Lady Killer

by Lisa Scottoline

  Mary felt a chill. “You won’t able to do that so easily, Giulia.”

  “Sure I will. I’ll just ask Yo for it. I lent it to her.” Giulia turned to Trish again. “It wasn’t my ring to lend anybody. I didn’t have the right, I know. I shoulda asked you, T, but I didn’t.”

  “What happened?” Trish asked, with a frown, and Mary’s heart leaped up.

  Giulia continued, “Yo was over my house, sometime last year, and she saw your ring in my jewelry box, and she knew it was yours, so she asked could she borrow it. I forget why.” She thought a minute. “It was Halloween, that’s right, and she wanted to be a gypsy for that party at Rock Lobster. Remember when we all went to that party?”

  Trish nodded. “Sure, and we got so wasted on the appletinis?”

  “Yeah, and I said that’s a good gypsy ring because opals are like crystal balls kinda, and I lent it to Yo without askin’ you.”

  Mary almost cried with relief. “So Yolanda has it? Not you?”

  “Yeah.” Giulia nodded, her dark curls bouncing. “Now can we go out? Or are you too mad at me, T?”

  “I’m not mad, honey,” Trish told her with a soft smile.

  So Yolanda did it. But why? The same reason? Loyalty to a girlfriend? Then Mary remembered that Yolanda was always the unhappy one, and she had a gun, too.

  “We can ask Yo for it, in a minute.” Giulia gestured behind her. “She’s meetin’ us here, with Missy. I came separate because Joe and me went out to dinner.”

  In the next minute, there was the sound of singing in the stairway, and the door opened. Yolanda stuck her head inside, her long hair swinging and a crooked grin on her face. “You guys decent?” she asked, guffawing, then burst unsteadily into the room, her leather coat barely covering a supershort black dress with black suede boots.

  Giulia rolled her eyes. “You started drinkin’ already?”

  “Okay, so I had a lil’ somethin’ somethin’.” Yolanda grinned. “Don’t worry, Missy’s drivin’. She’s outside, she hadda park.”

  “Yo.” Giulia touched her arm. “Can you hear me?”

  “Gimme a break. I’m not that out of it.”

  “Listen, remember that opal ring?”

  “What oval ring?”

  “The opal ring I lent you, Trish’s ring. You wore it to the party, last Halloween.”

  “At Rock Lobster? When I was the gypsy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Told you I’m not that drunk.”

  “Whatev. Trish wants her ring back.”

  Yolanda blinked, confused.

  “Do you have it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you lose it, you idiot?”

  “No.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I’m trying to remember.” Yolanda squinted hard. “That was the night with the appletinis, and it was so cold out, and we came back here, right?”

  Giulia nodded. “Right, Yo. We came back here because we drank too much and we all crashed in T’s room, right here. We didn’t go back to T’s house because we knew Bobby would throw a fit.” She turned to Trish. “Remember, T? You, me, and Missy slep’ on the floor, and we let Yo have the bed because she passed out and we couldn’t move her?”

  Trish kept frowning. “Yeah, I guess. But what happened to my ring, Yo?”

  “I took it off in here,” Yolanda answered, pointing at the table. “I put it right under the lamp. I figured you’d see it in the morning. Didn’t you?”

  Mary felt stricken, thinking of the implications.

  Trish seemed to freeze. “You’re wrong. You didn’t do that.”

  “Did, too,” Yolanda said.

  “You’re too drunk to remember.”

  “I’m not that drunk, and I remember.” Yolanda pointed again at the night table. “I put it right there. I was sure you’d see it. Anybody comin’ into the room woulda seen it. Ask your mom. I’m sure she saw it.”

  Giulia looked over, nodding. “Yeah, T, your mom probably found it. I’m sure it’s safe.”

  Trish looked stricken, and Mary didn’t know what to say. Suddenly Missy stuck her head in the doorway and called out, “Let’s get this party started!”

  Trish scrambled off the bed and onto her feet. “Everybody, go. Now. I don’t wanna go out partyin’. I don’t feel good. I need to just chill, by myself.”

  No. Mary rose, facing her. She wasn’t about to leave. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Trish shot back, nervous. Her gaze shifted to the girls. “Get out, all of you.”

  “What’s goin’ on?” Missy asked, entering the bedroom.

  “Get out!” Trish shouted, and Giulia recoiled.

  “What’sa matter, T?”

  Yolanda shook her head, her expression muzzy. “No way, girl. Time to party.”

  “Get out, all of you!” Trish exploded, and the girls jumped, confused. Missy fled outside, followed by Yolanda.

  “Jeez, T.” Giulia was bewildered. “All this, ’cause of a ring? What’d I do?”

  “Just go, G. You and Mary, get outta my house.” Trish stepped forward suddenly and pushed her.

  “What the—” Giulia stumbled back, hurt.

  “Go!” Trish screamed, and Giulia’s lined eyes flew wide open.

  “Giulia, please go.” Mary gave her the nod, and Giulia headed out the door.

  Trish turned on Mary. “You, too. Go.”

  “No, Trish.” Mary set her jaw. “I’m not going. This ends here and now.”

  “Get out.” Trish shoved Mary against the desk, pushing her off balance, and her arms pinwheeled, knocking the bulletin board off the wall with a loud clunk.

  “Trish?” Mrs. Gambone called from downstairs. “What’s goin’ on up there?”

  “Ma, don’t come up!” Trish shouted, but Mary grabbed her arm.

  “She talks to me or I tell the cops. Which is it?”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” Trish shot back, her teeth clenched.

  “Come up, Mrs. Gambone,” Mary shouted, going to the door with Trish on her heels.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “What’s going on here?” Mrs. Gambone appeared in the doorway. She looked down at the bulletin board on the floor, then up at Trish and Mary in surprise. “Are you fighting?”

  “Ma, don’t tell her anything,” Trish said, frantic. “Don’t say anything.”

  Mary ignored her. “Mrs. Gambone,” she said, “where is Trish’s opal ring? You had it and the cops found it in the alley, beside Bobby’s—”

  “No, Ma, it’s not true,” Trish interrupted, but Mrs. Gambone only blinked in response.

  Mary said, “It is true, Mrs. Gambone. Tell me how it got there, in the alley.”

  “Ma, no.” Trish wailed and threw her arms around her mother. But Mrs. Gambone stood oddly still, her lined face a mask, and in the next second, her features seemed to surrender, her eyebrows sloping down, her eyelids sagging, and her thin lips drawn at the corners of her mouth.

  “I need to sit down,” she said, wearily, and when Trish released her, she walked to the bed.

  “Tell me what happened.” Mary pulled up the desk chair, and Mrs. Gambone eased onto the edge of the bed like a much older woman. She folded her hands in her lap, and her shoulders slumped, her chest almost concave in the pink sweatshirt.

  Trish sat beside her, her arms around her. “Ma, you don’t have to tell her anything, you know that. They can’t prove anything.”

  “Yes, they can.” Mary looked directly at Mrs. Gambone. “They know about the ring. All the girls know Trish didn’t have it. Sooner or later, the truth’s going to come out.”

  “No, Ma—,” Trish began, but her mother cut her off with a wave.

  “I want to…I just don’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Mary answered, her heart beginning to hammer. “That night. Trish’s birthday.”

  “No, that’s not the beginning.” Mrs. Gambone shook her head, and Trish seemed to gr
ow still at her side. “The beginning was a long time ago, when Bobby turned on Trish, yellin’ at her, makin’ her miserable. Abusin’ her. That was the beginning.”

  “Okay.”

  “I couldn’t do anything. Trish couldn’t do anything.” Mrs. Gambone stopped and looked at her daughter with love, then reached out and brushed a stray tendril from her forehead. “Right, baby?”

  Trish nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

  “It’s okay now. He’s gone.”

  Mary felt a chill, waiting, and Mrs. Gambone’s gaze returned to Mary, her manner almost conversational.

  “I could see how unhappy she was, but she didn’t complain. Trish was never a complainer. She was always a tough girl, a strong girl, like me. Never asked nobody for nothing’. Always supported myself. Never had a man support me. I’m proud a that.”

  “You should be,” Mary said, meaning it.

  “Trish’s father, he was the same as Bobby. Nice in the beginning, to sucker you in, then it all turns to crap. He ran aroun’, he drank, he started knockin’ me aroun’. I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t take it. I wasn’t one a those wimps you see on TV. I threw his ass outta here. I made my own money, down at the shop. I didn’t need his.”

  “I understand.” Mary did. That Mrs. Gambone had lived a hard life was written all over her face.

  “Trish couldn’t do that with Bobby. She couldn’t throw him out, not with him connected. She was trapped and she knew it. So did I.” Mrs. Gambone eyed Mary hard, her crows’-feet deep. “How do you think that feels? A mother, knowin’ your baby’s dyin’ a little, every day? Day by day?”

  Mary couldn’t answer. She was in no position to judge. For a minute, she was thinking of another baby.

  “So that night, on her birthday, she told me what she was afraid of, and I was afraid, too. I was on pins and needles all week, worryin’ about her, crazy that that piece of garbage would hurt my daughter—maybe even kill my daughter—on the very day I’d brought her into this world. I hated him for that, I hated him deep in my heart for that.” Mrs. Gambone’s features darkened. “That night, Trish was gonna call me to tell me she was okay. I waited for her call, but the phone never rang. When I finally got her message, she was afraid, but I couldn’t hear all of it. The connection was so bad. I didn’t even know where she was.”

  Mary remembered. Her cell phone hadn’t worked in the Poconos either.

  “I knew her voice, the way she sounded, the tone, from when she was a baby. A mother knows. She was afraid, terrified, for her life. The message said Bobby just left the room, and he was gonna be back and she thought he was gonna kill her. Then, next thing I knew I didn’t hear anything else. The phone went dead, and I screamed. I screamed, I couldn’t stop. My friends, they were all here, they couldn’t stop me. I thought, he just killed my baby.”

  Mary swallowed, recalling that night at her parents’ house, and Mrs. Gambone’s raw anguish.

  “I called the cops, I called the Missing Persons, I did everything I was supposed to do. That’s when I went to your parents, I was beside myself.”

  Trish took her mother’s hands in hers.

  “After I went home, I told everybody to go, that I wanted to sleep. I needed to be alone. I sent them home, I made them go and I had my house to myself. I was alone, really alone, because Trish was gone.” Mrs. Gambone looked at her daughter again with a profoundly sad smile. Her eyes were dry but Trish’s weren’t, and she continued her story, matter-of-factly. “I went into her bedroom and sat here a long time. Right here. I looked at the desk, and the shelves, and the stuffed animals and the pictures on the bulletin board. I saw all the things she loved in this room.”

  Mrs. Gambone paused, her gaze wandering around the room almost happily, and Mary could see her soak in every detail, the times of a child’s life, lost everywhere but in the memory of her mother.

  Mrs. Gambone continued, “Then I saw the ring, on the floor next to the night table. I gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday. It was right there, like a sign. I picked it up and I held it and I could almost feel my baby, alive again. I could see it on her finger. I could see her hand. I could even see her face when I gave it to her, how happy she was, and now she was dead. She was miserable for so long, and I let it happen. I stood by and let it happen.”

  “No, Ma,” Trish whispered, but Mrs. Gambone shook her head.

  “Yes, I did. I didn’t take care of you. I was put on this earth to take care of you and I let you down, all that time. Maybe he didn’t kill you that night, but he killed you a long time ago. You’re not the girl you used to be, light and happy inside, you know that. I knew it, too, and I just watched. Your own mother just watched. I put the ring on my finger, just to have some of you, whatever was left.”

  A tear ran down Trish’s cheek, and Mrs. Gambone sighed.

  “I went in my room and got my gun, the one Trish gave me. She got it from him, from Bobby. I thought, ‘Good.’ I knew he worked the corner at Kennick, and I knew that sooner or later, he had to go back to that corner to make some money.” Mrs. Gambone looked at Trish. “I didn’t know he was in the Poconos. I just lucked out, he came back to the city. God was lookin’ out for me. I know that sounds strange, that God would help you do somethin’ like that, but he was.”

  Trish wiped the tear away, but said nothing.

  “So I got in my car, and I drove to Kennick, and pretty soon I saw a pickup truck near the corner. I only noticed it ’cause there wasn’t a contractor sign on the side, and if you’re not a contractor, why you need a big truck like that in South Philly?” Mrs. Gambone smiled, but it faded quickly. “And what do I see next but him gettin’ out of it. I didn’t know where he got the truck, but I’d know him anywhere. And he wasn’t with Trish, so I thought he musta killed her. I mean, how could I not? We were all worried about what was gonna happen when she told him no, she didn’t wanna marry him, and after that phone call, I thought I jus’ heard my baby’s last words alive.”

  Mary blinked. It was an awful mistake, a horrendous mistake, but she could see how Mrs. Gambone had made it.

  “So I followed him, and when he saw me, he was surprised, and we stepped a little into the alley. I asked him, ‘What did you do to my daughter, you bastard,’ and he laughed and he said, ‘She’s gone, that dumb bitch,’ and he kinda laughed again, and that was it.” Mrs. Gambone’s eyes flickered. “As soon as he turned his back, I pulled the gun outta my pocket and I shot him in the head, just like that. I wasn’t even thinking. It was like somebody else done it. Then I got outta the alley, back into the car, and drove home. I didn’t remember about the ring. Wasn’t thinking about the ring. It musta slipped offa my finger. And then I heard that my baby was alive.”

  Mrs. Gambone’s face changed, coming to life as if from a nightmare, and she looked over, almost confused to see Trish break down. Her voice soft, she said, “Don’t cry, baby. He deserved everything he got, and I shoulda done it a long time ago. I got everything I wanted, all my prayers answered. You’re alive, and he’s dead.”

  Mary shuddered, watching Mrs. Gambone cradle Trish tenderly against her sweatshirt. The daughter’s sobbing wracked her body, coming hoarse and deep, from the depths of her, and Mary couldn’t help but feel awful for them both, despite what Mrs. Gambone had done. Not that it was right, but that it was human, a mother protecting her child.

  It’s more than I did.

  Mary flushed with shame, distinctly unworthy to condemn Mrs. Gambone, as she watched her comfort Trish. Then another thought struck her. Mrs. Gambone had let her grief and her guilt destroy her life, and so had Mary. If she didn’t let it go, it would eat her alive. It was time to put the past back where it belonged. Behind her.

  “What happens now, Ma?” Trish sobbed. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know, baby.” Mrs. Gambone rocked Trish in her arms. “I don’t know.” Her gaze shifted to Mary. “You’re a lawyer. What do I do now?”

  “You have a few options,” Mary answered,
shifting gears. “You can turn yourself in and accept responsibility for the murder, and then you can either plead guilty and make a deal or you can go to trial and make them prove their case.”

  Mrs. Gambone sighed again, but Trish tilted her face up from her mother’s embrace, her cheeks stained with tears and her glistening eyes hopeful.

  “Why, Mare? Why should she say anything? Why does she have to turn herself in? What if she doesn’t tell the cops anything? What if she just shuts up?”

  Mrs. Gambone looked over, and Mary blinked, plunged suddenly into a conspiracy of silence. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Mrs. Gambone would keep it a secret.

  Trish sat up suddenly, wiping her eyes, and looked at her mother. “Keep it quiet, Ma. The cops don’t know a thing about you. The girls don’t even know, and this, they’d shut up about anyway.”

  Mary looked from daughter to mother and back again, realizing how naive she must have been, and how unprofessional. She’d wanted Mrs. Gambone to turn herself in, but that wasn’t in her interest. It might be justice, but it wasn’t law. Mary found herself in the middle of an ethical dilemma as Mrs. Gambone and Trish turned to her.

  “Mare, you have to tell the cops on me, don’t you?” Mrs. Gambone’s asked. “You have to because you’re a lawyer.”

  Trish sat beside her, equally puzzled. “No, you’re not allowed to tell the cops, are you, Mare? I mean, my mom’s your client, and this is all confidential, right?”

  “Slow down, ladies.” Mary put up both hands, wondering how she’d gotten herself into this mess. She’d thought the hard part was figuring out whodunit, but this was even harder. “As a legal matter, I have no obligation under Pennsylvania law to tell the cops what you just told me. But as a moral matter, I feel differently.” She paused, emotion confusing her reasoning. “Mrs. Gambone, I understand why you did what you did that night, but I believe in the law and I don’t think you can take it into your own hands.”

  Trish gasped. “Bobby was gonna kill me, Mare.”

  “Not then he wasn’t. Not in the alley he wasn’t. He was an awful person, but he was still a person.” Mary found herself thinking not of Bobby, but of Rosaria, grief stricken. “I’m sure the facts will help your mom get a good plea bargain, maybe downgrade the charge from murder to voluntary manslaughter. She has no record and she just lost it, thinking Bobby had murdered you. It’s almost like a temporary insanity defense, and the sentence for manslaughter could be as low as five years. Or if she went to trial, the facts could even persuade the jury to let her off. It happens.”