Free Tragic by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

But the other two edged between her and Anne.
    “Scared she is,” the other white woman warned.
    “Too much trouble,” added the black woman.
    “I understand that, but if you know something that could help solve a murder . . .” Marlene tried to continue, sensing that this woman might be aware of something important.
    At that moment the steel door of the shelter opened and an enormous man the size of her husband and Clay Fulton put together emerged and walked up to the women. Mark DiGregorio provided the daytime security for the women’s shelter. No violent boyfriends, husbands, stalkers, or other miscreants ever made it past his vigilant eyes or prodigious girth; those who tried once never tried again.
    “Good morning, Marlene, are these ladies bothering you?” heasked, eyeing the three women suspiciously. “They’ve been asking for you all morning but don’t seem to have any real business with the shelter.”
    “No business with you, mon,” the black woman said, scowling up at him. She then looked at her friends. “With this woman, yes. But not today, says Anne, so let’s go, my weird sisters.”
    “Wait,” Marlene said. “Tell me where I can find you.”
    The other white woman cackled. “On the heath, of course.” And with that, the three hurried down the sidewalk toward Houston Street.
    As she watched them go, Marlene shook her head. “Weird sisters is right. Guess it takes all sorts, eh, Mark?”
    DiGregorio grinned. “My family, including my parents, my sister, and me, spent a lot of time as missionaries in Jamaica teaching English and the gospel. All that juju gives me the creeps. Let’s just say I heard a lot of strange stories about witches and shit like that, and sometimes there’s more to this old world than we can see.”
    Marlene nodded. “I agree, and I think there’s more to those three than meets the eye, too. If you ever find out anything about them, or they come looking for me again, give me a call.”
    “You got it, sister,” DiGregorio replied with a laugh as he hurried up the stairs to open the door for her.
    Walking into the shelter, Marlene made her way to the office of the shelter’s new director, Bobbi Sue Hirschbein. “Good morning, Bobbi Sue,” she said after she’d knocked and been invited in. “Got anything you’d like me to do first?”
    A tall, austere woman who tied her long gray hair back into a bun that made her face more severe than necessary, Hirschbein had been the assistant director when Duran disappeared. She’d had her own horrific experiences with domestic violence; her alcoholic ex-husband after years of beatings and emotional abuse had shot her and left her for dead before committing suicide. She could be tough when it came to championing the shelter’s mission and fierce in her defense of women who needed help. But,unlike Duran, she had not let one man’s cruelty change her kind and gentle nature, nor cause her to blame all men for the actions of some.
    Marlene always suspected that Duran recognized that she needed someone to balance her grim outlook with a more positive perspective when she appointed Hirschbein to the position. After Mattie disappeared and it was clear she wasn’t coming back anytime soon, the shelter’s board of directors, which included Marlene, had promoted Bobbi Sue and never regretted the decision.
    “Good morning, Marlene,” Hirschbein replied, her sudden smile making her look ten years younger. “Yes, if you don’t mind. A seventeen-year-old with an infant came in a few nights ago. She told us her boyfriend hit her—she’s got a pretty good black eye and a split lip; said that it was the first time and that he’s been acting out of character. She thinks he’s in some sort of trouble and took it out on her. But after that she clammed up and won’t give us his name or press charges.”
    “What’s her name?” Marlene asked.
    “Nicoli Lopez,” Hirschbein replied. “Says she lives in the Bronx now, and