Still Life (31 page)

“To Madonna,” Warren said, with a laugh.

“And to Angelina Jolie. That woman’s a saint.”

“To Angelina.”

Drew stumbled against the side of Casey’s bed, falling into the chair Warren had formerly occupied. “Whoops. Somebody spilled champagne on Casey’s blanket.”

“Here. Let me pour you some more.”

“To Casey.”

“To Casey,” Warren said. Then, “Drew, what’s that on your nose?”

“My nose?”

What? No. Please, no.

“What exactly were you doing downstairs?” There was a smile in Warren’s voice.

“You know what I was doing,” Drew said defensively. “I was getting the champagne.”

“Champagne produces bubbles, not white powder.”

Casey felt her sister pull back as her husband reached his hand toward Drew’s face. No, Casey thought.
No, no, no.

“It’s just baking soda,” Drew said, sniffling loudly. Casey pictured her covering her nose with her fingers.

“Baking soda? You really expect me to believe that?”

“Maybe I was baking a cake.”

“What have you been doing, Drew?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re just getting yourself all worked up over …”

“Nothing?”

“Okay, so it’s a little something. Just to take the edge off. A lot’s happened. And what is it they say? Things go better with …?”

Oh, God, Drew. What have you done?

“How much did you do?”

“Just a couple of lines. It’s no big deal.”

“Drew …”

You played right into his hands.

“Honestly, Warren. It’s no big deal. Come on. We’re supposed to be celebrating. Let’s have another glass of champagne.”

You signed my death warrant.

“I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

“Are you kidding me? This is nothing. Come on. Don’t be a party pooper. Pour me another glass.”

Warren sighed. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure. And pour yourself another glass while you’re at it.”

“I’ll make you a deal. We finish this bottle, then we go to our respective rooms and try to get a few hours’ sleep. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Sometime in the next hour, her sister and her husband still noisily toasting her recovery, Casey gave up the fight, gave in to the inevitable, and surrendered to unconsciousness.

THIRTY-THREE

W
hen Casey woke up some time later, she was alone.

What time is it? she wondered groggily, turning her head toward the clock on her nightstand.

2:07, the large red numbers announced.

Two in the morning, she thought, allowing the numbers to sink in and wondering what had woken her up.

And then she heard it—the gentle squeak on the stairs that warned someone was approaching.

Who would it be this time? Casey wondered, stiffening beneath the sheets. Warren, or the man he’d hired to do his dirty work? Was her husband even now asleep in his bed, waiting for Death to pick her up and hurl her down the stairs like so much soiled laundry? Or maybe it was Warren himself, having easily seduced Drew into a drugged and drunken stupor, come to finish the job himself.

Casey strained through the darkness toward her bedroom door, the light of the moon through the window cloaking the room in a gentle mist. A figure appeared in the doorway, filling the frame. He paused for an instant, then crept quickly across the carpet like a large cat. Tears filled Casey’s eyes, causing her vision to blur. Would she have enough strength to scream? she wondered as the man reached the bed, his arms extended. Would it do her any good if she could?

“No!” Casey heard herself cry, her heart thumping wildly, threatening to explode in her chest, as a large palm quickly covered her mouth. Her eyes opened wide, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

“Shh,” the man whispered.

Was she dreaming? How was this possible?

“It’s okay,” the man said soothingly, slowly alleviating the pressure on her mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s okay.”

What was he doing here? How had he gotten inside the house?

The man pulled back her covers and lifted her carefully out of bed.

Jeremy.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he said.

We?

It was only then that Casey became aware of a second figure watching from the doorway.

“Hurry,” Drew whispered, urging him on.

Drew. My God. It’s Drew.

“Hang in there, Casey,” Jeremy said, carrying her into the hall.

“I’ll get Lola,” Drew said, leaving their side as Jeremy headed for the stairs.

And suddenly there was a third figure. He stepped into the hall, blocking their path.

Warren.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, almost casually. He was wearing the same blue-and-white-striped shirt and denim jeans he’d been wearing earlier, and even through the darkness, Casey could plainly make out the gun in his right hand.

Her mother’s gun, she recognized. He’d found it.

“Put my wife down,” Warren directed Jeremy. “Now.”

Slowly, Jeremy lowered Casey to the floor, resting her back against the wall at the top of the stairs. “Easy, man….”

“Shut up,” Warren said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re taking my sister out of here,” Drew said defiantly.

“You’re kidnapping my wife?”

“We’re getting her away from you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s what Casey wants.”

“I see. And you know this how?”

“Because I know my sister. And I know you,” Drew continued after a pause.

“And what is it you think you know?”

“I know you’re up to something. I don’t know what it is, but I
do
know you deliberately tried to get me drunk.”

“I don’t recall twisting your arm.”

“You almost had me fooled, you know. I was starting to doubt my own instincts. I was actually feeling guilty about having given such a sweet guy such a hard time. But then you suggested we celebrate, and I thought, why is he offering me champagne when he knows what will happen if I start drinking? Although what you obviously
don’t
know is that it takes a whole lot more than a couple of bottles of champagne and some stale baking soda to knock
me
out. And it really
was
baking soda, incidentally. I found it at the back of the fridge when I was looking for the champagne.”

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

“Just trying to be as convincing a fuckup as possible.”

“And Jeremy?”

“I phoned him after we went to bed, told him I’d come up with this really unusual idea for a first date.”

“Put the gun down,” Jeremy urged. “We walk out of here. Nobody gets hurt.”

In response, Warren aimed the gun directly at Drew’s head. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re going to shoot us all?” Drew asked.

“If I have to.”

“You’ll never …”

“I’ll never what? Please tell me you weren’t going to say I’ll never get away with it. Because aside from being a trite and overused turn of phrase, I absolutely
will
get away with it. I mean, clearly you haven’t called the police, because you knew there’d be no way they’d allow you to remove Casey from the house without any evidence of wrongdoing. So there’s no chance of the cavalry riding to your rescue. And just off the top of my head, I can come up with any number of scenarios to offer Detective Spinetti when I call him later. How’s this for one? Jealous cokehead enlists the help of a disgruntled former employee to help murder her sister. The brave and selfless husband, still coping with the tragic accident that left his wife in a coma, confronts the two killers as they try to sneak out of the house and is forced to shoot them dead. What do you think? Think the good detective will buy it? It’s not perfect, I know, but by the time the cops get here, it will be.”

“Oh my God,” Drew muttered, her eyes traveling between Warren and her sister. “Detective Spinetti was right—what happened to Casey was no accident.”

“On the contrary,” Warren corrected. “Your sister’s coma was very much an accident. She was supposed to die.”

“That’s what she’s been trying to tell me.”

“And damn near succeeded. Not very nice keeping things from your husband, Casey,” he said, waving the gun in her direction.

“Come on, man,” Jeremy said. “Put the gun away before you hurt somebody.”

“That’s the general idea, isn’t it?” Warren pointed the gun at Jeremy and squeezed the trigger.

“No!” Casey screamed, Drew’s cries echoing her own as shots rang out and Jeremy collapsed, bleeding, to the floor. Drew immediately ran to his side as Warren calmly pointed the gun at her head and prepared to shoot again.

“Mommy?” a little voice asked from somewhere behind Warren. “What was that noise?”

Warren swung around. In the next second, Casey watched her sister literally leap off the floor and propel herself toward Warren, her hands and legs thrashing out in all directions at once, her feet kicking at his shins, her fingers clawing at his eyes and throat. The gun flew from his hands and spun down the hallway toward Casey, landing several feet from where she sat propped against the wall.

Slowly, her fingers stretched toward it.

You can do this. You can do this.

After several failed attempts, Casey managed to make contact with the cold metal of the gun’s handle, her finger-tips dragging the weapon closer, inch by inch, until it was almost within her grasp.

At the same time, Warren succeeded in pinning Drew’s hands behind her back. Lifting her into the air, he hurled her against the wall, as easily as if she were a tennis ball. Drew crumpled to the floor in a shapeless heap, gasping for breath.

“Mommy!” Lola cried, rushing to her mother’s side.

Warren strode purposefully toward Casey just as her fist closed around the handle of the gun.

“Give me the gun, Casey,” he said, lowering himself down and balancing on the balls of his feet.

Casey lifted the gun from her side, pointing it directly at her husband’s heart. Does he even have one? she wondered.

“You know you don’t have the strength to pull the trigger,” Warren said.

Was he right?

“Tap once for yes, twice for no,” she heard Drew say.

“Even if you had the strength, you couldn’t do it,” Warren said, his voice as soothing and hypnotic as a lullaby. “I’m your husband, Casey. I love you. You know that. And you love me. You know you do. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. You know that in your heart, don’t you? You know how much I love you. It’s not too late. We can start over. Please, let me make it up to you.”

“Tap once for yes, twice for no,” she heard Drew say again.

“You don’t really want to shoot me, do you, Casey?”

“I thought it right to tell you, because you went on as you always do, never looking just where you are, and treading in the wrong place. You always see what nobody else sees; it is impossible to satisfy you; yet you never see what is quite plain.”

Casey looked into her husband’s warm brown eyes, seeing the cold-blooded monster behind them very plainly indeed. As he reached for the gun, she tapped her finger forcefully against the trigger.

Once for yes.

THIRTY-FOUR

“ ‘S
he did not move, and he came towards her with more doubt and timidity in his face than she had ever seen before,’ ”
Janine read.
“ ‘He was in a state of uncertainty which made him afraid lest some look or word of his should condemn him to a new distance from her; and Dorothea was afraid of her own emotion. She looked as if there were a spell upon her, keeping her motionless and hindering her from unclasping her hands, while some intense, grave yearning was imprisoned within her eyes.’
Are you okay?” Janine asked, laying the book across her lap and reaching out to take Casey’s hand in hers.

“She’s great,” Gail said from her chair next to the fireplace. “Aren’t you, Casey?”

“She just wants to get the hell out of Middlemarch,” Drew said, leaning over to stoke the fire, several errant sparks shooting from the fireplace toward the dark hardwood floor of her living room. Drew immediately stamped them out with the soles of her black high-heeled Manolo boots. “I can’t believe you still haven’t finished that book.”

“Just twenty-three more pages to go. Come on, you want to find out what happens. Admit it.”

“You mean something happened in the first six hundred pages?” Drew said. “Okay, I admit it. I’m enjoying it. God, does that mean I’m maturing?”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“I’m far from the best.”

“And far from the worst,” Gail said.

“Thanks for noticing.”

“You’ve come a very long way these last four months,” Janine commented.

“So my therapist tells me.”

“Casey says she’s terrific,” Gail said. “That she’s really helping the two of you reconnect.”

The women turned as one toward Casey, smiles filling their faces.

“We’re working things out,” Drew said. “Aren’t we, Casey?”

“How about some tea?” Gail asked.

“Sounds great,” Janine said.

“I’ll make it,” Drew offered.

“No, I’ll do it,” Gail said. “Just tell me where you keep everything.”

“Tea bags are in the pantry, mugs are in the first cupboard to the right of the stovetop, kettle’s on the burner,” Drew said. “Can you believe I’m so domestic?”

“What I can’t believe is how cold the weather’s gotten all of a sudden,” Janine said.

“It always gets cold for Halloween.” Gail pushed herself off her chair and headed for the kitchen. “Those poor kids freeze their butts off every year. Stan says his kids end up wearing their coats over their costumes, so nobody ever knows what they’re supposed to be.”

“Are you taking Lola trick-or-treating this year?” Janine asked Drew.

“Yup. She’s going as a cat.”

“A cat? I would have thought she’d be a fairy princess.”

“Fairy princesses are so last year. This year she wants to be a cat.” Drew’s proud smile filled her face. “Like her mother,” she said, beaming. “I always used to dress up as a cat on Halloween. Remember, Casey?”

Casey smiled at the distant memory.

“So when Lola gets home from school, we’re going to make cat ears.”

“Sounds like fun,” Janine deadpanned.

“Gail’s coming with us. And Casey. They’re going to be cats, too.”

Janine turned her attention back to Casey. “Is that the price you have to pay for staying here until you’re all better?”

“She loves it here. Don’t you, Casey?” Drew said. “She’s never leaving.”

“Are you sure you’re up for so much activity?”

“Jeremy thinks she is,” Drew answered in Casey’s stead. “We’re only going to go a couple of blocks.”

“How
is
Jeremy?”

“He’s great. His shoulder’s almost healed. He hopes to be back working by the first of the year.”

“And the two of you?”

“Still going strong,” Drew replied, borrowing Gail’s girlish giggle.

“That’s nice.” Janine sounded genuinely pleased. “I’m really happy for you. And for you,” she told Gail as she reentered the living room. “Even if all this sex she’s been having lately is making her quite unbearable.”

“You’ll meet someone,” Gail said.

“Not high on my list of priorities at the moment,” Janine said, squeezing Casey’s hand.

“How’s your business doing?” Drew asked. She sank down in the coffee-colored sofa across from the large window overlooking the lake.

“Seems to be picking up. Oh—you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day. Richard Mooney! Apparently he got a job over at Goodman and Francis.”

“Aren’t they the guys who represented Warren?” Gail asked.

“That was Goodman, Latimer. They’re better than Goodman and Francis. Not that it did Warren any good.”

“I guess their hands were kind of tied once Nick Margolis agreed to testify against him in exchange for taking the death penalty off the table.”

“I still can’t believe he tried to kill Casey, and then strangled that poor nurse’s aide,” Gail said after a pause, deep sighs replacing her usual soft laughter.

“I don’t know,” Janine said. “There were times I wanted to wring that girl’s neck myself.”

“I don’t believe you said that.” Gail pushed an errant curl behind her right ear, her eyes widening in shock.

“What? What’d I say?”

“At least Warren got what he deserved,” Gail said.

“Not really,” Drew countered. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“If you call spending the rest of your life behind bars any kind of life.”

“Beats spending it in a coma. Right, Casey?” Drew asked. “Too bad my sister’s such a lousy shot. If that bullet had been another two inches to the right, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The kettle started whistling from the kitchen.

“That’s my cue,” Gail said, exiting the room.

“I’ll help you,” Drew said, going with her.

“You’re very quiet today,” Janine told Casey after a pause of several seconds. “Does it upset you? Listening to us talk about what happened?”

“Not really,” Casey said, her words slow and measured. She was still adjusting to the sound of her own voice, just as her body was still adjusting to its growing range of movement.

“I guess I sounded pretty insensitive before.”

“I know,” Casey said quietly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“About you and Warren,” Casey qualified. “I know.”

There was a moment’s silence. Janine nodded, as if she wasn’t entirely surprised by the revelation. “Do you hate me?”

“No.”

“
I’d
hate
you
,” Janine said.

“I know you would.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Casey shook her head. “How can you leave now? You still have twenty-three pages to go.”

Janine smiled sadly, a gentle upturn at the sides of her mouth. “You don’t need me to read them to you.”

“On the contrary,” Casey said. “I honestly don’t think I could get through them without you.”

Janine lowered her head to her chest and burst into tears. “Oh, Casey. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“I was so stupid.”

“Yes, you were.”

“And I
hate
stupid.”

Casey smiled. “Warren fooled everybody, Janine.”

“If only I could go back …”

“You can’t.”

“I know.”

“We have to move forward.”

“If there was something I could do to make it up to you, you know I would.”

“You can come trick-or-treating with us tonight,” Casey suggested.

“What?”

“I’m sure Lola will be happy to make another set of cat ears.”

“You really
do
hate me,” Janine said.

Casey laughed out loud.

“Now, that’s a beautiful sound,” Drew said, returning to the living room, holding an orange enamel tray containing a plate of pumpkin-shaped cookies, four mugs, and a sugar bowl, Gail following right behind with the teapot. Drew deposited the tray on the brown leather ottoman in front of the sofa and knelt on the cream-colored shag carpet. Gail sank down beside her. Casey pushed herself off her overstuffed beige-and-brown velvet chair to join them on the floor.

“Careful,” Janine said.

“Watch yourself,” Gail echoed.

“I’m okay,” Casey told them, crossing one leg over the other.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Janine said as Gail poured the sweet-smelling herbal tea into each mug. “When ever I cross my legs, my knees end up around my ears.”

“Speaking of ears,” Casey said, “Janine’s decided to come with us tonight.”

“Fantastic,” Drew said.

“Good stuff,” Gail agreed.

“How could I turn down a chance to join the ever-popular pussy posse?” Janine quipped, and the other women laughed.

“Just don’t let me hear you talk like that in front of my daughter,” Drew cautioned protectively. “Here. Try one of my cookies. I made them myself.”

“God, is there anything worse than a reformed junkie?” Janine asked rhetorically, biting into one of the cookies. “These
are
good,” she admitted, taking another bite.

“It’s my own recipe,” Drew told her. “Peanut butter, sugar, a little hashish. Just kidding,” she said to more laughter. “Honestly, Casey. Just kidding.”

Casey joined in the women’s laughter, feeling the fire from the nearby fireplace warm against her back. “To my sister,” she said, securing the mug in her right hand and raising it to her lips, “who saved my life.”

“To my sister,” Drew echoed softly, “who saved mine.”

Casey rubbed the tiny silver shoe dangling from the chain around her neck, wishing she could always feel this safe. She sipped slowly at her tea, her taste buds soaking up the subtle flavor of strawberries and vanilla as the liquid swirled around her tongue, then traveled smoothly down the back of her throat. She took a deep breath, her eyes floating lovingly between her sister and her two closest friends, and breathed again.