthy. But even then, a deadly disease was lying in wait, written into the baby’s DNA, which would darken to a poison that shared the same veins as her lifeblood, like a lethal best friend. Cancer was a murderer. Mary hated cancer, but working on Simon’s case had brought her to the epiphany that cancer came in many forms—and even in allegedly healthy people. Murderers had a form of cancer, too. It was hate beneath the surface, waiting for its chance to strike and kill. And it had to be stopped.

  “This it?” Bennie asked, looking out the window.

  “Yes. Let’s go.” Mary came out of her reverie, slung her messenger bag on her shoulder, and got out of the car. Humidity saturated the air, even at this hour, but she fell into step beside Bennie as they walked up the front walk, scanning the house. The front door, which was black, was closed. “I wonder if the cops broke the lock to get inside?”

  “They usually do. Sometimes they leave the door wide open, which sucks. I know a case where they left the door open and the resident was burglarized. But not in a nice neighborhood like this.”

  Mary got out the house keys that Simon had given her anyway, and they made their way up the walkway. Predictably the front yard looked unmowed and the house needed some maintenance. It was a brick colonial with traditional black shutters and a white portico over the front door, but the shutters looked faded and white paint peeled on the roof of the portico.

  “Here we go.” Bennie opened the door as they reached the front step, and it swung open, so they went inside.

  “His home office is to the left,” Mary said, remembering the layout, with the stairwell to the second floor directly ahead but the living room off to the left, then a kitchen, followed by the home office that led to the garage.

  “Gotcha.” Bennie flicked on a wall switch, and they both looked around with dismay. The police search had obviously been thorough because the cushions on the sectional couch in the living room had been upended, books and CDs had been taken from an entertainment center and scattered willy-nilly on the sisal rug, and artwork and family photos had been unhooked from the walls and stacked on the floor.

  “They weren’t kidding.” Bennie frowned, looking around.

  “Right.” Mary looked away, pained. She had such nice memories of
this house and she hated to see it this way. She picked her way through the living room and went to the kitchen, followed by Bennie, and it had been searched thoroughly as well. Every cabinet door hung open, exposing stacks of dishes and mugs with sayings on them, among them WORLD’S GREATEST MOM.

  “Here’s what they’re looking for,” Bennie said, standing in front of an open drawer that held kitchen knives in a long wooden block.

  “The murder weapon, right?”

  “Yes. Obviously they wouldn’t expect to find it in the drawer. But we need to know more about it. Does Simon hunt?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m guessing it was a common kitchen knife. Whoever framed him would use a knife Simon would have owned.”

  “What if it’s one of a set that he had? And that one could be missing? The killer could have made it look as if Simon had taken the knife from home.” Mary looked through the knives in the drawer, and there were a few with black handles that appeared to be steak knives, possibly from a set. “But a steak knife wouldn’t do it, would it?”

  “No.” Bennie looked up. “And anyway, I doubt Simon entertained much, agree? It’s not as if people would be aware of what knives he had, or if he’d been given a set.”

  “I agree.” Mary glanced around the kitchen, and for the first time noticed a black smudge of fingerprint dust on the white Corian of the counter. “They dusted for fingerprints.”

  “Yup.” Bennie straightened up. “And they’ll find Simon’s prints in Todd’s car, too. On the door handle and on the inside. Where’s the home office?”

  “This way.” Mary led her through the open doorway into a square, windowless office, which held a wood workstation in the corner with cubbies partway up the wall. A blue router remained connected, so the wireless was probably still active, though Simon’s desktop computer was gone and must have been seized. Its mouse had been left behind, on top of a pad that was an enlarged photograph of Rachel as a baby.