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  “I just feel like we’re missing something. Anyway I can’t talk now. Meet me there at nine fifteen tomorrow morning, would you? The service is at ten o’clock. Love you.”

  “Sure. Love you too. Call if you need anything.”

  “Will do, bye.” Judy hung up, and Mary pressed End, setting the phone down and mulling it over. She wondered if Judy was right that Shanahan wasn’t John’s killer. Maybe it had been a burglar. Or maybe they were missing something, because Mary had to acknowledge to herself that as soon as Judy had said those words, they had struck a chord.

  I’m missing something.

  Mary eyed the computer screen without really seeing anything. She felt unsettled and uneasy at her very core, like a gut instinct that she was ignoring. Maybe she was missing something, but the only thing that she could see that they would be missing was Machiavelli.

  Which was when it struck her.

  “DiNunzio, did you hear me?”

  Startled, Mary looked up to see Bennie standing in the threshold to her office, a grim look on her face. Her heavy briefcase and purse hung from shoulder straps, and stray blonde curls escaped her topknot. The blue of her eyes seemed diluted, and the lines in her face more prominent than Mary had seen before.

  “Oh, hi, Bennie. I didn’t see you there.” Mary set down her phone. “That was Judy, and she has William.”

  “Good.” Bennie motioned Mary up. “DiNunzio, come on. Time to go. I’ll walk you out.”

  “I can’t go yet. I want to keep looking for a connection between the plaintiffs and Machiavelli.”

  “There isn’t one, except that he’s their lawyer.” Bennie’s dry lips made a flat line. “Anne and Lou have gone home. You and I are the last ones here.”

  “Bennie, can you sit down for a minute? I just got an idea I want to try it out on you.”

  “Okay.” Bennie set her bags on the floor and eased into the chair opposite Mary’s desk. “What idea?”

  “What if Machiavelli killed John?”

  Bennie recoiled, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

  “Let me just think out loud with you. I think that Machiavelli has been trying to destroy this law firm. And so far, he’s certainly hurting our reputation. We didn’t get Nutrex and we almost lost London Technologies.”

  “O-kay,” Bennie said slowly.

  “We know that Machiavelli is behind the reverse-discrimination complaint because he’s the opposing counsel, whether or not I can prove that he manufactured the lawsuit. And by the way, I know he manufactured it. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Bennie eyed the papers on Mary’s desk. “I couldn’t find any connection between the plaintiffs and him. Could you?”

  “No, but I know it exists.” Mary heard the strength of her own voice, though she knew she couldn’t prove it, but she went with it anyway. Because maybe it was time to start believing in herself. “But let me return to the point. Machiavelli files a reverse-discrimination suit with a statement by John, and next thing that happens is John turns up murdered, which puts us in the hot seat. Judy becomes a suspect. We become suspects in conspiracy to murder. In case anybody misses the point, he accuses us on television.”

  “I think he exploited the tragedy.”

  “Unless he created the tragedy.” Mary found herself speaking faster, convinced of her own words even as they left her lips. “Isn’t it at least possible that Machiavelli killed John? Think about it. We know Machiavelli can be violent. Impulsive. Remember, after that last case with him, I went to see him in his office and he tried to kiss me?”

  Bennie glowered. “Yes, I do, the bastard. But murder? Maybe you really are getting paranoid.”

  “No, I’m not. Why is it not possible?”

  “The question isn’t whether it’s possible. The question is whether it’s probable.”

  “You’re dismissing it like it’s out of the question.” Mary threw up her hands. “What makes it so improbable?”

  “For one thing, you have to look at who would benefit from John’s murder. It doesn’t benefit Machiavelli to have John dead. If John were still alive, Machiavelli could’ve called him as a witness when the reverse-discrimination case went to trial. That would be very compelling testimony on the plaintiffs’ behalf. John made admissions against us. But without John on the witness stand, it’s hearsay.”

  “But we’re not going to trial yet. We’re only before the Human Relations Commission, and they don’t follow the rules of evidence. Machiavelli’s got John’s statements in the record, and it all comes in, admissions and all. Machiavelli even called me and Judy about settlement, remember I told you that? He said he thought his case was stronger now.”

  “Right.”

  “I emailed that freelancer, Amanda Sussman, who was bothering us, calling her out, so I bet she disappears. But there’ll be more reporters tomorrow, probably some legitimate and some not. We barely recovered from the reverse-discrimination lawsuit before we got hit with a murder case, with us as suspects.” Mary got more excited the more she thought about it. “How many Nutrexes will we lose? Who isn’t hiring us because of these rumors? This is the kind of thing that can bring us down completely. Not just that we discriminate against men, but that we kill them?”

  Bennie almost laughed out loud. “DiNunzio, I think you’ve got derangement syndrome. Machiavelli is a massive jerk, but I don’t know if he’s capable of cold-blooded murder.”

  “What if he hired somebody to kill John? Maybe he told him to make it look like a burglary. Anybody can see the fire escape from the alley, and John’s address is public record. It wouldn’t be a hard murder to plan, to do us in.” Mary thought a minute. “Do you know where Lou is?”

  “He told me he was going back to John’s to look for more street cameras. There were no lights or motion detectors, so I don’t know how much you could see from the fire escape anyway.”

  “Let me text him, see if he got anything.” Mary picked up her phone, scrolled to the text function and sent Lou a text: Having any luck? Lately I’m thinking it’s Machiavelli but Bennie says I’m crazy. For a change.

  Bennie rose. “DiNunzio, I think you need to go home. We have a big day tomorrow, a tough one. Declan won’t be able to come in for the service. He’s on trial in York.”

  “But Bennie, don’t you think I could be right? Maybe we’re missing something. Maybe we’re missing the forest for the trees. Machiavelli could be behind everything, all of it—”

  “He’s not the Wizard of Oz. This is not a discussion for now.” Bennie picked up her purse and messenger bag. “You need to go home and so do I. Sadly, I have to draft a eulogy for John. It’s time for us to think about him.”

  “I am,” Mary shot back. “This is about finding his killer. And what if it really is Machiavelli?” Suddenly her text alert sounded, and she picked up the phone and read the text, from Lou. So far, no luck. Will keep you posted. BTW you’re crazy.

  “Was it Lou?”

  “Yes, and he says no luck yet.”

  “Come on, let’s go.” Bennie sighed. “We have to bury our dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Mary sat with Anthony, Anne, Marshall, and Lou, listening to Bennie’s eulogy next to her father, her mother, and The Tonys. Up ahead, Judy sat in the front row with her arm around the back of William’s wheelchair, next to John’s aunt and uncle, Susan and Mel Hodge, their gray heads downcast. The memorial service was held at the William J. Lowell Funeral Home, a large converted brownstone in Society Hill, the most historic section of the city.

  A hundred mourners, including fellow lawyers, friends from law school, and even clients like Jim and Sanjay from London Technologies filled the large, rectangular room, which had authentic colonial wainscoting painted a creamy white, high plaster ceilings with refined crown molding, and polished-bronze sconces between tall windows with bubbled glass. Somebody had commented to Mary that John would’ve loved the setting, but that gave her no comfort. John should have been alive, not i
n a bronze urn set on a flowery table at the front of the room.

  From the lectern, Bennie was saying, “… John was loved by all of his friends, and so many of you came here today, even from his law school days…”

  Mary tried to face front and listen, though it was hard to look at the urn, and her gaze strayed to her hands, folded around her belly in her lap, in a black maternity dress. She felt the baby kick, and it struck her as heartbreaking that she was carrying new life in the same moment that she was mourning the death of someone who was too young to die, much less so brutally.

  “… and John was so valued by his clients as well, and I see many of you here, to honor him today, despite your busy schedules…”

  Mary had thought about John’s murder all last night, wondering whether Machiavelli, Shanahan, or a burglar had killed him. She sensed it was Machiavelli, but when she’d told Anthony her new theory over dinner, he’d thought she was as crazy as Bennie and Lou did. She hadn’t been surprised to find that the media in front of the funeral home did not include Amanda Sussman, confirming that Sussman must’ve been working for Machiavelli. Anyway, she had been too tired to think about it anymore by bedtime and had cried all the tears she could cry until she had seen Judy this morning, grief-stricken even as she comforted William, who wept openly through the pastor’s words at the beginning of the service.

  “… The temptation is to say something profound about life and death at times like this, but my experience with death has taught me, if anything, that death is a terrible teacher. We don’t learn from each other in death, we learn from each other in life, and we love each other in the living years. Death is loss, and what it leaves us is each other, sharing the loss, missing John, and holding each other as we go forward without him…”

  Mary heard Judy hiccup in the front row, beginning to sob, her pink head bowing like a drooping petunia, and it was all Mary could do not to go comfort her. Judy sagged against William, the two of them sharing their broken hearts, though the two halves could never become one whole, Mary knew. When she had lost her first husband, her parents had been beside themselves, but together their family could not mend the pieces of their hearts, and their lives, which lay shattered. Only time had accomplished that, and it had taken awhile.

  “… I had not met John’s brother, William, until today, but I have certainly heard about him, and so had anybody who knew John. John adored William and was completely devoted to him, and now I understand why. And I’m delighted to see the resemblance between the two brothers, for they have the same smile, the same curly hair, and even the same glasses…”

  William laughed, then it trailed into a sob, his curved back shaking uncontrollably in his new suit, and Judy put her arm around him, holding him close, as Bennie continued, summing up.

  “… And ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors, and most especially John’s family and Judy, let these be my last words today, and the end of this memorial service. John lived a life that we could all be proud of, every single day. He held himself to the highest standard in his professional and in his personal life. He stood up for what he believed, no matter what the cost. No matter who disagreed with him, either.”

  Mary felt the words resonate in her chest, thinking back to what John had told them all, about how out of place he had felt at the firm. It hadn’t been easy for him to say or for them to hear, but it was honest. Mary gave Bennie credit for seeing that as a strength in John, even though it had rocked the firm.

  “John Foxman was one of the finest lawyers I have ever met and one of the finest young men. Let’s live our lives the way he did, and honor him. Deepest condolences to his brother, William, his aunt, Susan, and uncle, Mel Hodge, and to all of his friends and colleagues here today. Thank you very much.”

  Bennie stepped away to the sound of renewed sniffling, then went to check on Judy and William. Mary wiped her eyes as the pastor returned to the front of the room, said some concluding words and a final benediction, then finally gave the bronze urn holding John’s remains to William and ended the memorial service, dismissing everyone.

  Mary felt so numb and sad through the long, painful slog of saying good-bye to John’s friends and clients, including Jim and Sanjay, then she had to make sure her parents and The Tonys were okay. They all looked teary-eyed and frail in unaccustomed black, and Mary and Anthony ushered them and The Tonys out of the emptying funeral home behind Marshall, Lou, Judy, William, and John’s Aunt Susan and Uncle Mel, a forlorn group heading for a private lunch reception at a nearby restaurant.

  The front door of the funeral home stood open, letting in a bright shaft of sunlight, and Mary held Anthony’s hand, taking up the back of the line. Mourners filed outside, and she and Anthony had almost reached the threshold when shouting broke out outside, out on the street. Mary turned to Anthony, alarmed. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes?” Anthony craned his neck over the crowd. “Oh no!”

  Suddenly the mourners shifted forward, and the shouting became a chant, “Justice for John! Justice for John! Justice for John!”

  Mary stepped out of the funeral home, horrified to see what was going on. Mourners were being confronted by a flock of angry protesters, chanting and pumping homemade signs that read, #JUSTICE FOR JOHN! ROSATO & DINUNZIO CRYING HYPOCRITE TEARS! ROSATO & DINUNZIO—KILLER LAW FIRM!

  Mary recoiled in shock. She never would have expected that there would be protestors at the funeral. She hadn’t heard that any of John’s friends were organizing on his behalf and there would be no reason to. She scanned their angry faces, but none of them seemed like the types of persons who John would have been friends with. His friends were lawyers and businesspeople his own age, and these protestors were younger and on the fringe. Suddenly she realized they weren’t real protestors at all, but they must have been sent by Machiavelli. He must have paid them to disrupt the funeral, and the depth of his depravity enraged her.

  Funeral home attendants rushed to make way for mourners to pass, but the protesters outnumbered them, blocking their path, pumping signs, and chanting, “Justice for John! Justice for John! Justice for John!” The reporters filmed the mob scene with cell phones and video cameras. Traffic on the street slowed to a stop, and drivers rubbernecked at the scene.

  Suddenly the protesters targeted Judy, surging toward her and jostling William in his wheelchair. William cried out in fear and curled into a ball, frantically protecting the urn in his lap. Protestors shouted at Judy, as if William weren’t even there, “You killed John! You killed John! Justice for John! Justice for John!”

  “No, get back!” Judy flailed, trying to wave them away from William.

  “Judy! Pop!” Mary hurried to help, but Anthony blocked her.

  “No, it’s not safe for you. I got this. Stay here.” Anthony rushed forward with Bennie, Lou, Anne, Marshall, and the funeral attendants. They reached Judy and William and tried to push back the protestors, who kept chanting.

  “Justice for John! Justice for John! Justice for John!”

  A group of mourners including Jim and Sanjay were able to slip away, but Mary saw with horror that the older people were getting shoved around in the melee. Pigeon Tony got swallowed up by the crowd, and Feet’s Mr. Potatohead glasses popped off. John’s Uncle Mel threw his arms around his wife, Susan, hobbling in her black boot from her broken ankle, and Mary’s mother tried to help her, she was only four feet eleven inches tall.

  Mary couldn’t stand by another second. She rushed off the step, pushed into the crowd, and hurried to her mother, gathering her in her arms as they were jostled left and right by the protestors, shouting their slogan.

  “Justice for John! Justice for John! Justice for John!”

  “Leave us alone!” Mary shouted at a female protester, hugging her mother close. “You work for Machiavelli, don’t you? He sent you, didn’t he? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  “Justice for John!” the female protester shouted back, mechanically. “Justice for John! Justice
for John!”

  “John, who?” Mary shot back, spitting mad. “Do you even know his last name? What is it?”

  “Justice for John!” the female protestor replied, on autopilot. “Justice for John! Justice for John!”

  “You’re a killer!” A male protester rushed to confront Mary. “You don’t want the truth to come out! You’re in the lawyer conspiracy!”

  “Get out of here!” Mary yelled back, and the male protestor was about to grab Mary’s arm when Anthony flew out of nowhere, grabbed his arm, and punched him in the face.

  “Keep your hands off my wife!” Anthony’s face contorted with anger, and behind him Bennie, Lou, Marshall, Anne, and the funeral attendants had succeeded in hustling Judy, William, The Tonys, and the Hodges away from the protestors and down the sidewalk.

  “Babe, follow them!” Anthony took her right arm, and her father scooped up her mother, a bloody cut over his eye.

  “Pop!” Mary gasped, horrified. “Are you hurt?”

  “GO, MARE! GO!”

  Mary took off with Anthony and her parents, and the funeral attendants formed a protective shell around them, getting them down the sidewalk and keeping the protestors at bay. A police cruiser raced to the scene, and two uniformed cops leapt out. The police contained the protesters, with the press behind filming away.

  “Justice for John! Justice for John!” the protestors chanted, until the sirens swallowed their hollow cries.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The restaurant was a few blocks from the funeral home, and the shaken circle of family and friends went there together, on foot and by wheelchair. The trip seemed to settle everybody down, and by the time they reached the restaurant, they were shown to a lovely private dining room, where a long banquet table had been set with arugula-and-goat-cheese salads and abundant antipasto platters of cold cuts and cheeses.

  Mary’s parents, The Tonys, the Hodges, and Judy sat down with William on the end in his wheelchair while Mary, Anthony, Bennie, Anne, Lou, and Marshall hovered over them, making sure they were okay. The Hodges sat close to each other, their lined faces masks of grief and sadness. They were otherwise an attractive and refined couple with gold wire-rimmed glasses and fluffy gray hair, and they looked well-heeled in dark wool suits. Feet had found his Mr. Potatohead glasses, but he seemed upset, and Pigeon Tony and Tony-From-Down-The-Block hadn’t bounced back yet, since they hadn’t even touched the salami-and-pepperoni antipasto.