“Frank who?”
“Sinatra.”
“Mrs. Foglia, would you consider apologizing for saying what you said? Then I think I can get them to apologize.” Mary hurried along under Judy’s power, toward the conference room.
“No, I won’t apologize. They should apologize to me and Frank. They said he was crazy.”
“Who said that?”
“Tony-From-Down-The-Block. What a cavone. And that hair! It’s red as Lucille Ball.”
“Let me ask you a question. If he apologizes, will you?” Mary followed Judy into the conference room, where Marshall was already inside, looking at the TV on the credenza. Mary couldn’t see the screen because Marshall was blocking it.
“No,” Mrs. Foglia said. “Honey, I got no regrets. I’m like Frank.”
Judy dropped her hand, Marshall moved aside for her to see the TV, and Mary’s mouth dropped open. The news was on, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“I chew it up and spit it out,” Mrs. Foglia was saying.
“What?” Mary said to Mrs. Foglia and the TV.
“I do it My Way!” Mrs. Foglia shouted, hanging up.
Leaving an incredulous Mary with the news.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
M ary almost dropped the BlackBerry, the earphone still plugged into her ear. On the TV screen, a bright red banner read, LIVE BREAKING NEWS, and above it stood Giulia, Missy, and Yolanda, outside the Roundhouse. An excitable Giulia was being interviewed by an anchorwoman, who was flanked by the Mean Girls, like book-ends with estrogen.
Mary groaned. “What are they doing?”
Judy folded her arms. “This can’t be good.”
Marshall said, “Nice makeup.”
Giulia said into the microphone, “Please, please help us! Our best friend, Trish Gambone, is missing since last night and we need your help!”
Oh my God. The Mean Girls had just queered the deal with Brinkley.
“This is a picture of Trish, on vacation in Vegas.” Giulia held up her cell-phone photo of Trish, and the camera moved in for a closeup. “She looks exactly like this, only without the spray-on. She’s white, in her thirties, five foot two, a hundred and five pounds.”
“A hundred and twenty,” said a voice, off camera.
Yolanda.
“Like I said, a hundred and five,” Giulia said firmly, holding up her cell phone.
“What’s a spray-on?” Judy asked, but Mary was too stunned to answer.
Giulia continued, “We’re askin’ everyone to keep a lookout for Trish, and if you see her, please call Detective Mack Reginald Brinkley right away. I know everybody’s up in arms about that dumb baby, but doesn’t an abused woman deserve an Amber Alert, too? Why do only babies get it?”
The TV reporter grabbed the microphone and managed a smile. “You heard it here first. Trish Gambone, a South Philadelphia resident, is missing at this hour…”
Mary sank into a chair and pressed the number for information into the BlackBerry. “Any lasagna left?” she asked miserably.
The operator said, “Pardon me?”
“Sorry. In Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, may I have the number for the police department, the Homicide Division?”
“Please hold,” the operator answered, and Judy left the conference room. The call connected but the line was busy. Mary hung up and looked at Marshall, who had a handbag and a light navy coat folded over her arm.
Mary asked her, “How did you know this was on TV?”
“I always check the traffic report before I leave and I recognized the girls from the fistfight.” Marshall patted her on the back. “Hang in. Gotta go. Gabe’s at daycare.”
“Thanks.” Mary pressed Giulia’s number into the BlackBerry, and after a few rings, the call connected.
“Mare, didja see me on TV?” Giulia sounded breathless. “Wasn’t that great? It was like an infomercial for Trish, like Proactiv!”
“How did you get on TV?”
“You remember those guys that Missy and Yolanda were talking to? The one was a reporter, and he hooked us up. How’d I do?”
“Terrible,” Mary answered flatly. “What were you thinking? We weren’t supposed to go public until Brinkley got back to us. Now we made him look bad and we broke our word. Besides, he’s not with Missing Persons. He’s Homicide. You gave out the wrong number.”
“Yo, Mare!” Giulia raised her voice. “Why you gotta be so negative? Nothin’ I do is good enough? First with Fung, now the phone number? So what? We got Trish on TV. Those babies don’t know who they’re dealin’ with.” Giulia’s voice cut off. “Hold on, I got another call. It’s T’s mom. Call you back.”
“Wait, no more interviews. Not another one, you hear?” Mary said, but the line went dead.
She listened to the silence for a minute, trying to collect her thoughts. Her gaze wandered to the window, where the skyline, marked by the tented rooftop of the Independence Blue Cross building, the granite spike of Mellon Center, and the distinctive ziggurat of Liberty Place cut into the early evening sky. Below, people would be streaming from their offices, piling onto trains, cars, and buses, and going home to their families. And somewhere, Trish was below, dead or alive.
Just then Judy came back into the conference room. “Dinner is served,” she said, setting a cup of fresh coffee and a tiny square of lasagna on the table. “I nuked it for you.”
“Thanks,” Mary said, touched. Unfortunately, the lasagna was barely the size of a bite. “Anne really did eat it? I thought she was kidding.”
“It’s an appetizer. You can join Frank and me at dinner.” Judy meant her boyfriend Frank Lucia, the grandson of Pigeon Tony. They’d found love on a case together, but Mary couldn’t even find lasagna.
“I can’t go. I gotta work.” Mary moved to call Brinkley again, but Judy grabbed the BlackBerry away.
“Enough! It can wait.”
“Brinkley’s gonna be so angry.”
“Give him time to cool down. Eat.” Judy pointed at the plate, and Mary picked up the plastic fork. After one mouthful of her mother’s cooking, she knew it was the right thing to do. After the lasagna and Judy were gone, Mary went back to her office and stayed on the phone until she finally got through to Homicide.
When the call connected, she asked, “May I speak with Detective Brinkley?”
“If you’re calling about the missing person on TV, this isn’t the number to call.” A male voice sounded testy, and Mary knew she was speaking with the detective whose job it was to answer phones on that tour of duty. “You need to speak with Missing Persons, and I’ll give you that number.”
“I don’t need it. I’m a friend of Detective Brinkley.”
“Leave a number, and I’ll tell him you called. He’s out.”
Mary gave him her name and cell. “Please tell him to call on the cell, so I don’t miss him, and I’m so sorry about what happened, with my friend Giulia going on TV. I didn’t have any control over that. I didn’t even know about it.”
“Hold on.” The detective’s tone cooled. “That was your friend, on TV? Are you that lawyer from Rosato’s office, was in here with her?”
“Yes, and-”
“What were you doing, going on the tube like that?” The detective’s voice turned hostile. “You know how many calls we got already? We won’t be able to get our regular phone calls now, calls we need to get.”
“I’m so sorry. I can imagine.” Mary felt terrible, but couldn’t resist asking, “But were there any leads?”
