Lady Killer

by Lisa Scottoline

  HONK! went a car horn, and Mary yelped. A red VW Golf with a teenage boy driving screeched through the intersection. She’d run the stop sign.

  “Sorry!” she called out, lowering her window, but the teenager flipped her the bird, then zoomed off, which was when she looked out of her open window.

  Rolli’s, read the neon sign, flickering. It was another neighborhood restaurant, on the corner. She remembered that Bobby used to mention the place. He used to bus tables there, after school, in the off-season, and once, driving past, she’d seen him coming out. She flashed on the memory, like a snapshot: a tall young man, his bangs catching the wind, wearing a football jacket. He lets the screen door bang closed behind him. He slides a toothpick into the side of his mouth.

  Mary pushed it away and eyed the place. Rolli’s was only two blocks from Bobby’s house, and now that she knew how miserable his home life had been, she understood why he’d hung out there. She considered it. If he used to go to Rolli’s a lot, maybe he still did. What was it Brinkley had said? People like patterns. Maybe Bobby had taken Eyes in there. Maybe Mary didn’t have to wait until tonight. It could be time that Trish didn’t have.

  Mary pulled over and was braking when her phone rang. She checked the screen. “Anthony?”

  “Mary?”

  “Hey.” She heard the warmth in her own voice. She had to admit she couldn’t sound cool. She didn’t feel cool. She felt melty, emotional, and caffeinated, and she was crashing at the intersection of three men.

  “How are you?” Anthony asked. “I was thinking about you, after last night.”

  “Me, too,” Mary heard herself say.

  “Kind of a heavy night. Did you sleep?”

  “Not really.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the neighborhood.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh…a case.”

  “Really?” Anthony sounded dubious “You’re not looking for Trish, are you? You heard Detective Brinkley.”

  “Uh, no. I’m working.”

  “After your meeting, why don’t you take a break? Come over for lunch. You haven’t had my Bolognese sauce, which I learned to make in Bologna.”

  “I can’t. Work, work, work.”

  “When then?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mary answered. She felt distracted by Rolli’s. Thinking about all the things she should have done, but didn’t.

  “You there?”

  “Huh?” Mary caught herself. She had to go. She didn’t have time for this. If she could just put him on hold. How can you tell a man to wait while you track down a dead mobster? It’s not a good way to start a relationship.

  “You know, I can’t figure you out. Half the time you’re blowing me off, and half the time you’re not.”

  Gulp. “Anthony, I’m not blowing you off but I have to go. I’ll call you back in half an hour.”

  “Forget it—”

  “No, really, I will, I swear it.”

  “Okay, great,” Anthony said abruptly, then hung up.

  Mary slipped the phone into her purse, parked the car, and went into Rolli’s, which turned out to be the opposite of Biannetti’s in every way. It was tiny, but bright and clean, with only one of twelve tables occupied. Cheery flowered tablecloths covered the little square tables, and the air smelled like stale Parmesan and Lysol. An old TV mounted in the corner played ESPN with closed captioning, but there was no bar. Mary looked around for a hostess, but seeing none, sat down and waited. She looked over at the occupied table, where two older women sat behind plates of ravioli. After five minutes, she called out to them, “Excuse me, is there a waitress around?”

  “Wha?” one of the women asked, her gnarled hand fluttering to her ear, feeling if her hearing aid was turned on. Mary knew the gesture. Her father had a hearing aid he turned off whenever the Phillies started losing. She craned her neck to the back of the room, where fluorescent light spilled from an open doorway into what had to be the kitchen. She got up and went over.

  “Hello?” Mary called out at the threshold, but there was no answer, so she stepped inside. It was empty. Stainless-steel counters ran the full length of the room, and an array of steel ladles, spoons, and spatulas hung from hooks on the back wall. A huge pot of gravy sat on the stove, but it wasn’t bubbling, and the kitchen smelled oddly of sawdust. “Hello?”

  “Be right there!” a voice called back, and a short, middle-aged man with black hair and dark skin emerged from the back pantry, holding a commercial-size can of Cento tomatoes. “I’m Jorge, can I help you?” he asked, his accent Hispanic.

  “I didn’t see a waitress.”

  “Sorry, she’s late. Please, go sit, and I’ll be right out.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for a man named Eyes. I don’t know his real name, but I think he was a friend of Bobby Mancuso, who worked here a long time ago. I’m hoping that he still might come in here and that he brought Eyes with him.”

  “Bobby?” Jorge asked, his expression somber. He set down the big tomato can, clank against the steel counter, then wiped his hands on his full-length apron. “We’re all so sad about Bobby. So sad.”

  “You know him?” Mary asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, sure. Bobby, he come in here, all the time. It’s terrible he died. Such a young man.”

  “He was.” It struck Mary that nobody at Biannetti’s had looked like they were in mourning, even the day after his murder. “How often did he come in?”

  “Like I say, all the time, for dinner. He liked the cannelloni. Three times a week, maybe more.”

  “Was this recently?” Mary felt her heartbeat quicken.

  “Sure, all the time.”

  Mary didn’t understand it. Trish’s diary had said that Bobby went to Biannetti’s all the time, but there hadn’t been any references to Rolli’s. Between here and Biannetti’s, he must have been in a carb frenzy.

  “You a cop, Miss?”

  Mary introduced herself. “No, I’m an old friend of Bobby’s, from way back.”

  Jorge’s dark eyes narrowed.

  “For real. I dated him in high school. Did he ever come in with a man named Eyes?”

  “No.” Jorge shook his head. “He come in alone.”

  “Always alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Damn. “Not even with Trish, his girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  Mary made a mental note. She was fresh out of leads, unless she wanted to follow a fleet of Cadillacs. “So you don’t know who Eyes is?”

  “No, sorry,” Jorge answered, then gestured at the doorway behind Mary. “But she might. This is Latreece, our waitress. She used to wait on Bobby all the time.”

  Mary turned around, and standing in the doorway was a petite black woman wearing an oversized Baby Phat coat with tight jeans and a midnight green Eagles cap, pulled low.

  “Sorry I’m late. It was just too hard to get here today.” Latreece slid the cap from her head, and Mary almost gasped. She was a young woman with a beautiful face, and her skin set off her most striking feature—a stunning pair of jade-green eyes, faintly Asian in shape.

  “Eyes?” Mary blurted out, in disbelief.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Mary and Latreece sat down in white plastic chairs in a hallway to a tiny pantry of unpainted drywall, lined with boxes of canned goods and rolls of plastic-wrapped paper towels. A panel of fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows on Latreece’s face, but it couldn’t make her ugly, even grieving as she was. Her eyes, puffy and slightly bloodshot, still shone that exotic green and her fine, high cheekbones tapered to a delicate chin and soft mouth. She wore her hair natural and short, with simple gold hoops. In a different life, Latreece would have been a model, and Mary wanted to know everything about her.

  “So you’re Eyes?” she asked, amazed.

  “Yes. Bobby called me that the first time I waited on him.” Latreece smiled, her face lighting up. “I loved it. Made me feel like a spy. Most men, all they
see is my boobs.”

  Mary believed it. Latreece had on a stretchy black T-shirt, revealing an amazing body. “Not a problem I have.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Right. “So when did you meet him?”

  “About four years ago. I waited on him and we got to talking.” Latreece’s tone was feminine and girlish, which made sense, because she looked about twenty-five. “He worked here a long time ago. He loved this place, even though, well, you see it.” Latreece gestured down the hall. “It’s had better days. He said it was like some old TV show. Cheers. He always said Rolli’s was a place where everybody knows your name.”

  Mary thought of Rosaria. It had been about four years ago that she had become estranged from Bobby.

  “We got to know each other, and we started, you know, seeing each other. I knew about Trish, but that didn’t matter, not really. He loved me and he took good care of me and my daughter. She’s seven.” Latreece’s lower lip trembled. “Damn, I thought I was all cried out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know what it sounds like. What I sound like.” Latreece recovered, eyeing her pointedly with those fiery green gems. “Just so you understand, it wasn’t just sex. We loved each other. He had a good side, a wonderful side, and I loved him.”

  “I understand.” More than you know.

  “I didn’t want to marry him. Stop. I’m lying.” Latreece paused. “Well, in the beginning I did, but then I saw it wasn’t gonna happen, and the way it was, it worked for us.” She got lost in thought, momentarily. “Early on, I kept thinking, maybe he’ll leave her. But I always knew he wouldn’t. My brain knew better than my heart, you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was crazy about Trish. He loved her.”

  Mary flashed on the horrific Polaroids, in the diary. “But he abused her, Latreece.”

  “I know, I guessed it. I’m young but I wasn’t born yesterday. I left home when I got pregnant and I’ve been supporting myself since then. I danced for a long time.”

  “Danced?”

  Latreece laughed softly. “In a club.”

  “Oh.” Mary smiled. “That kind of dancing. I don’t get out much.”

  “Anyway, I knew he had a temper, especially when he drank.”

  “He drank a lot.”

  “I know. It was part of the reason I didn’t wanna marry him.” Latreece shook her head sadly. “But I can’t believe what happened…it’s horrible.”

  “Do you think he killed her? She was terrified he would.”

  “God knows.” Latreece looked crestfallen, her eyebrows sloping down. “I don’t think he would. Not if he thought about it, not if he had the chance to think. Not if he was sober.” She emitted a deep sigh. “He wasn’t mean, inside.”

  “Did he say anything about asking to marry her soon? Or would he not talk to you about that?”

  “Sure, he talked about it. We’d be in bed, talking about it.” Latreece shrugged. “Sounds weird but it’s true. We talked about her a lot, mostly that he thought she was cheating on him.”

  Whoa. “Really?”

  “He used to worry she was, all the time. He got obsessed. He called her all the time, to try and catch her.”

  Mary didn’t get it. “But he was cheating.”

  Latreece smiled crookedly. “So? Okay if he did it, not if she did.”

  “Did he suspect any man in particular?”

  “Anybody, everybody. Men who came into the salon, mostly.”

  “Did he name anyone, that you remember?”

  “No.”

  Mary wasn’t sure why she’d asked, anyway. “Did you see him last week at all?”

  “Sure, twice.”

  “At the restaurant?”

  “He came in late, ate, and then took me home. That’s what we always did.”

  Mary thought of Trish’s diary, and the fights they’d had after he’d come home from Biannetti’s. Rolli’s hadn’t been mentioned once. The conclusion was obvious. “He didn’t tell Trish he came here, did he?”

  “No way.”

  “I think he told her he went to Biannetti’s, but really, he came here, where he could see you.”

  “Probably.”

  Mary filed it away. “Did he mention that he was going to ask Trish to marry him, on her birthday?”

  “No.” Latreece thought a minute. “But he was in a bad mood. He was drinking a little heavier than usual though. I thought he had a lot on his mind.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  “I thought it was work.”

  “So you knew he was in the Mob.”

  “Of course.” Latreece smiled without mirth. “I knew what he did for a living, but I knew him as a man, too, and I don’t judge.”

  “Even with the drug sales?”

  “Please. Bobby isn’t the first person I know who sells, and he won’t be the last.” Latreece shook her head. “He was jus’ lost, like a little boy. He was gonna get out and he almost did.”

  “Did he mention any friends he had, in the Mob?”

  “He didn’t have any friends in the Mob.”

  “Did he ever mention a guy named Cadillac? Or a woman?” Mary had learned her lesson.

  “No.”

  “Ever bring them in here?”

  “No way.”

  “Okay.” Mary had to get to the point. “I spoke with his sister and he told her he had a house, one that he could get lost to, when he left the Mob. Did he tell you about that?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Latreece nodded. “I didn’t know anything about that.”

  Mary tried not to get discouraged. “If he were to buy a house, do you have any idea where it could be?”

  “No.”

  “Please. Think.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m wondering if he took Trish there.”

  Latreece only shook her head, again. “I don’t remember him ever talking about anyplace other than the neighborhood. He went to school here. He’d never been anywhere else.”

  Like me. “Let’s think about this. His sister told me he wanted to get out of the Mob someday, get away from them.”

  “He used to say that but I never took it serious.” Latreece snorted. “Good luck.”

  “Did he ever mention a vacation spot he liked?”

  “No.”

  Mary wracked her brain. “I keep thinking that if I were going to buy a house, I’d buy it near something I liked to do. For example, if I fished, I’d buy near water.”

  “He didn’t fish,” Latreece said.

  “Or swim.”

  “He didn’t swim? How could he not swim?”

  “City boy. I can’t either.” Mary asked, “Did he have any hobbies you knew of?”

  Latreece only chuckled.

  Mary wracked her brain. “Did he ever mention to you any trips he took out of town? Like when he came back?”

  “No.”

  “But he’d have to go out of town to find a place, to buy it, and to check on it once in a while.” Mary was thinking out loud. “If it needed work, he’d have to work on it, or close it up for the winter, or do whatever people do.”

  “Winterize.”

  “Whatever.” Mary had no idea.

  “Gotta turn off the water, wrap up the hot water heater, put some dehumidifiers in, so mold won’t grow on the walls.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Everybody knows that.”

  “I don’t.” Mary smiled.

  “That’s because you’re a city girl.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Hell, no. Why’d you think that? Because I’m black?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “I’m a country girl from up north, near the Poconos. I grew up in Bonnyhart, north of the Delaware Water Gap. You know the area?”

  “I’ve heard of it but I’ve never been there.”

  “Oh, it’s a beautiful place, near the Jersey border. Don’t ge
t me started. Trees, forests, all natural. You can walk in the woods forever. I love it up there.” Latreece’s grin transformed her face. “The air is so fresh, and the people so nice. My daughter loves it, too. I go up all the time to see my daddy, who still lives there. We were the only black family in town, but we had been there so long, we were accepted. Everybody was friendly, too. Everybody was a neighbor, not like here.”

  Mary let go of the irony. “You grew up there?”

  “Sure did. We lived in a cabin in the woods. Daddy hunted, and I took care of the chickens and a pig we had. Oinker. We had deer meatballs, deer jerky, deer everything. We practically lived off the land.”

  “I thought the Poconos were more developed than that. I mean, you see all the honeymoon packages.”

  “Not in Bonnyhart, even now. There was nobody there. You could walk for days and not see another person.” Latreece’s voice grew lighter. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world and it’s right here, in Pennsylvania.”

  Mary’s thoughts raced ahead. “Did you ever tell Bobby about this town?”

  “Sure.” Latreece laughed. “You couldn’t shut me up about it. My daughter, neither. He used to tease me all the time. He said, ‘If I had a dime for every time you talked about Bonnyhart, I’d be set for life.’” Suddenly her eyes widened, and Mary had the same thought.

  “Maybe that’s where he bought?” She felt a tingle of excitement. “Can you give me directions to Bonnyhart?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Mary listened to the phone ring three times, then Anthony’s voicemail came on, so she said, “Sorry I didn’t call you back. If you’re there, would you pick up?” She listened to the silence, then swung the car onto Broad Street. “I’m not blowing you off, but I got held up at my meeting, and I’m sorry. Please call when you can.”

  She pressed End, then put her emotions aside. She couldn’t worry about her love life now; she had a decent lead to follow. She could be up there in three hours. She started the ignition, hit the gas, and headed for Broad Street, toward the Expressway. She set the phone on the passenger seat, in case Anthony called back.