Almost Dead (20 page)

Oh no!

“Hello?” she called again, heartbeat accelerating. Then she spied Tanya on the patio outside in the dark. She was huddled against the wind, her cell phone to her ear, and when she turned at the sound of Cissy’s voice, she quickly ended the call, snapping her flip phone shut.

As she stepped inside, she said, “I get lousy reception in the house.”

“Where’s Beej?”

“Jack came by and picked him up.”

“What?”

“I said, Jack came—”

“I know what you said, I just don’t understand it,” Cissy cut her off. “I thought you understood that Beej isn’t to leave—”

“With his own father?” Tanya looked at her as if she’d gone around the bend.

“Did they take the dog too?”

“Yeah, thank God.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. He called and said that I didn’t need to bother with dinner. Then he picked up Beej and the stupid dog and they took off about ten minutes ago.”

“But—”

“I couldn’t call you,” Tanya pointed out. “And you’re late.”

“I…ran into some unexpected problems.”

“Sure.” The corners of her mouth pinched. “Look, I know you don’t like me. I don’t know why. I do a good job, but it’s never good enough, is it? It’s like you were ready to hate me from the get-go. I figure it has something to do with the fact that Jack hired me, and you’re pissed at him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I’m giving my notice.”

“You are?”

“I’m not sticking around so you can fire me. I know you’re thinking about it, so let’s just get it over with. It’s too bad in a way, because I love Beej. Jack’s great too, but you and I”—she waved her hand back and forth between Cissy and herself—“we just don’t click.”

Cissy couldn’t think of anything to say.

Tanya was already reaching for her coat, which hung on the hall tree in the foyer. “Call the nanny school; they have girls they need to place.” She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her raincoat and flipped the hood over her head. “Be sure to mention that you’ve got a dog. It’s kind of a big deal. And…while I’m giving out advice, maybe you should see a shrink. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I think you should talk it over with someone instead of taking it out on me.” With that she walked through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Cissy stood in the middle of the hallway.

What had just happened?

The nanny had fired
her?

Shoving her hair from her face, she started upstairs when a horrid thought hit her.

What if Tanya’s lying? What if Jack hadn’t been by? What if B.J. wasn’t with him?
It seemed crazy to think that the nanny was hiding something. Why then would she wait for Cissy?

Who says she was waiting? Maybe you caught her before she left. Maybe that’s what the furtive phone call on the patio was all about.

No way. She was probably just calling about another job.
Don’t make more of it than there is.

Cissy grabbed the handheld phone and quickly punched out the number of Jack’s cell phone. One ring. Two. “Come on, pick up.” Three rings. Cissy walked to the front window and stared into the black night. No one was out there, and Tanya was long gone, her car no longer parked across the street. Four rings. “Jack, come on!” she nearly screamed as, with a series of clicks, the connection went to voice mail. Nervously tapping one foot, she waited as the mechanical voice told her to leave a message after the tone. “Jack, it’s Cissy. Do you have Beej? I’m home, and I’ve had a horrible day, and Tanya said that—”

Headlights showed down the street. They moved closer until they reached the driveway, then splashed against the wall as Jack’s Jeep wheeled into the driveway. Cissy was out the door in a flash. “Have you got Beej?” she asked as Jack climbed from behind the wheel.

“Didn’t Tanya tell you?” He looked around and said, “Oh hell, she took off! I told her—”

“No, no. She told me…she was here. It’s my fault that I’m freaked out. I had a hellish day!” She was already across the lawn and opening the back door of the Jeep to find her son staring up at her with wide eyes.

“Hi, Mom-mee!” he said, and his legs kicked in excitement.

She unbuckled and unsnapped him and pulled him tight against her. He hugged her neck.

“You miss me?”

“Oh yeah, honey, Mommy missed you big time.”

“Big time,” he repeated as Jack pulled out two white sacks that smelled of garlic, tomato sauce, and cheese.

“Takeout Italian,” he said, “and definitely
not
pizza. So, you had a bad day?”

Cissy’s mind replayed the image of Marla in the doorway. “You wouldn’t believe,” she muttered as they headed across the lawn to the still-open front door.

“Try me.”

“Later, when B.J.’s asleep.”

“Would wine and scampi primavera help?”

Her stomach rumbled. She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

Seeing her, Jack said, “Ciss…?”

“Yes. Wine and scampi primavera.” She smiled shakily at him.

“We’ve also got old-fashioned spaghetti and meatballs and Caesar salad.”

“Perfect.”

“You look like you’re about to fall down.”

He reached for her hand, and she let him. Tonight she needed his strength and, though she might regret it later, she decided that they could share dinner and a glass of wine, and draw the shades. She glanced over at Sara’s house and swore she saw her neighbor peeking through the blinds. As Jack pulled the door shut behind them, she caught a glimpse of the street lamp across the street and wondered if the person she’d seen there the other night would return.

Or was it all a part of her own wild unpredictable imagination?

She carried Beej into the house, heard Jack throw the lock on the door, and told herself that for a few hours she was going to close her mind to all her fears. Tonight, she was going to drink Chianti with her husband, suck up spaghetti with her son, and maybe, hours later, confide to Jack about what she’d experienced today at her grandmother’s house.

“You’re telling me that you found hairs around the screwdriver that was jammed into the gate at Eugenia Cahill’s house, and that they might be Cissy Holt’s?”

“That’s right,” Tallulah Jefferson told Paterno from her end of the phone in the lab. “We had samples of her hair from the crime scene at the Cahill house. Under the microscope, they match the ones from the screwdriver in color and texture. I can’t be certain until I do a DNA test though, and that takes time. There were follicles on both samples, so I’m asking the lab to put a rush on them, but we’re still talking weeks.”

“So this is just your educated guess?” Paterno said, leaning back in his chair, hearing it creak in protest.

“Very educated. PhD educated,” she reminded him, though he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “The department’s lucky to have you and all.”

“Damned straight. I’ve got to run, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“Damned straight.”

She hung up, and he scratched at his chin, hearing the scrape of his fingernails against his five o’clock shadow. What would Cissy Holt’s hairs be doing around the screwdriver? Why would she jam the lock, then call the police?

To fake them out?

Because she was cracking up?

He thought she might be on the verge of a breakdown…but that might be a ruse on her part. Maybe to sabotage the investigation? Tell the authorities she’d seen her mother, when she really hadn’t?

Was she trying to turn the police in the wrong direction?

Was Marla long gone, out of the state, and Cissy the one behind the murders?

His stomach started burning once more, and he thought he should really see the doc again, but right now, he was too damned busy to hang out in a waiting room. He opened the drawer to his desk, sifted through the pencils, paper clips, pens, and rubber bands before he found a bottle of Tums. It was nearly empty. Great. Popping the last two into his mouth with one hand, he tossed the empty bottle into the trash with the other.

So what did Cissy Holt stand to gain by twisting the truth?

More of the family fortune?

Her mother’s safety?

A scapegoat for her own crimes?

He glanced at the open files in front of him. Two dead bodies. Rory Amhurst and Eugenia Cahill, connected by one woman, Marla Amhurst Cahill.

Cissy Holt’s mother.

He decided it was time to do a little more digging into Cissy’s privileged life.

Who knew what he’d find?

Cherise hung up.

Alone in her own home, standing in the middle of the kitchen, she didn’t know what to do.

She’d left three messages on Donald’s cell phone and one in his hotel room, but he hadn’t called back. No doubt he was deep into discussions about the mission the church was planning to create in a small Mexican village. Nonetheless, she wished he would call, prayed that he would. He was such a good, wise husband, and she leaned on him more than she should. They’d had some rocky times in their marriage, but really, what couple hadn’t shared the bad with the good? Recently, though, she and her husband were solid. Right?

Don’t question him! Learn to trust.

Perhaps that was why God, or the Reverend Donald himself, had decided he shouldn’t return her calls. So that she would make her own decisions, be the strong one.

She hated the fact that everyone thought she was weak, that her previous three marriages seemed to indicate that she couldn’t handle her life by herself. But that wasn’t it. She could. She just didn’t want to. She liked being married, loved being part of a couple, needed that feeling of being a half of a solid whole. The few months she was single between her marriages, she’d always felt adrift. At sea. Almost as if she were doomed to drown.

But Reverend Donald had saved her, and they’d married to create this perfect union. Well, near perfect. And so she wanted to talk to him, to tell him that she was certain that she’d actually seen Marla driving a silver car near the Cahill estate, a place Cherise often drove by. She’d been cruising along a road that wound near the university hospital which backed up to the estate and there, clear as day, driving a little erratically, had been Marla. Or she thought it was Marla. She’d caught only a quick glimpse as the approaching silver Taurus had shot down the road, but the woman at the wheel, who was the spitting image of Marla Amhurst Cahill, had looked over as she’d sped past. For a split second their gazes had locked in recognition before the Taurus had rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Cherise had been so startled she’d nearly hit the curb. She hadn’t had time to write down the license plate number. She’d managed a quick U-turn, but by the time she’d reached the corner of the winding road, the Taurus was long gone.

So now, she considered calling the police.

First, though, she’d like to talk to her husband, get his advice. If only he’d call back.

She picked up the plant mister she kept on the mantel and sprayed the leaves of the potted philodendron that grew between the window and her piano. If Donald wanted her to be strong, so be it. If the Lord thought she needed to make her own decisions, then so she would.

Aside from her view of Marla, Cherise had other things she would like to discuss with her husband. The truth of the matter was, she just didn’t really know how to handle Cissy. The girl was a blasting cap, ready to go off at a second’s notice. Cherise would have to tread carefully, flatter her and the boy, remind her that they were all part of an ever-dwindling family.

At that thought, too, Cherise felt edgy. She set the plant sprayer on the mantel, adjusted the sparkling barrettes she used to hold her hair away from her face, and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror hung over the mantel. Oh dear, she was getting old. Wrinkles had begun to line her face, dark spots on her skin had to be hidden with makeup, her teeth needed bleaching again, and gray hairs were threading through her blond tresses at an alarming rate. She was still thin, but things had begun to sag. Uneasy, she walked to the liquor cabinet, where she kept her bottle of gin. She drank rarely but tonight, well, she needed a little liquid courage, so she poured herself a healthy shot into a short glass.

“Oh, please, Donald, call!” she said to the empty house, a three-bedroom Southern California-style home with a red tile roof and gold stucco walls. She tossed a splash of tonic water into her glass of gin, then carried the drink into the kitchen, adding a twist of lime and three ice cubes. Staring outside, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. She even considered calling one of her kids, but decided against it. She’d received only one phone call from them since Christmas, and that had been about money.

Of course.

Ungrateful children.

She suspected that her two oldest had turned their backs on God completely. Her husband, kind man that he was, had advised her, when she’d broached the subject, that “They’ll be back in their own time. Let them make their own choices. God will guide them.” She wasn’t so sure. In fact, she was afraid all their hard-earned money was going for beer and weed, maybe even ecstasy or mushrooms. Dear Lord, she knew what a tainted path drugs led to, and the thought that her babies were experimenting scared her half to death. And made her angry.

“Oh, well,” she said and took an experimental sip. Ummmm. Another sip, and the chilled gin slid smoothly down her esophagus.

She walked into the living room again and started plotting what she would say, how she would appeal to Cissy. After all, the girl was little more than a kid, in her mid-twenties. Cherise could handle her. Another long swallow, and she felt the warmth in her bloodstream.

It was almost time.

She closed her eyes.

Willed her muscles to loosen.

Heard the creak of a floorboard.

Her eyes flew open. No one was in the house. And the sound was too heavy to be the cat, right? “Patches?” she called, searching for the calico. “Here, kitty, kitty…Oh, for heaven’s sake, where are you?”

She rounded the corner and looked into the darkened front vestibule, where the cat often hid under an antique table on which the family Bible was displayed. “You naughty girl…oh!” She stopped short. Sheer terror shot through her.