Mistaken Identity

“Excuse me,” said the funeral director, returning and leaning down to Be

“Begin, please,” Be

“But there was another mourner. What happened to him?”

“What mourner?”

“A gentleman,” he said, raising a hand, and Be

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. He was here early, before you came. Before the reporters.”

“What did he look like?”

“An older gentlemen, with a tweed coat, I think.”

Be

“I gathered he wished to pay his respects. I suggested to him that the service wasn’t for several hours, but he said he knew that. He left flowers.”

“What flowers?” she asked, a lump in her throat, and the funeral director pointed toward the sprayed white carnations.

“I set them behind that last arrangement. They’re… different.”

“I want to see them,” Be

“Be

“Be

It was dark, but reporters mobbed the sidewalk. One spotted her and pointed for his cameraman. Flashes popped in Be

After the wake, Be

Once home, she changed into jeans and a workshirt, padded into her home office, and got to work with her ritual props at her side: fresh coffee and a crinkly bag of M amp;M’s. Though her comfort foods were in place, she had little luck with her first task, drafting her opening argument. Her head hurt. She ached at the core. Still, she sat at the computer and willed herself to peck out the first sentence. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you see before you…

Each keystroke sounded in the empty room. The night was quiet, its stillness broken by intermittent police sirens. Be

No.

Good morning. Before you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, sits…

Suddenly Be

“Honey?” Grady called upstairs. “Ya home?”

“In my office,” she called back, but he had already reached the top of the stairs with the dog. He wore the clothes from the wake, but his print tie was loosened into a crooked V and his oxford shirt wrinkled.

“Hot as hell out there.” Grady walked to Be

“Yep.”

“Can I help?”

“Not really.”

“I got fresh cream and a lifetime supply of M amp;M’s. Nothin’s too good for my girl.”

Be

“You want to talk? Cry some more?” Grady smiled with sympathy. “I got a shoulder. Two in fact. We can lie down together, take a break.”

“Thanks, but no. No time.”

“You want to talk about the case, then? Try your opening argument out on me?”

“No, I’m not there yet. Got to write it first.”

Grady pursed his lips. “Want fresh coffee?”

“Got some.” Be

“Okay,” he said, giving her another peck on the cheek. “I’m outta here.”

Be

She heard the clink of dishes as he set the plywood table. She could almost taste the cold beer he’d undoubtedly uncap. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. The aroma of sizzling bacon wafted up from the kitchen and into the hallway. It was driving her nuts.

Be

She knew just the place.

46

Surf Lenihan sat low inside the black bucket seat of the black TransAm. He wore a white polo shirt and jeans and tugged on a carton of strawberry milk. He’d parked down the street a safe distance from the house. Watching, in the dark.

Surf slugged another gulp of strawberry milk and felt good for the first time since the shit hit the fan. Maybe it was because he was finally doing something about the situation himself, instead of waiting for Citrone to get off his ass.

Surf was young and moving up in the department. He’d already started to network, just like in business, and was just begi

Surf kept an eye on the house. Red-brick, a dumpy three-story. You’d think she’d buy a nicer house with all the money she made off the department. Surf had followed Rosato home from work, tracking her at a distance in the car, which was his girl’s. The TransAm was more obvious than he would have liked, but at least it was black. It did the job.

As soon as Rosato had left her office building, Surf figured she was going home. He knew where that was. He’d looked up her address in the phone book and had almost beaten her here, slipping into a parking space and slinking low in his seat as she turned the corner, moving fast on foot. She was strong and not bad-lookin’ if you liked big girls. Surf didn’t. Her stems were okay, but her tits weren’t big enough. Plus, she was a lawyer. Who would want to fuck a lawyer? Later Surf got his answer-another lawyer. A tall, ski