The Mephisto Club

harassment!”
    “I’ll show you what police harassment is,” Jane shot back. “You just keep pushing me.”
    “What’re you gonna do, arrest me?” Sandie leaned into her, eyes narrowed to slits of mascara. “Go ahead.” The woman shoved her finger against Jane’s chest and gave a hard shove. “I dare you.”
    What happened next was purely reflexive. Jane didn’t even stop to think, but simply reacted. With one sweep of her hand, she grasped Sandie’s wrist, twisted her around. Through the rushing of her own blood, she heard Sandie screaming obscenities. Heard her dad yell, “Stop it! For God’s sake, stop!” But she was operating on automatic now, all nerves firing on full thrust as she shoved Sandie to her knees, the way she’d handle any perp. But this time there was rage fueling her, making her twist harder than she had to, making her want to hurt this woman. Humiliate her.
    “Rizzoli! Jesus, Rizzoli, that’s
enough
!”
    The sound of Frost’s voice finally penetrated the pounding of her own pulse. Abruptly she released Sandie and stepped back, breathing hard. She stared down at the woman who knelt whimpering on the sidewalk. Frank dropped to his knees beside Sandie and helped her to her feet.
    “What the hell’re you gonna do now?” Frank looked up at his daughter. “Arrest her?”
    “You saw it. She shoved me.”
    “She was upset.”
    “
She
made the first contact.”
    “Rizzoli,” Frost said quietly. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”
    “I
could
arrest her,” said Jane. “Damn it, I
could.
”
    “Yeah, okay,” said Frost. “You could. But do you really want to?”
    She heaved out a breath. “I got better things to do,” she muttered. Then she turned and walked back to the car. By the time she climbed in, her dad and the blond had already vanished around the corner.
    Frost slid in beside her and pulled his door shut. “That,” he said, “was not a cool thing to do.”
    “Just drive.”
    “You went in looking for a fight.”
    “Did you see her? My dad’s going out with a friggin’ bimbo!”
    “All the more reason why you need to stay a hundred miles away from her. You two were gonna kill each other.”
    Jane sighed and dropped her head in her hand. “What do I tell my mom?”
    “Nothing.” Frost started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Their marriage is not your business.”
    “I’m gonna have to go home and look at her face. See all the hurt there. That
makes
it my business.”
    “Then be a good daughter. Give her a shoulder to cry on,” he said. “Because she’s gonna need one.”
             
    What do I tell my mom?
    Jane pulled into a parking space outside her apartment and sat for a moment, dreading what came next. Maybe she shouldn’t tell her what happened today. Angela already knew about Dad and Miss Golden Retriever. Why rub her face in it? Why humiliate her even more?
    Because if I were Mom, I’d want to be told. I wouldn’t want my daughter keeping secrets from me, no matter how painful they were.
    Jane stepped out of the car, debating what to say, knowing that, no matter what she decided, this was going to be a miserable evening, and that little she could do or say would ease her mother’s pain. Be a good daughter, Frost had said; give her a shoulder to cry on. Okay, that much she could manage.
    She climbed the stairs to the second floor, her feet feeling heavier with every step as she silently cursed Miss Sandie Huffington, who had screwed up all their lives. Oh, I’ve got my eye on you. You so much as jaywalk, Bimbo, and I’m gonna be right there. Outstanding parking tickets? Bad news for you. Mom can’t hit back, but I sure as hell can. She thrust her key into her apartment door and paused, frowning at the sound of her mother’s voice inside. The sound of her laughter.
    Mom?
    Pushing open the door, she inhaled the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Heard a different laugh now, startlingly familiar. A man’s. She walked into the kitchen and stared at retired detective Vince Korsak, who sat at the table with a cup of coffee. In front of him was a huge plate of sugar cookies.
    “Hey,” he said, lifting his coffee cup in greeting. Baby Regina, sitting right beside him in her infant carrier, lifted her tiny hand, too, as though in imitation.
    “Um…what are you doing here?”
    “Janie!” scolded Angela, setting a pan of freshly baked cookies on the stovetop to cool. “What a thing to say to Vince.”
    Vince? She’s