“Rude?”
“Okay.”
“Bitchy?”
“All of the above.” Mary met Judy’s eye, so blue and clear, and she could see the love there, and the loyalty. “I have a deposition to defend at ten today. It should take an hour, tops. It’s a contracts case, a roof that leaks. The client’s a sweet old guy, Roberto Nunez. Will you go for me?”
“This is crazy.”
“I prepared him last week. I even gave him a list of questions, so he’s good to go.”
“Mary, they tattoo their faces.”
“And you pierced your you-know-what.”
“Touche.” Judy smiled. “Anyway I let it close.”
“The point remains.”
Judy rolled her eyes. “Okay, get me the file, you loser.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“K eep the change.” Mary handed the aged cabdriver a ten, and he accepted it without taking his rheumy eyes from the butts of the Mean Girls piling out of the backseat. She climbed out of the cab while they took their first drags on their cigarettes, and she surveyed the block. It was typical South Philly, a little grimy even in full sun, with identical brick rowhouses differentiated by their stoops, awnings, and bumper-sticker front windows. The Korean grocery store Trish had mentioned was to the left of the house, a dingy stuccoed affair with its windows covered by painted plywood and a faded Dietz amp; Watson sign that read HOAGIES CHEESE FRIES PLATTERS.
Next to the grocery, Trish’s house was well maintained, of newly painted brick with shiny black bars over the glass door and a black-framed bay window. Nothing was in the windowsill. Mary eyed the cars parked in front, a dusty lineup of older American cars, except for a shiny white Miata with a vanity plate that read DYE JOB. She pointed at the Miata. “Is that Trish’s?”
“Ya think?” Giulia laughed, emitting an acrid puff of smoke, and the others joined her.
“What’s he drive?” Mary asked, trying not to breathe.
“A BMW, what else?”
“Where’s he park it?”
“Anywhere he wants to,” Giulia answered, and they all laughed again. She pointed at an empty slot behind the Miata. “That’s his spot. You wanna be the jerk who takes it?”
“What color and year is his car?”
“Black. New.”
“Does he have a vanity plate, too, like DYE JOB?”
“Yeah, WHACK JOB,” Giulia answered.
“BLOW JOB,” Missy said.
“HAND JOB,” Yolanda added, and they all started laughing again except Mary, whose exasperation got the best of her.
“You ladies want to help or not? Because when Trish shows up, I’ll be happy to tell her how funny you all were.”
“Okay, whatever,” Giulia said defensively. “I don’t know his license plate. It wasn’t a vanity plate. It was normal.”
“Thank you.” Mary cleared her throat. “Okay, so obviously, wherever he and Trish went, they took his car. So she probably went with him voluntarily, because he couldn’t have forced her into the car and driven it at the same time.”
Giulia stopped smiling, and so did the others. She squinted through the cigarette smoke, or maybe her tattooed eyeliner made it look that way.
“He coulda drugged her,” Missy said.
“He coulda killed her and put her in the trunk,” Yolanda said, and Giulia turned on her, red-and-black curls flying like a blurry checkerboard.
“Shut up with that, Yo. It’s like you want T to be dead.”
“I don’t want her to be dead,” Yolanda shot back. “Ga’ forbid!”
Mary sensed another catfight. “While you guys mix it up, I’m going inside and look around. Can I have her house key?”
“Here.” Giulia clamped her Marlboro between her lips, dug in her black purse, and produced a key ring that held a red Barbie pump, a Taj Mahal ersatz-gold horseshoe, two red plastic dice, and a St. Christopher medal. Mary took the key ring without bringing up what had happened to St. Christopher, then walked up the two-step stoop, unlocked the door, and pushed it open, surprised by the sight.
In contrast to the house’s mundane exterior, inside it was glistening, modern, and expensive, with warm white walls, a shaggy white area rug, and white marble flooring. It had been remodeled to make one large room out of the first floor, with the entrance hall, living and dining room divided by frosted white screens, like a high-end Winter Wonderland.
Would this have been my life?
Mary walked through the contemporary entrance area, where a fake ficus provided a splotch of color, passing a white laminated side table and a louvered closet. Light shone from a white Murano-glass chandelier, and when she walked around the divider, the focal point of the living room was an oversized, colorized photograph of the couple, he in a wide-lapel tux and she in a low-cut, melon-hued dress. Mary’s gaze shot to the boyfriend, who had once been her boyfriend, at least for a time. His face hadn’t changed; the same eyes, the strong, wide nose, and a smile just this side of I-don’t-care. He had prominent cheekbones and a strong chin, and Mary used to imagine it on an ancient gold coin, but she was always too into Latin Club.
“That picture was taken at my wedding,” Giulia said, coming up from behind, her stilettos clacking on the marble floor. “The first one, that is. T was my maid of honor both times.”
“So how long have they been living here?”
“Five years or so.” Giulia crunched an Altoid, releasing a blast of toxic peppermint. “They remodeled the whole thing. Gorgeous, huh?”
“Yeah, wow.” Mary looked around. A sectional couch of white leather sat against the wall, catty-corner to two matching chairs and a white laminated coffee table, spotless but for a white marble ashtray and three silvery remote controls. Hanging on the opposite wall was a huge plasma TV.
“To me, it’s too clean, but T had to keep it that way, for him.”
“Trish told me.” Mary looked back at the entrance hall. “No sign of a fight or struggle on the way out.”
“Maybe Missy’s right. Maybe he drugged her. Or slapped her one.” Giulia pursed her lips. “I know he knocked her around. T told me once, and I think it was worse than she said.”
“I do, too.” Mary considered it. “But if he hit her, how would he get her out, then? Carry her? It’s still light at seven o’clock this time of year. People would see.”
“He could kinda hold her up, like she was drunk or somethin’.”
“Maybe, but look.” Mary gestured at the entrance hall. “The rug near the door is still flat, not even moved or wrinkled. It’s the kind that slips easily. That suggests they went peacefully.”
“You’re right, Mare.”
“We’ll see. It’s just a working theory.”
“I like it, a workin’ theory.” Giulia smiled. “That sounds good. Now what do we do? I mean, what’re you lookin’ for in here?”
“I’m trying to learn what I can and hope it gives us a clue about what happened to Trish. We’ll test our theory as we go along.”
“Another good idea. Thank God you’re here.” Giulia clapped her on the back, and Mary couldn’t help but smile.
“Giulia, what kind of coat does Trish usually wear?”
