After She's Gone (11 page)

“Shut up,” Cassie teased. “You got a ride, didn’t you?”

Holly giggled.

Cassie let the car idle as Holly reached for the door handle. As she clambered out, she said, “Hey! Have you seen the trailer? For
Dead Heat
?”

“It’s out already?” Cassie asked, a chill running through her as she thought about seeing Allie on the screen. She didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to believe it, but there was a chance that the movie might be the last time Allie’s image would ever be caught on film.
She’s not dead.

The nurse in the old uniform’s words came back to her and she clung to them.

“Just out,” Holly was saying. She looked over her shoulder as she pushed the door open and stepped outside. “I caught it last night, before one of the late shows.”

“And?”

“It was okay. Even good, I think.” She leaned into the interior. “But it was weird, you know. Seeing Allie up on the screen. So . . . vibrant. So alive.” Holly appeared to sober up a bit as her gaze met Cassie’s for a second. “I just wish I knew what happened to her.”

Cassie nodded and her mood darkened even more. “We all do.”

“I know, I know.” Holly was nodding. She cleared her throat as if she, too, were emotional. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.”

Holly closed the door, then veered a little unsteadily toward the side entrance.

Attempting to shake her thoughts from Allie, Cassie managed to turn her car around in the tight parking lot and eventually eased her Honda into the steady stream of traffic. Night was falling and in the dusk, streetlights began to illuminate the city, a place she’d called home as a child and then again after she’d fled Falls Crossing. She’d never felt at home in the small town, the horror of her captivity by a lunatic only adding to her hatred of all things Oregon. The night terrors and fears, the feeling of abject vulnerability and, yes, paranoia, hadn’t left her when she’d headed south after her high school graduation.

Maybe that’s why she’d wanted Allie to join her. Familiarity. Safety. And maybe that’s why she’d fallen for Trent, whom she’d met in Oregon. Maybe that’s why she’d foolishly ended up marrying him.

“Don’t go there,” she warned herself, checking the rearview to catch the clouds in her eyes before looking farther back, to the street and the headlights crowding behind her. She felt that same little prickle of anxiety skitter up her neck and burrow into her hairline, digging deep into her brain. Was a car following? Maybe a silver SUV of some kind? Or was she mistaken? How could she tell in the sea of vehicles that swelled around her?

Impossible.

And fruitless. Ten cars could be tailing her and she wouldn’t know which they were, not in this throng of vehicles.

“Get over your scaredy self,” she warned.

She tried to concentrate on the road ahead but found herself eyeing her rearview mirror several times, making certain that someone wasn’t silently tracking. The eerie feeling of someone watching her had been explained, at least when she was leaving the airport. Holly had seen her and tried to chase her down. There was no danger here.

She took the side streets near her home.

No car followed.

No vehicle slowed at the corner, then kept going.

No suspicious van kept a long distance from her, then cruised by the massive house that sheltered her apartment from the street.

No. It was all in her mind.

Letting out her breath, she parked, locked the car on the fly, and felt more at ease than she had in days. She walked back through her apartment door, dropped her keys onto the kitchen counter, then found a glass and poured herself a drink of water from the faucet over the sink. She made a note to herself to get some bottled water as she took a long swallow. Then she took out her phone, leaned against the counter, and listened to the message from Trent again.

The sound of his voice called up memories best forgotten. The deep timbre, the slight bit of a drawl reminding her of his Texas childhood, his inflection.

Her hand tightened on the phone as she reminded herself that she despised him. When the message finished, she considered playing it once more, just to hear him and allow herself to be taken back to a time when they’d been happy. Before he’d been tempted by Allie. Before he’d admitted as much. Before she’d realized their marriage had no chance. Before her sister had disappeared. Her throat thickened. Unshed tears burned behind her eyes.

“Idiot,” she whispered, not knowing if she was thinking of him or herself as she quickly erased the message. It irritated the hell out of her that he had the gall to phone on behalf of her mother.

Nonetheless, before her cell’s battery completely gave up the ghost, she punched in the digits of a familiar number.

It was time for that talk Jenna wanted so desperately.

 

“I
’ll be fine,” Cassie reassured her mother for what had to be the dozenth time in their telephone conversation. She was standing in the kitchen, one hip resting against the counter near the sink and staring out the window where in the coming twilight she spied a black cat on the top of the fence near the bougainvillea. Of course Jenna was worried, she thought, watching as the cat, ever patient, stalked a tiny bird fluttering in the blooms. With Allie missing and Cassie checking herself out of the mental hospital and hopping a flight to LA, Jenna was obviously attempting not to freak out about the safety of her kids.

Because they were both adults.

“I’m trying not to be a mother bear, you know, overprotective and all, but . . . I worry, Cass. You know it. And with Allie missing . . .” Her voice trailed off and, damn it, Cassie imagined Jenna struggling against tears.

Cassie turned away from the window and closed her eyes. “I know. I get it.” She felt bad. Her mother, who had been famous and yes, rich at one time, had lost a lot in her life. Jenna’s sister, Jill, had been killed in a freak accident while filming
White Out,
a movie produced by Jenna’s husband, Robert Kramer, a film that, because of the tragedy, had never been released. Losing Jill had been a horrible blow. Losing Allie would devastate Jenna. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

“How soon?”

“Couple of days. I’ll keep you posted.”

A pause. Probably Jenna was remembering all the times Cassie, as a rebellious teen, had lied through her teeth and broken more promises than she could recall.

“All right,” Jenna acquiesced.

Cassie envisioned her mother’s face, worry lines evident between her eyebrows, green eyes clouded with concern, upper teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “I’ll let you know when I’m close,” she said.

“You’re sure your car will make it?”

“Positive,” she answered too quickly. Another lie. She had no idea how dependable the car would be, but she covered it up. “Hey, it’s a Honda. They run forever. Come on, Mom, don’t freak out about that.”

“Okay. I’ll check that one off the list.” Jenna actually chuckled weakly. “I’ll see you soon then.”

“Yes. And Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, don’t call Trent, okay? He and I are over.”

“You say so, but—”

“Don’t bring up the marriage thing. I’ll take care of it. But now he doesn’t need to know anything about me. It’s . . . what I do is none of his business.”

“Got it.” Jenna waited a beat. “So listen, when you get up here, to Oregon, you can camp out in the space over the garage until you find a place, if you don’t want to stay in your old room.”

“I’m not seventeen.”

“I know. That’s the problem,” Jenna admitted.

The conversation stalled again before Cassie said, “Listen, I’ve gotta run.”

“Sure. Me too. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Cassie said automatically and cut the connection. She plugged the phone into its charger and attempted to shake off the oppressive feeling that she wasn’t good enough, hadn’t measured up, had always been a problem for her mother. The feeling was like a bad taste that lingered, something you couldn’t rinse away or spit out no matter how you tried. And the fact that Allie had come to LA at Cassie’s urging and had ended up missing only made that sensation dig a little deeper, like needle-sharp talons slicing into Cassie’s brain, making it bleed with guilt. Jenna would be horrified if she realized how Cassie felt, so, Cassie promised herself, her mother would never know. And somehow, she, Cassie, would solve the problem. First step? Locating Allie.

Making her way to the postage-stamp-sized bathroom shower, she stripped off her clothes and let them fall, then turned on the spray. The old pipes creaked a bit and a fine mist, the best her ancient showerhead could deliver, started to steam up the bathroom that felt small enough to be configured for an airliner. She cracked the tiny window, then let the water wash over her.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her sister on the set of
Dead Heat
, playing the terrified, deranged heroine of the film. Allie’s skin had been pale, her big eyes round with fear as she’d understood that her lover, played with a feverish passion by Brandon McNary, might kill her. The image was from a poster made specifically for the movie with Shondie Kent, Allie’s character, staring into a broken mirror, her lover visible between the cracks.

Allie and Brandon had been perfectly cast, their on-screen chemistry palpable as they’d made love or fought, their combustible relationship offscreen exploding during filming. Though they’d avoided each other when not on the set, while the cameras were rolling, they’d come alive, their interaction believable, the sparks flying. Brandon’s sizzling looks coupled with Allie’s sultry sexuality created a passion the viewer could almost feel.

Cassie shook the vision from her head, letting the spray of the water rinse the day’s sweat and frustrations from her body. Of course she knew Allie was a remarkable actress. Her talent was obvious. That wasn’t the issue, nor really was Cassie’s lack of success. The problem was their relationships with Jenna. Both daughters had “mommy issues” where Jenna Hughes was concerned. Never had it been more obvious than the last time the sisters had collided, the night before Allie’s disappearance. Cassie had made the fateful mistake of wanting to discuss the tweaks to the script of
Dead Heat
before the final day of the reshoot. Allie had already voiced her concerns, after all Cassie had a bit part in the movie and hadn’t written the script, but both the writer and director had liked the subtle change. Sure, Allie had lost a little screen time and Cassie, cast as the heroine’s sister-in-law, had picked up those precious minutes.

Allie had perceived it, as always, as a way for Cassie to garner favor at Allie’s expense.

All of which was a lie.

Cassie had driven to her sister’s Portland residence through the driving rain, second-guessing herself, all the while wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. As the windshield wipers struggled with a deluge from the heavens, Cassie had squinted against the glare of headlights and told herself she needed to have it out with her sibling once and for all. She’d intended to straighten out any misconceptions and had hoped beyond hope that all their adolescent insecurities and unresolved issues would be put to bed.

What a pipe dream!

The meeting started off rocky as it was immediately obvious that Allie had somewhere else she would rather be. Though she didn’t admit as much, she’d continually glanced at the decorative clock mounted in the dining area. At least three times she received texts on her cell phone. She responded quickly to them, all the while trying to end her conversation with Cassie.

“This isn’t a good time,” she said even before admitting Cassie into the suite. “I’m really tired.” As Cassie hung her dripping jacket over the arm of a modern hall tree, she added, “I just haven’t been feeling all that well.” A lie. One she didn’t bother keeping up herself as she offered Cassie a glass of red wine. Cassie had declined while Allie poured herself a hefty glassful. From the open bottle on the table, Cassie guessed it wasn’t her first drink of the evening.

It was after eight when they started the conversation. Cassie said, “I wanted to talk about the change to the script.”

“What’s done is done. Everyone including Arnette is on board.” Allie had sounded so damned flippant.

“Everyone but you.”

“Yeah, well, who cares what I think? I’m just the lead.” She buried her nose in her drink and took a long swallow.

As Allie glowered from a position near the windows, Cassie had tried to explain why she’d rewritten the scene, how the little change had improved the ending and added to her character’s motive and—

“It’s all bullshit!” Allie cut her off. She stalked to the bar separating the kitchen from the dining area and poured herself another glass. “This is
not
about adding to the movie, it’s about getting the last word. Literally.” She jammed the cork into the bottle and picked up her glass. “So you can feel good about yourself.”

“No, that’s not why—”

“Of course it is!” She took back her position near the floor-to-ceiling windows. One arm wrapped around her slim waist, the other tipping her glass to her lips, she eyed her sister. “It’s always what it’s about.” Rain drizzled down the windows behind her, blurring the lights of the city and distorting the faded reflection of the interior.

“Why do you always make this a competition?” Cassie demanded, growing irritated.

“Because it fucking is. Always.” Another long gulp.

“Only if you make it—”

“No, if
you
make it one. It’s you, Cassie. Always you who pushes me.” She was getting agitated, her eyes avoiding Cassie’s, her lips twisted down. “Face it. You’re selfish and self-centered and . . . mean.”

Cassie struggled to hold her tongue, glancing meaningfully at the pictures of Allie lining the walls, shelves, and slim wooden mantel mounted over the stones of the fireplace.

“Don’t even go there,” Allie sniped.

But it was too late. Cassie rose to the bait. “Yeah? Well, it sure sounds as if you’re describing yourself.”

Allie’s eyes flashed. “You’re just jealous. I made it big. And that bothers you. That I’m a . . .”

“Star?” Cassie interjected as Allie, in an uncharacteristic bout of humility, couldn’t finish what was obviously on the tip of her tongue.

Allie hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess I’m a celebrity.”

“You guess?”

“What about you? You’re a . . .” She shrugged dramatically, letting the incomplete sentence hang in the air as she took a long swallow from her glass.

“Say it,” Cassie encouraged as her own temper had flared hotter. “I’m a what?”

Allie remained quiet.

Cassie advanced, stepping around a chair. “A what?” she said again.

“Fill in the blank.” Allie drained her glass and her hand trembled.

“Say it.”

Allie swallowed hard. She looked as if she were fighting a losing battle with emotions she didn’t want revealed. Surprisingly her eyes sheened and for a second Cassie remembered Allie as she had once been, a scared little girl caught up in a monstrous scheme that nearly killed her mother. Cassie’s heart twisted, but she didn’t fall victim to her own raw feelings as she saw some other emotion lurking beneath Allie’s teary facade, something that ran far deeper and darker. Something dangerous.

“Just get out,” Allie ordered.

Cassie closed in on her sister. “Not before you say it. I’m . . . what?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Say it, damn it.” The air crackled, but when Allie wouldn’t respond, Cassie said, “Loser?” Allie’s glass slipped from her fingers to crack and bounce against the hardwood. “Or maybe just plain old failure?” Cassie pushed.

“That’s a start,” her younger sister finally got out.

“Maybe a bitch?”

Allie’s lips twisted, her facade slipped for a millisecond. But Allie was an uncanny actress, one who could easily turn her emotions on and off and she recovered with, “
Definitely
a bitch.”

That sounded more like Allie. “Then maybe we’re not just sisters, maybe we’re more like twins,” Cassie said tightly.

“
Puleeez
. We are not alike,” Allie insisted, pointing at Cassie. “You know the difference between us?” She’d paused for effect, her elfin face expectant, her chin tipped upward. Without much makeup a fine dusting of freckles still bridged her perfect little nose.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Cassie could click off the traits that distinguished Allie from her. Allie had been shyer as a young woman and blessed with a nearly photographic memory, which made it as easy for her to quote Shakespeare as find applications for the Pythagorean theorem or whatever in the third grade. Allie had been a brainiac turned computer nerd who’d hated school as it had bored her. Improbably, she’d blossomed into a beauty and eventually conquered Hollywood and was on her way to captivating the American public. Cassie had been, for the most part, a failure. Though tougher and bolder than her little sister, Cassie didn’t have the drive and the all-consuming ambition that were both integral parts of what made up Allie Kramer.

Allie reminded Cassie, “You were practically a dropout in school and after barely graduating, you left, not because of some big dream you’d had to follow in Mom’s footsteps and become an actress. Uh-huh. You ran away, not
to
something, but from your shitty life in Oregon.” Bingo. The truth. Ugly as it was. Inwardly Cassie recoiled but tried not to show how much her words hurt. “So, Cassie, how did that work out for you?” Allie’s voice shook a bit and her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she stared hotly at her sister.

“I—”

“What?” She turned her palms to the ceiling, silently suggested she had no clue as to what her sister was about to say, but before Cassie could speak, Allie went on. “And don’t bring up the writing, okay? That’s insulting to those of us who can act. Writing’s just an excuse. Every damned actor who can’t make it thinks he or she will write or maybe direct. And you know what?” she asked, her perfect little chin projecting, fury radiating from her. “Most of them fail. Even if they end up writing a book about their own pathetic lives, it’s usually ghosted. Someone else does all the real work, the real composing. So face it. You’re a mess, Cassie. A mental case. A weak woman who can’t even keep her own husband from straying.”

Cassie’s jaw had hardened. That was below the belt.

But Allie wasn’t finished. “Trent and you? You know it’s a joke!”