“What?” Mac’s mouth dropped open, but Mary didn’t intend to elaborate. This was a hit-and-run. She wanted to shake him up.

“Who are you working for now that he’s dead, Mac? The son, the wife, Chico? Or somebody else? When you want to talk, I’ll want to talk, got it?” Mary looked past his head, and her father was pumping his hand wildly, waving her over. She was finished anyway. “Excuse me, I gotta go.” She left Mac before he could react.

Wait a minute. Mary had almost forgotten. The cell phone call that had interrupted the funeral Mass. She should check the message, if she expected not to get fired. She dug into her purse, pulled out the cell phone, and powered it on to check for a message.

On the display screen was a text message that made her heart stop:

call me, it’s important. keisha

Twenty-Nine

Mary hit *86 to double-check if there was a message.

“MARY, MARY! HERE YOU ARE!” Her father came over, shouting because he couldn’t hear himself without his hearing aid. He looped a meaty arm around a smiling, dark-haired man about Mary’s age, dressed in a white shirt, jeans, and no wedding band. “MARE! I WANT YOU TO MEET A REAL NICE FELLA! THIS IS PETE CIROCCI! PETE OWNS THE FRUIT TRUCK WE GET THE LETTUCE FROM! THE GOOD LETTUCE, NOT THE CRAPPY LETTUCE!”

“Great. Please, hold on, Pop.”

“MARE, YOU KNOW THAT LETTUCE YOUR MOTHER LIKES SO MUCH? IT NEVER HAS THE BROWN LEAVES ON THE OUTSIDE? SHE GOES TO PETE SPECIAL TO GET IT, THEY DON’T HAVE IT AT THE AC-A-ME!” Her father turned to shout at Pete, who stood an inch away from him. “MY WIFE HATES THE BROWN LEAVES! YOU GOTTA THROW HALF OF IT IN THE SLOP! THAT’S FIFTY CENTS, RIGHT THERE! SO WHO’S STUPID, AC-A-ME OR ME?”

“Pop, please, gimme one second,” Mary said, gently. She didn’t want to disrespect him in public, even though he couldn’t hear her disrespecting him in public.

“MARE, PETE OWNS THREE TRUCKS! HIS BUSINESS IS GOIN’ GREAT! HE GETS ALL HIS PRODUCE LOCAL FROM JERSEY! HE BUILT THE BUSINESS UP FROM SCRATCH! IT USED TO BE CALLED PETE’S PRODUCE, THEN HE GOT A DEAL ON SOME BROOMS AND HE STARTED SELLIN’ THE BROOMS, AND GUESS WHAT? THE BROOMS TOOK OFF!”

Mary struggled to hear the voicemail response, which came in maddeningly, mechanically slow. “You have three new messages,” she thought it said, but it could just as easily have been, “Boo boo boob boo sages.” She hit the number 1 anyway, to retrieve them. The number of messages didn’t matter, only what Keisha had called about.

“SO HE CHANGED THE NAME TO ‘PETE’S PRODUCE PLUS’! AIN’T THAT GREAT? NO FLIES ON THIS ONE, EH? HE’S GOT A GREAT SENSE A HUMOR!” Her father turned to Pete. “MARY’S GOT A GREAT SENSE A HUMOR, TOO! AN’ SHE DOESN’T ALWAYS HAVE THAT THING ON HER CHEEK! SHE GOT IT WHEN SHE FELL DOWN AT WORK!”

Argh! Mary couldn’t hear the phone message over her father’s shouting and was about to tell him so when Bennie appeared at her elbow with Jeff Eisen, one of the clients Mary hadn’t been able to reach. What was Jeff doing here? Both he and Bennie were frowning.

“Excuse me, DiNunzio,” Bennie said, her blue eyes hard as ice. Jeff Eisen stiffened beside her. “You might hang up and take that call later.”

“MARE! WHO WOULDA FIGURED OUT THAT BROOMS WOULD SELL AS GOOD AS LETTUCE! PETE CIROCCI, THAT’S WHO!”

“Boo sageges,” said the voicemail, and between her father, Pete’s Produce Plus, Bennie, and Jeff Eisen, Mary finally surrendered and closed the phone. She smiled and extended a hand to Eisen.

“Jeff, I didn’t expect to see you here. How have you been?”

“Not so good.” Eisen puckered his mouth unhappily, his back rigid in his expensive suit, fancy striped tie, and shirt with a cutaway collar. “It’s a shame about Frank, murdered like that. We knew each other from the Chamber of Commerce. Frank’s the one that recommended I hire you, when my partner sued me. Last year, remember?”

“Of course.” Mary had forgotten for a moment. She felt off balance, preoccupied by the cell call. She was never that good at multi-tasking, and her father and Pete were waiting to be introduced, so she made introductions all around. There followed a flurry of handshaking, but it was a schizophrenic foursome, half of them loving Mary and half of them looking daggers.

“I was hoping to see you here, Mary,” Eisen continued. “Maybe we can talk about my lawsuit. It’s keeping my wife up at nights. I had my girl call you all last week, but you didn’t call back. They’re taking my deposition on Monday.”

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I’m so sorry, I was out of town.” And I forgot. Oh Jeez.

“Didn’t you call in for your messages? I would think you’d call in for your messages. I’ve had my deposition taken before, but we only talked about it the one time.”

“WHA?” Her father scowled, and his forehead wrinkled unhappily all the way up, like ripples in a cranky pond. “WHA’D YOU SAY, PAL? SHE’S WORKIN’ AS HARD AS SHE CAN! SHE EVEN HURT HER FACE AT WORK, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL DEDICATION!”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Mr. DiNunzio.” Eisen backed off in surprise.

“SURE YOU DID! SHE SAID SHE WAS BUSY, PAL! WHAT ARE YOU, DEAF!?”

Oh, no. “It’s okay, Pop.” Mary touched her father’s arm, but she couldn’t help feeling touched. He would defend her even when she was totally in the wrong. Especially when she was totally in the wrong.

“YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT, MARE! YOU WORK TOO HARD FOR THESE INGRATES!”

Bennie turned to Mary, only apparently calm. “DiNunzio, I’d like us to take Jeff to lunch right now and discuss his deposition. Then you two won’t have to play phone tag anymore and you can mend some fences. Jeff would like that very much. Wouldn’t you, Jeff?”

“I’m free.” Eisen nodded. “No time like the present. I paid my respects here, and it’s only immediate family going to the luncheon after.”

“Okay, sure. Great idea.” Mary gave her father a soft kiss on the cheek, flashed Pete’s Produce Plus a thumbs-up, then found her mother on the way out and said good-bye, introducing her to Jeff Eisen. Her mother took one sniff and hated him. Vita was in the zone today. But walking to the curb and hailing a cab with Bennie and Jeff, Mary couldn’t think of anything but that phone call. How did Keisha get her cell? Then she remembered. She had given the nurse her business card, at Saracone’s door.

Mary would find out why she was calling as soon as she could find some privacy. The restaurant had to have a bathroom.

“How can you not have a bathroom?” Mary asked in disbelief, and the tuxedoed maître d’ took cover behind a carved lectern more appropriate at Harvard Law.

“I’m sorry, there was a…malfunction and it’s closed until it’s in working order.”

“When will that be?”

“When the plumber arrives. He’s on his way.”

Go to Plan B. “I could use the men’s room, I don’t mind. Where’s that?” Mary craned her neck, and the maître d’ sniffed with disdain.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. There was only the one water closet.”

Bennie leaned over. “DiNunzio, get over it,” she whispered. “How old are you? Three?”

Nothing but the truth. “That was Saracone’s nurse on my cell,” she whispered back. “I need to hear her message.”

“Don’t you dare. This client is about to fire us. Focus, child.”

“Ladies, we can go to another restaurant,” Eisen offered, since he was a gentleman and Mary was evidently having Female Trouble.

“No, this restaurant is fine,” Bennie countered firmly. “This is your favorite place, and she’ll be fine. Won’t you be fine, DiNunzio?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mary echoed, and the maître d’ plucked three impossibly padded menus from their provincial cradle and ushered her, Bennie, and Eisen to a round table in the corner.