The encounter would have been hard on anybody, but Jolie was a scientist. She’d be a long time getting the situation straight in her head, especially since her brain was heavily weighted to the left side.

“What—what does it mean?” she asked.

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I answered.

Jolie tested my forehead for fever, then her own.

The phone rang, and I was so concerned about Jolie that I didn’t check caller ID. If I had, I wouldn’t have taken the call.

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

“THIS IS MARGERY DELUCA,” said Nick’s mother. She sounded uncertain, as though she were as surprised to find herself calling me as I was to hear from her. “Maybe you remember me?”

I also remembered Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan and Jack the Ripper. “How could I forget?” I countered sweetly.

“I was just awakened, from a sound sleep, by the strangest dream—”

Jolie peered at me curiously.

I put the phone on speaker.

“O-kayyy,” I said, drawing the word out.

“I would have sworn Nick came to me.” Saying this, Attila DeLuca sounded so small and so sad that I almost felt sorry for her. And I stress almost.

I didn’t speak. I’d rehearsed what I would say to the monster-in-law a million times, if I ever got the chance. Now, here it was, and not a damn thing came to mind.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you, dear.”

Dear.

Jolie grimaced.

“I guess I am,” I said.

“I feel an urgent need to meet with you in person,” Margery said.

Jolie shook her head wildly from side to side, made a throat-slashing motion with one hand.

Like I needed clarification.

“I don’t see the point,” I said. God, I was proud of my self-restraint. Plus, the way my life had been going lately, I could find myself in some train depot at any moment. I didn’t want any guff at the ticket booth.

“I was in such a state after Nick’s death,” Margery went on. “I might have overlooked some things.”

Yes, I thought. My jugular. My vital organs. And maybe there was a dime somewhere, in the bottom of an old purse in the back of my closet, that should have been hers.

“It’s okay, Mrs. DeLuca,” I heard myself say. “Nick was your only son, and it was terrible, the way he died. But it’s all in the past, and I really can’t imagine what we have to say to each other now.”

“Please—just let me buy you lunch. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“All booked up,” I said, looking to Jolie as exhibit A. Of course, Margery couldn’t see her, but it gave me the illusion that I was telling the truth.

Attila started to cry. I was not prepared for that.

“We must talk,” she said.

“Mrs. DeLuca, I’m very busy.”