Charm City

It was almost 8 o'clock when Feeney found Tess, an empty plate of tortellini in front of her. She had no memory of eating it. She could, however, remember martinis 1 and 2, and she was now on martini 3, using the discarded toothpicks to trace figures in the linen tablecloth. Curvy number 2s, which disappeared in a few moments, like the magnetic lines on those "magic" drawing boards you had as a kid.

"First things first," Feeney said. "Your uncle's awake."

"And?" Her heart sky-rocketed, then plummeted to earth. Feeney was playing good news-bad news with her.

"That's all I know. Kitty called the paper, looking for you. Said Spike's awake. His speech is a little slurry and his right side doesn't have much feeling, but he's awake. Keeps talking about the years, Kitty said."

"The ears," Tess corrected absently. "Now what about Rosita?"

"The box of notes was in the trunk of her car, and there's nothing in them, not of any importance. And there was pizza in Rosita's stomach."

"She was killed, Feeney, I know she was. By number two."

"Number two?"

"I saw files she had in the computer-don't ask me how, I won't tell you. But there was someone, someone she called number two. She thought this person killed Wink, although her notes didn't provide a motive."

"So who is number two?"

"I haven't a clue. It could be Lea-she's wife number two, although the notes suggest she's number three. Or his first wife-if Wink is number one, there's no reason Linda couldn't be number two. If Wink had threatened to cut off her alimony because he needed to be more liquid…and there was something about enrollment records, and Wink and Linda were in school together after all-"

Feeney placed his hand over Tess's right hand, the one with the toothpick. Without realizing it, she had started drawing numbers again as she spoke.

"She killed herself, Tess. It's not your fault, but you'll probably always think it was."

"I wouldn't say Rosita was murdered just because I feel guilty."

"Why not? I sure wanted to think someone killed Wink. I was the one who encouraged Rosita to see if someone might have knocked him out with booze, then put him in the car. But how do you convince someone to drink himself into a coma, Tess? And if someone killed him, why would the murderer then call my pager and punch in Wink's number?"

"You interviewed all these people for the story, they all had your pager number. Besides, the tox screens aren't back yet. If someone slipped him some kind of drug-I've heard about this tranquilizer from Mexico, they call it the date-rape drug-the combination could have made him lose consciousness. Or any strong sedative. He wasn't a big guy, it wouldn't take much."

Feeney's face was unbearably kind as he squeezed her hand.

"Tess, I know. I know what it's like to be an indirect agent in someone's death. I know what it's like to be the one to find him-or her. I also know all the conspiracy theories in the world aren't going to change anything. You're going to need help with this. Maybe professional help, but help from your friends as well. Don't make the mistake I did, pushing people away."

"I don't have many people to push away right now. I broke up with Crow, and now Whitney and I are kind of on the outs."

"She told me. She called me today and made a clean breast of things. Whatever you said to her last night, it really hit home. But Whitney's not a bad person, she's just self-centered. She got lost inside her desire for something and she made a bad mistake, a mistake she's learned from." Feeney took a piece of bread from the basket on the table and swiped it through the rich sauce she had left behind. "Rosemary, that's for remembrance. You know, she's jealous of you."

Tess meant to give a soft, derisive snort, but the martinis had robbed her of any modulation, and the noise she made sounded more like an old man blowing his nose. "Right."

"You're a free spirit, while Whitney is weighed down by so many things. Her family's name, her money, everyone's expectations for her. She hasn't learned to live her life for herself yet. Maybe now she will."

The bartender came over and Tess asked for a coffee. Feeney asked for a beer and helped himself to another piece of bread. "I don't know if I should tell you this, but there's a sad little coda to Rosita's story. She's not Rosita Ruiz."

"Huh?"

"Part of the reason it took so long for Detective Tull to call back tonight is that the contact number in Rosita's file was for some family called Rodrigue in New Bedford, Mass. They kept insisting they had never heard of a Rosita Ruiz from Boston, although they did have a daughter named Rosemary, about the same age, working on the copy desk in Baltimore. She couldn't be a writer, they said, because she never had any stories to show them. I had to get on the computer to figure it out. The Social Security numbers matched-the one assigned to Rosemary Rodrigue had started showing up as Rosita Ruiz's number about two years ago, right after college graduation. But there was another Rosita Ruiz from Boston University-different Social Security number, now in a training program at some New York bank. Turns out Rosita-Rosemary-changed her name legally after graduation to match that of a former classmate, a Latina with stellar grades. Then, when employers checked her college record, it matched. That explains why she was inconsistent sometimes-she kept getting her two identities confused."

A long-forgotten detail managed to come to the surface in Tess's martini-stewed brain. "Like putting on her résumé that she was a cum laude, when the real Rosita-Rosemary-was a magna?"

"Yeah, that would fit."

"So why do it? I mean, why steal a life that's essentially a lateral move?"

"Apparently, she wanted a little of that affirmative-action action. Without a journalism degree and no real newspaper experience, she thought transforming herself into a disadvantaged Latina from Roxbury was the only way to kick-start her career."

"If Rosita-Rosemary-had been really smart, she would have had a sex change operation and appropriated the name and résumé of some Harvard boy. She'd have gotten ahead even faster as Roger Smith, Rhodes scholar."

"Touché, Tess. Touché."

Fu

"Drive me home?" Tess asked Feeney. "I'll take the bus back in the morning and get my car."

"Sure." He studied her face. "Peace will come, Tess. I don't know when-I'm still waiting for it myself-but you'll feel better sooner if you accept what's really happened."

"I'm feeling better already," she said truthfully.