“It’s not fair to you.” Judy frowned.
“It’s not about fairness. He’s ashamed. That’s how he sees it, and it’s not going to change.” Mary’s cell phone rang in her purse, and they locked eyes.
“I bet it’s him,” Judy said.
“I bet it’s not.” Mary dug in her purse, retrieved her BlackBerry, and checked the display screen. “Told you.” She answered the call. “Hey Ma.”
“
“We’re taking a break, Ma. We needed some space, that’s all.”
“What means space?”
Mary tried to think of the Italian words for needing space, but Italians never needed space. Italians hated space. They loved closeness, with a side of spaghetti.
“Wait, your father, he wants to talk.” There was a pause, then, “MARE, WHAT’S GOING ON? ANT’N’Y’S MOTHER TOLD CAMARR MILLIE WHO TOLD THE BUTCHER THAT YOU BOUGHT A HOUSE!”
“I made an offer on a house. They didn’t accept yet.”
“WHY? YOU WANNA MOVE, YOU SHOULD MOVE HOME.”
“I’m too old for that, Pop.”
“WHERE’S THE HOUSE AT?”
“In town.”
“CENTER CITY?” he asked, like, NEPTUNE?
“Yes, and by the way, I made partner, too.”
“HOLY GOD, MARE! YOU MADE PARDNER, AT THE COMPANY? THAT’S GREAT! CONGRADULATIONS, KIDDO!”
Mary smiled while her father shouted the news to her mother.
“SO WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH ANTHONY?”
“It’s a long story, Pop.”
“WE GOT TIME.”
“I know, but I don’t, not right now.” Mary had to get ready for Rexco and she hadn’t worked any of her own cases this weekend. She probably had thirty calls to make before five o’clock.
“WE’RE NOT INTERFERING, BUT ANTHONY LOVES YOU.”
“I know, Pop.”
“HE’S A REALLY GREAT GUY.”
“I know that, too.”
“WE LOVE HIM. SO DOES CAMARR MILLIE, THE BUTCHER, AND FATHER TOM.”
“Our priest? How does he know?”
“HE’S A PRIEST, MARE. HE KNOWS EVERYTHING. YOUR MOTHER’S ASKIN’ ME TO ASK YOU, DOES THIS MEAN NO GRANDCHILDREN?”
“Ask Father Tom, he’s so smart.”
“MARE, BE NICE.”
“Sorry, but-”
“DON’T BE SO HARD ON ANT’N’Y. GIVE HIM ANOTHER CHANCE. PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE.”
“Pop, you got it backwards. I didn’t break up with him, he broke up with
“WHAT? HE DID? WHERE DOES HE GET OFF? YOU’RE THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO HIM!”
Mary smiled. She knew her father would turn on a dime, if he knew the truth. He always sided with her, and she was glad they weren’t fighting anymore. “Talk to you later, okay?”
“FORGET ABOUT HIM, HE’S NUTS. WE LOVE YOU, DOLL.”
“Love you both. Bye.” Mary pressed END, with a sigh.
“Anthony will come around,” Judy said, with certainty.
But Mary knew better.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Bennie sat across from Officers Villarreal and Dayne in a clean, brightly lit interview room that smelled of fresh paint, evidently, white. There was no window, and the carpet was thin, brown, and all-purpose. Modern, if mismatched, chairs held the cops, and Bennie was behind a plain wooden desk, its surface uncluttered except for a telephone and a stack of blank statement forms. Oddly, she felt as if she were a CEO, not a suspect, and in some parallel universe of her own office.
“I had nothing to do with the fire,” Bennie was saying. She could see they doubted her, but she wasn’t intimidated. Nothing could intimidate her, after the box. She felt stronger than ever before. “Think about it. I was in the hospital at the time.”
Officer Villarreal scoffed. “We don’t know for sure what time the fire started, yet. As best the Chief can tell, it started last night, sometime after you were picked up.”
“If it started after I was picked up, I didn’t start it.”
“That’s not necessarily true. The fire started with an accelerant, but we don’t know what kind yet. Depending on how the fire was set and how fast it spread, the Chief told us it wouldn’t have gotten into high gear until two or three hours after you were gone. There’s nobody living around there, so nobody could see when it started. Nobody noticed it until it was blazing, full-blast. You could have set that fire.”
Officer Dayne leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and saying nothing, but Bennie wasn’t talking to him, anyway.
“Look, I gave you a reasonable explanation for the fire. My sister started it to destroy the evidence of the box. Why would I start a fire? What possible reason would I have?”
“Why were you drinking?”
“I told you, I wasn’t. The farmer gave me the liquor.” Bennie gestured at the telephone with her good hand. “Call him and ask him why he lied. I don’t know why he lied, but he did.”
“I know Bradley and his wife, June. They’ve lived here forever, his father farmed the same land. My parents know them, too. They’re not the type of people to go around lying on other people.”
Bennie thought a minute. “Did you interview him, personally?”
“Yes.”
“With his wife?”
“No. Bradley was in the living room, June was in the kitchen.”
“Could she hear you two, talking?”
“I suppose so.”
“So Bradley didn’t want to tell the truth in front of his wife. He didn’t want to say that he gave some strange woman, who was half-naked, a flask of whiskey. He didn’t want to admit, to a couple of cops whose parents are friends of his, that he drinks and drives, or that he drinks at all. Maybe he has a drinking problem, he’s trying to quit, you don’t know.” Bennie pointed to the phone. “Call the Philadelphia police, the Homicide Squad. I know two of the detectives, Azzic and Holland. They were involved with my sister’s trial and they’ll tell you all about her. She’s the one you should be worried about, not me. She’s the one you should be questioning, not me. Please, call the Roundhouse.”
“I’m not calling the Philly cops.”
“Do it, or I will.” Bennie reached for the phone, but Officer Villarreal beat her to it, picking up the receiver.
“Fine. Good. You want me to call, we’ll call.” Officer Villarreal called information, reached the Homicide Division, and introduced himself. “I’m out here in Cambridge County and I wanted to talk to a Detective Azzic or Holland. Huh? They’re on vacation?”
Bennie rose. “Then ask for the inspector or the deputy inspector. Tell them it’s me.”
Officer Villarreal said into the telephone, “Can I talk to the inspector or the deputy inspector? I’ll hold,
