Rosato And Associates: Accused Part 2

Chapter Three.

Mary, Judy, Anthony, The Tonys, and her father crowded around the tiny kitchen table, eating, drinking, chattering away, and sitting hip-to-replacement-hip in the cramped DiNunzio kitchen. Fresh basil and garlic scented the air, and steam rose from hot plates of homemade ravioli and peppery sausage. Everyone sweated into his food, but it would never occur to Mary's parents to eat anything cooler, even in a Philadelphia summer, and Mary wouldn't have it any other way. Whoever said you can't go home again wasn't Italian.

She tuned out the merry chatter and let her loving eyes travel around the kitchen. The cabinets and counter were clean, white, and simple, and on the walls hung an ancient church calendar with Jesus Christ, next to faded newspaper photos of John F. Kennedy and Pope John, the three Lifetime MVPs in the DiNunzio Hall-of-Fame. Nothing ever changed at her parents', who were like the Amish, but with better food. They still drank perked coffee, from a dented coffeepot always brewing on the stove, while they read an actual newspaper, a quaint custom from the days of colonial America. The kitchen didn't have a TV or radio, much less an automatic coffeemaker or a dishwasher; her mother was the coffeemaker, and her father was the dishwasher. There was no air conditioner, only an oscillating counter fan, which distributed the humidity evenly. Her parents didn't own a computer, and they thought a laptop was something children sat upon.

Mary's gaze went to the cast-iron switch plate, which had tucked behind it a frond of dried Easter palm and a collection of Ma.s.s cards. A Ma.s.s card was given when someone died, and she remembered when there were only a few, then ten, and now it looked like practically a full deck. More of their relatives and friends were pa.s.sing, and her parents were in their eighties. Her father could see fine with his trifocals, but he was almost deaf and his back ached from a working life of setting tile. Her mother's hearing was surprisingly good, but her eyes had only worsened, from macular degeneration and sewing piecework in the bas.e.m.e.nt of this very rowhouse. Still she hovered happily over the kitchen table, topping off water, fetching second helpings, and ladling extra gravy onto pasta and sausage, like the CEO of the DiNunzio family-or maybe the queen bee.

"Ma, sit, and I'll help," Mary said, though she knew her mother would wave her off, which she did. Vita DiNunzio would never give up her wooden spoon to anyone, like a regent with a scepter, if you could stir gravy with a scepter.

"Maria, you eat, alla eat! Alla good?"

"VEET, THAT WAS GREAT!" her father boomed, rubbing his tummy in his white short-sleeve shirt. "I'M GONNA BUST A GUT!"

"Great, Mrs. D!" Judy twirled her spaghetti against her tablespoon like an expert, having been taught by Mary's father. Judy was their honorary daughter, and Mary could remember the first time she brought Judy home and her mother had fallen in love with her, the same way she had with Allegra today.

"Good, grazie." Mary's mother came up from behind and touched Mary's hair, a gesture that always made her feel warm and cozy, like an adored kitten. "We so proud, Maria, you work so hard alla year. You deserve alla good dings inna world."

"Thanks, Ma." Mary didn't need affirmations if she had a mother.

"Here, here," Judy said, raising a thick gla.s.s.

"I second that emotion." Anthony smiled, and so did The Tonys, adding a chorus of salud and cent anni, and it struck Mary how lucky she was in this cobbled-together collective of best friend, lover, family, and random senior citizens. She smiled up at her mother.

"So Ma, what did you think of our new client? Why did you like her so much?"

"So young, so serious like you." Her mother shrugged happily and pushed her heavy gla.s.ses up onto her nose.

"SHE'S TOO SERIOUS," her father added. "SHE PROLLY READS TOO MUCH."

"Prolly." Mary smiled. Her parents never pushed her to work hard in school, but she went to Goretti, where she got straight A's and became Most Likely to Achieve Sainthood. They wanted her to go and play outside, but she buried herself in Nancy Drew books, which worried them no end. They believed that reading ruined your eyes and they could have been right. She was nearsighted by the time she graduated from Penn and Penn Law. Mary said to her father, "Dad, guess what, she keeps bees."

"FOR REAL? WHY?"

Mary smiled. "She likes it. She's really smart, a genius."

"She good at numbers?" Tony-From-Down-The-Block interrupted, fork in mid-air. He was single again, having broken up with his girlfriend Marlene, which meant he was dyeing his remaining hair a shade of orange that looked better on orangutans.

Tony Two Feet looked over, his hooded eyes blinking behind his Mr. Potatohead gla.s.ses. "Yeah, Mare, can she count cards, like the movie?"

Tony-From-Down-The-Block elbowed him, frowning. "Feet, that's not why I was axin'."

"The h.e.l.l it ain't." Feet turned to Mary, squinting in thought. "What's'a name a that movie, Mare? With the '49 Buick? Boy oh boy, I was, like, twenny years old when they came out with those babies. I wanted one so bad. Came in green, like a new C-note."

Tony-From-Down-The-Block snorted. "When's the last time you saw a new C-note?"

Feet kept his head turned away and ignored the question, which may have been rhetorical. "You know that movie, Mare. What's the name again? With the guys?"

Tony-From-Down-The-Block chuckled. "The movie with the guys. How's she supposed ta know?"

Feet stiffened. "Everybody knows."

"Everybody but you."

"Rain Man," Mary told him, to end the conversation before fisticuffs. Feet and Tony-From-Down-The-Block were bickering so much lately, but it wasn't the time or place to press the point. She turned to Pigeon Tony, who was generally the quiet one because he spoke only broken English. "Pigeon Tony, our new client keeps bees. That's like keeping pigeons, right?"

"Si, si." Pigeon Tony shook his head, slurping his coffee. He was only five feet tall and bird-thin, with a nose curved like a beak and round quick eyes that would have looked fine on any one of his homing pigeons.

"They say bees know their territory, too."

"Si." Pigeon Tony shook his bald head, which was tan and spotted as a hen's egg, from him being outside at his loft. "Pigeon racing, bees, alla old. Egiziano."

"From the Egyptians?" Mary translated, surprised. "So is beekeeping."

"I 'ave bees, in Abruzzo, alla time." Pigeon Tony gestured with his gnarled hands. "I make 'oney, for Silvana, she love."

"Aw." Mary could see his eyes tear up at the mention of his late wife, so she let the topic alone. They all finished dinner, after which her father and The Tonys retired to the living room to watch the Phillies game, her mother went upstairs to bed, and Mary, Judy, and Anthony stayed at the table, talking over pignoli nut cookies and coffee strong enough to melt teeth.

The sun had set outside, the kitchen had cooled, and the play-by-play from the Phillies game blared from the living room, a half-step behind the play-by-play blaring from a neighbor's TV, which wafted through the screen like an electronic echo. Mary felt her mood depressing, and it wasn't a sugar crash. "I have to tell you," she said, picking pignoli nuts off a cookie, "I'm worried about this case."

Anthony put a gentle arm around her. "You shouldn't be worried about anything tonight, babe. This is your day to celebrate. You're a partner now."

Mary forced a smile. "But we partners are responsible people, especially when there's a kid involved."

Judy nodded. "I'm having buyer's remorse, too. You go first, Mare. Tell me what worries you."

"It's so emotional. If Allegra goes forward, it's so difficult for her and her family. It's hard enough to get over a murder the first time, much less to reopen it." Mary didn't need to remind anyone that she had lost her husband Mike La.s.siter to violent crime, many years ago. He had been struck and killed when he was riding his bike, and though it had looked like an accident, it had turned out to be murder. They had been married so young, only a year, and Mary felt haunted by the loss, still. She hadn't dated anyone seriously until Anthony, who had been so patient with the aftershocks of her grief. "And part of me thinks, what if her parents were right, and she is obsessed with her sister's murder?"

"I know. Who wouldn't be?" Judy shuddered. "Also she seems like the obsessive type, right? We get it, with the bees."

Mary winced, on Allegra's behalf. "She just likes bees. Why, didn't you get into anything at that age? Buy all the stuff, wear all the gear? Like me, with Catholicism."

Judy smiled because she was agnostic, and as such, incapable of disillusionment. "Do Brownies count? I was majorly into Brownies."

"It would be the last time you wore brown."

"Or matched." Judy smiled with her, then it faded. "Anyway, I think Allegra's wound too tight, for a kid."

Anthony nodded, listening. Mary and Judy had briefed him on the way home, and he was a good listener. He had to be, in this crowd. "I think lots of kids are, these days. There's too much pressure on them, and life is more complex than it ever was before. I see it in my students. Some of them, they break by the time they get to college."

Mary sipped her coffee, which tasted like distilled caffeine. "And the fact that she's a minor poses a lot of questions. Should we be talking with her parents before we go forward? We don't have to legally, but it might make sense to meet with them, just to get them on board."

Judy shook her head. "I don't agree. She can hire us, and there's nothing unethical about representing her. It's like a custody case, where a guardian ad litem is appointed. Allegra may be a minor, but she's ent.i.tled to an advocate."

Mary met her eye. "I know, but I'm just saying we might want to meet with the parents. I'd like to hear why they think Stall did it, and they're a good source of information until we get the police file."

"Why give them the chance to discourage us, or worse, block us?"

"We can deal with that, I just think it's respectful. Fiona was their daughter, and it's her murder."

"But Allegra is our client, and they gave her the go-ahead. We don't need their permission to proceed, and neither does Allegra."

"It's more respectful."

Judy snorted, and Mary didn't need her to elaborate. She had to stop asking permission for everything, because she was a partner now. She had to be more bada.s.s, get a tattoo or a nose ring.

"Let's both sleep on it."

"Okay." Judy wiped her mouth on a crumpled napkin. "You know what worries me? That this is a no-win situation. The way Allegra posed it today, she combined two questions that need to be separated. One, did Lonnie Stall commit the murder? That's hard enough to answer, but the second issue is even harder. Two, if Stall didn't do it, who did? It's completely possible that we could find exculpatory evidence on Stall, but still not figure out the answer to question two. In other words, who-dun-it."

Mary took an emergency sip of wine, which tasted dry and bitter. "Then Allegra and her family are left with no answer at all, like the rug was pulled out from under them. I don't want to break that kid's heart."

"Don't worry, sweetie, it'll be okay." Anthony put an arm around Mary and kissed her on the cheek. "Let's go home, okay? You're tired, I can see it."

"He's right, Mare." Judy looked over at Mary, with a sympathetic smile. "You're going into your pre-case funk. You think we're going to screw this up. You think we're not going to be able to figure it out. You can't believe we got ourselves into this in the first place. Stop now."

"I can't."

"You must. Go home, crazy. It's Monday, we'll deal tomorrow."

"Wait, let's do one thing before we leave." Mary jumped up, fetched her messenger bag from the floor, and slid out her laptop. "When you're nervous about work, the best thing to do is work."

"Now, babe?" Anthony groaned. "Can't we go home?"

"Soon, I swear, it won't take long. I want to Google Fiona's murder and get all the facts I can." Mary checked the oven clock as she put the laptop on the table and opened the lid. "It's only nine o'clock."

Judy clucked. "Boyfriend's right. Let's call it a day."

"Jude, you're going to do this when you go home and so am I, so why not do it together?" Mary woke up the computer and navigated to Google. "I just want to read a few articles about the case. This will take half an hour, tops, and I'll feel better if I can scope it out, so we can hit the ground running in the morning."

Anthony rose with a good-natured sigh. "Okay, I'll go watch the game with the boys."

"We'll be an hour." Mary started typing.

"We'll keep it short," Judy said, pulling over a chair.

And the two lawyers got busy.

Chapter Four.

"Thanks for hanging in," Mary told Anthony, as he steered the Prius onto Twentieth Street, looking for a parking s.p.a.ce near the house.

"No, I get it. I knew it would take longer than an hour."

"But not by much."

"Easy for you to say. You ever watch a game with Feet? He never shuts up. They should call him Mouth."

"Sorry." Mary's head was swimming with details of Fiona Gardner's murder, though the media seemed more concerned with the wealth of the family than the details of the case. "I learned a lot from the articles, though."

"How so?"

"The headline is that Lonnie Stall was a waiter hired by the catering company that the family used all the time for their parties."

"Okay." Anthony steered smoothly around the corner. There was almost no traffic and n.o.body was out on the street.

"They were going to make a presentation and somebody at the party realized Fiona was missing. They found her dead on the second floor, in the corporate library, which had been cordoned off, and Lonnie was fleeing the scene. She had been stabbed once, through the heart, but they caught him."

"Sounds like he did it."

"Also he's black."

"Who represented him?"

"A guy I never heard of. I can't wait to see that file." Mary bit her lip, looking out the window into the night. It was dark and muggy outside, and she felt encased in the air-conditioned car, insulated from the grit of the city. They turned onto Twentieth Street again, and she realized they were on their fifth drive around the block. They lived in the Rittenhouse Square neighborhood, which meant that they circled for a parking s.p.a.ce like a s.p.a.ceship in orbit, praying for a docking station. "Babe, now that I'm partner, we should rent a parking s.p.a.ce."

"We're gonna luck out."

Mary sighed inwardly. "It would be so much easier if we were in the garage. We could just pull in and be done with it."

"It's not that hard to find a s.p.a.ce."

"It would save time. They have a guy there twenty-four hours."

"Nah, we're fine without one." Anthony fed the car gas. "We don't need everything easy, do we?"

"Honestly, yes, we do. Why not?"

"There are $780 worth of reasons why not."

Mary closed her eyes, frustrated with herself. She really needed to be more of a bada.s.s. She had the money to get them a s.p.a.ce in the garage, and she shouldn't have to ask Anthony's permission to spend her own money. They'd had the same issue with the house, which she could afford but he couldn't, and they'd almost broken up when she paid the down-payment. They'd worked it out, so he'd moved in, paying half the mortgage and expenses, but she felt like she was always asking him to spend her money or to do her job, like after dinner. Other than that, she was blissfully happy and in love, for the past several years.

"Don't be that way," Anthony said, softly.

"Sorry, but it bugs me."

"I know. Gimme one more lap, then we'll put it in the pay lot for the night."

"I won't have time to move it in the morning."

"I'll do it, no worries."