Courting Trouble

help herself. It was such good gossip, the fact that it was about her was almost beside the point.

“I am upset!” Judy insisted, but Mary was out of control.

“You are not! That whole time I was out sick, you avoided her. She asked you out to lunch, you turned her down all the time. You didn’t like her from the beginning. And you know why? Because she was so gorgeous! You thought she wore too much makeup, with the lipstick all the time.”

They talk about my lipstick? Anne couldn’t believe the irony.

“She did wear too much makeup!” Judy was going red in the face, too. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not upset—”

“Why were we that way? I swear, it’s some kind of biological thing, to compete with other women for men, even when there are no men around. It’s sick! And when are we gonna rise above it?”

“It wasn’t just her looks—”

“You thought she used her looks!” Mary erupted, pointing. “You said it yourself, Judy! That Anne never would have gotten Chipster if she weren’t so hot.”

Yikes! Upstairs, Anne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wasn’t supposed to know any of this and suddenly didn’t want to. Kind of.

“Well, that much is true!” Judy finally shouted back. “How does a rookie get a case that big? The client knew her in law school? Gimme a break! You want to get real, Mary? Okay, let’s get real. Gil Martin never would have hired Anne if she hadn’t looked the way she did.” Judy’s head snapped around to Bennie, the bandanna flopping. “You had to wonder about it, Bennie. Why did Gil hire Anne, the youngest of all of us? The lawyer with the least experience? How many cases has she tried? One?”

But Bennie was already waving her hands, trying to settle the fight. “Calm down, both of you,” she said, her voice even as a judge’s. “Mary, you know, you’re right. We all could have been more welcoming to Anne, and we weren’t. We were busy—as Judy says—but that’s no excuse.” Bennie leaned over, squeezed Mary’s shoulder, and gave her a gentle shake. “But blaming each other won’t help Anne now. It didn’t cause her murder.”

“Can you be so sure?” Mary looked up at Bennie, her forehead creased with fresh grief. “Who knows what difference it would have made? If we had talked to her, taken her to lunch even once, maybe she would have told us about this stalker. Or if we’d been friends, maybe we would have been with her last night when he came. She’d be alive now, if we’d been together.” Mary almost started to cry again, and even Judy was looking regretful.

“That’s true,” she added, her bandanna droopy. “That much is true.”

I can’t stand this. Anne couldn’t watch them feel bad for nothing. First, she was alive. Second, not everything was their fault. She wasn’t any good at women. She always had tons of dates, but no girlfriends. For as long as she could remember, she’d thought of herself as Lucy, without Ethel.

“I’m not pretending anything,” Bennie was saying. “We did wrong by Anne, and we can all mourn her in our own way. For me, the best way is to find whoever killed her. I suggest you follow suit.” She gave Mary a final pat. “I want to check out the back. You stay here, okay? Carrier, stay with her.”

“I need a Kleenex.” Mary rose slowly, her hand cupping her nose, and she looked around the living room. “Anybody see a box?”

Maybe I can tell them I’m here. Anne had to be able to get their attention without tipping off the cops. She eyed the front door. The detectives were outside, and something down the block was holding their attention. She decided to go for it. She shifted Mel to her right arm, tore off her red-white-and-blue stovepipe, and waved it wildly.

“Mary! Mary!” she called out in a stage whisper, but the women didn’t look up. “Mary!” she whispered again, but Mary was preoccupied with her drippy nose and Judy was looking for the Kleenex. The detectives, apparently sensing that the sobfest was over, were heading back inside, the smoker flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter.

“There’s no Kleenex anywhere,” Judy said, checking the top of the TV. “There must be a bathroom, with toilet paper you can use. In trinities like this, it’s usually upstairs, at the top of the stairs.”

The bathroom! Yes! It’s here! Behind me!

“Good idea,” Mary said, and headed for the stairs.

Without thinking twice, Anne turned, ducked inside the bathroom, and closed the door.

7

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Mary gasped, just before Anne clamped a firm hand over her mouth and backed her against the bathroom door. Mel’s tail curled into a question mark against the small pedestal sink, where he’d been dumped.

“I’m alive, Mary!” Anne whispered. She yanked down the Uncle Sam beard. “See? It’s me, Anne. I’m alive. I’m not dead!”

“Mmph!” Mary’s reddened eyes rounded with shock, and Anne’s hand pressed down harder.

“Shhh! I don’t want the police to know.”

“Mmmpu!” Mary shook her head, her eyes like brown marbles.

“I’m going to take my hand from your mouth, but don’t say anything, okay? The cops can’t know I’m here.”

“Mmph!” Mary nodded vigorously.

“Don’t be upset, okay?”

“Mmph!”

“Everything’s all right.”

“Mpphuo!”

“It’s really me, and I’m alive.” Anne removed her hand, and Mary started screaming.

“HELP! HELP, POLICE!!!!”

No! “Mary, shhhh! What are you doing!?”

“I saw you dead! On the table! You’re a ghost! A devil!” Mary blessed herself in record time, and Anne looked around in panic. She could already hear shouting and footsteps clattering up the stairs. Loud, like clogs.

“Mare? Mare?” Judy shouted. “Is that you?”

“HELP! JUDY!” Mary hollered. “POLICE! ANYBODY! HELP! BENNIEEEEEE!!”

I can’t believe this. “Shut up! I’m alive! It’s me! It was my cat-sitter who got killed! See the cat?” Anne pointed behind her at the sink, where Mel’s tail had straightened to an exclamation point.

“No, you’re dead! I know it! I saw you! Dead, dead, dead! You had on your shirt! You were shot downstairs! Blood—”

“It was my cat-sitter, her name was Willa. I lent her the shirt!” Anne grabbed Mary’s shoulders. “It wasn’t me!”

“DiNunzio! I’m coming!” Bennie yelled, joined by the detectives.

“Miss DiNunzio? Miss DiNunzio?” They were almost at the landing, the voices were so loud.

Anne freaked. She’d run out of time. The damage was done. The doorknob was turning. She whirled around, jumped into the bathtub, and pulled the shower curtain closed just as the bathroom door swung open. Nobody would be able to see her through the shower curtain. It was opaque, a fancy flower print from Laura Ashley with a thick white liner. If it got her out of this, maybe it was worth the forty-six dollars. Mental note: Shoes, clothes, and makeup were allowed to be overpriced, but shower curtains had to prove themselves.

“Mary, Mary, are you all right?” It was Judy, alarmed.

“Miss DiNunzio!” It was the detective’s voice. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“DiNunzio? You okay?” It was Bennie, who must have burst into the room and flung open the door, because the shower curtain billowed. “Why did you scream?”

Please, Mary, don’t blow it. Anne held her breath behind the curtain and stayed perfectly still against the white tile wall.

“Uh . . . I don’t know,” Mary answered, her voice shaky.

“But you screamed,” Judy said, then laughed. “Oh, I see. The cat.”

Bennie laughed, too. “A cat!”

The detectives laughed along. Everybody was ha-ha-haing. It was suddenly a