Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel (35 page)

“I thought I was going to pick out my own dress.”

“YOU CAN MAKE IT YOUR OWN DRESS. SHE UNNERSTANS YOU MIGHT WANT TO FIX IT UP, PUT ON A RIBBON OR A COUPLA FLOWERS, BUT SHE CAN DO THAT. SHE’S A MASTER SEAMSTRESS.”

“I know.” Mary felt a wave of guilt, even though she doubted there was such a term, like a master plumber.

“YOU GOTTA PICK HER. WE KNOW YOU LIKE ELVIRA, BUT YOUR MOTHER IS STILL YOUR MOTHER.”

“I know that, believe me.”

“NOBODY LOVES YOU THE WAY SHE DOES, ’CEPT ME. SHE’S YOUR MOTHER, MARY.”

“I know, I know,” Mary said, but it came out like a moan.

“SHE CARRIED YOU FOR NINE MONTHS, YOU AND YOUR SISTER. SHE WAS BIG AS A HOUSE! SO YOU GOTTA FACTOR THAT IN, TOO.”

“There’s no comparison, Pop. I know that. You don’t have to make a case for her. I know what you’re saying is true. Let me try and figure it out.” Suddenly, Mary heard a beep on the phone that signaled she was getting another call, which she was sure would be Judy. “Pop, can we talk about this later? I’m getting another call and I should take it.”

“SURE. LOVE YOU, BYE!”

“Love you, too.” Mary pressed the button to take the new call, answering without checking the screen, “Jude?”

“No, it’s Allegra, how are you?”

“Hi, fine.” Mary switched mental gears. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, but I really want to get out of here. Can I get out yet?”

“No, honey, not yet.” Mary didn’t want to update her on the meeting with her father, since there was nothing new to report and she didn’t want Allegra to keep obsessing. “Tell me what they have you doing?”

“It’s so dumb. I have a therapist I’m supposed to meet with three times a week, and she’s nice enough, but I really don’t think I need it. There’s a lot of nurses and they’re supernice too, but I don’t see the point. They also got me started in this tutoring program that’s supposed to keep me on track with school, but I know it all already and hello, it’s summer anyway. In a couple of minutes I have to go down and finger-paint, because they love art therapy here, and after that we play badminton.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“For kindergartners, maybe. I want to know how the bees are. Did you hear anything about them?”

“No, but I can check.”

“They’re starting me on Prozac, for depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. They don’t believe me when I tell them I’m not depressed, and if I bring up Fiona, they tell me that that’s a symptom called constant ruminations. It’s enough to make you crazy, if you weren’t already.”

“Hang in there, okay?” Mary felt sorry for her.

“I don’t care what they say, I’m not taking the stupid pills.”

“Why not?” Mary asked, dismayed. She doubted Allegra needed Prozac, but she wasn’t a psychiatrist and she didn’t like the idea of Allegra going against doctor’s orders.

“I read online that the side effects are restlessness and anxiety, and some kids can even develop suicidal ideation.”

“Really?” Mary could tell from her fancy terminology and authoritative tone that Allegra had done a lot of reading on the subject.

“How ironic is that? The pill that’s supposed to cure you of being suicidal makes you suicidal. Is that even legal?”

Mary let it go. “Allegra, I understand what you’re saying, but you need to follow your doctor’s orders.”

“No, I don’t. One of the other girls told me how to cheek the pill.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She pretends to swallow it, but she keeps it in her cheek until she spits it out.”

“Oh no.”

“She also told me that if you lick your palm before the nurse gives you the pill, then the pill will stick to your hand. Then you drink your juice and throw the pill away later. That’s what I’m going to do when they start my prescription today.”

“Allegra, don’t do that. Please do what they tell you to do. If they want you on Prozac, take it. You’re very smart, but you’re not a trained and experienced psychiatrist.” Mary tried a different tack, as the cab traveled uptown. “Did you think about what I said, about calling your mother?”

“I thought about it and I talked to my therapist, but I’ll keep thinking about it.” Allegra snorted. “Hey, wouldn’t that be constant ruminations, too? You think they’ll give me a pill to stop that, too?”

“Allegra, please think about calling your mom.” Mary realized she sounded exactly like her father, telling her to call her mother, but she stopped short of reminding Allegra that her mother had carried her for nine months. “She loves you and cares about you, even if she hasn’t been great about showing it in the past.”

“Okay, I hear you. I have to go now. I’m supposed to be in the art studio in two minutes.”

“Take care.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mary said, pressing End, deeply troubled. It had begun to drizzle, and rain dotted the cab window. She looked outside at the gray city whizzing by, torn between feeling as if Allegra were imprisoned in the mental hospital, and feeling that it was a place that would give her help she needed. She sighed, wondering if Judy had been right, all along. Her thoughts roiled, and by the time the cab pulled up in front of the office, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

If it worked for Tony-From-Down-The-Block, it could work for Mary.

Chapter Forty-two

Mary planted herself in the doorway to Judy’s office, which was as messy as hers was neat. “Judy, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Life is too short to fight with your friends.”

Judy looked up from her laptop, her fingers on the keyboard and her expression pained. “Aw, Mare, I’m sorry, too. You were right. I was too negative.”

“No, you were right. I was too positive.” Mary dropped her purse on the rug and held out her arms, and Judy got up from the desk and met her in the middle of the office, where they hugged and made girl noises.

“Mare, you were just trying to help Allegra, I know that.”

“And you were just trying to help me, I know that, too.” Mary felt her heart ease and released Judy from her hug. “I knew we were in a fight when you didn’t answer my texts or calls.”

“What do you mean?” Judy frowned, puzzled. Rain pelted the large window behind her desk. “I knew we were in a fight when you didn’t text or call me. I didn’t get anything from you.”

“Check.” Mary gestured at the BlackBerry on the cluttered desk, but Judy was already in motion, picking up the phone and scrolling with her thumb.

“Oh no, my bad! I had the ringer on silent from last night. I forgot to turn it back on.”

“See? I still love you.”

“I still love you, too. So sit down.” Judy cleared her papers and law books off of the nearer chair and dumped everything on the other one. “So what’s been going on? Fill me in.”

“I’ve been dying to talk to you.” Mary plopped into the chair the way she always did while Judy went back to her desk, sat down, and passed her half of her Swiss cheese sandwich, sharing her take-out lunch. Mary thanked her, took a bite, and started yapping, bringing Judy up to speed on Tim Gage, Hannah Wicker, Gloria Weber, and John Gardner, in addition to the War of The Wedding Dresses heating up between El Virus and her mother.

“You’ve been a busy girl, or should I say busy bee.” Judy grinned, showing the gap between her front teeth, which looked adorable on her. She had on a tie-dyed T-shirt with black yoga pants, and Mary hoped she wasn’t going to court today.

“I know, and I had to do it all without you.”

“You did damn well. You should be proud of yourself. Going in to see Gloria Weber? That was a smart move.”

“I can’t take credit, it was Anthony’s idea.”

“What’s going on with him? Are you guys getting a divorce?”

“No.” Mary shot her a dry look, though she knew she and Judy were back on track when they were kidding each other. “We’re supposed to get my car from the impound lot then meet his friends for drinks. I’m feeling too guilty about Lonnie and Allegra to celebrate anything.”

Judy frowned, in empathy. “You can do it, I’d bet on you. Look at it this way. All you have to do is get the goods on Gage, undermine the guilty plea, and wear your mother’s hideous dress.”

“I know, I agree.” Mary wolfed down the last bite of the deliciously mustardy sandwich, which hit the spot. “I’d rather solve a murder case than deal with El Virus.”

“You could always murder El Virus.”

Mary smiled, then she could feel it fade. “You know, it’s funny, my whole life, I worked hard to never give my mother any worries. She grew up so poor, and her life was always hard enough. I’ve never driven her to novenas, except when I needed a scholarship for college.”

“Mare, your memory is terrible,” Judy said, gently.

“What, why?”

“Your mother said a novena when we left Stalling & Webb, and she said one for us to win the Steere case.” Judy counted off on her fingers. Behind her, her bookshelf was so stuffed with books, papers, binders, and advance sheets that it threatened to fall off the wall. “She said a novena when the firm almost went into bankruptcy, and another one that you would make partner.”

“Jeez, you’re right.” Mary recoiled, grimacing. “I’m a bad daughter.”

“No you’re not, you just have a great mom. She prays for you twenty-four/seven, like a convenience store.”

Mary didn’t reply, thinking of Lonnie Stall, who prayed with his mother every Wednesday at Graterford. Then she thought of what her father had said, about how much her mother loved her. She reached for her BlackBerry. “You mind if I make a quick call?”

“No, why?”

“You’re a genius. You just gave me an idea.”

“Really? What a friend, huh? I rock!”

“You do!” Mary said, scrolling for the phone number.

Chapter Forty-three

Mary got out of the cab in the driving rain, put up an umbrella, and hurried to the rowhouse. She had texted Anthony,
no time to pick up car but will see you at six for drinks,
so she had plenty of time to meet with Rita Henley, Lonnie Stall’s mother. The West Philly block was lined with small, two-story brick rowhouses, like the ones in South Philly, and Mary hurried up the front steps and knocked on the front door, which opened partway, on a taut chain lock.

“Mary DiNunzio? Lord, I must be dreaming!” Rita broke into an astonished grin, and her graying eyebrows flew upward.

“Great to meet you, Rita.” Mary had forgotten that criminal defense lawyers were the only lawyers anyone was happy to see, and Rita was beside herself with delight.

“Come in, out of that rain. Leave your umbrella by the door, nobody will take it. This is a good block.” Rita took off the chain lock and stepped aside, a tall, thin, African-American woman, middle-aged, with a long oval face and prominent cheekbones. Her short haircut showed a lot of gray, but her rich brown eyes had the same softness as Lonnie’s, the family resemblance plain. Rita kept smiling, showing even white teeth. “You sure this isn’t some kind of a joke? I called Bob Brandt to see if you were on the up-and-up, but he didn’t call me back yet.”

“No, it’s not a joke.” Mary closed her umbrella, leaned it against the house, and ducked into a living room that reminded her of her parents’, and was almost equally religious. A large wooden crucifix hung at the center of a grouping of photographs showing Lonnie and his mother, pictured alone and as part of a large extended clan, and a yellowed copy of the Lord’s Prayer hung in a frame by the TV, which was turned off. “Thank you so much for meeting with me.”

“My, my, I can’t believe this is really happening! Please, Mary, make yourself comfortable.” Rita shut the door against the rain, replaced the chain lock, and gestured, still flustered, to a worn green couch, which was flanked by dark wooden end tables. She had on flowered scrubs and a laminated hospital ID, on a blue lanyard. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea, or maybe some water or soda?”

“No, thank you.” Mary sat down, got a pen and a small legal pad from her purse, and set it down on the green patterned rug. The lamps were bright, and the walls a soft tan, lending the room a cozy feel.

“If you change your mind, be sure to let me know. My, my, my.” Rita eased into a matching green club chair, where she must have been sitting when Mary came in, because a mug with a tea bag and a paperback novel sat on a table by its arm, under a lamp. “I couldn’t believe my ears when you called. I apologize for the way I look, my work scrubs, I just got in.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“I’m a full-time per diem nurse at University Hospital.”

“Enjoy it?”

“Yes, I surely do.” Rita cocked her head, in a skeptical way. “Now are you really here about my son, or are you tryin’ to sell me something?”

“I’m really here about Lonnie,” Mary answered, launching into an explanation that began with the day Allegra walked into their offices, through her meeting with Bob Brandt, and ended this morning, with John Gardner. Rita listened, wiping away a tear, and clucking under her breath, a reassuring sound that reminded Mary of a mother hen. By the time the story was over, Rita’s eyes shone with emotion and she had drained her cup of tea.

“Praise God that you have come to see me today.” Rita clapped her long fingers together in joy. “I have to say thank you for working so hard on my son’s behalf. It looks like my prayer has been answered, this very day.”

“Thank you,” Mary said, feeling her face flush. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to get your hopes up too much. It’s very hard to get a case reopened. May I ask you a few questions?”

“Surely, feel free. I hope and pray I can answer them, I hope I can help you and my son. You know he’s the light of my life.”

“I do. First question. Did Lonnie have a relationship with Fiona Gardner?”

“You mean the young girl? The victim? Oh no, no way.” Rita frowned, and up close, Mary could see that her hairline was beginning to thin, like her own mother’s.

“Is it possible that he did and you didn’t know it?”

“No, I doubt that. He had a girl from our church, United Bible, he saw from time to time, off and on.”

“Linda Wall?”

“Yes, so I don’t know how he’d start seeing Fiona Gardner, though I pray for her soul, and I pray for her family, every day and night. I pray for Lord Jesus to comfort them in their terrible loss, and the Bereavement Ministry prays for them, too.”