The Mephisto Club

ignored for too long.
    At once, Angela scurried into the kitchen and lifted her granddaughter from the infant seat. “Oh baby, poor little girl! You have no idea what you’re in for when you grow up.” She sat down at the table and rocked the baby, hugging her so tightly that Regina squirmed, trying to free herself from this suffocating madwoman.
    “Okay, Mom,” sighed Jane. “What did Dad do?”
    “You won’t hear it from me.”
    “Then who am I going to hear it from?”
    “I won’t poison my children against their father. It’s not right for parents to bad-mouth each other.”
    “I’m not a kid anymore. I need to know what’s going on.”
    But Angela did not offer an explanation. She continued to rock back and forth, hugging the baby. Regina looked more and more desperate to escape.
    “Um…how long do you think you’ll be with us, Mom?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Jane looked up at Gabriel, who’d been wise enough so far to stay out of the conversation. She saw the same flash of panic in his eyes.
    “I might need to find a new place to live,” said Angela. “My own apartment.”
    “Wait, Mom. You’re not saying you’re
never
going back.”
    “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m going to make a new life, Janie.” She looked at her daughter, her chin jutting up in defiance. “Other women do it. They leave their husbands and they do just fine. We don’t need them. We can survive all by ourselves.”
    “Mom, you don’t have a job.”
    “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past thirty-seven years? Cooking and cleaning for
that man
? You think he ever appreciated it? Just comes home and gulps down what I put in front of him. Doesn’t taste the care that goes into it. You know how many people have told me I should open up a restaurant?”
    Actually,
thought Jane,
it’d be a great restaurant.
But she wasn’t about to say anything to encourage this insanity.
    “So don’t ever say to me,
You don’t have a job.
My job was to take care of that man, and I’ve got nothing to show for it. I might as well do the same work and get paid.” She hugged Regina with renewed vigor and the baby let out a squawk of protest. “I’ll stay with you only a little while. I’ll sleep in the baby’s room. On the floor is perfectly okay with me. And I’ll watch her when you two go to work. It takes a village, you know.”
    “All right, Mom.” Jane sighed and crossed to the telephone. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, maybe Dad will.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “Calling him. I bet he’s all ready to apologize.”
I bet he’s hungry and wants his personal chef back.
She picked up the receiver and dialed.
    “Don’t even bother,” said Angela.
    The phone rang once, twice.
    “I’m telling you, he won’t answer. He’s not even there.”
    “Well, where is he?” asked Jane.
    “He’s at
her
house.”
    Jane froze as the phone in her parents’ home rang and rang unanswered. Slowly she hung up and turned to face her mother. “Whose house?”
    “Hers. The slut’s.”
    “Jesus, Ma.”
    “Jesus has nothing to do with it.” Angela took in a sudden gulp of air and her throat clamped down on a sob. She rocked forward, Regina clutched to her chest.
    “Dad’s seeing another woman?”
    Wordlessly, Angela nodded. Lifted her hand up to wipe her face.
    “Who? Who’s he seeing?” Jane sat down to look her mother in the eye. “Mom, who is she?”
    “At work…” Angela whispered.
    “But he works with a bunch of old guys.”
    “She’s new. She—she’s”—Angela’s voice suddenly broke—“
younger.
”
    The phone rang.
    Angela’s head shot up. “I won’t talk to him. You tell him that.”
    Jane glanced at the number on the digital readout, but she didn’t recognize it. Maybe it was her dad calling. Maybe he was calling from
her
phone. The slut’s.
    “Detective Rizzoli,” she snapped.
    A pause, then, “Having a rough night, are you?”
    And getting worse, she thought, recognizing the voice of Detective Darren Crowe.
    “What’s up?” she asked.
    “Bad things. We’re up on Beacon Hill. You and Frost will want to get over here. I hate being the one to tell you about this, but—”
    “Isn’t this your night?”
    “This one belongs to all of us, Rizzoli.” Crowe sounded grimmer than she’d ever heard him, without a trace of his usual sarcasm. He said, quietly, “It’s one of ours.”
    One of ours.
A cop.
    “Who is it?” she asked.
    “It’s Eve