Killer Smile

walking a puppy with a paintbrush tail that flopped back and forth.

“Did you tell him about the clothesline?”

“Yes.”

“What about the circle drawings?”

“Well, yes. He didn’t know what they were.”

“You showed him?”

“I thought he might have an idea about them.”

“They’re just doodles, like Cavuto said.” Judy had seen them and didn’t know what they were, either. “You didn’t tell him about the hair, did you?”

“Uh, yes.”

Judy moaned. “Did you ask to see his story before he files it? You’re supposed to.”

“Not really.” Mary’s appetite vanished. She closed the Styrofoam lid of her salad and put it back in the bag, to be stowed in the office refrigerator until she could throw it away untouched, three days from now. She couldn’t bring herself to waste food, at least not on time. “I know it might have been dumb, but I guess I just wanted to talk about Amadeo. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if he got a little attention. He deserves it.”

“He deserves it?” Judy set down her hoagie, shifted around, and faced Mary directly. “Mare, I understand that you went through hell when Mike was killed, but frankly, I think you’re getting a little nuts. Ever since Premenstrual Tom called, you’re like a freak.”

“You getting the TRO, right?” Mary asked, and Judy waved her off.

“Completely missing the point here. Let’s review. The Escalade is a very popular car. Files from 1942 should be gone. Lots of big guys have zits, and you don’t know that your big guy with zits was the one who went to the Korean lady’s house.”

“He asked about me!”

“He asked about someone, that’s all. Or maybe he’s interested in you and Brandolini. After all, a reporter got interested in you and Brandolini, and he’s not a killer. Jeez, at any given moment, three of your uncles are blabbing about you.”

“But what about the deed business?”

“Maybe Giorno did Brandolini a favor and took it out in fees. It’s not inconceivable that a lawyer would do that for a client, especially in that day and age. Maybe Giorno wanted to help him out. You said he owned a lot of property in South Philly.”

“What about Frank firing me?”

“Maybe he’s sick and tired of hearing about Brandolini all the time!” Judy shot back, so sharply that a man on the bench opposite them looked up from his roast beef special.

Mary felt stung. She didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Sorry.” Judy sighed, then leaned over, her forehead knit with worry. “Mare, usually I’m with you, but I have to tell you, you’re losing it. Going to Brandolini’s house, and the way you said you felt in his house. You’re running around with human hair in your briefcase! That’s creepy!”

“It’s part of the case file. It’s in my desk now.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be holding a seance.” Judy wrinkled her upturned nose, and Mary flushed, defensive. Not that she hadn’t thought of it, last night when she couldn’t sleep. Judy continued, “You’re too immersed in this case, too immersed in the past. In old people and ghosts. Let it go, will you? That’s why I’m pushing the blind date.” Judy’s voice softened, almost to a whisper. “You are going out with Paul, girl. You have a lot in common. You’ll like each other. You need to move on.”

Mary shook her head, hurt. She knew that Amadeo had gotten bound up with Mike and somehow it was all of a piece. But she couldn’t move on, not yet. She didn’t know how and, now, she didn’t want to.

“Don’t look like that.” Judy’s blue eyes narrowed. “You know, even if what you’re saying is true, about the Escalade and all, it’s even a greater reason to get out of this case. Because you could be in danger, and for what? Are you keeping an innocent man from jail? Catching a murderer? That, I’d understand. But this? I helped you find that FBI memo because I thought that it would end all this, but I’m sorry I did. On balance, it’s just not worth it.”

“But Amadeo -”

“Is dead! He’s dead and gone. Nothing you do can change that or bring him back. Nothing you do now can bring anybody back.” Judy’s fair skin colored with emotion, and Mary knew who she was talking about.

I wish this feeling would go away, she thought, but didn’t say.

“And you’re working on Brandolini all the time, not your other cases. Did you get ready for those deps, for Bennie? Alcor and Reitman?”

“I’ll get to it.” Mary watched as a young mother approached, holding a toddler by its tiny hand. The baby wobbled along in blue overalls and new white sneakers, practicing his steps. “You think she’ll be mad?”

“Are you kidding?” Judy’s voice regained its familiarity, and they were on safer ground now, complaining about the boss. Judy was feeling good enough to eat her vegetables and opened a crinkly black bag of Yukon potato chips, to which she was currently addicted. “She won’t like it that you talked to the reporter, either. You didn’t have her permission and you know how she feels about the press.”

Mary shook her head. “Half the time she yells at me to assert myself, and the rest of the time she yells at me to ask permission.”

“Women.”

Mary looked away. The baby took a wiggly step forward, chest out, arms loose in the air, then stopped and swayed before plopping down on his cushioned bottom. He burst into a two-tooth smile. Mary said, “You know what that reporter said to me?”

“What?” Judy managed to get a large potato chip into her mouth, sideways like a pizza into a Tuscan oven. It wasn’t pretty.

“He said I should go to Montana. See Fort Missoula, the internment camp. It still stands, as a museum.”

“You?” Judy’s cheeks bulged like a giant squirrel’s, her blue eyes wide. “Go to Montana?”

“Yes, me. Of course, me, go to Montana.” Mary felt miffed, even though she’d had the exact same reaction. “I can find Amadeo’s grave.”

“But Montana! It’s just so not you.”

“Why isn’t it me, Jude?” Mary really wanted to know, because she agreed and wondered why.

“I don’t see you in big sky country. You’re so totally Philadelphia. You went to college in Philadelphia, you went to law school in Philadelphia, you grew up here and you’ve lived here all your life. It’s like your dad said the other night at dinner, remember?”

Mary remembered. Cowboy country. Pluto.

“Do you even know where Montana is?”

“Somewhere to the left.” Mary watched the baby, almost in front of their bench now, holding on to his mother’s hand. He made cute little grunting noises from the effort, eah eah eah. He couldn’t have been more than eleven months old, but he wanted to walk so badly. You could see it.

“ Montana is directly under western Canada, Calgary, and it borders Idaho and Wyoming. Glacier National Park is there. It’s a beautiful state. Mountains, plains, great trout fishing, deer, elk, moose, and antelope. Have you ever seen an antelope?”

“Sure. Looks like a dog with horns. Don’t you tire of being my straight man?”

Judy smiled. “ Montana ’s great. You’d love it. I’ve fly-fished near Butte with my dad and hiked there, in the West, with my sisters and brother.”

“Show off.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t go. Go.”

“It’s a free country.”

“Clearly.”

“I have the money, I can buy an airplane ticket.” In fact, Mary had never even been on an airplane, which was the first of three secrets she kept from the world. The second was that she couldn’t swim. She fell silent, watching the baby take its wobbly steps. It passed right in front of them, tottering by. Eah eah