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SUV when Michael called out to her.
    She stopped and waited.
    â€œAre you okay?” he asked when he reached her.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I be?”
    â€œLike all good Riggios, you never pass on dessert.”
    â€œI guess I’d just had my fill.”
    He understood she wasn’t talking about food. “She really does love you, you know.”
    â€œIt’s my life. Not hers. She needs to accept me for who I am.”
    â€œTrue.” He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “But—”
    He bit back whatever he was about to say, and she frowned. “What?”
    â€œYou won’t beat me up, will you?”
    â€œI’ll shoot you if you don’t speak your mind.”
    â€œOkay. It just seems to me, that door swings both ways.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œThe acceptance thing. You need to accept her the way she is.”
    â€œI do. But, she’s my mother and she’s supposed to be—”
    â€œEverything you want her to be?”
    â€œNo. But she doesn’t even make an effort!”
    â€œDo you?” he countered.
    Mary Catherine, like the rest of the Riggio clan, had a temper. Over the years, she had learned how to hold on to it.
    This wasn’t one of those times. Her temper rose; she felt herself flush. She gestured toward the house. “I’m here, aren’t I? Every freaking Wednesday night.”
    He didn’t respond and she lashed out at him. “It’s easy for you. For all of you. The perfect sons. All of you have always been everything she wanted you to be. And everything Dad wanted you to be, as well. Males.”
    â€œThe world’s smallest violin, Mary Catherine. Just for you.”
    â€œForget about it.” She yanked open her car door. “Of all people, I would have thought you’d understand.”
    She slid inside the Explorer and slammed the door behind her. She started the car and drew away from the curb. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that he hadn’t moved.
    He cocked his head, grinning at her.
    Muttering an oath, she slowed to a stop, lowered her window and leaned her head out. “I give up! I’ll see you next week. But if you really loved me, you would have smuggled a cannoli out.”

10
    Wednesday, March 8, 2006
9:10 p.m.
    B uster’s Bar was located in a section of town called Five Points, the spot where five major thoroughfares intersected. It was an area that seemed to fall in and out of favor, depending on what commercial endeavors—mostly bars, restaurants and clubs—happened to occupy the space at the time.
    Buster’s had weathered the ebb and flow of popularity. The owners served a hearty, if limited, selection of pub food and strong drinks, and offered entertainment several nights a week.
    Too worked up to head straight home, M.C. had decided to stop at Buster’s. The slightly seedy club wasn’t an RPD favorite, but it wasn’t unusual for several cops, typically detectives, to wander in on any particular evening. A drink and shop talk with a fellow detective was just what she needed to calm her down.
    M.C. entered the building. It smelled of cigarettes, burgers and beer. She saw that she was in luck. Brian and his two biggest RPD buddies—Detectives Scott Snowe and Nick Sorenstein—were at the bar, talking to a third man she didn’t recognize.
    M.C. crossed to the bar. Snowe caught sight of her and waved her over.
    â€œJust the man I was hoping to see,” she said.
    â€œThat so?” he asked, taking a swallow of his draft.
    She ordered a glass of red wine, then turned back to him. “Thought you could update me on the Entzel evidence.”
    â€œAnd here I thought it was my personality that interested you.”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œThere’s not much to update, unfortunately. The window proved a bust. Only prints on it were on the inside and belonged to the girl and her parents. Our perp no doubt