Was this girl talk? Was she kidding?
She sighed, continued. “You came home sooner than I expected, so I was stuck in your coat closet for a while.”
I was stymied and finally blurted, “How in the world do you know how to break into houses?”
“It’s a gift,” she said with a cocky grin. “I didn’t always live on Nob Hill, you know. I grew up on the streets, learned to survive. Otherwise, I would’ve died out there.”
I clutched the bone folder more tightly.
“Hey,” she said, taking notice of my movement. “Back away from the table.”
I took a step closer to her, then threw the bone folder. It was absolutely useless as a weapon-but very effective as a diversion. Sylvia screamed and pulled the trigger at the same time. The bullet went wildly off course. We fell against each other and I pushed the gun away. She grabbed my chin and raked her nails down my neck.
“Ouch!” I knocked her back and reached for the gun. She tried to aim it toward me, but I grasped hold of her wrist and we fought for power.
“You stupid cow, let me go!” she cried as she smashed my face with her other hand.
“Damn it!” She was getting in plenty of smacks and slaps, but at least they weren’t bullets.
The door burst open and my mother dashed in carrying a huge pizza box, just as Sylvia smacked me in the ear with her fist, then grabbed for the gun.
Mom used the only weapon she had to protect her daughter. The pizza. She flung the box and struck Sylvia in the head. Sylvia squealed in fury as the gun went flying and the pizza tumbled to the floor.
Derek rushed in behind Mom, grabbed Sylvia by the back of her peach jacket and hauled her to her feet.
“Don’t step on the pizza,” Mom cried.
I looked up and grinned at Derek, delighted to see them both. He rolled his eyes and stepped a few feet away, out of pizza range, dragging Sylvia with him.
“You son of a bitch, take your hands off me!” she cried, twisting and struggling to free herself.
Mom scampered around to rescue the pizza. “It’s your favorite, sweetie. Mushrooms, onions and garlic.”
“Extra cheese?” I asked.
“You betcha.” She put the heavy box on the worktable and burst into tears. I grabbed her and we hugged tightly.
“I love you, Mom,” I whispered.
“I know, sweetie,” she said, sniffling as she stroked my hair. “I love you, too.”
Footsteps pounded outside in the hall and my studio was suddenly crowded with cops. Inspector Lee followed them in, clutching her gun with both hands. She holstered it as soon as she saw Derek gripping Sylvia’s arms behind her back.
“You got my message,” I said.
“Nope,” Lee said. “Conrad Winslow called to report his wife.”
“That bastard!” Sylvia shouted.
“Men,” I said, shaking my head.
Derek released Sylvia to one of the cops and Inspector Lee suggested we clear the area. I grabbed the pizza box and led the way back to the kitchen, where she questioned me for the next half hour.
As soon as she left, I poured three hefty glasses of wine as Derek explained that he’d heard my message, called the police and swung by headquarters to spring my mom. They’d picked up a pizza and were on their way over to surprise me.
“Why did you confess to the murder, Mom?” I asked as soon as I’d fortified myself with several stiff gulps of wine.
“Sweetie.” She glanced at Derek, then back at me and whispered, “I was trying to protect you.”
My jaw dropped a few feet. “Me? Why would you-”
She smiled self-consciously but said nothing.
“Wait,” I said. “You thought I killed Abraham? Why?”
“Because you hated him,” she explained.
“I did?”
She nodded solemnly. “You found out he and I were having an affair and you blamed him for destroying our marriage.”
I bobbled my wineglass, dumbfounded. “Y-you and-and Abraham were having an affair?”
“Oh, heavens no.” She took a dainty sip of wine.
“But…” I looked at Derek, who was biting back a smile. He seemed to be enjoying the show.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mother, what are you talking about?”
“Your friend confided in me the day of Abraham’s memorial,” she said. “She told me everything.”
My eyes narrowed. “What friend was that?”
“The chubby one in the leopard gloves? What’s her name? Minky? Monkey?” She waved the question away. “You know the one. Anyway, she told me how worried she was about you. How she hoped the police didn’t find out how much you hated poor Abraham.”
Minka. I gnashed my teeth as I planned my revenge. I was seriously going to destroy her. I just had to figure out how.
“Oh, I assured her it wasn’t true about the affair,” Mom continued. “But I was afraid the damage had been done. When you told me the police were hauling you in, I decided to take matters into my own hands.”