House Odds Read Free Page B

thing. But not Molly. Molly . . . She’s my mouse, Joe. She’d never do anything like this.”
    Mahoney had three daughters: Maggie, Meredith—who went by the nickname Mitzy—and Molly. Maggie, the oldest, was a gorgeous redhead. She was tough, smart, and ambitious—and as tricky as her father if the occasion required it. She was currently an assistant district attorney in Boston, and Mahoney hoped that she’d run for his seat if he ever decided to retire. He and Maggie fought like cats and dogs whenever they were together, but she was clearly Mahoney’s favorite.
    Mitzy, the youngest, was a free spirit who refused to be shackled by convention or tradition. She dropped out of college her sophomore year, and since then had hopped from one risky, adventurous job to another. She’d been an avalanche maker on the ski slopes of Colorado; a diver on the Barrier Reef filming white sharks in feeding frenzies; and was the only female member of a team that climbed Annapurna II at a record-setting pace. The last DeMarco had heard she was in the Amazon jungle trying to prevent the extinction of some bird whose sole purpose for living was to shit the seeds of some exotic tree.
    Molly was the middle daughter. She was pretty, but not head-spinning, knockout pretty like her sister Maggie. And unlike Mitzy and Maggie, she was quiet. When all three girls were in the same room with Mahoney and his wife, Molly would sit there, a small smile on her face, just listening as her parents and her sisters talked and argued. She couldn’t compete with Maggie’s stories of crime and politics, and no one could match Mitzy’s tales of nearly being killed by sea creatures and hostile climates. It was easy to see why Mahoney called Molly his mouse.
    “Why’d she go to work for Reston Tech?” DeMarco asked. He knew Molly had some kind of engineering degree, chemical engineering he thought, but that’s all he knew about her profession.
    “She likes that they do cutting-edge design work,” Mahoney said. “That sorta stuff turns her crank. And the outfit she works for is close to D.C., which she also likes, and they pay pretty well.”
    “Well enough for her to have half a million dollars to invest?”
    Mahoney shook his head. “She makes about a ninety grand a year, and her mother told me that she was saving up to make a down payment on a house, but no way has she saved up half a million. She’s only twenty-six and she’s only been with Reston four years.” Mahoney sighed. “This thing’s making Mary Pat nuts. She wants to blow up the whole fuckin’ government, starting with the SEC. I’m not gonna get a minute’s peace until this is settled. Oh, and she wants to see you.”
    “Sure,” DeMarco said. Mary Pat was Mahoney’s faithful, long-suffering wife. She had endured her husband’s countless affairs, his drinking, his selfish nature. She had raised his children, managed his household, and stayed by his side through political thick and thin. DeMarco would walk barefoot on broken glass carrying a Hummer on his back for Mary Pat Mahoney.
    “She probably wants to give you a kick in the ass, make sure you’re doing everything you can,” Mahoney said.
    DeMarco doubted that. Mary Pat wasn’t the ass-kicking type. On second thought, maybe she was when it came to her children.
    “I need to talk to somebody over at the SEC,” DeMarco said. “Somebody other than Kay Kiser.”
    “Yeah, ain’t she a pip,” Mahoney muttered.
    “And I need to talk to Molly.”
    “She’s a basket case right now, but I’ll call her and tell her you’re coming over.”
    “Is she staying at your place?”
    “No. Her mother told her she should, but she doesn’t want to. Maybe when the press starts camping out on her doorstep she’ll move in with us.”
    “What are her other lawyers doing?”
    Mahoney’s lips twitched at the word “other.” DeMarco had a law degree, had even passed the Virginia bar, but he’d never practiced law. Instead