Mary felt a rush of warmth for Mrs. Nyquist and couldn’t help but nod in acknowledgment of her kindness.
Rovitch sighed. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Gemmill turned to Mrs. Nyquist. “You may step down. Thank you for your testimony, and have a safe trip back home.”
Mary was already on her feet. “Your Honor, we move now for a temporary restraining order against Justin Saracone and Saracone Industries.”
“Granted, Ms. DiNunzio,” Judge Gemmill ruled, banging the gavel, and the courtroom erupted into chatter and applause.
We won! Mary threw her arms around Judy, and when Mrs. Nyquist came over, Mary hugged her, too. In fact, she hugged the deputy, two of the law clerks, and the stenographer.
The gallery exploded, the circolo started a conga line, and the judge pounded her gavel again.
Crak! Crak! “It is hereby ordered that plaintiff’s requested relief is granted, the particulars of the order to be issued by chambers later today and released to the press. Dates for the preliminary hearing and subsequent trial to be scheduled later, counsel.”
Crak! Judge Gemmill banged the gavel, with a final sound. “Lastly,” she continued, “pursuant to Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 65, a security bond must be posted by the estate. I order that such bond be in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Ms. DiNunzio?”
“Yes, Your Honor?”
“I said, one hundred thousand dollars is your bond.”
“My…bond?”
“Your bond. You’ve read the rule, correct?” Judge Gemmill frowned and picked up a piece of paper from the dais. “Rule 65(c) provides that ‘no restraining order or preliminary injunctions shall issue except upon the giving of security by the applicant, in such sum as the court deems proper.’ ” Judge Gemmill peered over the top of her glasses at Mary, who froze in place.
A hundred thousand dollars? Where am I gonna get that kind of money? The estate is broke. I have $3750 in savings. I mean, I didn’t plan on actually winning.
“Counsel, as you know, I cannot issue a TRO unless the bond is posted. The reason, as you well know, is that in the event that you lose on the merits, the defendant is compensated for his loss. As I see it, his immediate loss would be the postponing of the sale of rights to Reinhardt, perhaps for one week, which delay would only be for a nominal amount.”
A hundred thousand dollars is nominal? Plus, if I lose at trial, I lose the hundred thousand, too? Which I don’t have? Is that even possible?
“DiNunzio!” called a voice, and Mary turned to the gallery.
Bennie Rosato was standing up. Trademark suit. Trademark hair. And trademark smile. “Your Honor, Rosato amp; Associates will post the bond. I’ll accompany Ms. DiNunzio down to the Clerk’s Office directly.”
Really? Mary looked at Bennie, dumbfounded.
“I’d bet on you any day.” Bennie beamed. “You’re a winner, kid.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, and resisted hugging her, but just barely.
In the next moment, a defeated Justin Saracone stormed past her and out the bar of court, with his unhappy lawyer hurrying behind.
Forty-Nine
The Four Seasons Hotel was where Philadelphia lawyers went to celebrate, and Mary, Judy, and Bennie had a little party there with Mrs. Nyquist and her grandson. They toasted one another at a marble table with peach-colored orchids in the center and a Steinway for background noise. Mrs. Nyquist got the most toasts of all, and Mary learned that after the first two glasses, Dom Pérignon tastes exactly like Crystal Light.
An hour or so later, Bennie and Judy excused themselves to go back to the office, and Mrs. Nyquist’s grandson excused himself to go to the men’s room, leaving Mary alone with her favorite cowgirl. She raised a glass to Mrs. Nyquist. “Helen, from the bottom of my heart, thank you very, very much.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled graciously.
“You saved the case, the day, my career, and most of the city.”
“Not hardly.”
“In fact, I think I love you.”
“I like you just fine, too, Mary. We did have fun, watching Conan.”
“We did. You’re the best date I’ve had in a long time.”
“That isn’t saying much,” Mrs. Nyquist offered, and they both laughed.
Mary raised a glass. “One more toast. To no more blind dates!”
“Here, here!” Mrs. Nyquist cheered, toasting.
They laughed again, and Mary couldn’t remember if she’d thanked Mrs. Nyquist, and even if she did, it was worth repeating. “Helen, thank you so much for testifying today.” Then she remembered how tight money was for Mrs. Nyquist. “And please, let me pay for your airfare and travel. That’s standard for witnesses, and the least I can do.”
“No, thank you. I won’t hear of it. I never charge anything, but I charged this.”
“Please, please, please let me pay.”
“No.” Mrs. Nyquist paused. “As much as I like you, Mary, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Amadeo.”
“All the more reason.”
“Although I admit, I’d thought you’d use that contract in a murder trial, not some patent doodah.”
“I wish I could have. But Gio died after I got back from Missoula, I guess you heard.”
“Yes.”
They both fell silent a minute, and Mary took a swig of Diet Coke, as an antidote to champagne. There were so many questions she was dying to ask Mrs. Nyquist, but she couldn’t go there. She sipped her Coke and listened to the lovely piano music. The pianist had segued into “I’ll Be Seeing You,” which Mary knew she wasn’t supposed to like anymore, but still did. She felt suffused with the wonderful feeling of having won. For Amadeo. And the bittersweet feeling of having it all end, and having to let him go.
Mary raised her glass. “To Amadeo.”
“To Amadeo.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled, raised her glass, and they clinked and sipped. “I guess you know, he and I were in love,” she confessed, softly.
Mary let the hushed words linger.
“Gio used to bring Amadeo around the office, and Amadeo and I became friends. He was shy, but I tried to teach him a few words in English. Pencil. Pen. Then one day, he fixed my typewriter. The p key stuck, and the r. Always those two.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled. “I guess I kind of got a crush on him, from that day on. His wife was still alive at the time. He fixed the radio on my desk, and it wasn’t even broken that bad. He took it apart, cleaned it, and put it back together again, and it got better reception after that.” She shrugged, remembering. “Some girls like roses, and others like things fixed, I guess.”
“I’d like both.” Mary smiled.
“Then after his wife passed away, Amadeo was so blue all the time. My heart just went out to him, and our friendship, well, it turned into love.” Mrs. Nyquist sighed heavily, and her hooded gaze met Mary’s, on the level. “I’m not proud of it. I was a married woman. Aaron was so busy with the camp and his career, but that’s no excuse.”
Mary didn’t say anything, but she didn’t judge, either.
“Aaron knew about my feelings for Amadeo, or at least he suspected. Even from early on, when I had my crush, he could tell. Later I found out he was having one of his men keep an eye on Amadeo, in the camp, from even before our affair began.”
Mary remembered the FBI memo, from the National Archives, monitoring Amadeo’s meeting with Giorno about Theresa’s death. She had assumed Amadeo was being monitored by the government, but he wasn’t. He was being watched on orders of Aaron Nyquist, who wasn’t worried about betrayal of his country, but the betrayal of his wife.
“So I broke it off, in July. Right before the Fourth, because we were having a party at the house. I couldn’t do it any longer, betray Aaron like that. I had made a vow to him, and I wanted to keep my word. Set things right between us.” Mrs. Nyquist swallowed again, as she had in court. “Then I heard that Amadeo killed himself, and foolishly, I thought I had something to do with it. That he was upset over our breakup. I never gave a thought that it was murder. I forgot all about the contract until you came to Butte.”