Killer Smile

“But Montana! It’s just so not you.”

“Why isn’t it me, Jude?” Mary really wanted to know, because she agreed and wondered why.

“I don’t see you in big sky country. You’re so totally Philadelphia. You went to college in Philadelphia, you went to law school in Philadelphia, you grew up here and you’ve lived here all your life. It’s like your dad said the other night at di

Mary remembered. Cowboy country. Pluto.

“Do you even know where Montana is?”

“Somewhere to the left.” Mary watched the baby, almost in front of their bench now, holding on to his mother’s hand. He made cute little grunting noises from the effort, eah eah eah. He couldn’t have been more than eleven months old, but he wanted to walk so badly. You could see it.

“ Montana is directly under western Canada, Calgary, and it borders Idaho and Wyoming. Glacier National Park is there. It’s a beautiful state. Mountains, plains, great trout fishing, deer, elk, moose, and antelope. Have you ever seen an antelope?”

“Sure. Looks like a dog with horns. Don’t you tire of being my straight man?”

Judy smiled. “ Montana ’s great. You’d love it. I’ve fly-fished near Butte with my dad and hiked there, in the West, with my sisters and brother.”

“Show off.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t go. Go.”

“It’s a free country.”

“Clearly.”

“I have the money, I can buy an airplane ticket.” In fact, Mary had never even been on an airplane, which was the first of three secrets she kept from the world. The second was that she couldn’t swim. She fell silent, watching the baby take its wobbly steps. It passed right in front of them, tottering by. Eah eah eah.

Judy was watching the baby, too. “Mare?”

“What?”

“Did you pay the baby to walk by us, just now?”

Mary burst into laughter, and Judy laughed with her, which was when they became best friends again. “Isn’t it fu

“You’ve lost it, Mare.”

“Things like that are happening to me lately. Signs.”

“No, they’re not. It’s spring, time for new babies and little lambs to walk around. They’re not signs, they’re just coincidences.”

“Maybe,” Mary said, but she didn’t think she was wrong, or that lambs had anything to do with it.

“You know, if you want to go to Montana, you absolutely should go. Maybe out there you’ll find whatever you’re looking for, and then you’ll be done with the case. Get Brandolini out of your system. Go. You can do it.” Judy paused. “Tell you what. If you decide to go, I’ll cover your desk and take Be

“You will?” Mary looked over, and Judy was herself again, gri

“So, you go

“I don’t know.” Airplanes. Pluto. Montana scares me.

“Of course, if I take those deps for you, you’ll have to do something for me in return.”

“What?” Mary asked, but she already knew the answer.

Twelve

Mary spent the afternoon following up on the internee files that she and Judy had found, double-checking for references to Amadeo, and being ambivalent about going to Montana. She didn’t bother to run home, shower, and change for her blind date, not only because she was Definitely Not Trying, but also because somebody could have been following her, which was an excellent excuse.

She took a cab from the office to Dmitri’s, a Greek restaurant in Olde City, which she liked on sight. Three rows of tables filled the small, unpretentious room, and an open grill was located behind a counter in the dining area, filling the air with the fresh smells of broiling fish and greens sizzling in olive oil. The tables were cozy, the dishware heavyweight, and every place setting had a spoon. Mary felt comfortable immediately and not only because nobody was colorizing her butt. She peeked over the top of her menu at her date.

His name was Paul Reston. His brown hair was wavy, and his eyes smallish behind fairly nondescript horn-rims. He had a straight nose and a full mouth that gave his face an appealing, if not wildly handsome, look, and he was dressed in a tweed jacket over a white oxford shirt. She forgot what kind of pants he had on, but he was the Dockers type. Paul seemed more down-to-earth than her last blind date, which meant that she would have a harder time finding fault with him. Mary knew she could succeed, if she just put her mind to it.

“Would you mind if I made a suggestion for an entrée?” Paul asked, looking over the top of his menu, and Mary smiled inwardly. If the scene felt familiar, it was. All of her blind dates started this way, then had the same middle and end, as predictable as a dialogue in high school French. Où est la bibliothèque?

“What would you suggest?” Là-bas, près de la gare.

“Everything’s good, the bluefish especially. I’d start with the avocado salad.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Mary closed the menu and set it down on the tiny table, beside a flickering votive candle. Now if Paul would just order, they could eat and get out of here, go home to separate beds, then get up and go to work the next day.

“You seem in a hurry.”

Oops. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Sorry.” It’s my forte.

Paul set down his menu. “Judy tells me you’re her best friend.”

“Guilty.”

Paul smiled. “Judy and I grew up together.”

“Judy’s still growing up.”

Paul laughed. His laugh sounded masculine and deep, and it wasn’t a charity laugh either. He was her age, but he seemed more mature than she was, which wasn’t difficult. He could probably swim, too. “She’s worried about you.”

“I didn’t realize you two were that friendly.”

“We’re not, she’s just that worried, and she was trying to make excuses for why you keep canceling on me.”

“Sorry.” Oh, oh. Bad to worse. Où est la salle de bain?

“She said she had to put a gun to your head to go out tonight, that you made some kind of deal.”

True. Mary also had to agree to baby-sit Pe

“She also said you’re not allowed to talk about whatever that case is, and I’m supposed to get your mind off it and talk about my job.” Paul smiled. “She thinks you’re becoming dangerously obsessed.”

Mary flushed. “I come with a lot of directions, it seems.” Wait’ll I get her. I’ll pierce her myself. “Okay. What do you do?”

“I teach engineering.”

“Interesting.” Actually, Mary didn’t even know what it was, not specifically. She was an English major, which meant all she could do was compare and contrast. “Where do you teach?”

“I started in September at Pe

“My alma mater! You’re a professor there?”

“Yes. I am Professor Reston.” Paul nodded in a courtly way, and Mary laughed.

“In the conservatory, with a wrench.”

“Everyone says that.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s three times you’ve apologized.”

Mary hated that he kept count. Couldn’t he let her apologize in peace? The relationship was doomed. “Do you like teaching?”

“Very much. It’s a challenge. The kids are smart, able, energetic. I like it.”

“Great. It’s good to like your job.” Mary hadn’t liked hers, until Amadeo. But she wasn’t supposed to talk about that. “How do you like Philly? You have to say you love it.”

“I do love it.” Paul smiled. “It’s hard to get to know people, but I’m getting there. This di

Mary felt her face redden. Paul was making her job of hating him harder. Inconsiderate man. “Where do you live?”