Killer Smile

Forty-Nine

The Four Seasons Hotel was where Philadelphia lawyers went to celebrate, and Mary, Judy, and Bennie had a little party there with Mrs. Nyquist and her grandson. They toasted one another at a marble table with peach- colored orchids in the center and a Steinway for background noise. Mrs. Nyquist got the most toasts of all, and Mary learned that after the first two glasses, Dom Perignon tastes exactly like Crystal Light.

An hour or so later, Bennie and Judy excused themselves to go back to the office, and Mrs. Nyquist’s grandson excused himself to go to the men’s room, leaving Mary alone with her favorite cowgirl. She raised a glass to Mrs. Nyquist. “Helen, from the bottom of my heart, thank you very, very much.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled graciously.

“You saved the case, the day, my career, and most of the city.”

“Not hardly.”

“In fact, I think I love you.”

“I like you just fine, too, Mary. We did have fun, watching Conan.”

“We did. You’re the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

“That isn’t saying much,” Mrs. Nyquist offered, and they both laughed.

Mary raised a glass. “One more toast. To no more blind dates!”

“Here, here!” Mrs. Nyquist cheered, toasting.

They laughed again, and Mary couldn’t remember if she’d thanked Mrs. Nyquist, and even if she did, it was worth repeating. “Helen, thank you so much for testifying today.” Then she remembered how tight money was for Mrs. Nyquist. “And please, let me pay for your airfare and travel. That’s standard for witnesses, and the least I can do.”

“No, thank you. I won’t hear of it. I never charge anything, but I charged this.”

“Please, please, please let me pay.”

“No.” Mrs. Nyquist paused. “As much as I like you, Mary, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Amadeo.”

“All the more reason.”

“Although I admit, I’d thought you’d use that contract in a murder trial, not some patent doodah.”

“I wish I could have. But Gio died after I got back from Missoula, I guess you heard.”

“Yes.”

They both fell silent a minute, and Mary took a swig of Diet Coke, as an antidote to champagne. There were so many questions she was dying to ask Mrs. Nyquist, but she couldn’t go there. She sipped her Coke and listened to the lovely piano music. The pianist had segued into “I’ll Be Seeing You,” which Mary knew she wasn’t supposed to like anymore, but still did. She felt suffused with the wonderful feeling of having won. For Amadeo. And the bittersweet feeling of having it all end, and having to let him go.

Mary raised her glass. “To Amadeo.”

“To Amadeo.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled, raised her glass, and they clinked and sipped. “I guess you know, he and I were in love,” she confessed, softly.

Mary let the hushed words linger.

“Gio used to bring Amadeo around the office, and Amadeo and I became friends. He was shy, but I tried to teach him a few words in English. Pencil. Pen. Then one day, he fixed my typewriter. The p key stuck, and the r. Always those two.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled. “I guess I kind of got a crush on him, from that day on. His wife was still alive at the time. He fixed the radio on my desk, and it wasn’t even broken that bad. He took it apart, cleaned it, and put it back together again, and it got better reception after that.” She shrugged, remembering. “Some girls like roses, and others like things fixed, I guess.”

“I’d like both.” Mary smiled.

“Then after his wife passed away, Amadeo was so blue all the time. My heart just went out to him, and our friendship, well, it turned into love.” Mrs. Nyquist sighed heavily, and her hooded gaze met Mary’s, on the level. “I’m not proud of it. I was a married woman. Aaron was so busy with the camp and his career, but that’s no excuse.”

Mary didn’t say anything, but she didn’t judge, either.

“Aaron knew about my feelings for Amadeo, or at least he suspected. Even from early on, when I had my crush, he could tell. Later I found out he was having one of his men keep an eye on Amadeo, in the camp, from even before our affair began.”

Mary remembered the FBI memo, from the National Archives, monitoring Amadeo’s meeting with Giorno about Theresa’s death. She had assumed Amadeo was being monitored by the government, but he wasn’t. He was being watched on orders of Aaron Nyquist, who wasn’t worried about betrayal of his country, but the betrayal of his wife.

“So I broke it off, in July. Right before the Fourth, because we were having a party at the house. I couldn’t do it any longer, betray Aaron like that. I had made a vow to him, and I wanted to keep my word. Set things right between us.” Mrs. Nyquist swallowed again, as she had in court. “Then I heard that Amadeo killed himself, and foolishly, I thought I had something to do with it. That he was upset over our breakup. I never gave a thought that it was murder. I forgot all about the contract until you came to Butte.”

“It was lucky that I did, then.”

“Or it was meant to be. Do you still think things don’t happen for a reason, Mary?”

“Maybe they do,” Mary conceded. “I’m in such a good mood, I can’t disagree with anybody today. Least of all you, Helen.” She noticed Mrs. Nyquist’s grandson had come back into the lounge and stopped at the marble bar to talk with the bartender, a pretty redhead.

Mrs. Nyquist smiled sweetly. “I’m telling you all this, about Amadeo and me, because I think you understand him. You have a feel for him. He was a wonderful man.” She leaned over. “I honestly think he was my one true love, and I think he loved me back that way, too. He couldn’t do enough for me, he paid me so much attention. He even carried around a lock of my hair. Imagine!”

Mary would have said something but her throat felt kind of tight. She leaned over, unlatched her trial bag, extracted an envelope, and handed it across the table.

“What?” Mrs. Nyquist asked, puzzled. She opened the envelope and gasped. She took out the lock of hair, cupping it in her palm, and looked up, her eyes shining. “This is it! This is mine! How did you get this?”

“It was in Amadeo’s wallet. I had it in my desk drawer with my personal stuff, because I showed it to Judy and didn’t put it back in the case file. He kept it with him all the time, Helen.”

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Nyquist blinked the tears from her eyes and placed the lock back into the envelope with care, and Mary felt the love she felt for Amadeo. Because it was the love she had for Mike.

“To real, honest-to-goodness, no-joke love.” Mary raised her glass. Someday she’d have that love again, she just knew it. She might even serve a subpoena on a certain engineering professor.

“To love.” Mrs. Nyquist raised her glass, composing herself. “And to you, too, Mary. You’re quite a little lawyer.”

“Thank you.” Mary sipped her Diet Coke, watching Mrs. Nyquist’s grandson and the bartender, with their heads bent together over the bar. The plastic casing to the cash register was hinged open, and they were both looking inside.

Mary blinked. Her gaze traveled from the cash register to the grandson. Will Nyquist. His hair was dark, his eyes darker. She knew those eyes. She had seen them on George Clooney. Oh my God. Mary turned to Mrs. Nyquist, whose gray head turned to her, and the two women regarded each other over the table for a minute.

“Yes, it’s true,” Mrs. Nyquist said, answering a question she hadn’t been asked.

“Will is Amadeo’s grandson?” Mary felt like shouting, but Mrs. Nyquist silenced her quickly with a wave.

“Aaron knew, I couldn’t deceive him, not more than I already had. Still, he raised Amadeo’s son as his own. He was a generous man, of heart and spirit.” Mrs. Nyquist sniffed. “But I never told Will’s father. And Will doesn’t know