"Mom? Did Detective Melvin call you yet, from Homicide?"
"Goodness, yes, we just hung up," her mother said, alarmed. "What is going on? Are you okay, dear?"
"I'm fine."
"Thank God! Did you actually need an alibi?"
"No, not really."
"Your father's at the gym. I'm beside myself. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. My wallet was stolen last night by a crack addict, who was killed last night."
"But you were here last night, and you didn't tell us anything about this."
And I'm still not. "We kind of had a fight, remember?" Vicki felt a tug. "I'm sorry I upset you, Mom."
"I'm sorry, too, dear." Her mother's tone softened.
"And for the record, I don't live like a pauper."
Her mother sighed. "You know your father."
"Uh, yeah."
"Maybe I won't mention to him that the detective called."
"Thanks." Vicki felt touched. "I have to go now, Mom. Don't worry too much."
"Just be careful."
"I will. Bye. Love you."
"Love you, too. Good-bye."
Vicki hung up, ignoring the knot in her chest. She thought about calling Dan but she didn't want to cause more trouble for him. She felt a little disconnected from the world. Without Morty. Without Dan. And after Saxon called Bale, without a career.
Vicki considered it. The smart thing to do was call Bale and preempt Saxon, but she'd get fired for sure. She turned it over in her mind, but her brain kept skidding on the ice. She was too tired to think. She needed to eat something and she needed a good night's sleep.
And only after that would she know what to do next.
TWENTY-THREE
Vicki woke up in the morning to a distinctive sound of winter: the sc-c-c-crape, sc-c-c-crape, sc-c-c-crape of a neighbor shoveling his sidewalk. She groaned and checked her bedside clock.
10:49. Late. She felt a wave of guilt. She'd have to get up andshovel her sidewalk so she didn't get sued. Growing up with both parents as lawyers, Vicki had been indoctrinated to shovel before the dreaded underlayer of ice wreaked havoc with the American system of civil liability.
She turned over and stuck her head under the pillow. She hated to shovel snow and put it off as long as possible, a rebel with a Back-Saver shovel. She consoled herself in her own childishness. It was nice and dark beneath her pillow, and her bed felt soft, comfy, and warm. The radiator hissed in a reassuring way, whispering stay asleep, stay asleep, stay asleep, but it couldn't drown out sc-c-c-crape, sc-c-c-crape, sc-c-c-crape, and neither noise stood a chance against YOU'LL GET SUED, YOU'LL GET SUED, YOU'LL GET SUED.
Vicki turned over and squeezed her eyes shut, but it was inevitable. Nothing could silence her lawyer's conscience, and no pillow could block the realization that today was Morty's wake. It was still hard to believe he was dead. She flung off the pillow, rolled out of bed, and tried not to have another thought that would make her sad while she went to the bathroom, pulled on old sweatpants and a crimson hoodie sweatshirt, then trundled downstairs in the chilly house, put on her winter coat, boots, mittens, and stupid Smurfy hat. Then she went to the basement to retrieve her shovel, trundled back upstairs with it, went to the front door, and opened it into a blast of cold air.
The snow had stopped; the sky was clear and blue. The Holloway kids had already been out playing, evidenced by a snowman with a tiny head like Beetlejuice and M amp;M eyes dripping blue tears. Her street had been plowed, snowing the parked cars in until the next decade, and almost all the sidewalks had been shoveled, including her own.
Huh? In the middle of her perfectly shoveled walk, leaning on a snow shovel in his down coat and a Phillies cap, stood a grinning Dan Malloy.
"Nice hat, babe," he said.
Vicki clapped with delight, though her mittens made a muh muh muh sound that had no payoff. "What did you do, Dan?"
"That'll teach you to think about moving. All the neighbors in Center City are mean."
"This is so nice of you!"
"Will work for coffee."
"Done!" Vicki waved him inside. Ten minutes later, they had shed their boots, coats, hats, and mittens and left them by the door in a jumbled pile of his-and-her things, the sight of which made Vicki unaccountably content. She padded barefoot on the cool pine floor into the kitchen, going ahead of Dan. "That was really great of you. I hate to shovel."
"I know that."
"You do? How?"
"Because you told me once."
"I did?"
"Yes." Dan smiled and sat down in his customary chair at the kitchen table, while she reached in the cabinet for the coffee grounds, a role reversal for them. He looked typically unshaven, and his reddish bangs sprayed over his blue eyes, making even hat head look good. Luckily, today he was wearing a bra, in the form of a ratty white turtleneck under the same blue crewneck sweater.
"So you just decided to come over and shovel my walk?"
"Yeah. Mariella had to go in, so I have the day free."
The M-word. Vicki, in denial, had almost forgotten. Dan's snowboots might be parked next to hers, but his bedroom slippers were next to Mariella's. Meantime, he had on her favorite jeans, which were soaked from snow at the lower legs. If they were in a movie, Vicki would ask Dan to take his pants off so she could throw them in the dryer, and they'd end up in each other's arms. Unfortunately, they were in Philadelphia, where things like that never happened and people sat around in wet pants.
"Catch me up, Vick. What's going on? I haven't seen you since they tried to arrest you. You gotta get a new cell phone."
"I will." Vicki poured tap water in the back of the coffeemaker and turned the button to On. "You want breakfast?"
"You have food in the house?"
"There's eggs." Vicki knew because she'd had some for dinner last night, and Dan was already on his bare feet, heading to the refrigerator.
"Scrambled, okay?"
"Fine."
"My specialty." Dan took out the eggs and a stick of butter, and Vicki drew way-too-pathetic pleasure from the fact that they were cooking side by side in her kitchen. Dan set the eggs and butter on the counter and went into the base cabinet for the fry pan. "So I know you've been up to no good, because Bale called me this morning, asking where you were."
"He did?" Vicki turned, surprised. Funny the things husbands don't tell you. Other women's husbands, that is. "What did he say?"
"That he's been calling here and there's been no answer. Said he was trying to find you."
"When did he call?"
"Last night and this morning."
Saxon must have called Bale. "Oh no, I must have slept through it. I conked out as soon as I hit the pillow."
"I called late last night and this morning, too."
"I guess I was really sleeping. I didn't even hear the Holloway kids making the snowman."
"You didn't check your messages?"
"No, I was too tired when I got in." And truth to tell, she hadn't wanted to know if Dan had called. Since his fight with Mariella, she didn't feel as if she should call him back. Vicki tabled that for now. "What did Bale say? Is he mad? I'm pushing it, I know."
"He didn't say. You'd better call him, but not until after you tell me what happened yesterday."
Vicki was getting tired of giving everybody reports, but Dan was a great sounding board and he was on her side. The coffee started to drip, and its wet aroma filled the air. The kitchen was bright, quiet, and still; if the snow had been insulation yesterday, it was a cocoon today. Vicki retrieved their Elvis and Harvard mugs, interrupted the coffee in mid-stream, and poured them both a cup.
"Thanks." Dan melted butter in a Calphalon pan, as Vicki leaned against the counter and began the account of what had happened. By the time she was finished, they were sitting before plates of leftover eggs and Vicki was on her third cup of coffee, which was weak because she had interrupted the brewing process.