“Anger Management Boy.” Anne sipped her wine. The thought of Dietz killed her mood and she took a bigger sip. “What did he want?”
“To see me. He said it was important. I think I may be getting my old job back.” Matt took a swig of his wine and was already getting up, and Anne felt happy for him. Sort of.
“Dietz assaulted us both. Why do you like him so much?”
Matt looked conflicted. “He just told me, he’s sorry he pushed you. He lost his temper.”
“Oh, that makes it okay.” Anne took a gulp of merlot. It tasted terrific. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten and was starting not to care.
“I’m sorry to run out on you. I have to go over to the house.”
“See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.” Anne took a final gulp, draining the glass. “If you become opposing counsel again, then we’re over until the trial ends. I’m a brunette now and we’re not as loose as redheads.”
“Oh, all right. Be that way.” Matt leaned down and gave her a quick good-bye kiss. “Will you be okay? You seem okay.”
“I’m more than okay.” Anne poured herself another glass of merlot and hoisted the bottle, channeling a tipsy Lucy Ricardo. “’The answer to all your problems is in this lil ole bottle.’”
“Vitametavegamin!” Matt said with a smile, and Anne couldn’t believe her ears.
“You know Vitametavegamin?” she asked, astounded. “From ‘Lucy Does a Television Commercial’? Episode No. 30, May 5, 1952?”
Matt laughed. “I don’t know the dates, but I know the episodes. The chocolate factory, stomping the grapes, crushing the eggs, baby chicks, Teensy and Weensy, you name it. My mother was a Lucy freak, too.”
“I think I’m in love,” Anne said, meaning it, and Matt blew her another kiss before he opened the door and hustled out, leaving her with a bottle of merlot, a bucket of suds, and a tingle of hope.
She got up, relatched the chain, and began to collect the gloves, sponge, and bucket to get ready for painting. She was working only five minutes when the doorbell rang again. Ha! Matt must have forgotten something. Maybe the rest of her toast? Maybe another kiss. A random firecracker exploded somewhere with a distant crak! It had been that way since she’d gotten home.
“Coming, Matt!” she called out, getting up to answer the door. She undid the chain lock without checking the peephole because she knew it was Matt.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Matt.
32
On the front step stood Beth Dietz and she looked like she’d been crying. “Can . . . I come in?” Sobs choked her voice, and she was trembling in shorts and her peasant blouse. “Bill and I, we just had a big fight about that stalker, Kevin. I heard on the news, he’s dead.”
“Sure, come in. We should talk about it.” Anne instantly felt terrible and ushered Beth inside, closing the door behind her and latching the chain-lock reflexively. But when she turned around, Beth had stopped crying and was pointing a black handgun at her.
My God. It took Anne a second to process. Then she opened her mouth to scream.
“Shut the fuck up!” Beth was already pressing the gun into Anne’s chest, shoving her back against the door. The gun was cold and hard. The barrel drilled into her sternum, leaving her gasping.
“What are you doing, Beth?” Anne asked, hoarse, She tried not to panic. She went weak in the knees. She could barely look over the deadly gun into Beth’s eyes, red with spent tears.
“When did you start sleeping with Gil, Anne? I want to know!”
“Beth, please, put down the gun.” Anne’s tongue still tasted of wine, but its effects had vanished. “If you want to talk about something, we can talk about it. But not with a gun—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Beth bellowed, her fair skin mottled. Her blond braid was in disarray, her lips trembling with anger. “Tell me when you started fucking Gil! It was you he wanted all along!”
“No, never.” Anne shook her head in disbelief. She flashed on the scene in the conference room, when Gil was drunk. Then the call on the cell phone tonight. “I never felt anything for Gil. I never did anything—”
“Liar!” Beth screamed. “He used to talk about you all the time, and when we broke up and I filed suit, he went and hired you!” The gun bored into Anne, making her breathless with fear.
“No, please—” Tears sprang to Anne’s eyes. She imagined the bullet tearing into her, ripping flesh and heart. She flashed on her entrance hall, drenched in blood. She knew just what it would look like. She’d be shot to death in her entrance hall. The horror had come full circle.
“I loved him and you took him from me!” Beth shouted, her features contorted with fury, spitting into Anne’s face. “He didn’t mean anything to you! I was going to leave Bill for him, but it was you he wanted! And you’re already on to Matt! Bill was right about that, you are a whore!”
Anne struggled to regain control. She had to do something. She tried to think.
“I was here Friday night!” Beth ranted. “I wanted to kill you for what you did to me, and I did, I killed you! But it turned out it wasn’t you at the door! And now Gil saved your life, I saw it on TV! Now he’s more in love with you than ever!”
Anne’s brain jolted with the revelation. Kevin wasn’t the murderer. It was Beth who had killed Willa. Her thoughts raced. Kevin must have been watching Anne’s house that night. He had seen Beth shoot Willa and he thought she’d shot Anne. He must have come over, picked up the murder weapon in shock, then dropped it. My God. It was Beth, all along!
“This time you’re going to stay dead,” Beth said evenly. “Bye-bye.” She raised her gun and aimed it point-blank between Anne’s eyes.
“No!” Anne screamed and whipped her arms upward into the gun. Crak! The gun exploded in a deafening report.
“You bitch!” Beth roared, enraged.
“Help!” Anne screamed and shoved Beth to the floor, bolting past her for the staircase. She took the stairs two-by-two as a second gunshot rang out. Crak!
“Help! Somebody! Please!” Anne screamed as she tore up the stairs. Where was she going? What would she do? She had no gun, she’d turned it in. Was there time to dial 911? She had a phone in her bedroom. She hit the second-floor landing with Beth running up the stairs behind her. She swung around the landing for the lighted bedroom before Beth could get off another shot.
“Help!” Anne screamed but nobody came. Where were her neighbors? Mr. Berman? Mr. Monterosso? All of them?
She tore down the hall and into her bedroom. She darted to the desk for the phone but it was too late. Beth was coming down the hall, running toward the bedroom. Anne grabbed her thick laptop from her desk, spun on her heels, and flung it at Beth’s face. It landed with a resounding thwack, then fell to the rug.
“Aargh!” Beth’s hand flew to her nose. Crak! The gun went off with an ear-splitting sound. Flame flared from the muzzle. Anne felt the heat of a bullet whizz past her cheek. The thought terrified her. Beth bent over, cupping her nose. Blood poured through her fingers.
Anne ran for her life. She bolted from the bedroom screaming, streaking for the stairwell and downstairs for the front door. In the next second Beth was after her, her footsteps hard on the stair.
Anne raced to the front door. She couldn’t make it in time. She’d be shot undoing the chain-lock. She’d have to fight. She looked around wildly. The rolled-up rug in the Hefty bag. Perfect!
She snatched the rug off the living room floor and swung it like a bat at Beth’s waist just as she hit the living room, raising her gun. The rug smacked Beth full-force. She doubled over, jarring the gun free. It fell to the living room rug, and Anne dove for it. She had it aimed on target by the time Beth straightened up, bleeding profusely from her nostrils and still howling with fury.
“You won’t shoot me!” Beth shouted, spitting blood.
Anne found herself shaking with rage. She hadn’t shot Kevin, but she couldn’t get off a clear shot then. She
could now. She looked down the barrel of the gun, an old Colt revolver. No safety. Ready to fire.
Anne felt a surge of adrenaline. She could kill Beth. She should kill her. She should blow her face clean off. It seemed suddenly like a very good idea. The best Plan B Anne had had to date. No Lucy episode to cover this one. It was real life. She moved the site down, training the revolver between Beth’s blue eyes.
Anne flashed on everything Beth had put her through. She had just tried to kill her, she would have killed her. She had killed Willa. It must have been why Kevin was stalking her, not because he was in love with her, but because he knew she’d killed Anne. And she thought of Willa, her murder still unavenged, her lifeblood staining the walls.
Anne looked numbly at the gun in her hand. Then her gaze fell on something else. The Italian charm, twinkling around her neck, outside the tank top. It reminded her of Mrs. DiNunzio. The fragrant little kitchen. The percolating coffee. It reminded her of friendship, of family, and of love.
Anne’s fingers tightened on the smoking gun.
And she made her choice.
33
The fifth of July, a Tuesday morning, dawned clear and cool, the temperature hovered at a civilized seventy degrees and with no humidity. The sky over Philadelphia had a crystal-blue clarity, bringing the glitzy, metallic skyline into crisp focus. The sun was still low, lingering behind the skyscrapers, sleeping in after a busy holiday weekend of Uncle Sam stovepipes and red platform shoes.
The city was going back to work, collectively recharged. Boxy, white SEPTA buses barreled down streets that had been closed to traffic yesterday. Green-shirted employees of the business district speared cups and paper bags from the gutter. Storefronts rolled up their security cages on chattery, greased chains. People strolled to work a little late, wearing clean shirts with fresh tans, holding briefcases they hadn’t opened over the weekend. Many of them, like Anne, carried a folded newspaper under an arm.
FOURTH OF JULY FIREWORKS! read her Daily News headline, a special edition. Anne would have preferred CASE CLOSED, because the Chipster trial wouldn’t be going forward. Matt was at the courthouse, filing a notice of withdrawal. It would have been difficult to maintain a lawsuit with the plaintiff in custody for murder one.
Anne walked with her head held high, on taupe Blahniks. She wore a linen suit the color of buttercream with a white stretch T-shirt. She was feeling almost normal again, except that normal now meant no sunglasses, no lipstick, and a scar. And she was going in late to work because she’d dyed her hair back to its original color. Mental note: Life is too short to be anything but a redhead.
Her step was strong and lively as she strode the last block to work, down Locust. Part of her happiness was her clothes, but most of it was her new idea. The very thought buoyed her even as she floated toward the sea of cameras, reporters, and newsvans outside her office building. Uniformed police, eight of them, managed to keep the press from blocking traffic, and Anne smiled at the irony of the sight. It was more cops than she’d seen all weekend.
A reporter on the fringe of the crowd recognized her first and started running toward her. “Ms. Murphy, how did you catch the killer?” “What was Beth Dietz’s motive?” “We want the exclusive!” Other reporters started turning around, and camera lenses swung toward Anne. “Ms. Murphy! Anne! Over here!” they all started calling, and flooded toward her, breaking away as a mob.
Anne brandished her folded Daily News and met the throng. “No comment!” she said, waving them off as she plunged into the crowd. “I have no comment!”
She pushed through the crowd to the clicking of motor drives and the whirring of videocameras, but her way was blocked by a TV reporter until a beefy hand came around the reporter’s body and offered Anne an assist. She looked up gratefully, and at the other end of the arm was Hot-and-Heavy Herb, in full dress uniform.
“Outta the way, everybody! Outta the way!” he shouted, and he ran interference, leading Anne to the entrance of the building, where he ushered her in ahead of him and followed through the revolving door. He escorted her into the lobby, laughing and wiping his brow with a folded handkerchief. “Whew! Those guys are nuts!”
“Thanks for rescuing me,” Anne said, meaning it. She was in such a good mood, she was happy even to see Hot and Heavy, who was grinning down at her with more amusement than lechery for a change.
“So, Carrot Top, it was you, that new girl?”
“Yes, it was me, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you.”
“Are you kidding?” Herb waved a hand, chuckling as he walked her to the elevator, which was open on the ground floor. “I’m just glad you’re alive. I like you, kid.” His voice sounded genuine, almost fatherly.
Anne entered the elevator cab and pressed the button. “Thank you, I’m flattered,” she said, and the elevator doors slid closed, carrying her upstairs.
The elevator doors had barely opened again when the receptionist leaped from the front desk and started hugging Anne, and the other secretaries and paralegals flocked to her. “You’re alive! You’re really alive!” they chorused, and Anne, who was growing happily accustomed to having girlfriends, knew exactly what to do: hug back, get misty, then go shopping.
But when the receptionist released her, her teary eyes looked worried. “Anne, Bennie wants to see you. She has a new case. She’s in C.”
“A new case? No, you’re kidding!” Anne looked with dismay at the closed door to the conference room, off the reception area. “I don’t want to work! I want to hug and hug.”
The receptionist frowned. “You’d better go in. Judy and Mary are in there, too, waiting for you. The new client’s in conference room D. Something’s up.”
“A lawyer’s work is never done,” she said, with a sigh. She bid all her new gal pals good-bye, headed to the conference room, and opened the door.
Bennie, Mary, and Judy were seated around the polished conference table, in front of clean legal pads and Styrofoam cups of fresh coffee. Anne had seen them only a few hours before, back at the Roundhouse when Beth was arrested, but they looked as jazzed up as she felt, alert and businesslike. Bennie wore her khaki suit, Judy a T-shirt and blue denim smock, and Mary a silk blouse with a Talbot’s navy suit, her hair in a French twist.
“You really want me to work?” Anne asked, and Bennie smiled easily as she came toward her.
“Good morning,” she said, hugging Anne briefly. “You get any rest?”
“For two hours, yeah. Mel says hi.”
“I miss him.” Bennie smiled, and Mary and Judy came over, exchanging hugs, but the air felt tense despite the warmth and familiarity of the group. Bennie obviously had an agenda, but Anne had one of her own.
“Before we start, I have an idea,” she said. “Can I go first? It can’t wait.”
Bennie hesitated. “Okay, what is it?”
“Sit down, everybody. Especially you, Bennie. You’ll need to be sitting, for this. Here’s the deal,” Anne began, as all three women took their seats. “Well, I remember from the radio the other day, when you all thought I was dead, that you were offering a reward to whoever found my killer.”
“Yes.”
“The firm was offering $50,000.”
“Yes, sure.”
“Well, as you know, I found my killer, Beth Dietz, and last night I turned her in to the authorities and she was arrested.”
“So you’re saying what?” Bennie asked, and Mary and Judy looked equally uncertain.
“I want the reward. I want to donate it to a crime victims’ group, in Willa’s name. I think the money would make a nice memorial to her, and do a lot of good. Maybe even help prevent the Kevins of the world.”
Bennie nodded. “Fair enough. Done. That’s a very good idea.”
“Aren’t you going to fight me?”
“No.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“It sure is.”
“It comes out of your pocket.”
“Understood.�
� Bennie eyes darkened. “You may not have thought about this, but you may also want to use part of the money for burial expenses and the like, for Willa.”
“No, thanks.” Anne’s throat caught suddenly. “I’ve already decided. I’ll be doing that myself, and setting up a memorial service for her. It would be nice if you all could come.”
“We will,” Bennie said quickly.
Judy nodded. “Of course, we will.”
“We’ll help with the service,” Mary said.
“Thanks.” Anne patted the table, to dispel her sadness and get herself back to business. “Now, what’s going on? I hear we have a client waiting.”
“Yes, I know you’d love to relax, but it can’t wait.” Bennie rose at the head of the table and cleared her throat. “We have a new client, in trouble. Big trouble.”
“Murder?” Anne asked, but Bennie held up a hand like a traffic cop.
“Not that bad, but close.”
“Civil or criminal?”
“Civil.” Bennie nodded. “And I have to tell you, this client is liable. Absolutely liable. In other words, guilty. Very.”
Anne sighed. “Why don’t we ever get the easy cases?”
“We’re too smart for the easy cases.”
“Also we look hot in platforms,” Mary added.
“You maybe.” Judy scowled.
Bennie waved them into silence. “Now, getting back to the case, our client is guilty, but the transgression occurred a long time ago. There may be a defense in there somewhere.”
“The statute’s run?” Anne asked, meaning the statute of limitations, and wondering in which jurisdiction the client lived and what he did wrong.
“Not on this, but there are very interesting facts, ones you should know about and should be brought to light.”
Anne didn’t get it. “What did he do?”
“You have to get the facts. Investigate and understand everything about the situation. You know how to prepare a case. The client’s waiting for you, in D.”
“It’s my client?”
“Most definitely. You couldn’t have handled this case before, but you can now. I think after all you’ve been through, you’ve got the experience, the maturity, and now the perspective. Things come to us when we’re ready, sometimes. Take the next few days off and spend some time with it.”
Courting Trouble Page 29