Dirty Blonde (41 page)

Gina wiped her eyes. “I never told you,” she said, after a moment.

“What?”

“I thought it would compromise you.”

“What would?”

“You’re a judge.”

Cate didn’t get it. “Tell me what? You can tell me anything. I’m your best friend.”

“I know I didn’t do anything illegal, or criminal, that much I remember from law school. I just feel terrible about it, still. It’s awful. Morally, it was wrong. It is wrong. I think of it all the time. I even pray about it.”

“What?” Cate asked, bewildered.

“That night, the night you went to that motel. The night you called me. The night you almost got raped. When you didn’t get home right away. Remember? I was there waiting for you.”

“Okay.”

“You called me and told me you were at a pink motel on Ellsworth Avenue, by the airport. Then you got the flat tire and were late. But I didn’t know that.”

“Right. Because I couldn’t reach you. Because you left your cell.”

Gina nodded, biting her lower lip not to cry. “Well, something happened.”

“What? You’re scaring me.”

“That night, when you didn’t come home, I was worried about you, so I went to the motel. You told me where it was, it wasn’t hard to find, and it’s not far from here. I went to the office and asked where you were, a classy blonde, and he knew, a really skeevy guy, he told me the room. I think he thought I wanted to join you. So I went to the room looking for you and that man, Partridge, he was in there drinking with the door open, watching TV.”

My God.
Cate felt her eyes widen. She put a hand on her friend’s back.

“I asked what he did to you, I guess I was yelling, and before I knew what he was doing, I mean, he came at me.” Gina’s eyes welled up again. “He
attacked me
!”

Cate gasped. “Gina, no.”

“I tried to fight him, and he covered my mouth, and he started to tear at my jeans and he was angry, really angry.” Gina’s voice quivered, and she fought to maintain control. “And I thought, he’s going
to kill me
, so I broke away and ran outside but when he came after me, I pushed him away and the balcony was wet and all of a sudden, he kept falling backwards and he went right over the railing and off the balcony.”

Oh no.
Cate froze. A chill numbed her, despite the hot sun.

“And I looked over and his neck was broken and I knew he was dead, so I ran away. I ran to my car and drove to your house and calmed myself down until you got home. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d feel terrible or maybe even turn me in, even though it was self-defense. I swear it was.” Gina was crying now, hoarse, choking sobs, bent over in the plastic chair, her elbows on her bare legs. Her back shuddered under Cate’s hand. “I feel awful about it. I have nightmares. It’s a sin. I
killed a man.
” Then she looked up, her face tear-stained, her red eyes boring into Cate. “What will you do, Cate? Will you turn me in? Do you have to?”

Before Cate could answer, a splash came suddenly from the baby, and they both looked over. Warren splashed the water with his small, flat hand, then watched the pattern of dark and light. Then he said, “Mommy.”

Mommy.
Cate felt a chord struck inside her chest. She had heard that sound before, long ago, in that identical little-boy register.

Gina’s mouth had dropped open, and her tears stalled. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice thick.

“Yes.”

“Did he say
‘Mommy
?’”

“I heard it, too.” Cate couldn’t keep the thrill from her voice. “He said, ‘Mommy.’ Just like he used to.”

“That’s me!
I’m ‘Mommy’!
” Gina rose, set the gift down on the deck, and walked through the pool to the baby. “Warren, Mommy’s here. I’m Mommy. You’re Warren.”

“Mommy,” Warren said clearly, without looking up.

“Warren!” Gina scooped him up again, joyfully this time, holding him close as she stood in the baby pool. “Warren, it’s Mommy. Warren, it’s Mommy! Mommy loves you! I love you, Warren,” Gina said over and over, happiness lifting her voice. She rocked him in her arms, and Warren’s large blue eyes looked up at the sky.

Cate bit her lip, her emotions in tumult.
What will you do, Cate?
Will you turn me in? Do you have to?
The beer soured in her mouth. She could imagine Gina bursting into the motel room, demanding to be told where she was, screaming at Partridge in her fear. Unknowingly walking into a nightmare. All for Cate.

Cate kept her eye on her friend, rocking her baby back and forth, the two of them a solitary silhouette against the leafy maple, the sun peeking through, here and there, in the most unexpected spots. Cate watched the patterns a minute, considering. The leaves were in the way, but the sun was there all along, abiding, giving warmth and light. Sometimes it would be hidden by a tree, or a cloud cover. By winter, or even by pain or hopelessness. But it was always there, and always would be.

Cate felt her heart wrench to look at them, mother and child, wrapped for just a moment around each other, and she knew that no courtroom or law would ever punish Gina more than she herself did now, and would forever. And all of a sudden, Cate understood something that she hadn’t before. That at certain times, everything will fall surprisingly into place, even on a humid summer afternoon, with her feet in a baby pool.

And in those times, justice and love will look so much alike that they will become the very same thing.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author of a novel doesn’t get a chance to speak directly with the reader, except in the acknowledgments. I hate that. At least I must, because I’ve noticed that my acknowledgments keep expanding, and are currently longer than anyone else’s (in the world). In my defense, I want to take the time to meaningfully thank the people who helped me research this book, and that often necessitates further explanation. So, if you will permit me, here goes.

For the record, Centralia actually exists, or at least, it did. The way it’s described in
Dirty Blonde
, as well as how it came to its present state, is real and true. I won’t retell the details that find their proper home in the book, but Centralia was a coal-mining town in northeastern Pennsylvania and was barely locally known, despite its horrendous underground mine fire. I didn’t know anything about it until fifteen years ago, when I drove through its ruins and found myself engulfed in sulfurous steam. It was an impossibly eerie experience, and I always wanted to write about it, and last year began to do the research.

By way of background, Centralia and the surrounding Appalachian towns were one of the few places in the country that anthracite coal, which is especially hard, could be found. Anthracite began being mined in Centralia in the 1800s, so that by the 1900s, the town sat atop a beehive of mines, exploited by different companies and poachers. The mine fire that would eventually ruin Centralia started in 1962, in the landfill near St. Ignatius church, school, and cemetery. The borough council cleaned up for Memorial Day by burning the trash in the landfill, but unfortunately, a coal mine lay beneath. Flames must have fallen into the mine and set fire to the coal, and over the next several decades, state and federal governments lost chance after chance to put out the fire when it was still possible to do so. It rages out of control, even today, leaving Centralia to be called “the poor man’s Dante’s Inferno.” Those of you who want to read further will find every question answered in the excellent book,
Unseen Danger: A Tragedy of People, Government, and the Centralia Mine Fire
(1986), by David DeKok. The nonfiction account reads like a great detective story, owing to David’s skilled reporting and writing. When I found the book, I contacted David, and he was generous enough to read
Dirty Blonde
in manuscript and backstop me on accuracy. I thank him very much for all his help. (Any errors are mine, nevertheless.) David also permitted me to use his photos of old Centralia on my website, which make a fascinating contrast with my own current photos. To see them and to read more about Centralia, you can visit www.scottoline.com.

I visited Centralia to research the scenes in the book, accompanied by the amazing friend to whom this book is dedicated, Laura Leonard. Laura was my first publicist at HarperCollins, almost fifteen years ago, and now she works with me as my assistant and partner in crime. Laura is so dedicated to my books that she would walk through fire—or, at least, stinky steam—with me. I won’t enumerate all the other things she and her family do for me and mine. Laura, this book is dedicated to you, with love and deepest thanks.

In other thanks, love and gratitude to Rachel Kull, for her friendship, support, and expertise in the area of children and autism. I also relied greatly in this regard upon the wonderful librarians at the Princeton, New Jersey, public library, who helped me so much (though I never identified myself and look nothing like my author photo, which is complete fiction). I am also indebted to the following authors for their excellent books on the subject: Kathy Labosh,
The Child with Autism at Home
(2004); Lynn McClannahan and Patricia Krantz,
Activity Schedules for Children with Autism
(1999); Richard Simpson,
Autism Spectrum Disorders
(2004); Philip Abrams and Leslie Henriques,
The Autism Spectrum Parents’ Daily Helper
(2004).

Deepest thanks to Glenn Gilman, Esq., criminal defense genius, who helps me on each book, and Arthur Mee, retired detective extraordinaire, who put away bad guys and looked way hot doing it. Thanks again to Jerry Hoffman, Esq., and his son, Professor David Hoffman, Esq., of the genius lawyer family of Philadelphia.

In addition, I have a tradition of permitting worthy causes to auction off the names of fictional characters in my books. I always make these people good guys, because their generosity helps so many. So thanks to Adrienne Drost (for Pennsylvania Home of the Sparrow for abused women and children); Julie Williamson (for Kids Love a Mystery, the MWA’s program for children’s literacy), Marvin “Mitty” Shiller (Thorncroft Therapeutic Riding Center), Bonner Menking (Kids Love a Mystery), Jill Wiederseim (French & Pickering Conservation Trust), Paul Roots (Miami Valley Literacy Council), Gloria Sullivan (Thorncroft Therapeutic Riding Center), Jessica Conley (West Chester University), Abby Linderman (Great Valley Community Education Foundation), William Sasso (Philadelphia Free Library), Andrew Kingston (Sleuthfest), Amy Nislow (Philadelphia Free Library), and Tom and Sue McGinn (Everyone’s favorite Santa and Mrs. Claus). And in memory of Fiona McCann, whose name was a gift from Joanne Leone and Sherill Silverman-Posner to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. And in memory of my old friend Bob Rogers, whose kindness and hard work for so many charitable causes was limitless.

On the publishing front, love and deepest thanks to my wonderful agent Molly Friedrich, and to Aaron and Arleen Priest and Paul Cirone, too. Thanks to Lou Pitt, for his support and his expertise. Thanks and love to my wonderful and forever editor, Carolyn Marino, and the whole great HarperCollins team: Jane Friedman, Brian Murray, Michael Morrison, Jonathan Burnham, Kathy Schneider, Josh Marwell, Brian Grogan, Nina Olmsted, Christine Boyd, Roberto de Vicq de Cumptich, Will Staehle, Adrienne Di Pietro, Tom Egner, Ana Marie Allessi, and Jennifer Civiletto.

Finally, deepest thanks and love to my friends and family, fur covered and otherwise.

About the Author

Lisa Scottoline
is the
New York Time
bestselling author of twelve novels and a former trial lawyer and judicial law clerk. She won the Edgar Award, the highest prize in crime fiction, and teaches Justice and Fiction at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, her alma mater. She serves on the board of directors of the Mystery Writers of America and the National Italian American Foundation. Her books are published in more than twenty languages, and she remains a lifelong resident of the Philadelphia area. She welcomes reader e-mail and visits to her website, www.scottoline.com.

ALSO BY LISA SCOTTOLINE

Devil’s Corner

Killer Smile

Dead Ringer

Courting Trouble

The Vendetta Defense

Moment of Truth

Mistaken Identity

Rough Justice

Legal Tender

Running from the Law

Final Appeal

Everywhere That Mary Went

Credits

© Barnaby Hall/Getty Images

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

DIRTY BLONDE. Copyright © 2006 by Lisa Scottoline. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.

PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Mobipocket Reader February 2006 ISBN 0-06-114733-8

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Scottoline, Lisa.

Dirty Blonde / Lisa Scottoline.—1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN–13: 978-0-06-074290-4