“Of course not. Every turkey in the tristate area’s calling Homicide. I just hung up on my second drunk dial.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll give him the message. He’ll definitely want to talk to you. ’Bye.”
Mary hung up, troubled. She should have warned Giulia not to say anything. She should have stayed in control of the situation. What if she had gotten Brinkley in trouble? Missing Persons wouldn’t like Homicide usurping its role. Nobody took jurisdiction more seriously than the police department, except a federal court, or maybe a waitress.
Mary checked her desk clock. 5:15. She hadn’t answered her mail yet and she still had a ton of calls to make. She started to look through her mail, but couldn’t concentrate, preoccupied with Trish and now Brinkley. How could she have let this happen? When was Giulia going to call about the flyer? Soon Bennie and Anne would be back from court. It set Mary’s teeth on edge. She had work to do, no help in sight, and at some level, her clients would pay the price. Dhiren. Mr. Nunez. Trish. She didn’t have the time to do anything. Right when she was feeling sorriest for herself, her phone started ringing.
Mary picked up, hoping it was Brinkley. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mary? It’s Anthony Rotunno.”
“Hey, Anthony.” Mary stifled her dismay. Her new gay friend. She didn’t have time for the Freedom of Information Act right now. She shouldn’t have picked up.
“I was wondering if I could ask you a question or two. I’m really stuck.”
No. “Well-”
“I’m downtown today, only a block from your office. You wanna grab a quick bite? I could really use the help.”
“I’m kind of busy.”
“You have to eat. My mother says.”
Mary’s stomach growled in response. She was too distracted to work and she wanted to be out of the office when Bennie got back. She wouldn’t miss Brinkley because he’d call on her cell, and Giulia might be boycotting her.
“Whaddaya say, counselor? My treat.”
“Be right down.” Mary grabbed her purse.
She needed a friend, about now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
M ary had been on so many blind dates that it was a pleasure to be with a man who had a medical excuse for not being attracted to her. She couldn’t pass or fail the date and she hadn’t even bothered freshening her makeup. No matter how hard she tried, Anthony wasn’t falling in love with anyone but the waiter.
“This is fun,” Mary said, and Anthony raised a glass.
“To Italian-American studies.”
“Cent’anni.” Mary raised her glass and they both sipped their wine, which tasted cold and great. She knew nothing about wines, but Anthony had selected it from a bewildering array on the leather-bound list. She said, “Nice choice, sir. That wine list was harder than the bar exam.”
“You could have picked a bottle. It’s not as difficult as people think.”
“Like the Freedom of Information Act.”
“Exactly. You answered all my questions on the way over.” Anthony grinned, his eyes crinkling photogenically. He had on a dark cashmere blazer with a white shirt and khaki slacks, and his smile was as warm and friendly as last night, if even handsomer in the candlelight, which lent his eyes the rich warmth of dark chocolate.
“Were you ever a model, Anthony?”
“No.” He grinned crookedly. “Why?”
“You’re so hot.”
“Thank you.” Anthony smiled, a little surprised.
Mary eyed the menu, feeling the wine affecting her, already. She hadn’t eaten all day and was always a cheap drunk. Giulia, Brinkley, and even Trish floated farther back in her mind. The restaurant, a casual bistro, was dark and uncrowded, and the menu was completely in French. She stumbled over the bearnaise and mumbled, “Why is the menu never in Latin?”
“What did you say?” Anthony leaned over his menu. “You like Latin food?”
“No, forget it.”
“I cook very good Cuban. I learned it in South Beach from a Cuban friend.”
“I feel inferior, with no Cuban friends. I know people from Jersey, however.”
Anthony laughed. “I even went to Havana with him. What a city. Very wild.”
“I’m sure. I saw The Godfather.”
“I memorized The Godfather. I even read the book.”
“That’s hardcore.” Mary smiled. “What’s your favorite line?”
“‘Leave the gun, take the cannoli.’”
“Good one. Mine’s ‘Fredo, you broke my heart.’” Mary smiled again. She was buzzed. Anthony was fun. Gay men were always fun. She wished suddenly that all men were gay. “So you’re a good cook?”
“Excellent. I love to cook. My idea of a perfect night is a wonderful dinner.”
“Me, too. You know, it’s too bad I didn’t know you in high school. The only boys I knew were the ones who needed tutoring.”
“Not me. I studied hard, I was a good boy. In fact, I was an altar boy.” Anthony smiled, and Mary laughed.
“You’re like the male version of me. It’s really too bad we didn’t know each other.” Her thoughts turned to Trish and the boy she did know in high school. Not a good boy, decidedly a bad boy.
“What?” Anthony asked. “Your face just fell.”
“It’s a long story.”
“So, tell me. The waiter’s never coming back anyway.”
“He’d better.” Mary checked her watch but it was too dark to see it. “I have to go back to work and this thing that’s exploding. If you saw the TV news today, you know that Trish Gambone is missing.”
“How do I know that name?” Anthony asked, with a slight frown.
“High school.” So Mary told him the story, and his expression darkened.
“It’s a terrible thing,” he said, after she had finished the story. “I don’t get some men.”
“Me, either.” Mary didn’t elaborate.
“Wait a minute. Why is this your problem? You and Trish weren’t friends, were you?” Anthony cocked his head. “She was so conceited in high school, and he was a dumb jock.”
“She came to me for help.”
“So she’s your client?”
“Not really.”
Anthony arched an eyebrow. “Then if you ask me, I think you did plenty. You found the diary and you told the police. This is their job now. Let them do it. They’ll go forward with their investigation, even though Giulia went on TV.”
Mary nodded. It was exactly what Judy would have said. “Still, I hate doing nothing.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s time for the police to take over. You’re not responsible for everyone from the neighborhood.”
Yet it was exactly how Mary felt. “But that’s what a community does. That’s what it is, to me. Take Dhiren for example, who lives next door to your mom.”
“I’ve seen him. Nice kid.” Anthony sipped his wine.
“He needs help, but I can’t find a psychologist who can test him because everybody’s too busy.” Mary knew that she had just divulged confidential information, but she was a little drunk, so it was permissible under the Tipsy
