Still Life (15 page)

“This is ridiculous, Drew. Can’t you see I’m just trying to help? Why do you always have to make it about money?”

“Because that’s what it’s always about! Are you really so blind, or are you just stupid?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Casey said in total exasperation. “Why don’t you just shut up?”

“Why don’t you go to hell?” Drew snapped in return.

“So, when can I have my money?” Drew was asking now, her voice low and muffled, as if her chin were pressed against her throat.

“I can write you a check right now, if you’d like,” Warren said.

Casey heard the scribbling of a ballpoint pen.

“Check it. Make sure it’s the right amount,” Warren advised.

“It’s fine.” A second’s pause. “Guess I’ll get out of your hair. Take care of yourself, Casey,” Drew said.

And then she was gone.

FIFTEEN

“N
ice to see you haven’t lost your touch with the ladies,” a voice said from the doorway only seconds later.

Warren jumped to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, clearly flustered.

Who is it?

“Just thought I’d check on how the patient is coming along.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Relax. Take a few deep breaths. You’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? What if Drew comes back? What if someone walks in?”

“Then I’m just a friend from the gym, paying my respects.”

What’s wrong? Why is Warren so upset? Who is this man?

“You need to leave right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the man said calmly, walking toward the bed as the door swung shut behind him. “It’s been more than two months, Warren. You don’t phone. You don’t return my calls. You haven’t stopped by the gym.”

“I’ve been a little busy these days.”

“The dutiful, loving husband.” The man’s voice dripped sarcasm, like ice water from the fridge. Casey suddenly felt chilled to her very core, although she wasn’t sure why.

“You didn’t leave me a whole lot of choice,” Warren said.

What does that mean? What kind of choice?

“So how’s Sleeping Beauty doing?” the man asked.

“I would think that’s pretty self-evident.”

“She actually looks better than I expected. Are the police any closer to finding out what happened?”

Warren scoffed. “No. They’re clueless. Look, can we talk about this later? This is neither the time nor the place….”

“What is?”

The time and place for what?

“You know this isn’t my fault,” the man continued after a pause.

“It isn’t?” Warren asked.

“No.”

“My wife is in a coma, connected to a feeding tube. She might be this way for the rest of her life. And you don’t think it’s your fault?”

I don’t understand. What are you talking about? Are you saying this man is somehow connected to what happened to me?

“Hey,” the man protested. “I’m really sorry for the way things turned out. But I plowed into her at almost fifty miles an hour. A normal person would be dead after a hit like that.”

What? What! WHAT?!

“For Christ’s sake, would you shut up!”

What’s happening? Is this real or did I drift off to sleep again? Is it a dream, or maybe another TV movie?

“Look,” Warren whispered hoarsely. “You have to keep your voice down. They’ve done tests. The tests indicate Casey can hear….”

“She can?” Casey felt the man’s weight as he leaned across her bed, his arm brushing against the side of her own, his minty breath warm against her face. “Can you hear me, Sleeping Beauty?” She felt him retreat. “You’re saying she understands what we’re saying?”

“Probably not. But it’s possible.”

A cluck of reluctant admiration. “Hats off to you, Beauty,” the man said. “You’re a tough one.”

No, this can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. Either that or I’m delusional.

How many times had she wondered the same thing in the last several months?

“Look,” Warren implored. “You’ve got to get out of here.”

“Not until we come to an understanding.”

“An understanding about what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Warren. It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about money …”

“Of course it’s about money. I’m no different than you are. It’s always about money. Fifty thousand dollars, to be precise.”

Fifty thousand dollars? For what?

“I don’t give fifty thousand dollars to people who screw up.”

“I didn’t screw up.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

What
are
we doing here? Casey repeated, her thoughts spinning wildly around in her head, like clothes in a dryer. What were they saying?

“I guess we’re waiting,” the man answered, his voice a shrug. “It’s obviously just a matter of time.”

“A matter of time,” Warren repeated wearily. “According to the doctors, she could outlive us all.”

A long pause.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to speed things up a bit.”

What things? What are you talking about?

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Hey, man, I’m just a personal trainer. You’re the one with the expensive degrees.”

“Yeah, well, when we talked at the gym, you gave me the distinct impression you’d done this kind of thing before. I thought I was dealing with an expert.”

The man laughed. “Ever think of unplugging a couple of these tubes, maybe injecting an air bubble into her IV? I saw that on TV once. It was pretty effective.”

Oh, God. Somebody help me! Drew! Patsy! Somebody!

“Yeah, right. Nobody would suspect anything untoward there.”

“Untoward? Pretty impressive word there, Counselor.”

“Only for a moron.”

“Hey, man, go easy. I know you’re upset, but there’s no need to get testy.”

“I tend to get
testy
, as you say, when the people I hire don’t do their jobs.”

Warren hired this man to kill me? He offered him fifty thousand dollars to run me down? No, it can’t be. It can’t be.

“It’ll get done.”

“Which is when you’ll get your money.”

A sigh of resignation. “So, what’s the story? She in here for good?”

“No. I should be able to take her home pretty soon.”

“And anything could happen after that.”

No. This is not happening. They’ve given me some new drug. It’s causing me to hallucinate.

“It won’t be easy,” Warren said. “The police already suspect it wasn’t an accident. I have to be very careful.”

“Don’t worry, man. There’s nothing that ties you to any of this.”

“Except Casey. If she
does
understand. If she
does
regain consciousness.”

Casey felt two sets of eyes burn into her flesh like acid.

“Then we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Dear God.

“And how exactly do we do that?”

“You’re a smart guy,” the man said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Once again, Casey felt the man’s mouth stop mere inches from her own, his breath brushing teasingly against her lips, as if he was about to kiss her. “Bye, bye, Beauty. You take care of yourself.” He chuckled, the sound gurgling deep in his throat, like oil beneath the earth’s surface.

“Would you get the hell out of here!”

“You’ll call me when you come up with something?”

“Count on it.”

“Try not to wait too long.” Footsteps receding, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

This can’t be happening, Casey thought again. It
isn’t
happening. She hadn’t really overheard her husband and another man discussing their failed attempt to murder her, and their plan to try again. It was ridiculous.
It hadn’t happened.

There was no way Warren would do anything to hurt her, let alone hire someone to kill her. It was ridiculous. Totally, absolutely, absurdly ridiculous. What was the matter with her? First she’d been suspicious of Janine. Then it was Drew’s turn. And now … Warren? How could she even be thinking such insane thoughts?

What’s the matter with me? Warren is a good man, a man whose job it is to uphold the law, not break it. Not shatter it, for God’s sake.

It was that damn TV. How could she be expected to think straight with that constant jabbering going on?

Warren loves me.

She felt motion, a body moving toward her. Who? Was Warren still here? Was anybody?

“That was Nick,” Warren said casually. “I’m sure you’ve heard me mention him. Great trainer. Lousy human being. Mean streak a mile wide. The kind of guy who likes pulling the wings off butterflies. I was joking around with him one day, told him he was wasting his time torturing jerks like me, said he should consider a career as a contract killer. He told me to name the time and place.” Warren scoffed. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about this, but what the hell? The cat’s out of the bag now.” He moved even closer to whisper in her ear. “Why couldn’t you just have died when you were supposed to?”

And then everything was still. It was as if the air in the room had suddenly ceased to circulate, and she was poised to stop breathing altogether. A wave of panic surged through Casey’s veins, like a shot of adrenaline. Was it possible he’d injected an air bubble into her IV, as his accomplice had suggested?

Why couldn’t you just have died when you were supposed to?

“I’m gonna get a cup of coffee,” Warren said, his voice fading as he walked toward the door. “Don’t suppose you want anything,” he called back.

So the mystery was solved.

How could it be? They’d been so happy. They never fought, rarely even argued. The only time they’d even disagreed was when she’d wanted to leave the mansion she’d inherited from her parents and move to a condo in the city, and Warren had been reluctant to abandon their quiet, affluent neighborhood. Ultimately they’d compromised and agreed to start looking for a smaller home, but to stay on the Main Line. It was soon after that they’d talked about starting a family.

And all the while, he was planning her death.

Had these murderous impulses only lately popped into his head, or had he been plotting since the very beginning to kill her? Could the man in a hurry have been patient enough to wait two full years before translating his plan into action?

But why? Why would he want her dead?

Why do you think? she asked herself.

Money.

“It’s always about money,” Nick had said.

But Warren’s never been interested in my fortune, Casey argued. He was the one who’d insisted on a prenup. And there are no insurance policies on my life….

He doesn’t need any of that, she realized. As her husband, he stood to inherit a good portion of her estate, even without a will. At the very least, he’d probably walk away with more than a hundred million dollars. As a lawyer, he surely knew that.

“Nobody becomes a lawyer to get rich,” she heard him say. “Factor in expenses and taxes and overhead, you’re certainly not retiring at forty.”

Was that what he wanted after all? To retire at forty?
No. No way
. Warren had a thriving career that he loved. He had everything he needed. They had a terrific life together. There was no way he would do this.

He loves me.

A hundred million dollars could buy an awful lot of love.

“So how’s our patient doing today?” someone asked.

What? Who said that?

“I see you’re watching
Gaslight
. Great old movie.”

“I don’t think I ever saw that one,” a second voice said. “What’s it about?”

“The usual—unscrupulous husband tries to convince his wife she’s losing her mind. That Ingrid Bergman was some beauty, wasn’t she?”

Bye, bye, Beauty.

“Her blood pressure’s a little higher than normal. What’s going on, Mrs. Marshall? Are you in pain?”

You have to help me. I’m having these wild, horrible thoughts.

“Let’s increase her meds.”

No. Please don’t increase anything. I’m dopey enough, believe me. You should only know the weird things that have been going on in my rocked brain. If I weren’t in a coma, I’d recommend I be committed.

“I have a favor to ask you,” one doctor said to the other as they walked toward the door.

“What’s that?”

“If I ever get wheeled in here in that condition, you’ll just put a pillow over my face and end it right then and there, okay?”

“Only if you promise to do the same for me.”

“It’s a deal.”

They left the room.

No. Don’t go. Don’t go. Somebody please help me before I lose my mind.

What was she talking about? Her mind was already lost. As if she wasn’t in dire enough straits, now she was imagining that the person who loved her more than anything else in the world, the person she loved more than she’d ever thought it possible to love anyone, was a cold-blooded sociopath who’d hired a man to run her down, and who was, even now, enjoying a cup of coffee and trying to think of ways to finish the job.

Was it possible she
wasn’t
hallucinating?

I trusted you, Warren, she thought, unable to ignore what was “quite plain” any longer.

I trusted you with my life.

SIXTEEN

“‘H
e had been left an orphan when he was fresh from a public school,’”
Janine read.
“ ‘His father, a military man, had made but little provision for three children, and when the boy Tertius asked to have a medical education, it seemed easier to his guardians to grant his request by apprenticing him to a country practitioner than to make any objections on the score of family dignity. He was one of the rarer lads who early get a decided bent and make up their minds that there is something particular in life which they would like to do for its own sake, and not because their fathers did it.’”

“What’s that you’re reading her?” Patsy asked, adjusting Casey’s head on the pillow. The scent of lavender buzzed around Casey’s face, like a stubborn fly.

“Middlemarch.”

Go away, Patsy. I was actually starting to enjoy the stupid book.

“
Middlemarch
? What’s that mean?”

“It’s the name of the town where the story is set.”

“What’s it about?”

“Life.”

It helps me take my mind off my sorry excuse for one.

Patsy made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Any good?”

“It’s considered a masterpiece.”

“It looks long,” Patsy said.

The sound of pages flipping. “Six hundred and thirteen pages.”

“Six hundred and thirteen! Oh, no, that’s way too long for me. And look at the size of that print. I’d go blind.”

“You like big print, do you?”

Casey pictured a generous smile filling Janine’s slender cheeks.

“I don’t read all that much,” Patsy confessed.

“Well, there’s only so much time. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

Casey imagined Janine’s smile spreading into her eyes, causing her shapely brows to arch.

“I do like murder mysteries,” Patsy said. “They’re always good for a laugh.”

“You find murder funny?”

“Well, not funny, no,” she backtracked quickly. “But at least it’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining?”

“Well, interesting then. Like what’s going on with Mrs. Marshall.” Patsy drew an audible breath. “Do you think somebody really tried to kill her?”

There was a pause of several seconds before Janine spoke. “Well, the police have pretty much eliminated all their major suspects. Apparently, none of their leads panned out. So it’s looking like it might have been a hit-and-run accident after all.”

What do you mean, the police have eliminated all their major suspects? Are you saying they’ve closed their investigation?

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt. Go on. Read some more.”

Casey pictured Janine’s back stiffening as she straightened her shoulders and lifted the book from her lap. She’d always hated anyone telling her what to do.

“ ‘Most of us who turn to any subject with love,’ ”
Janine continued, after a prolonged pause in which Casey thought she was probably weighing the consequences of throwing the heavy tome at Patsy’s head,
“ ‘remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices within, as the first traceable beginning of our love.’ ”

“What’s that mean?” Patsy asked.

“I guess it’s about remembering the first time we realized we loved something. Or someone.”

“Why doesn’t he just say that, then?”

“She,” Janine corrected.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

I knew I was in love with Warren the minute I laid eyes on him, Casey thought. Although the experts would no doubt insist that was just physical attraction. The love, they would argue, came later, after she got to know him.

Except she hadn’t gotten to know him. Not really.

Who was this man she’d married? Was Warren Marshall even his real name? How much, if anything, of what he’d told her about himself was real? Had his mother really been married five times? Had his father died when he was a boy? Had his mother’s last two marriages existed for the prime purpose of keeping her in the manner in which she’d longed to be accustomed? Was it from her that Warren had inherited his taste for the finer things in life?

And now he was seeking an inheritance of his own.

There was no doubt he was a lawyer, and a good one. “Smarter than God” had been William Billy’s admiring assessment. Certainly smart enough to know how to play her. Smart enough not to overplay his hand. Smart enough to outwit the police.

The police have pretty much eliminated all their major suspects.

“You know how all these poor bastards get caught?” she remembered him saying one morning not so very long ago, as they read the morning paper in their spacious kitchen. He was referring to an article about a man who’d murdered his wife the day after taking out a million-dollar insurance policy on her life. “Not because they’re greedy. That’s a given. It’s that they’re so bloody stupid. Who takes out a million-dollar life insurance policy on his wife the day before he kills her? They don’t think that might raise a few alarm bells? Christ, they might as well take an ad out in the paper saying ‘I did it!’ Use your brains, fellas,” he’d said, and she’d laughed her agreement.

She’d laughed a lot during their time together.

“I love to hear you laugh,” he’d told her on more than one occasion.

Of course you did, Casey thought now. It meant she was a sucker for his charm.

“I love you,” he’d told her every day of their married life.

“I love
you
,” she’d answered without fail or prompting.

“God, Casey, I miss you so much,” he’d said not so very long ago, sitting at her bedside.

“You have to get out,” his friends had purportedly told him. “You have to live your life.”

“I keep telling them that my life is here,” he’d replied. “In this hospital.”

All those wonderful things he’d told Patsy about her. Had he meant any of them? Or had he merely been setting the stage, acting the bereaved and loving husband for her benefit? And, of course, his own. Like any true sociopath, Casey thought, giving the people what they needed to hear.

The police have pretty much eliminated all their major suspects.

“I want you to know how much these last two years have meant to me,” he’d told her. “You’ve been such a great wife, Casey, the best lover and companion any man could hope for.”

Had he meant any of it? Casey wondered now. Had he been confessing his true feelings or merely grandstanding for Patsy’s benefit?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were standing there,” she’d heard him say—how many times?—to the nurse’s aide watching from the doorway.

“Our time together has been the happiest time of my life,” he’d said. “It’s very important to me that you know that.”

Why? Was this his way of telling her she shouldn’t take his attempt on her life too personally, that she shouldn’t consider his wanting her dead to be indicative of his dissatisfaction with her performance as a wife?

How disappointed he must have been to learn she’d actually survived the hit-and-run, how stunned to discover that she could grow old in her coma, that she could, in his own words, “outlive them all.” And then, to find out she was not only improving daily but also getting stronger—what a bitter pill to swallow, especially when further tests determined she could actually hear.

Did this information keep him up at night? Did he lie in bed wondering, as she did, what his next move would be, and when would be the best time to make it?

“So, I guess you and Mrs. Marshall have been friends for a long time, huh?” Patsy’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Since college.”

And yet I doubted you, too. What kind of friend does that make me?

“Mr. Marshall said you used to be in business together.”

“Really? When did he tell you that?”

“After your last visit. I was saying how you and that other woman … what’s her name?”

“Gail?”

“Gail, right. Nice to have such good friends.”

My
only
friends, really, Casey acknowledged. She had lots of acquaintances, to be sure, but her circle of close friends had grown smaller over the years, especially since her marriage to Warren. There was only so much time, as Janine had remarked earlier, and Warren had filled so much of it.

“So what else did Mr. Marshall say about me?” Janine was asking.

“That was pretty much it.”

“Pretty much it,” Janine repeated absently. “So how does he seem to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is he holding up?”

“I think he’s amazing.”

“Amazing, no less.”

“I guess they were really crazy about each other, huh?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, you can just tell. The way he looks at her. The way he’s always holding her hand and whispering to her. It’s got to be so hard, don’t you think? I mean, one minute, you’re a happily married man, and the next minute, well …”

“Life’s just full of unpleasant little surprises,” Janine said.

Tell me about it.

Poor Patsy, Casey thought, almost feeling sorry for the girl. Warren’s playing you, just like he played me. Of course, you’ve been playing him as well. Maybe the two of you deserve each other.

“So, what kind of lawyer is he?” Patsy asked.

“Why? You in some sort of trouble?”

“Me? No. Of course not. I was just making conversation.”

“Not really necessary,” Janine said.

Patsy cleared her throat. “I guess I should go.”

Casey felt Janine smile brightly in response. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Well,” Patsy said, lingering nonetheless. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Have a good day,” came the quick retort.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Marshall,” Patsy exclaimed suddenly, her voice lifting at least half an octave. “You’re late today.”

So that’s why you’ve been hanging around.

“I had a meeting with Casey’s doctors,” Warren said, approaching the bed and kissing Casey’s forehead. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling this morning?”
Improving a little bit every day. Isn’t that what you’re afraid of?

“Hi, Janine. How are things in Middlemarch?”

“Marching steadily toward the middle,” Janine quipped.

Patsy laughed. “Your friend’s very funny.”

Casey felt every muscle in Janine’s body tense.

“Yes, she is,” Warren said, a playful twinkle in his voice. “Casey looks pretty good today, don’t you think?”

“Her trach’s healing up real nicely,” Patsy said. “Now that the ventilator’s gone and the tubes are all out, I’d say it’s just a matter of time.”

And time is exactly what you don’t have, isn’t it, Warren? At least, not if I’m really on the road to a full recovery.

“Time for what?” Janine asked.

“I’m planning to take Casey home,” Warren answered.

“Really? You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea. I can’t think of anything better than Casey in her own home, in her own room, surrounded by the things she loves.”

If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon stay where I am.

“What do her doctors say?”

“They agree that now that Casey’s injuries have healed and she’s able to breathe on her own, there’s no real reason to keep her here.”

Except that once they release me, I’m as good as dead.

“She still has a feeding tube,” Janine reminded him.

“That won’t be a problem.”

“She’s still unconscious,” she pressed.

“And could be for some time.” A trace of impatience whisked through Warren’s voice. “But that’s irrelevant at this point.”

Irrelevant?

“Irrelevant?”

“The doctors have done all they can here, and they desperately need the bed. It becomes a question of whether Casey goes into a rehab clinic or whether she comes home.”

Don’t let him take me home. Please, Janine. He only wants to get me home so he can finish what he started.

“But how are you going to take care of her? She’ll need nurses around the clock.”

“She’ll have them,” Warren said. “I’ve also hired a full-time housekeeper and arranged for Jeremy, her physical therapist, to come to the house three times a week.”

Not to mention the hit man he hired to kill me.

“And I’ll be there,” Patsy chirped.

“You?” Janine asked.

“Casey’s going to need all the love and care she can get,” Warren said.

“Well,” Janine said. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

Not quite. He still hasn’t worked out the final details. He knows he can’t move too quickly, yet he can’t afford to wait too long. He can’t do anything that might arouse police suspicion, yet he can’t chance my waking up, not if I’ve understood anything of what I’ve heard. It’s a tricky situation, a delicate balancing act. He has to proceed very carefully.

With malice aforethought.

“So when is the big move scheduled to take place?”

“As soon as all the necessary paperwork can be processed.” Warren leaned closer, brushed tender fingers across Casey’s cheek. “God willing, I might be able to take my wife home as early as tomorrow.”

Casey felt his eyes boring into hers.

“Isn’t that wonderful, Casey? You’re going home.”