Sophie’s Last Stand

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Can you pull vines and clear out brush?” I asked.

  Her face lit with a slow smile, as if she couldn’t quite trust that her luck was turning. “Why, it is one of my specialties. Like we say, ‘No Job Too Large.’”

  “Can you start today?” I asked.

  She looked a little surprised, but said, “Now is good.” She looked down at the dog. “Is now good for you, varmint?”

  Durrell moaned.

  “That means yes,” she said. “Now is very good. My name is Della. We charge ten dollars an hour, cash only. So, what you need done?”

  I looked at the backyard, trying to choose between it and the front. “I guess we could start out back and work our way forward,” I said.

  Della’s eyes narrowed. “I’d start there, too, if I was you,” she said. “Way it’s overgrown, you could hide an army of outlaws back there and no one’d be the wiser.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right,” she said. “Are the tools in your garage?” I nodded. “Then me and Durrell will get started. Don’t worry about showing us what to do, we know. ’Sides, you got company.” I followed her gaze and found Darlene sailing up the sidewalk, pink chiffon billowing behind her.

  “Looks like it’s the Happy Neighbor lady or the Avon girl, one,” Della said.

  Durrell jumped to his feet, his stumpy tail wagging hard enough to knock him sideways, and ran to greet Darlene like a long lost relative.

  “Get off me, you mangy hound!” Darlene cried.

  “Darlene, don’t talk to Durrell like that! He has issues,” I said. Darlene hates dogs, always has, ever since we were kids and Mr. Frangini’s cocker spaniel used to chase her home from school. I was going to enjoy this.

  I looked down at Durrell, who hid behind my legs, grinning out at Darlene. “Good boy!” I murmured. “Terrorize the nice lady.”

  Della called Durrell in a tone that brooked no options, and the two of them walked up the driveway and into the one-car garage.

  “Who is that?” Darlene asked.

  “My landscaper,” I said. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Late lunch and two cancellations.” She was fanning herself with one of the flyers Della had left lying on the hood of my used-to-be car. “Wanna go shopping?”

  She looked so hopeful. I felt sorry for her. “Okay. I need to look for curtains at Target, anyway. Let me run in and get my purse and we’ll go.”

  Darlene watched Della reemerge from the garage carrying a pair of hedge clippers. “Bad karma,” she said.

  “You just don’t like dogs.”

  Darlene shook her head. “Look at the way she holds those clippers. She doesn’t know a thing about cutting hedges.”

  I scowled at Darlene. “Oh, and like you do? Give the kid a chance.” I didn’t wait to hear the next criticism. Darlene had probably heard Della say she looked like an Avon lady and would now proceed to hold a grudge against her forever. Karma, my ass, it was wounded pride and nothing more than that.

  I left Darlene stewing and went inside to find my purse. I walked through the kitchen and stole a glance through the window at Della. She was hard at work, chopping ivy that covered a pin oak’s trunk. I stopped by the bathroom, applied a little makeup and ran a comb through my hair. I looked terrible. There were dark circles under my eyes, my skin was too pale and I had wild witch hair. “Yeah, but who’s going to see me?” I asked my reflection.

  As it was, my attention to detail didn’t matter. Darlene wasn’t going shopping, at least not for curtains and not with me. When I stepped out onto the porch I found her at the foot of the driveway, apparently waltzing with Gray’s partner.

  There was no mistake about it; they were dancing. The detective, tall and lanky, seemed to float with Darlene in his arms, down the driveway and out into the middle of my quiet street. They stopped there and held a soft-spoken conversation. The man’s arms dropped to his side as Darlene talked. He was listening attentively and nodding, as if Darlene were imparting some great secret of the universe.

  Without warning, he pulled her to him again, their heads swiveled right as they extended two arms before them in a perfect tango position. The thin man started forward, winced and then stopped, grasping his lower back.

  Darlene turned, followed his fingers with her own and gently prodded at the spot the man indicated. She nodded, put one firm hand on his left shoulder, and then pulled him into her with a sharp tug of her right hand. He gasped, loud enough for me to hear from my spot on the porch, and then smiled.

  “That’s it,” he said. “That’s the spot.” He straightened and beamed down at my sister. “How’d you know?”

  I muttered the words under my breath as Darlene said, “Well, after all, I am a professional therapist.”

  “Can it be fixed?” he asked her.

  Darlene drew herself up to her full five feet ten inches, and smiled. “But of course,” she said.

  I moaned and didn’t think the sound would carry, but it did. Their heads turned, focusing on the porch, and Darlene motioned me toward them.

  “Hey,” she commanded. “Come here.” I slowly walked down the steps and along the driveway to the sidewalk as Darlene and her new friend, the detective, stepped out of the street.

  “Sophie, this is Wendell Arrow, Gray’s partner. He’s got sciatica and it just plays hell with his ballroom dancing. He competes, you know.” She grinned up at him, clearly taken with the man.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, and extended my hand. He took it, clasped it firmly and looked deep into my eyes. “Sorry about all the trouble ’round here.”

  I shrugged. “Thanks, but it’s not your fault. I guess these things just happen sometimes.”

  Darlene regarded us both with a somber expression. It was like watching an accident about to happen. You know something bad is coming and you are absolutely powerless to stop it.

  “It’s her destiny,” Darlene said. “Why, if this hadn’t happened, Sophie wouldn’t have met up with Gray again.” She looked at Wendell Arrow. “They’re fated, you know.”

  “Darlene, will you stop that!”

  Darlene, intoxicated with herself, turned to Wendell and continued. “Well, all’s I’m saying is that I wouldn’t have met you, either. And then what would’ve happened to your poor back?”

  Wendell melted. It was pitiful to watch. He just turned into a little pile of putty in Darlene’s hands. His sad eyes turned worshipful and I wondered if the backyard would be finished in time for a fall wedding. It was only a matter of time once Darlene made up her mind, and if the goofy way she was acting was any indication, what little mind she still had was already made up.

  Darlene rooted around in her oversize straw bag and pulled out a black appointment book. She touched Wendell’s arm gently. “Let’s get you a time to come see me.” She blushed, almost simpering. “I mean, professionally. The sooner we get that sciatica under control, the sooner you’ll be back on the floor competing.”

  While Wendell pulled out his own appointment book, I studied them. He wasn’t as old as I had at first thought, maybe only in his early forties. The fine lines around his eyes deepened whenever he smiled, and Darlene seemed to make him smile constantly. The hangdog look had vanished. A shock of prematurely gray hair fell across his forehead, accentuating his blue eyes. But it was his clothing that really gave him away.

  Wendell Arrow lacked a woman’s touch in his life. A button was sewn on to the cuff of his white dress shirt, but Wendell had used bright red thread. The shirt itself was worn and too short, exposing his bony wrists and making his long hands seem even larger. The navy-blue suit was too large, as if Wendell had long ago lost weight and never bothered to buy clothes that fit.

  Darlene would not notice these things about him. She would see the way his face became handsome every time he smiled at her. She would notice that she fit into his body perfectly as they danced. She would see deep inside the man and find all the special little surprises about him that might ofte
n go unnoticed by anyone other than my sister. She would delight in him, and that is why he would love her. I could just see it happening as their heads bent together over their appointment books.

  For the first time in recorded history, I felt envious. Love came so easily to Darlene. Men seemed to fall at her feet. She’d been married three times. Of course, Darlene sometimes lost interest. With Husband One and Husband Two, she’d wandered off when faced with their absorption in the material world. But Husband Three was a true love match. Still, even love is not enough when faced with an out of control uptown bus that jumps the curb. Husband Three was flattened like a pancake and Darlene had been so heartbroken.

  I sighed silently. Darlene was due. It was her turn. She needed true love much more than I did, because she believed in happy endings. She painted watercolors of fairies, danced by herself at the edge of the pond behind her condominium and saw magic in the crystalline frost that appeared on late fall mornings. Who better to find true love than Darlene?

  As if she’d read my mind, she turned and smiled at me. She looked delighted. “What do you think, Sophie?” she said, “Wendell’s never had home-cooked Italian, either!”

  Go figure. One more place at the Mazaratti table. For Ma, it would be perfection, one more lost soul brought to salvation, transported from the earthly world of preservatives and fake Parmesan cheese into the nirvana of Ma’s vitello tonnato. What more could one ask?

  “Detective, did you come here for a reason?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” The big man’s face reddened. “I’m meeting Detective Evans here.” Wendell’s voice took on a professional edge that made my blood run cold. I turned slowly and walked halfway back down the sidewalk toward the waiting detective.

  “But he was just here. Did something happen?” I asked softly.

  Wendell Arrow shook his head. “No, um, Gray, er, Detective Evans just wanted me to tell you that he’s on his way back over here. He’s coming with some field agents from the local Bureau office. Seems they’ve got a search warrant.”

  “What?”

  It was as if I’d suddenly lost the ability to understand the English language.

  Detective Arrow swallowed hard, awkward in his cheap suit and lanky body. “We don’t usually give people a heads-up, but he wanted you to know and I said I’d stay so you—” The detective broke off, not finishing his sentence.

  “So I don’t try to hide anything?” I answered.

  The detective’s face flushed scarlet and Darlene was now regarding him with a raised eyebrow. He was saved from further disgrace by the arrival of no fewer than six unmarked black sedans and one beige Chevy Tahoe.

  I closed my eyes. “Oh, God,” I whispered. “Not again.”

  Gray and the lead FBI agent reached me at the same time. The agent, a young woman in a black suit and sensible, low-heeled pumps, pulled out a warrant and flashed it at me with a cool, practiced air.

  “We’ll need you to stay out of the house while we search,” she said. “One of my agents will remain with you while the rest—”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Gray interrupted, his tone sending the clear message that he was unhappy with the search and even less pleased with the young go-getter.

  The agent turned slightly, acknowledging him only with a short nod, and stalked off, barking orders to her people as she moved relentlessly toward my front door.

  “What are they looking for?” Darlene asked. It was the first time I’d ever heard her sound so short and angry.

  Gray looked at me when he answered. “I don’t know, really I don’t. Apparently your ex-husband had something they want and they didn’t find it in his office in Philadelphia or in the evidence they removed from your home before the trial. They’re not talking, which is unusual. Normally, we have a pretty decent relationship, but not on this one. I’m sorry.”

  I looked at him, studying his face as if I could actually read him and know he was telling the truth. He looked genuine, but then, Nick had always looked sincere, too.

  Darlene hovered just behind us, a worried frown on her face. For once she had nothing to say. When the front door opened and the FBI agent reemerged, Darlene came to stand beside me, shoulder to shoulder, in a move that could only be seen for what it was—my sister’s way of following the old school-ground rule, “You mess with my sister, you mess with me.”

  Our eyes met and I smiled at her, letting her know that I hadn’t missed the gesture. When the chips are down, the Mazarattis kick serious ass. I looked back at the approaching agent and felt my smile harden. We were iron. We were bigger than the FBI or Nick or indeed any threat from outside the circle.

  The agent walked down the front steps and made her way toward us without tripping on the broken bricks in the walkway. She never seemed to look down as she honed in on her target, me. She bore down on us with a single-minded determination that let me know there was more to her visit than a routine search for a missing item. I figured she thought I knew where Nick was, but I was wrong.

  When she reached us, she extended her hand. “Ms. Mazarrati, I apologize for not introducing myself when we arrived, but these sorts of things must go according to a very strict procedure and, well, I suppose I’m a bit guilty of following the rules and regs out to the very last detail. I am Special Agent Cole, attached to the New Bern field office of the FBI and acting in cooperation with the Philadelphia office on this particular investigation.”

  Her smile exposed perfect white teeth, healthy pink gums and thin, tight lips that seemed unaccustomed to being stretched into such a wide and completely disingenuous grimace. I took the outstretched hand, felt the warm, firm grip, and looked up into ice-clear blue eyes. Agent Cole’s eyes told me everything I needed to know about her. She was a machine, a highly trained, well-oiled piece of equipment that would do and say anything to further her progress in both her current case and her future career.

  I felt Darlene shudder and knew she’d taken the same read on the thin woman standing before us.

  “Ms. Mazaratti, I’m sure you’re as invested in removing yourself from any involvement in your husband’s criminal activities as we are in clearing you.” The words spilled out of her mouth in a waterfall of smooth, slippery artifice, sounding as pleasant and affirming as the blessing uttered by the priest at the close of Mass.

  “It’s ex-husband, Ms. Cole,” I said, “and I think we both know I have no involvement in my husband’s activities, criminal or otherwise. I haven’t seen him since I testified against him in court.”

  Agent Cole stiffened slightly and her smile narrowed into a thin, polite line. “Of course I believe you, but the Philadelphia office apparently has some questions.”

  Beside me, Darlene uttered a sound that hovered somewhere between squeak and growl. Gray Evans stood on the other side of Darlene, arms crossed, his eyes hidden by tinted dark glasses that mirrored the FBI agent’s face. The only indication I had of how he felt was in the tiny jaw muscle that began to work as he clenched his teeth.

  I raised one skeptical eyebrow and regarded my adversary with disdain. “Agent Cole, perhaps that bullshit works on the locals, but I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck. Up until you arrived, no one in Pennsylvania questioned any involvement on my part in Nick’s activities. So how about you stop trying to blow smoke up my ass. If you’re looking for Nick, he’s not here and your team just wasted an hour they could’ve spent looking elsewhere.”

  Gray was enjoying this. A quick smirk appeared on his face and vanished just as suddenly.

  “Maybe I should update you, Ms. Mazaratti. In the past several weeks it has come to our attention that your husband—”

  “Ex.”

  “Ex-husband has access to information that may help us in the investigation of the murder of one of our agents. According to our sources, your ex left that information with you. And now he’s vanished and his car is parked down the street from your house. What else are we to think here, Ms. Mazaratti?”

  My heart
jumped into my throat and I felt my face flushing with sudden heat. I wanted to lunge for the ice princess and teach her a few home truths in a very personal way, but I stopped myself, realizing it would only prolong my new agony.

  “So, what information is it that I’m supposed to have?” I asked.

  Agent Cole smiled again. “Let’s not play games, all right? We couldn’t find what we were looking for, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have it. It merely means we haven’t located it yet. You aren’t in the clear with the Bureau by any means. If Nick Komassi gave you information in the form of pictures, papers or anything pertaining to the death of one of our officers, I’d suggest you hand it over now before the case against you becomes too strong and we’re unable to cut any deals.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Agent Cole nodded, as if this confirmed her suspicions. “Then it would behoove you to notify us immediately the next time he contacts you. Until then, I’m putting you on notice. You are a person of interest in the investigation of a homicide. If I find that you indeed do know of the whereabouts of any information leading to the identification of that agent’s murderer or are concealing information as to Nick Komassi’s whereabouts, you can and will be charged as an accessory in this case.”

  “What does that mean?” Darlene demanded.

  “If I have anything to do with it,” Agent Cole said, her eyes never leaving my face, “it means she’ll pull time in a federal maximum security prison.”

  “That is completely ridiculous!” I said. “You can’t possibly think I know anything about the murder of an FBI agent.”

  “And I’m just supposed to take your word for it, huh? The wife of a convicted pornographer who just happens to play a starring role in most of his X-rated videos and who—”

  “That’s enough, Cole!”

  Gray’s voice, harsh and strident, was the last thing I heard before I moved, reaching out to snatch the blond toothpick up by her silky, white blouse.

  “Sophie, don’t!” Darlene screamed, but it was too late.

  While the Academy had taught the agent well, I was powered by conviction and rage. She went sprawling backward onto the hard surface of the concrete driveway, landing with a satisfying smack that I felt as I followed her to the ground. Strong hands grabbed me from behind, pulling me backward and off the stunned woman.