Deception (6 page)

"I know. So what now?"

"What now?" I repeat. "Nothing. I go on the cruise with my family on Thursday. I’ll figure out what to do about Rich when we get back. I refuse to leave it as it is. I need to know what exactly that TracFone is about, and if he’s still cheating on me."

"And if he is?"

"Then I kick his ass to the curb, plain and simple. I’m a grown woman now. I refuse to let any man put me through all that again," I shoot back, raising my eyebrows, displaying confidence.

"I'll drink to that." She smiles. "Can you get the two grown women another round of drinks over here?" she says, putting her hand up to signal the waitress, who is now flirting with the bartender.

Chapter Six

Wednesday

April 17, 2013

4:52 p.m.

The workday passes quickly, not even having much time for lunch. I meet with the attorneys, making sure they have everything they need while I'm away. While looking at my email one last time, Laura walks in. She pulls out a chair and slumps down.

"So how was your meeting?"

She shrugs, looking unamused. "It went good. I always hate going to that place. I leave there feeling dirty." She tenses her shoulders and curls her lip in disgust.

Laura had to meet with a client at the California State Prison in Los Angeles, and that place always leaves a woman feeling like a piece of meat.

"I know. I hate it too. The stares and nasty comments they yell out to the women in that place. Ugh," I say, looking equally disgusted. "So when is the trial?"

"Not until the middle of June," she responds, standing. "You're leaving in the morning?"

"Yeah. I believe the car is picking us up around ten o’clock to take us to the port."

She nods once, and then simply stands there for a moment. "Have a good time," she says before the silence begins to feel uncomfortable.

"I will. It’ll be nice to spend time with my family." She nods slightly again.

Walking to the door, she pauses after turning back in my direction. "Can we make time to talk when you get back?"

Pressing my lips together, I look up at her with a concerned face. "Yeah, sure. Is everything all right?"

She shrugs. "Of course it is. We haven't had much time to talk lately," she answers, with a forced smile.

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Yeah, of course. Plus, I still haven't taken you out for your birthday."

"Okay," I say, still not really convinced that there isn’t something she needs to talk to me about.

"Have a good time, Amy. I'll see you Monday." She turns, and saunters out of the office.

I'm left feeling a bit unsettled, and hoping that she doesn’t want to leave the firm because of what happened in court on Monday. She's always hard on herself, so much more than even I am.

My phone dings just as I’m turning off the computer. A text from Rich:
Need to work a bit later tonight to finish up some things, since I'll be gone for a few days. Don't wait for me for dinner. I'll grab something quick at work.

"Whatever," I say under my breath. I grab my bag and keys, and turn the lights off, closing the door behind me. "What are you still doing here?"

"I’m finishing up a few last minute things," Julie responds, typing.

"Get home. That can wait until tomorrow. Come on, we'll walk out together." She smiles, and finishes up, before turning off her computer.

• • • •

I spend the next few hours packing my suitcase―stuffing enough clothes for a month-long vacation. Realizing I should pack a couple of sweaters, since it may be cold in the evenings on the ship, I go to my closet and reach up on the shelf. While grabbing a sweater, the pieces of the TracFone fall to the floor. The sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach returns. I pick the pieces up and shove them back under the clothes on the shelf. While adding the sweaters to the stack in the suitcase, I look over at the clock and see that it’s ten twenty-five.

I decide to get in the shower and call it a night. Upon getting out of the shower, footsteps approach on the stairs. While bushing my hair, Rich peeks into the bathroom.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Did you pack?"

"Yeah, I think I have everything."

"I guess it's my turn then," he says, walking to the closet.

"What time is the car coming to pick us up in the morning?" I inquire, peering out of the bathroom while brushing my teeth.

"Ten-forty-five."

"That late?"

"Yeah. We can't board until eleven-thirty."

I finish up in the bathroom, and lay in bed while watching Rich pack.

I must have fallen asleep because I awake to him shutting off the bedroom light. I close my eyes and resume my sleep.

Chapter Seven

Thursday

April 18, 2013

10:37 a.m.

My phone chimes. It's a text from my mom:
Call me when you get here, and we'll meet up.

I respond:
Okay, see you soon
.

I put the phone in the front pocket of the suitcase. Rich is in the office, typing on the computer, so I drag our bags downstairs from the bedroom. I set them outside on the porch.

He strolls out the office. "The car is going to be a bit late. Mark called saying that there’s some kind of accident on the highway, and traffic is backed up."

"How late?"

He shrugs, looking unconcerned. "He said ten or fifteen minutes."

Feeling frustrated, I plop myself down on the top step. The minutes feel like hours. Finally at eleven-ten, Mark pulls up. "He's here," I call to Rich. He comes out, and locks the door to the house. Mark meets us to take our bags. Not apologizing for being late, he puts our suitcases in the trunk of the car, and opens the back door for me.

On our way, I keep glancing at my watch. It feels like forever. “Doesn't he know we’re running late," I remark to Rich, under my breath. He shrugs. Finally we arrive at the port. I note that it's eleven-forty-eight. At least we still have time. Mark takes our bags out of the trunk, while Rich walks over to the check-in booth. Taking my phone out of the suitcase, I see that I have two missed calls and four text messages. "What the hell?" 

I open up the first text message, received at ten-forty-one. It's from my brother:
Where are you?

The next text message is from my mom, received at ten-fifty-two:
Amy, answer your phone. We’re boarding right now. Where are you guys? Call me when you get here.

The next message is from my brother, at eleven-twenty-two:
Are you guys all right? We’re getting worried.

And the last message is from my mom, at eleven-thirty-four:
Amy, what happened? The ship is backing out of the port. We tried to have them wait, but they said that they couldn't.

I dart over to Rich. "The ship left?" I ask, exasperated.

"I guess. I―I thought that it wasn't leaving until twelve-thirty. Apparently, I read the itinerary wrong. I thought it said we could board at eleven-thirty, but it says that the ship leaves at that time." I stand there flabbergasted, looking at him with a shocked look, my mouth hanging open. "So what now?"

"They said that they can try to get us on the next ship that is scheduled to leave today at five-forty-five."

"I don't want to go on the other cruise," I yell. "My family is on this cruise."

"I know, Amy. I'm sorry," he says, wrapping his arm around me. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Take me home," I direct, wiggling out of his arms.

I snatch my phone out of my pocket, and text my mom:
Sorry, we didn't make it in time. Rich is an asshole.

• • • •

"Amy?" Julie says, confused, when she sees me walk in. "What are you doing here?" She gives me a once over, looking at my sundress and sandals.

"Don't ask, Julie. Long story. I'm forced to stay home." I stomp to my office, and Julie follows directly behind.

"You’re not going?"

"We got to the port after the ship already left. My family was forced to go without me."

"Are you serious, Amy? How late were you?"

"We got there about eleven-fifty. The ship pulled out of port around eleven-thirty," I answer, pushing my lips together in a tight line, and raising my eyebrows in annoyance.

"Why did it take you guys so long to get there?"

"Well, Rich thought that we were supposed to board at eleven-thirty, so he scheduled a car to pick us up for ten-forty-five. The car got there late because of an accident or something. I think we would’ve been late to board, regardless, because the ship was scheduled to leave at eleven-thirty."

"No wait, you mean the car was scheduled to pick you up at nine-forty-five, right?"

"No, ten-forty-five, because he thought we were boarding at eleven-thirty." I shoot her a quizzical look.

"Well, when Rich called here on Monday looking for you, he asked me if I had the itinerary. I told him I did. He asked me to email a copy to him. He also asked me to schedule a car service to take you to the port. When he asked me what time you needed to be there, I told him you could board at ten-thirty. He said to schedule the car to be at your house for nine-forty-five. I know I told the woman on the phone to have the car at your house by that time. I received the invoice this morning in the mail, and it clearly states nine-forty-five on it."

"What? Why? What?"

"I don't know, Amy. But I'm not lying. Do you want to see the invoice?"

"I believe you. But I don't understand what happened."

"Maybe Rich looked at the itinerary afterward and thought that I got the time wrong, so he called to reschedule the car service?" she says, shrugging.

I narrow my eyes, not really convinced. "Maybe."

"That really sucks, Amy. Your mom was looking forward to this."

"I know. And so was I."

"Are you really here to work? You should go somewhere else for the weekend."

"No. The only place I want to be right now is with my family on that cruise. And I can't. I'm here to work," I say, annoyed. "And I certainly don't want to be home with him right now," I mutter under my breath. She frowns. I shrug.

I tell her that I'm going to close the door and catch up on some work, and advise her to not let anyone know that I'm here. Taking out my iPod, I place the ear buds in my ears and look through case files. But I can't seem to stay focused. I toss my sandals off, and put my feet up on the desk. Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes and allow myself to get lost in the music. Reflecting on my life, thoughts of Travis' parents consume me. Feeling guilty for blowing up at him yesterday, I think about how alone he must feel not having his parents anymore. Then suddenly, thoughts of everything that he put me through fill my head, and I’m left unsure of what the right thing is to do.

I page Julie. “Do you have a phone number for Travis Cashman?" I ask her while she stands in the doorway.

"The guy that you kicked out of here yesterday? Your ex?" she questions, wide-eyed.

"Yes," I respond, trying to look confident.

"I believe that he left his number when he called to make the appointment."

"Can you call him to see if he’s still interested in speaking with me?"

"Are you sure about that, Amy?" she asks, searching my face for an expression.

"Yes. Please."

"I'll call him now. Do you want to meet with him today?"

"Yes. Whatever time he can come in," I respond, straight-faced.

A few minutes later she comes back. "I spoke with him. He said that he can be here within the hour."

"Thank you, Julie. Let me know when he gets here." She nods―not so confidently―and shuts the door behind her. I replace the ear buds in my ears, and turn up the music, while staring out the window at the clouds.

• • • •

Julie pulls one of the ear buds out. I’m startled. "Sorry. I tried calling to you from the door, but I don't think you heard me."

"It's okay."

"Mr. Cashman is here," she announces, motioning in the direction of the door.

I spin the chair around, and gaze at Travis. He has a small smirk on his face and it sends chills down my spine. He shuffles from one foot to the other, appearing unsure. Swallowing hard, I bend down, putting my sandals on. Julie hustles out, and I get up from the chair. "Come have a seat," I say, directing him to sit at the table.

Hesitantly, he pulls a chair out and sits down. He folds his hands together on the table and looks down at them. I sit at the opposite side and open my notebook. When I place the audio recorder in the middle of the table, he looks at what I'm doing through his eyelashes. The silence is deafening.

Clearing my throat, I look directly at him. "I want to make one thing clear to you. I didn’t ask you here to talk about us," I say, waving a hand in the air, gesturing between us. "I don't want to talk about our past―" He raises his head and opens his mouth to speak, but I quickly intercept him by raising my finger for him to wait. "Please. Let me talk Travis." He retreats, lowering his head back down, but this time, he keeps his eyes fixed on mine. Sadness overwhelms his expression. "I’m willing to assist you and your brother, if it’ll help find who killed your parents. I only want to talk about this case and, after we’re done you’ll go on living your life as will I. Get it?"

“Yes.”

"If you’re sure that this is what you want, then I agree to help. I’ll be asking you a lot of questions. Some of them will be difficult, considering what happened to your parents. Please know, everything I ask you is in an attempt to uncover the truth, and hopefully create a clear case to eliminate you as a suspect. I don't represent individuals who I believe are not innocent. I don't feel right allowing innocent people to sit behind bars, but I also don’t allow guilty ones to walk the streets under my watch. If, at any time, I believe that you’re guilty, I will demand that you seek other representation. Is that clear?"

“Yes.”

"I’ll interview you today and call over to the jail to schedule a time to meet with your brother, Brian, tomorrow."

"You don't need to do that." He shakes his head.

"What do you mean? Does your brother already have a lawyer?"

"Yes. He does."

"So why are you guys seeking separate council?" I ask, skeptical.

"He's hired his friend, who is a low life attorney, and I'm not certain that he's the right lawyer to have. He runs with the same crowd as Brian. I don't want to be associated with that," he says, before pausing. "And I'm not sure if my brother is innocent."

"Do you think that your brother is capable of killing your parents?" I ask, shocked by his honesty.

"When he's high on meth," Travis says, shrugging, "anything is possible." He looks straight into my eyes and it feels like he's peering into my soul. I have to look away. His smoky, gray blue eyes that are filled with so much sorrow make me feel like breaking down the wall that I want so desperately to have between u
s—
the same wall that I built up thirteen years ago, when I lost the one person who I thought was my soul mate.

"Is it all right if I record our interview?"

"Yes."

I press the record button, and begin. "Let's start off with you telling me a bit more about your parents." Travis raises his head and furrows his brow. "I know―I mean―I know who your parents are, but I need to know more about their life for the past year or so," I quickly elaborate. He nods. "So your parents were living in Half Moon?"

"Yes. They moved from San Francisco about three years ago."

"What was the reason for their move?"

"They were planning for retirement. Their old house was much too large for them, and they wanted to move closer to their granddaughter."

"They have one granddaughter? Your daughter?"

"Yes. Amanda," he replies, nodding. My cell phone rings. I ignore it.

"Were your parents still working?"

"Yes. My dad had moved his garage to Half Moon, and my mom transferred to the elementary school there. She was planning on retiring at the end of the school year."

"So they lived a pretty quiet life?"

He shrugs, but keeps his gaze directly on mine, making me shift in my chair and want to look away. "Mostly. When my brother was clean, things seemed normal. But he's been in and out of rehab for the past eight or so years. Every time he’d come out, they would offer him a place to stay. He'd stay clean for a bit, but it never lasts long. It caused a lot of stress for my parents. It was a never-ending cycle. Each time he'd fall back into his old ways, I could see my mom place guilt on herself. She always felt guilty for his bad decisions. I never really understood why." He clears his throat, looking away. I can see the sadness on his face build up.

"Would you like a glass of water?" He shakes his head. My cell phone rings again. "Sorry about that," I say, my phone chiming again. "Let me turn that off," I add, getting up and sauntering over to my desk.

Before pressing the power button, I see a text from Rich:
Why aren't you answering your phone?

I text back:
Stop calling. I'm at work and busy
.

While I want to chuck the phone across the room, I quickly remember that Travis is sitting not five feet away from me, and I already scared him off yesterday. I press the power button―quite hard―to power it down, and then shove it into the bottom of my purse. I huff loudly, returning to the table.

"Was your brother living with your parents at the time of their death?" I continue.

"Yes. He just came out of rehab the week prior," Travis says in a slow, controlled voice, that I'm now realizing he's had the entire time he's been here.