“It’s gone national,” Benton lets me know.
“On Fox and CNN.” Dorothy sounds impressed, her strobing accessories disconcerting, her hair below her shoulders and streaked with gray.
It’s tied back with a sprig of mistletoe that combined with her glittery green swaths of eyeshadow make her appear somewhat extraterrestrial. Since various forms of remote communication became the norm, she’s taken to wearing themed makeup and outlandish outfits.
I don’t think a day goes by when my sister’s not on camera for one reason or another, in addition to launching podcasts and selfies over social media. Tonight, her festive getup is unrelated to the actual occasion of her only child’s birthday after the worst year imaginable. I would have bet money on Dorothy being thoughtless.
It would seem that a lack of remorse and empathy are defi cits she comes by naturally. They’re milled into her DNA. The older she gets the more she evolves into a carbon copy of our mother, who died last year in a Miami retirement home after suffering a stroke during the worst of the pandemic. Vivacious and charming, Dorothy “Doro” Scarpetta, for whom my sister is named, was a charismatic narcissist, and the coconut didn’t fall far from the palm.
Not in my case either when it comes to our hard-working, laconic father. If you ask my sister, I’m the boringly responsible one, all business, no play or sense of fun. In other words, “dull with an air of the inevitable” as if I wear “a dream coat woven on the loom of tragedy,” my sister’s words not mine.
I’m not sure what she really remembers about our childhood except that I was named after our father, both of us Kay Scarpetta. His firstborn and namesake, I had special status, at least in my sister’s mind, and his reliance on me made her only more resentful.
CHAPTER 10
IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND maybe switching off your jewelry,” I say to Dorothy. “I’ve seen enough flashing lights for one night, please.”
“Of course, but no fun.” She does it with a long-suffering sigh. “There now, isn’t that better? I’ve gone all dark just like you.”
Eyeing me up and down, she makes sure I know what a wreck I am.
“You look like a wet dog and probably smell like one.” Her teasing often has a sharp tip when aimed in my direction.
“More like Armor All, actually,” I reply, and occasionally I still get a whiff of it. “Marino let me borrow a towel.”
“I wouldn’t know since he’s not answering my calls or texts. Almost never does when he’s busy playing cops and robbers with you.”
“He’s not with me, and hasn’t been for hours. I expect him to be out with the investigator for a while.” I ignore her slights.
“Details please,” she demands as Benton looks on, and watching us spar isn’t new or interesting, either one. “I want to know what we’re up against, and if I could be at risk. How do we know who else this maniac has noticed nearby and might have on his radar?”
“I can’t talk about it, Dorothy.”
“That couldn’t be more unfair! I have a right to know what’s going on when someone’s been abducted and murdered two houses down from us.”
The weather was awful, she launches into her story, saying that she and Marino decided to stay in watching TV. They were drinking hot toddies, eating Thanksgiving leftovers, having no clue what was going on with their new neighbor.
“That’s what I can’t get over,” she says, and there’s no one more dramatic than my sister when weaving a tale. “If only we had, if only! We could have done something. Pete would have shown up with one of his big guns, and that would have been the end of it.”
“Did you hear any cars driving past while you were watching TV?” Benton asks.
“No, but that doesn’t mean much,” she says.
The townhomes are solidly built, with double-glazed windows. The soundproofing in addition to the stormy weather, the television playing, and it’s possible they might not have noticed a car going past. With the drapes drawn, they wouldn’t have seen it, either. But they have cameras above each door leading outside, and I ask if Marino checked the recording.
“I’m wondering if they might have picked up anything, assuming the street’s not out of range,” I explain.
“Of course, he’s checked,” Dorothy says unhappily. “But you can’t see anything. The cameras don’t cover the street, and this is so upsetting. I was barely acquainted with Gwen but more than I wish, and right about now I’m feeling sorry I got involved.”