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Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

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From Publishers Weekly Philadelphia attorney Mary DiNunzio, last seen in Killer Smile (2004), agrees to help her high school nemesis, Trish Gambone, at the start of this less than convincing thriller from bestseller Scottoline. Trish, whom Mary used to regard as the quintessential Mean Girl, has turned in desperation to the lawyer, the all-around Most Likely to Achieve Sainthood at St. Maria Goretti High School, because she wants to escape from her abusive, and possibly Mafia-connected boyfriend, Bobby Mancuso. Trish rejects Marys practical suggestions for dealing with Bobby, but once Trish disappears, Mary finds herself under pressure from other high school classmates as well as people from her old neighborhood who blame her for not doing enough. Mary unwisely hides a connection with Bobby from the Feds, who then shut her out of the search for Trish when they learn of it. Scottoline fans will cheer Mary as she stumbles toward the solution, but others may have trouble suspending disbelief. From The Washington Post Most mysteries have at least two plots: the murder or heist or conspiracy that gets things going, and the quest for a solution. Merging these two lines of action isnt always easy, and bad mystery-writing is often marred by coincidences that strain credulity. In Lady Killer, Lisa Scottoline finesses this problem by setting her tale in Italian-American South Philadelphia, where her protagonist, Mary DiNunzio, grew up and where the victims and suspects still live. If someone pops up at a convenient moment, the reader doesnt wince: Everybody knows everybody else in this tightly knit neighborhood. Mary herself is one of the nabes success stories: a lawyer who represents injured and wronged parties from families just like her own. She may be a bit chary of standing up for herself (as her best friend at the firm points out, Mary is enough of a rainmaker to deserve a partnership, but she cant seem to persuade the boss of her worth). In the courtroom, however, shes a tiger. Having come a long way (figuratively) from South Philly, Mary is not pleased when the Mean Girls stop by her office: first Trish Gambone and later her acolytes, Giulia, Missy and Yolanda, all of whom made life hard for nerds like Mary in their years together at St. Maria Goretti High. Theyre the ones who dated the Big Men on Campus and mocked the kids who studied and took part in square activities like debate and student journalism, but theyre now stuck in low-paying jobs and still wearing the miniskirts and excess makeup of their youth, while Mary flourishes. Even so, seeing them makes Mary wonder if she is the only person who had post-traumatic stress syndrome from high school. Trish drops in on Mary to plead for help in dealing with Bobby, one of those former Big Men, now Trishs boyfriend. Except he has grown up to be a mobster whos in the habit of belting Trish when he gets angry and jealous; he does it craftily, though, giving her blows to the body rather than the face so that shes not a walking billboard for his brutality. Trish is scared that Bobby will carry out his recent threats to kill her, and Mary recommends going to court for a restraining order. Trish vetoes that idea because Bobby has been skimming money from his drug deals, and the notoriety of a court appearance could lead to his being whacked. When Mary cant think of any other solution, Trish walks out of her office in despair. Shortly afterward, she goes missing, and the other Mean Girls blame Mary for stiffing their friend in her time of need. To make things right, Mary neglects her law practice while chasing leads all over South Philly and beyond. In the meantime, Mary is getting to know Anthony, a handsome bachelor whose only drawback is that hes gay. This leads to some good quips: Mary had been on so many blind dates that it was a pleasure to be with a man who had a medical excuse for not being attracted to her. But then new information develops. As Mary and Anthony find themselves having more and more fun together, only the dimmest reader will fail to guess that Anthonys gayness, like Mark Twains reported death, is greatly exaggerated. Scottoline brings her characters to vivid life, the two strands of her plot mesh seamlessly, and her sharp sense of humor makes an appearance on almost every page. About the only ingredient missing from her book, however, is a crucial one: suspense. Its a given, of course, that the protagonist/detective will survive in the end, but Mary never runs into any appreciable danger, and her creator fails to impart a sense of menace to the lives of any other characters. Lady Killer ends up being funny and stylish, but almost as cozy as an Agatha Christie novel. Thats a hell of a complaint to have to make about a tale of the South Philly mob.

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Lisa Scottoline Lady Killer Rosato and Associates 6 To my BFF Franca - photo 1

Lisa Scottoline

Lady Killer

Rosato and Associates#6

To my BFF, Franca Palumbo

Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,

The Merchant of Venice, ACT 4, SCENE I,

LINES 66-67

CHAPTER ONE

M ary DiNunzio sat across from the old men, deciding which one to shoot first. Her father, Matty DiNunzio, was the natural choice because he was the most stubborn, but his three friends were tied for second. They sat next to him at the conference table, a trinity of Tonys-Pigeon Tony Lucia, Tony-From-Down-The-Block LoMonaco, and Tony Two Feet Pensiera, who was called Feet, making him the only man in South Philly whose nickname had a nickname.

Pop, wait, think about this, Mary said, hiding her exasperation. You dont want to sue anybody, not really. She met her fathers milky brown eyes, magnified by his bifocals, as he sat behind an open box of aromatic pignoli-nut cookies. Her mother wouldnt have let him visit her, even at work, without bringing saturated fats. Besides the cookies, waiting for her in the office refrigerator was a Pyrex dish of emergency lasagna.

Yes, we do, honey. The club took a vote. We wanna sue. Its about honor.

Honor? Mary tried not to raise her voice. She loved him, but she was wondering when hed lost his mind. A tile setter his working life, her father had always been a practical man, at least until this meeting. You want to sue over your honor?

No, over Deans honor.

You mean Dean Martin?

Yeah. He was a great singer and a great man.

Plus a great golfer, said Tony-From-Down-The-Block.

Great golfer, repeated Feet. And Bernice disrespected him. In public.

But Dean wasnt there. Mary stopped just short of saying, Hes dead. Or, Are you insane, too?

Tony-From-Down-The-Block nodded. Dean Martin wasnt his real name, you know. It was Dino Crocetti.

Mary knew. Dean Martin, born in Steubenville, Ohio. Adored his mother, Angela. Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime. She hadnt grown up her fathers daughter for nothing. In his retirement, her father had started the Dean Martin Fan Club of South Philly, and she was looking at its four copresidents. Dont ask why there were four copresidents. The fifth had to step down from prostate problems.

Mary asked, How does it avenge his honor if you sue?

Mare, Feet interrupted, indignant. Bernice insulted him. She called him a drunk!

Mary winced on Deans behalf. Her father shook his head. Tony-From-Down-The-Block reached for another pignoli-nut cookie. Feets slack cheeks flushed with emotion, trumping his Lipitor.

Mare, she hollered at him like a fishwife, in front of everybody. The mouth on that woman. So Big Joey hollered back and before you know it, hes holding his chest and falling down onna floor. She gave him a heart attack. Feet pushed up the bridge of his Mr. Potatohead glasses. That cant be legal.

I saw on Boston Legal, its motional distress. Tony-From-Down-The-Block brushed cookie crumbs from a red Phillies T-shirt, which matched his unfortunate new haircolor. He was single again, a fact that his red hair blared like a siren. Also that he might not own a mirror.

Thats how they always are, that club, her father said. They never shut up. Sinatra this, Sinatra that. They think Frank was the best, but Dean had the TV show. They forget that.

Dean was the King of Cool, ats all, added Tony-From-Down-The-Block, and Marys father turned to him.

Dont get me wrong, Sinatra was good, my Vita loves him. But he hogged the spotlight. A show-off.

A showboat, Tony-From-Down-The-Block agreed, and Mary listened to the two men have the same conversation theyd had a thousand times. Pigeon Tony sat silently on the end, dunking a cookie into his coffee. At only five foot two, he was more wren than pigeon, with his bald head inexplicably tanned, his brown-black eyes small and round, and his tiny nose curved like a beak. He was quiet because his English wasnt that good, and for that, Mary felt grateful. Two Tonys were enough for one lawyer.

But, Pop, Mary interrupted, trying to get them back on track. Big Joeys fine now, and Bernice didnt cause his heart attack. He weighed three hundred pounds. Hence, the Big part. In an intentional infliction case, you have to prove that the act caused the harm. And the statement she made wasnt outrageous enough.

How can you say that, honey? her father asked, stricken. Its outrageous, to us. His forehead wrinkled all the way to his straw cabbies hat. He was wearing an almost transparent sleeveless shirt, dark pants with a wide black belt, and black socks with pleather sandals. In other words, he was dressed up.

Mare, Tony-From-Down-The-Block interjected, the drinking wasnt for real on Deans TV show. They put apple juice in the glass, not booze. Its show business.

Feets face was still flushed. Yeah. They just spread that rumor to make Dean look bad. Theyre always trying to ruin his reputation. Can we sue about that, too? If Dean was alive, he could sue, so why cant we? He cant help it hes dead.

Mary sighed. Slow down, gentlemen. It costs money to sue. Even if I dont charge you, there are filing fees, service fees, all kinds of fees. You have to have money.

Feet said, We have money.

Not this kind of money.

We got seventy-eight grand in the kitty.

What? Mary couldnt believe her ears. Seventy-eight thousand! Whered you get that?

Deans got a lot of fans, Feet answered, and her father added:

Dead fans. Angelo, you know, the barber down Ritner Street. Remember, his wife Teresa passed two years ago, and they had no kids. Also Mario, who had the auto-body shop on Moore, and Phil The Toot, got that nice settlement from the car accident. He passed, too, poor guy. Her father paused, a moment of silence. They left their money to the club. We had three hundred and twelve dollars before that, but now were rich. We can sue anybody we want.

Anybody says anything bad about Dean, were suing, Feet said.

We dont even care if we lose, said Tony-From-Down-The-Block. Its the principle. Were sick of Dean gettin kicked around. Its gotta stop somewhere.

Right! Marys father pounded the table with a fleshy fist, and Pigeon Tony looked up from his coffee. Her father and the Three Tonys looked determined, their lined faces an Italian Mount Rushmore.

Gentlemen, hows it gonna look if you sue? Mary fought the urge to check her watch. She had so much else to do and was getting nowhere fast. Your club is mostly male, right?

Yeah, its true. Her father shrugged his soft shoulders. What are you gonna do? Dean was a mans man.

Its cause of the Golddiggers, Feet explained, and Tony-From-Down-The-Block sighed like a lovesick teenager.

Werent they somethin else?

Mary gathered the question was rhetorical. As I was saying, your club is mostly men. Isnt the Sinatra club mostly women?

Feet interjected, Its not a real club, like us. They call it the Sinatra Social Society. They dont even have bylaws, just parties.

Their name dont even make sense, Tony-From-Down-The-Block said. It has too many ss. You oughta hear em. Sounds like snakes with dentures.

Women, Feet said, but Mary let it pass. A flicker of regret crossed her fathers features. He knew where she was going, and she went there.

Pop, lets say you take the Sinatra club to court and even that you win. Hows that gonna look? A group of men beating up on a group of women? Is that really what you want?

Her father blinked.

Feet and Tony-From-Down-The-Block exchanged looks.

Pigeon Tony dropped his cookie into his coffee. Plop, went the sound, and a pignoli nut bobbed to the black surface.

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