“He never told me.” Mary wasn’t completely surprised, given that kiss, but still.
“I think he’s acting out to get your attention, for all these years. Like in the olden days, when the boys put the girl’s pigtail in the inkwell. He told me you were out of his league.”
Mary felt relieved to be considered too good for a murderer, but didn’t say so.
“Now, he can’t take it that you’re having a baby, that you married Anthony. You said no to him, and he’s used to getting what he wants.” Flavia sighed. “I spoiled him, that much I did. He thinks he’s entitled.”
“Well, he’s not.”
“I know.” Flavia’s face fell into deeply sad lines. “It’s gone too far.”
“Yes, it has,” Mary said, which was the understatement of the year, since they were talking about John’s murder. “I’m not kidding around, Flavia. You and I, we’re both adults. I’m telling you, right now, that I think Nick killed my friend John and I’m not going to let him get away with it. He’s notentitledto commit murder. I want to put him away.”
Flavia fell silent a moment, then looked at Mary evenly. “I agree with you. And if my Nicky committed murder, or had Stretch commit murder, I’ll help you.”
“You will?” Mary asked, astonished. It was the right thing to do, but she didn’t know many mothers who would say as much, in her position.
“Yes, I will.”
“But he’s your only son.”
“It’s the right thing to do, and at the end of my life, I have to answer to my God.” Flavia patted Mary’s hand, and just then, the front door opened, letting a shaft of light into the large, dark room. Machiavelli appeared in the threshold, his mouth dropping open when he saw his mother sitting at the table with Mary.
“Hi, honey,” Flavia called out, motioning him over. “Come sit with us.”
“Us?” Machiavelli strode toward them, composing himself. His mouth reverted to its typical smirk, and he buttoned his suitjacket as he swaggered over. “Hello, Mary, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I figured.” Mary didn’t know if she had the upper hand but it felt like it, from his reaction.
“Anyway it’s a good thing you’re here.” Machiavelli reached the table. “I just got off the phone with the Pennsylvania Human Relations Commission. We’re rejecting your settlement offer. My clients don’t want to work for your firm.”
“Oh that’s too bad.” Mary felt her theory confirmed, as if it needed it.
“So we’ll see you in court.” Machiavelli walked to his mother, put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hi, Ma. You didn’t tell me Mary was here.”
“No, I wanted to surprise you.” Flavia pointed to the chair catty-corner to her. “Sit down, please.”
“Am I in trouble?” Machiavelli pulled out a chair, smirking.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Mary sat directly across from Machiavelli, and Flavia linked her hands in front of her, dead calm. “Nicky, we have something very serious to talk about. I want you to tell me the truth, no matter what. And you know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Okay.” Machiavelli folded his arms, still smirking.
“And don’t make that face. This is very serious.”
“Okay.” Machiavelli frowned, probably embarrassed. Mary would’ve been too, but it was too serious to make jokes.
“Mary says her friend John got murdered. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“No,” Machiavelli answered flatly.
Flavia paused, her lips pursed. “Nicky, I want you to look me in the eye. I want you tell me the truth. Because you know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.” Machiavelli blinked, and Mary couldn’t tell if he was lying, but she knew he had to be.
Flavia leaned closer to him. “Do you swear to God?”
