As Mary digs through mountains of ancient paperwork, however, two things start to become clear. First, she has an affinity for this little man who died some sixty years ago; the case becomes very personal to her. And second, she begins to note little oddities: the fact that the FBI was monitoring Amadeo's visitors, or that the attorney who passed the case to her wants to cut her loose now that she seems to be uncovering something. And it seems as though someone is following her - a sinister character in a black Escalade. Her office is trashed and what little evidence she had regarding Amadeo is stolen. But the escalating tension only stiffens her resolve: she will find out what really happened to Amadeo, so long ago on the plains of the Big Sky Country.
The mystery only deepens when she travels to Montana: what she learns suggests that perhaps Amadeo didn't commit suicide after all. Still, she can't understand what would have been the killer's motivation, nor why it would be worth additional deaths in the present. The novel culminates with a series of investigative revelations, tense confrontations, and a courtroom scene (a necessity in most courtroom dramas, of course). What truly sells the story, though, isn't so much the trappings of the traditional thriller, but rather the characters and the history involved. It seems that the novel had its genesis in Scottoline's discovery of her own grandparents' alien registration cards, and she brings that sense of discovery to this story. I had never really thought of (nor really heard of) the internment of Italian-Americans, and Scottoline managed to explore that topic quite well, with a deft yet poignant touch. In Mary DiNuzio she creates a caring and capable protagonist, someone who grows through the course of her adventures. And she recreates the sounds and sense of South Philly in a way that truly places the reader in those locations.
There were moments when I questioned the storyline, or where I wondered at the believability of certain revelations. But Scottoline's deft touch deflects much of any criticism I might raise in that regard; it also masks any nagging concerns I felt regarding the somewhat deux ex machina qualities of the finale. I understand the desire to keep certain information quiet until the end (so as to draw out the suspense), but it did seem a bit providential that crucial information appeared just as it was needed. That said, Scottoline also kept me guessing for most of the novel: guessing as to what, if any, crime had been committed, as well as who did it and why. In the context of a thriller, that is more than half the battle, because far too frequently the end is in sight even as the book opens.
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