CHAPTER NINETEEN

I t was a two-hour trip on the New Jersey Turnpike because of the congestion, and Mary returned as many phone calls and e-mails as she could without crashing. She called twelve more shrinks for Dhiren and on the thirteenth, got lucky. There was a last-minute cancellation and the psychologist would see Dhiren tomorrow. She almost cheered, then called Amrita’s cell phone. No answer, but Mary left a message, her spirits soaring.

In time, the traffic let up and she hit I-95 East, toward the coastline. The clouds dissipated and the sun burst through, which she couldn’t help but take as a good sign. She opened the car window and inhaled a lungful of fresh air, bearing a hint of the Atlantic, a smell she remembered from happy summers down the Jersey shore. The DiNunzios used to go to Bellevue Avenue, in an Atlantic City that didn’t exist anymore.

She took a right, then a left, following the directions in www.yahoo.com, and finally passed a grassy stretch along the Metedeconk River. Seagulls squawked overhead, and the huge houses were uniformly lovely and well maintained, with costly cars parked in driveways. She could see why Rosaria would move here, away from the graffiti, even if a cannoli was harder to come by.

Mary was trying to find the house when she spotted a slim woman in a pink tracksuit walking a little dog that danced at the end of the leash. The woman’s hair was gathered into a reddish brown ponytail that Mary recognized immediately. Rosaria had lost her studious, meek air and had come into her own, an attractive woman with the same blue eyes as her brother’s, a similarly long nose, and full lips. Mary grabbed her bag, got out of the car, and crossed the street, intercepting her in the middle of the block.

“Hey, lady, weren’t you in choir?” she asked with a smile, holding out her arms for a hug, and Rosaria laughed and returned the embrace.

“Mary? What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” Mary released her, and the little dog hopped on its hind legs, pawing her shins like a miniature black lion. Its fur stuck out like a fright wig and it had the ears of a kitten. “What kind of beast is this?”

“A toy Pomeranian.” Rosaria bent over and baby-talked to the dog, “Aren’t you adorable? Aren’t you?” She straightened up. “She’s my baby replacement, now that my son’s in high school.”

“So cute.” Mary scratched the dense black fur of the dog’s domed head, which only made her jump higher, springing around like she had pogo sticks for legs. “Mind if I walk with you, for a minute?”

“Sure, okay.” Rosaria smiled uncertainly and got back in stride. “How did you find me?”

Mary fell in step beside her. “I was at your father’s, saw a photo, and put two and two together.”

“My father’s?” Rosaria’s expression changed instantly, her smile fading. Sunlight fell on her face, trying to fill the creases that had just popped onto her forehead. “I hate that he calls himself that. He’s my uncle, not my father.”

“Sorry.”

“It must’ve been an old photo.”

“Your son, in a baseball uniform.”

“Ha. Like I said. I don’t send him photos anymore.”

Mary didn’t know what to say, so she decided to be honest. “You guys had trouble?”

“You could say that. Haven’t spoken to the man in ages. This is about as far from South Philly as you can get, in my book.”

“Plus it has driveways.”

“There is that.” Rosaria smiled. “So what are you doing here, out of the blue? You came to see me, after all these years?”

“I’m trying to find your brother.”

Rosaria looked grim again. “I haven’t spoken to him in about four years. I have no idea where he is.”

Mary wondered what had happened. “You knew he was living with Trish, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you heard, but he and Trish are missing.”

“Ask me if I care,” Rosaria shot back.

“The police haven’t contacted you?”

“No.”

Mary let it go. “He abducted her. She was able to get a call to her mother that she needed help. He may have killed her.”

Rosaria kept walking, her dark expression contrasting with the perfect suburban setting and the happy little dog, who pranced along with her baby muzzle in the air.

“I’m trying to find them, which means I have to find him. Hopefully before he does something stupid.”

“Too late,” Rosaria said flatly, and Mary felt that chill again.

“I can’t give up on Trish. She’s in trouble.”

“Trish Gambone?” Rosaria laughed, without mirth. “This may be poetic justice.”

“You don’t mean that.” Mary hid her surprise. Rosaria had always been such a sweet, benevolent girl. “I don’t want anything to happen to Trish, I don’t even want anything to happen to your brother. I want to prevent something terrible.”

“You a cop now, Mare?” Rosaria picked up the pace, her soft jowls jiggling with the faster step.

“No. They’re investigating, but there’s things I can do, too. Find you, for example.”

“Look.” Rosaria stopped and faced her matter-of-factly. “I don’t know where my brother is or what he did to Trish. I washed my hands of him.”

“What turned you so bitter? What happened?”

“That family was a dark, dark place to me.” Rosaria started walking again, faster this time. “That’s all I want to say on the subject.”

“Okay, I understand,” Mary said quickly. She was thinking of Mr. Po’s hand on her leg.

“They’re sick. My so-called father and his son, that pig.”

“Ritchie?”

“You met my cousin? What a waste of life.”

Mary couldn’t disagree. And she couldn’t keep up the pace, either. They had made their way all the way back to the park, and she spotted a bench. “Can we just sit down for a second and talk about this? I need help. Trish needs help. Also my feet hurt.”

Rosaria sighed heavily.

“Please, for me? For old times’ sake? For Jesus, Mary, and Joseph?”

“Oh, all right.” Rosaria smiled, becoming herself again. She tugged the little dog away from a fascinating stick, and they walked to the bench and sat down, where Mary kicked off her pumps.

“I’m so professional.”

Rosaria smiled. “I heard you became a lawyer.”

“So news travels, all the way to paradise.”

“Is Brick paradise?”

“Looks like it to me.” Mary surveyed the huge houses across the river, which must have cost over a million dollars. They were three stories tall, with plenty of shiny windows and facades of gray stone. Other people would have called them McMansions, but Mary was no snob. She’d take a McMansion. Then she could be a McHome-owner. “I would love to have a house.”

“Why don’t you?” Rosaria asked, with the bluntness Mary remembered from high school.

“The down payment’s tough, but I almost have it.” Still, Mary knew that wasn’t what was holding her back. “You married?”

“Divorced.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Best decision I ever made. I’m getting smarter and I got great alimony. And the dog.” Rosaria smiled.

“Then I’m happy for you.” Mary chose her next words carefully. “Look, you don’t need to tell me your personal history. I know we weren’t that friendly. But if you could just tell me where you think your brother could be, or where he could have taken Trish, it could save a life.”

“No idea,” Rosaria shrugged, but close up her nonchalance looked more contrived.

Mary felt on edge. She wasn’t getting anywhere, and coming here had taken so much time.

“I don’t know who he is anymore. He drinks. He’s mobbed up. He sells drugs. I cut him out of my life. I couldn’t stand to see the path he was going down and I didn’t want my son exposed to that. The curtain went down between us when he told me he opened his first ‘store’”-Rosaria made quote marks in the air-“as he called it, at Ninth and Kennick. That became his corner, though he always said that one day when he made enough money, he’d get out.”