Lie Down with the Devil Read Online Free

wailed.
    “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
    She wailed harder, picking up her purse and rummaging in its deep interior. I passed her some tissues, thanking God there were tissues, a whole box of them right where they should be on my desk, but she ignored them and kept rummaging and then, with the waterworks at flood level, she lost her grip on the handbag.I reached out to grab it, but the handle eluded my grasp, and I succeeded only in speeding its cartwheel descent.
    Loose change, keys, and jewelry clanged to the floor. A deck of cards plopped onto a pile of Kleenex along with a small stapler, a cell phone, a bottle of scarlet nail polish, a makeup brush, a hairbrush, a pack of cigarettes, matchbooks, a toothbrush, a cascade of Band-Aids, pens and pencils, rubber bands, and a red bandanna.
    “God,” the woman said, jumping to her feet and squatting, then kneeling awkwardly on the bare floorboards. “I’m so damned clumsy.” Her hands scrabbled at the pile of junk and fanned the playing cards across the floor. “Oh, shit. Hell, no, please, don’t help me. Please. We’ll start over in a minute. I’ll shake hands and stop crying, really. Don’t help me, please, it’s bad enough already. I feel like some kind of animal—out of control, like a puppy dog crawling on the floor.”
    She was heavier than I’d thought at first glance, her knees dimpled and soft. She wore a short dark skirt and a tweedy heather-colored sweater. Her face was heart-shaped and her gentle eyes a deep soft brown. She looked too young to have the kind of troubles that would lead her to hire a private investigator, but the tears said otherwise.
    She worked quickly and methodically, dumping things back in the purse, scooping the cards with skillful fingers, giving them an expert shuffle before securing them with a rubber band. While she worked she tried to regain control, and she seemed to be calming down until she came across a large envelope. As she touched it, her eyes welled, and the moaning sobs began anew.
    Wordlessly, she passed me the envelope. At her nod, I opened it, then blinked in surprise: a wedding invitation.
    The pale unaddressed envelope was lined with silver moiré paper; the enclosed card featured modern script. When I read the names, I glanced quickly at my appointment calendar, and yes, the young woman crouched on the floor, holding a wad of tissues to her streaming eyes, was none other than the bride-to-be. A thin silver band circled the ring finger of her left hand.
    “Come on,” I said, helping her off the floor. “Sit down. Talk to me.” I didn’t think she’d handed over the invitation so I could congratulate her on the upcoming nuptials.
    She collapsed in the chair. Speech still beyond her power, she picked up her purse and started rummaging again. I thought we were in for a repeat performance and braced myself for a second shower of personal items. She made a noise somewhere between a croak and a sob, then gave up and yanked a slip of paper from either a well-concealed pocket or the waistband of her skirt.
    This one was cheap copy paper, folded roughly in eighths. I unfolded it.
    HE WON’T BE SLEEPING HOME FRIDAY NIGHT. HE’LL BE SLEEPING WITH HER.
    A fresh paroxysm of weeping accompanied my reading. I doled out more tissues, hoping she’d eventually be able to form words and sentences.
    “This is really embarrassing,” she mumbled, ducking her head.
    “Everybody makes mistakes,” I said.
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Some bigger than others.” When it comes to mistakes,I know what I’m talking about. Maybe she heard it in my voice, because she stopped sniffling.
    “I mean, what do you think of a girl who gets totally involved with a guy, just swept right off her feet, and she doesn’t even know who he is?”
    What did I think? When I’d met Sam Gianelli, I’d assumed he was simply a businessman, owner of the cab company I drove for part-time. His mob connections, which—had I been a local, Boston