Free Lady Killer by Lisa Scottoline Page B

phone.” Giulia’s eyes narrowed, so that with the eyeliner tattooing, they looked like two black dashes. “So what do I ask in this interview?”
    “Ask people if they saw Trish last night, or recently. Ask if anyone saw them leave and if they were alone.” Mary was thinking out loud. “Ask them, what time was it? Did they carry suitcases? Did they leave alone in the BMW? Did someone go with them and maybe follow them? Did it look like she was forced? Did they hear any yelling last night? How about a scream?”
    Giulia frowned in confusion.
    “I’ll write it down for you.”
    “That’s what I’m talking about!” Giulia reached into her purse for her cigarettes.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    M ary entered the bedroom and flicked on the light switch, feeling oddly as if she were walking into her alternative life, the world of what-if.
    He was so crazy about her. He loved her since high school.
    She shook the thoughts off, disturbing as they were, and concentrated on the task at hand. A large king-size bed sat against the far wall, between two windows covered by closed shades. The bed’s black quilted comforter was completely flat and four zebra-print pillows sat in neat layers, but at the foot of the bed lay a heap of clothes. Mary picked up the top one. It was a woman’s sweater, black with silvery glitter scattered on one padded shoulder, reeking of smoke and perfume, and underneath it lay another sweater, red with tiny red beads in the shape of a heart. It had to be Trish’s clothes, and from the looks of it, she’d been trying to find something to wear at the last minute, or maybe packing to go somewhere.
    Mary set the clothes back down and looked under the bed for suitcases, but there was nothing there, not even a single dust bunny. She straightened up, looked around, and out of curiosity, went to the dresser. It was neat and clean, covered with more photos of the beaming couple. Flush against the large dresser mirror sat two open jewelry boxes, his and hers. His was smaller, of black leather, and most of the tray was empty except for a few gold chains, sets of cufflinks, a stainless-steel Rolex, and a set of black studs. Something glinted underneath the studs, and she moved the jewelry aside with an index finger.
    A high school ring winked back at her, and she remembered the day he’d gotten his class ring. Their first date had been that night. He’d asked her out one Wednesday at their session, their books side by side on the kitchen table, momentarily forgotten.
    You mean, like a date? she had asked him, amazed. It was all that she had hoped for.
    That night, in the car, he’d showed her his ring, and she’d misunderstood, thinking for a thrilling moment he was going to offer it to her. He didn’t, but the ring and the romance were knotted together in her mind, unsettling as it was, in retrospect.
    She shooed the memory away and looked at Trish’s jewelry box, which looked like the treasure chest in a Disney cartoon. Gold chains of all sizes glittered from a hanging bar on the open lid, golden bangles sat stacked in a lopsided heap, and gold earrings overflowed their little trays. Mary lifted up the tray. Underneath, more gold chains and bangles covered the bottom, almost hiding a set of car keys, still with the rubber keychain from the dealership. They must have been an extra set. Impulsively she took the car keys and slipped them into her jacket pocket. Then she went quickly through dresser drawers, piles of neatly laundered and folded undies, socks, polo shirts, and shorts. Neither Trish’s gun nor her diary was there.
    Mary straightened up and eyeballed the room. A long closet stood open, its louvered panels slid aside, and she went over and searched the pockets on the hanging jackets and pants. No diary. No gun. She grabbed a footstool, undoubtedly used by Trish, and searched the top of the closet, stocked with sheets and electric blankets. No gun. Then she bent down and searched the bottom of the