Feared Page 29

  “He’s so happy, thanks!” Lorraine chirped. Margie said she loved her water heater, and Ann’s shoulder was on the mend, so Mary had completed her client relations for the day.

  “Paul, you’re home! How’s school?” Paul’s mother, Conchetta, hurried delightedly toward them, from the living room. She had the Patrioca nose, hooded blue eyes behind her pink acetate glasses, and a sweet, warm smile. Her orange-red hair looked freshly colored, set in spongy pink rollers, and her long, lined face revealed that she was probably in her seventies but she moved like a fifty-year-old in a white T-shirt, wide-leg jeans, and white Keds.

  “Mom, you look nice.” Paul gave her a hug. “What are you all up to?”

  “Me and the girls are goin’ over to Pennsylvania Hospital. We’re bringin’ the sick kids and the families some treats. You know, cheer ’em up!” Conchetta turned to Mary, engulfing her in a hug. “Hey, Mare! Long time, no see! Teresa will be sorry she missed you! She’s on a business trip, big shot now.”

  “Hi, Conchetta!” Mary smiled, releasing her from the embrace. “Tell Teresa I said hi.”

  “Look at you!” Conchetta beamed, patting Mary’s belly. “About seven months now, right? How you feelin’, honey? You’re carryin’ high. It’s a girl.”

  “You think?” Mary realized that she was with a bunch of mom experts, for a change. “But you know what, usually the baby kicks a lot, but for about a day and a half, no kicking. Is that weird? Or bad?”

  “This is your first baby, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because you worry too much. You can take your temperature every five minutes, Mare. I was that way with Teresa, she was my first, but by Johnnie, I knew better. And my fourth, you know Elizabeth, was like that too, slept all the time, she still does. She couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, missed the bus all the time.” Conchetta patted her arm. “You know what you gotta do? Eat. Did you eat.”

  “No, but I’m not hungry.”

  “Still, you gotta eat. Here, we made cookies. Sugar will perk the baby right up.” Conchetta plucked some chocolate chips off a cooling rack, put them on a paper plate, and handed them to Mary, with one for Paul, too. “Mare, eat that cookie, and I’ll get you a cuppa decaf. I’ll make fresh.”

  “Good.” Mary chowed down on the cookie, which was soft, warm, and delicious. She tried not to worry about the baby. She’d been so preoccupied, she hadn’t focused on her. Or him.

  “It’s fine, Mare, sometimes they sleep. Paulie was like that, too. He stayed still, all the time. I couldn’t wake him up.” Conchetta ruffled Paul’s hair with a loving grin. “And now, he sits for hours at that computer and he’s a big success!”

  Paul forced a smile. “Ma, I came home because I was telling Mary about that guy named Stretch, who Machiavelli sent over? You remember that? He beat up Joey?”

  “Do I? Ha! Those Machiavellis are a disgrace to the neighborhood! Rotten to the core!” Conchetta gestured in the direction of Flavia Machiavelli’s house. “Who does she think she is, trying to take my home right out from under me? Our family home? Just because she has money, she thinks she can push me around? She picked the wrong family! Her and her crooked son! Crooked!”

  “Right!” The other women started nodding in vigorous approval. “She’s got some nerve! Sits in that place like it’s a palace!” “How selfish can you be? Try to force everybody out on the whole block!” “She’s greedy, just like her husband was! Just like her son is! All that money and it’s never enough! And they call themselves Christians!”

  Mary wanted to get to the point. “Conchetta, I need to know Stretch’s real name. Do you know it?”

  “Stretch? Yeah.” Conchetta nodded, so did women behind her, adding to the chorus. “Stretch!” “I know Stretch!” “I heard a Stretch!” “My mother went to West Catholic with his mother! Now you’re taking me back!”

  “Okay, good,” Mary said, hopeful. “So what’s his real name? And his last name? I need to find him.”

  “Uh, um, I don’t know.” Conchetta shook her head, frowning. “I used to know, but I forget. They just called him Stretch.”

  The other women chimed in, “I forget his name!” “I never knew it in the first place!” “What’s the difference?” “His last name had an L in it, that’s all I can tell you!”

  Mary hid her dismay. “Did it start with an L?”

  “I don’t know.” Ann scratched her head. “I just know there’s an L somewhere.”

  Mary felt stumped. “I really need to know his name. It’s very important.”

  “Aha!” Conchetta eyed her, knowingly. “Is this about the murder I saw on the TV? You think Stretch had something to do with it? He’s a thug, and I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Lorraine scowled. “I saw that on TV, too. Mare, Machiavelli was saying you and the other lady lawyers killed somebody, another lawyer! I said to myself, Mary should sue him! That’s a terrible thing to say! We know it’s not true!”

  “Of course it’s not true!” Ann waved her off. “I called your mother, Mare, and I told her we knew better! Between you and Machiavelli, we know who’s the good one!”

  Margie scowled. “I told my Chiara, ‘that Machiavelli, he’ll say or do anything to get himself in front of a camera! He’s just jealous of Mary! Because everybody loves her!’”

  “We love you, Mare!” they all chorused. “We love you, Mary!” “We know you’re a good girl!”

  “Thanks.” Mary started to feel better, rethinking that saying, it was better to be loved than feared. She kinda preferred being loved and she was getting an idea for a way to find out Stretch’s real name, especially since there were few alternatives. It would take too long for Lou to find out, and the police were preoccupied with Shanahan. She didn’t know what other choice she had, and she wanted to take a flyer.

  Mary turned to Conchetta. “Do you think Flavia would know who Stretch is? I’m going to ask her.”

  “She might.” Conchetta nodded. “Stretch works for Nicky. Nicky’s over all the time. What mother in South Philly isn’t in her son’s face?”

  “Let’s go ask Flavia!” Ann called out, then Margie and the others chimed in. “Let’s go over!” “Let’s give her a piece of our mind!” “Yeah, she’s had it too good for too long!” “We got eleven minutes before the next batch comes out!” “The baked ziti’s got another half hour.” “Let’s walk over, girls. We don’t have to drive or nothing! Because none of us can!”

  Paul grimaced, nervous. “Mom, no, don’t go next door. You’ve never even been inside that house.”

  “It’s okay, Paul.” Mary realized he was worried about his secret coming to light. “I’ll just ask about Stretch. You can deal with the rest another time.” She turned to the other women. “But I’m not sure everybody needs to go—”

  “We want to go!” they said. “We want to help you! We’re goin’!” “We’re backin’ you and Conchetta!” “We’re gonna stand up to the Queen, once and for all!”

  “Damn right!” Conchetta started pulling her spongy curlers out. “I never see anybody go in there! She’s too good for everybody!”

  Paul still looked nervous. “But Mom, Joey said stay away from her and Nick. You don’t want to make her mad.”

  “I’m not afraid of her! Anyway what am I waiting for? Joey didn’t want me to, but so what? I’m not getting any younger! I shoulda gone over there a long time ago! Mary needs the information. If Mary needs the information, we’re going to get her the information!”

  “Yes!” Ann cheered, and Margie and the others joined in, “Mary would do anything for us, and this is our chance to do something for her!” “Let’s help Mary!” “Mary needs us!” “Let’s go see that witch and find out what Mary wants to know!” “Yes, let’s go!” “Here we go!” “Get your coat! It’s chilly!”

  They marched toward the front door, a senior-citizens mob on estrogen replacement, missing everything but the flaming torches and clubs. Mary didn’t know whether to be
delighted or horrified, but she realized how very strong these women were, each of them so quietly powerful in their own families, but too often marginalized outside of the house. They spent their time taking care of their grandchildren, their children, and their children’s dogs, plus sick babies they didn’t even know, but they wanted to take care of her, and in that moment, she felt grateful for them, walking examples of pure goodness in the world, in contrast to the Machiavellis.

  “Let’s go!” Mary charged ahead, taking Paul by the arm.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Mary stood on the step with Paul and Conchetta, knocking on the black-lacquered door, which had a beautiful brass knocker. The façade of the house looked otherwise normal, of red brick, though it had been newly repointed and the front stoop was a fancy flagstone. The other women were trying to peek into the front windows, and Mary sensed that it wasn’t solidarity that made them want to come, but nosiness.

  The heavy door opened, and Flavia peeked out, blinking, her round brown eyes behind equally round bifocals and a bubble of gray pincurls, set with old-school bobby pins. Mary had remembered her bigger, but Flavia seemed to have shrunk, collapsed into herself. She couldn’t have been five feet tall, with a short little nose, and her mouth was bow-shaped. She didn’t seem scary or intimidating, and on the contrary, came off as timid as a baby snow owl in a white Eagles Super Bowl shirt and sweatpants.

  “Hello?” Flavia said, eyeing the crowd with alarm.

  “Flavia, I don’t know if you remember me. I was in the same grade as Nick and I think I met you once—”

  “Mary DiNunzio.” Flavia’s eyes darted to Conchetta and Paul. “Conchetta? Paul?”

  “Hello, Flavia,” Conchetta shot back. “Surprised you even know who I am.”

  Mary interjected quickly, “Flavia, I was wondering if we could come in and speak with you.”

  Flavia looked uncertain, her gaze returning to the other women. “What about them?”

  “What about us?” Lorraine called back. “What, you can’t let us in? You don’t have enough room for us? You got ten times more room than anybody else!”

  Ann added, “Flavia, we won’t stay long. We got cookies in the oven. And baked ziti but that takes longer.”

  Mary kicked herself for bringing them all. “If you wouldn’t mind, Flavia. I would appreciate it if we could come in for a quick visit. There’s something important I need to talk to you about.”

  “Uh, okay. Hold on a minute.” Flavia slammed the door shut, and when she opened it again, she had taken out her bobby pins and fluffed up her pincurls. She opened the door wide and stepped aside, somewhat timidly. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.” Mary entered the house, with the others filing in behind her, hushed by the awesome interior, which was like stepping into a cool, cavernous Tuscan villa. It was the size of four rowhouses, with the living area on the right and the dining room on the left, and the most remarkable feature was hand-painted Florentine murals that covered the walls on all sides, featuring tall green cypress trees, red-clay roofs, gold-stucco houses, and winding backstreets of cobblestone, like a Vegas version of the city.

  Formal couches covered with gold velvet filled the living area, encircling a gold-painted coffee table and end tables, topped by ornate lamps with shades of golden silk and tall millefiori glass bases, obviously authentic, from Murano. Heavy brocade curtains with generous swags and deep maroon-and-gold tassels covered the windows, and the single sunbeam that slipped through fell on the lustrous mahogany dining table, which had carved chairs on either side. The house was decorated to perfection, but so devoid of clutter and other signs of domestic life that it seemed hollow, as if no one lived here at all.

  “Holy shit,” Conchetta said under her breath.

  “Your home is so lovely,” Mary said quickly, and Ann, Margie, and the other women started walking around, oohing and aahing, looking at everything in amazement.

  Conchetta cleared her throat. “Flavia, I just want to say that I’ve been angry at you all this time for what your Nicky did to my Joey.”

  Flavia blinked behind her glasses. “What did he do?”

  “You know, about my house and about sending Stretch over to my house to beat my Joey up.”

  Flavia recoiled, aghast. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly. She clasped her hands together in front of her, as if she were holding her own hand.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know,” Conchetta shot back again, though her tone had softened. “You don’t fool me.”

  “But I don’t know. I didn’t know. If you’ll tell me—”

  “You wanted to buy my house, and when I wouldn’t sell it to you, you and your son sent Stretch over to beat Joey up.”

  “Your son Joey, the one in the Army?’

  “Yes.”

  Flavia shuddered. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t know that Nicky did that—”

  “Oh you’re gonna tell me that he’s such a good boy?” Conchetta’s anger flared. “That he’d never do such at thing? That I’m crazy to think that?”

  “No.” Flavia shook her round gray head. “I know my Nicky is not a good boy.”

  “You do?” Conchetta asked, surprised.

  “You do?” Mary repeated, equally surprised. “By the way, Flavia, what’s Stretch’s real name?”

  “Sam Fortunato. Nicky calls him Stretch because he always stretches after he eats.” Flavia scowled. “Him, I don’t like. I tell Nicky all the time. That Stretch, he’s no good. He’s got a bad temper. I saw when he drove me once. He’s got road rage. It scared me.”

  Sam Fortunato. Mary felt the name burn into her brain. Fortunato was probably the man Machiavelli had sent to kill John. She felt her pulse quicken. Now she had to decide what to do next.

  Meanwhile, Flavia had resumed talking to Conchetta. “I wish Nicky were a good boy. I thought I raised him right. I tried to, after his father died. But he didn’t turn out good. I pray every day that he changes his ways.”

  Paul took his mother’s arm. “Mom, okay, we’re done, you said it, we should go now—”

  “No, I’m staying.” Conchetta pulled her arm back, her eyes remaining on Flavia. “Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t know that Nicky did that?”

  “I didn’t know, my hand to God.” Flavia raised her hand, swallowing hard. “I’m very sorry that happened. That’s a terrible thing to do. And to a man in uniform, serving our country? I’m so ashamed.”

  Conchetta frowned. “And you believe me, just like that?”

  “Of course. You have no reason to lie.” Flavia tilted her head. “Now Nicky, he lies. He lies all the time. But I can tell when he lies. I know, I look right in his eyes, in his soul. And I’m gonna talk to him about Joey and see what he says. I’ll know if he’s lying.”

  Conchetta seemed nonplussed, disarmed by Flavia’s response. “He said you wanted my house. He told me. He told Joey. Was that a lie or the truth?”

  “A lie. I never wanted your house. I never wanted anybody’s house but my own. What I wanted was neighbors.”

  Listening, Mary felt her words ring true. Conchetta’s frown turned sympathetic, as Flavia continued, her soft voice quavering.

  “Nicky says he wants to treat me like gold, like a princess. But I don’t want to be a princess. He wants things for me, but I don’t want them.” Flavia gestured aimlessly, a flailing of her short arms. “I don’t need a house this big. I live alone. I only have Nicky, I don’t have any other kids. I never use any of these rooms. I get nervous when there’s too much room, like it’s outer space. I like to be where it’s cozy. I never leave the kitchen.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lorraine called, from behind them. “You stay in the kitchen? Then how do you explain this?”

  Mary looked over to see Lorraine pointing at a wooden folding chair placed against the wall, next to a table tray that held several upside-down water glasses of various shapes and sizes.

  Lorraine scowled, folding her arms. “You use the glasses
and listen in to Conchetta’s house through the wall, don’t you, Flavia?”

  “You spy on us?” Conchetta frowned, dumbfounded. “On my family?”

  Paul recoiled. “You spy on my mom?”

  Ann, Margie, and everyone else turned to Flavia, who flushed under her papery skin. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not spying. I’m just … listening. I can’t make out the words.”

  “But why do you listen?” Conchetta asked, but her tone wasn’t accusatory, just bewildered.

  “There’s always something happening at your house, Conchetta.” Flavia shrugged her little shoulders. “You have such a big family, so many kids. Their wives and husbands and babies, and the new puppy.”

  Paul flared his eyes. “You know about my cousin’s puppy?”

  Flavia looked up. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I’m allergic to dogs, so I can’t have one. I won’t do it anymore.”

  Mary and Conchetta exchanged glances, and Mary wasn’t sure what to say.

  Conchetta pursed her lips, looking down at Flavia. “That’s creepy, Flavia. Not gonna lie.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you hear us today?”

  “Yes.” Flavia nodded, with a shaky smile. “You dropped the cookie sheet. Everybody laughed.”

  Conchetta chuckled. “Not everybody.”

  “I’m sorry that Nicky is so horrible to your family. I really am. I know nobody in the neighborhood likes him, and I think that’s why they don’t like me. But there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s too late. I can’t spank him anymore. I can’t punish him anymore. He’s a grown man. All I can do is tell him I’m disappointed in him. That makes him feel bad. But it doesn’t change him. I can only pray it’s not too late to change him.” Flavia gestured at the group of women, who had fallen abruptly silent. “I’m sorry if he did bad things to you, to any of you, or hurt your family. I see you in church, sitting together. I got Conchetta’s flyer once in my door, by accident. You’re the Rosary Society, right?”