The Night Before

by Lisa Jackson

  But so did Sugar. Fortunately she had a friend on the force—her own personal leak. She’d even called him Deep Throat behind his back. He, thinking he might someday get into her pants—or more likely her thong—kept her informed. Even about the Joshua Bandeaux case. He seemed to think the detectives in charge of the investigation were leaning toward murder rather than suicide, which Sugar found interesting. She wanted more details, but her leak had been a little reticent, and she figured he was just angling for another shot at getting her into bed. Fat chance. The likelihood of her sleeping with him was about the same as the old snowball’s chance in hell.

  She stared across the surrounding fields. Dry. Weed-choked. This five-acre patch wasn’t exactly prime Georgia real estate. But it was hers. She’d bought out Dickie Ray and Cricket when they’d inherited it. Both of her siblings could make cracks about her job at the club all they wanted, but she made more money in three months than the two of them did combined for an entire year. Maybe that wasn’t such an accomplishment considering that Cricket could barely hang on to a job and Dickie Ray spent most of his time as a welfare and disability cheat. When he wasn’t being a small-time crook who spent most of the pathetic money he made on loose women, booze, cock fights, video poker, and when he could afford it, cocaine. Why she put up with him she didn’t know.

  Because blood is thicker than water.

  Yeah, go tell that to the Montgomerys.

  Sugar scowled as she thought about it. Took a long pull on her diet soda. It was funny, and kind of sick, how the Montgomerys and Biscaynes were all tied in together. Sugar looked enough like the Montgomery sisters—Amanda, the twins and Hannah—to pass as their full-blooded sister. Dickie Ray and Cricket, too, but the whole damned thing was so incestuous. There was a reason Dickie Ray wasn’t all that smart. She’d heard someone say, “the lights were on but no one was home.” In Dickie Ray’s case, the lights had burned out long ago.

  For years Sugar had heard the whispers, the rumor that her mother, Copper, had been involved in an on-again, off-again affair with Cameron Montgomery, who was, in fact, Copper’s half-brother. How sick was that? And if the old scandal was true, that Sugar might be the spawn of that union, it made her nauseous. That would mean she’d have more Montgomery blood running through her veins than the legitimate side of the family.

  The legitimate side of the family. What a joke. There was not and never had been anything remotely legitimate about the Montgomerys, who, in her opinion, all playacted at working and lived off their damned trust funds, all the while pretending as if the Biscaynes were white trash or worse—like damned lepers. That Grandpa Benedict had kept Mary Lou Chaney as his mistress wasn’t scandal enough. That he’d sired a daughter out of wedlock along with his children, Cameron and Alice Ann, was only the tip of the iceberg. From that point on it got chilly, with Copper, hellion that she was, determined to embarrass the old man to all lengths, including engaging in an affair with Cameron.

  Could he be her father? Sugar didn’t know, but her options weren’t all that great because the man Copper had married, Earl Dean Biscayne, was a loser of the lowest order, a liar, a cheat, a man who thought a “whuppin’ ” was the only answer to disobedience. His cruel streak ran deep, and Sugar wasn’t unhappy that he was out of their lives. He’d disappeared at the same time that his wife had been killed, here on this very plot, when her single-wide trailer had burst into flames. Careless smoking had been the official cause, according to the fire department, but Sugar knew her mother well enough not to believe that she’d dropped a cigarette in her bed. Copper had never smoked much in the house—and only in the kitchen. Then Earl Dean had disappeared. Hadn’t even shown up for the funeral. But Earl Dean had never put much stock in appearances or protocol. And some people figured he had found out about her cheating, killed her and taken off. Even Sugar wasn’t sure if that was true.

  But if Earl Dean wasn’t her daddy, then most likely Cameron Montgomery was, and so she had a double dose of the Montgomery blood. She didn’t want to think too much about that or the mental illness that seemed to run rampant in the family because she might have double the genes. There were those times when she just couldn’t seem to think straight, when she got all screwed up with what she remembered, when reality seemed out of kilter, as if there were some electrical wires crossing in her mind. Then she was scared to death that something was wrong—really wrong—with her brain. But right now, for the moment, it was working fine, clicking along.

  She’d have to call that lazy-ass lawyer and tell him to start pushing harder for a settlement. He needed to start earning his two-hundred-dollar-an-hour fee. She figured that if Flynn Donahue couldn’t handle the job, she had one last resort to try and get money from the Montgomerys. If the legal road was suddenly blocked, then they would take a different path. Dickie Ray was more than willing to work behind the scenes with the Montgomerys on what he called “a more personal level.” He’d smiled his toothy wicked smile and suggested, “Let me handle those rich snobs my own way.”

  Which worried her.

  Heretofore Sugar had reined him in.

  But it might be time to let the reins slip a notch or two.

  With one last look around the yard, Sugar took a final pull from her near-empty bottle and heard the pipes moan as the water was shut off. She pushed herself to her feet and considered the phone call again. Someone repeating her own words. Maybe it was nothing, a natural response.

  But she sensed it was more. Something deadly and evil.

  As if it was lurking nearby, just out of sight, hidden in the lengthening shadows that stole across the marshy acres, slipping through the reeds and cattails.

  Caesarina felt it, too. The battered old hound stared across the unmoving landscape, and the skin beneath her coat quivered. Her stitches were an ugly reminder of something not quite right. Something evil. Caesarina let out a worried whimper, and Sugar’s heart turned as cold as death. The warning whispered through her mind and skittered up her spine again:

  You drop dead.

  Atropos drove like a maniac. The wind whipped her hair. Adrenalin fired her blood. She’d heard the fear in Sugar Biscayne’s voice, felt her terror. God, what a rush! The little bastardess was getting some of her own back. Big time.

  A semi with a load of chickens was blocking the road, so Atropos shifted down and nosed into the oncoming lane. It looked clear and so she floored it, shooting past the stacked cages where doomed foul were huddled and losing feathers onto the roadway. As she reached the cab of the truck, the driver, who damned near looked the part of a redneck chicken farmer, with gray hair poking out of a baseball cap, stared down from his cab, grinned and blasted his horn in an attempt to flirt.

  As if!

  Atropos looked up, gave him a dirty little smile, then flipped the bastard off as she saw the oncoming pickup and swerved in front of the semi, earning herself another blare from the trucker’s horn.

  Oh, bite me, she thought, the speed exhilarating, replaying in her mind Sugar Biscayne’s terror at the last phone call. She was becoming unhinged and wasn’t that fitting. All of her life Sugar wanted to be a Montgomery so badly she could taste it, and now she was getting the feel of what it was like to be one. Atropos wasn’t biased. She’d mete out her punishment to everyone connected to the Montgomery money in equal parts . . . and wasn’t that what Sugar had always desired, to be treated like a true, legitimate Montgomery?

  Well, now, it was happening. She was going to get exactly the same treatment as the rest of the family.

  Atropos switched on the radio . . . and a song was playing that gave her a little inspiration. Who was the artist? Def Leppard . . . that was it. And the song? “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”

  Now, there was an idea.

  A damned good idea.

  Seventeen

  “Tell me about the boating accident,” Adam suggested as Caitlyn settled onto the couch for her next session. Some of the weirdness of being back in Rebecca’s office had vanished,
but Caitlyn still felt odd. She didn’t want to think it was because of Adam, because he was handsome, because there was an air of mystery about him, because she found him too damned sexy for her own good.

  “What happened?”

  She thought back, remembered the calm sea, the bank of clouds that had seemed so far away. So peaceful. So benign. “I’d gone sailing with my sister, Kelly. Just the two of us. Kind of a birthday celebration. We’d just turned twenty-five, and that’s when our trust funds kicked in. Anyway the boat was Kelly’s birthday present to herself,” Caitlyn said, the words coming out as she remembered the hot, muggy day that had started out with so much promise.

  “Where are we going?” Caitlyn had asked when Kelly had shown up on her doorstep and insisted they celebrate their newfound financial freedom.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I’m not sure I like surprises.”

  “Quit being a spoilsport, okay? For once, unwind. Come on.” She’d convinced Caitlyn to get into the car, and she’d driven to the marina. After parking, she’d stuffed a beach bag into Caitlyn’s arms and pulled a small padded cooler from her trunk.

  “You rented a boat?” Caitlyn asked as they walked along the sun-baked planks of the pier.

  “Not rented.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I bought myself a birthday present.” She paused in front of a slip where a gleaming cabin cruiser was moored.

  “This?” Caitlyn’s had asked, shocked. “It’s huge.”

  “Hardly a yacht.”

  “But—do you even know how to drive it?”

  “Steer it. Of course. I’ve been given lessons. Now, hurry up or we’ll be late for the party.”

  “Party?” Caitlyn had felt as if she’d just stepped onto another planet. “What party?”

  “The one I’m throwing for us.”

  “You didn’t tell me about any party,” Caitlyn had said, eyeing the sleek craft as it rocked against its moorings.

  “Sure I did. Ages ago! Now, come on, let’s take her out for her maiden voyage, just the two of us. I’ve got some champagne to celebrate.” She’d climbed into the boat and opened the cooler to show the long necks of two green bottles capped in foil. “Dom Perignon,” she said, as if that would add to the allure. Then she stepped lithely out of her shorts to reveal the bottom of a yellow bikini. “We’ll go over to Hilton Head and dock in at the resort. I’ve rented a banquet room for our party.”

  “You’re serious about this?”

  “Abso-frickin’-lutely. We can’t turn twenty-five without a party. It’s kind of our last hurrah before we become real adults.”

  “I thought we were real adults.”

  “Speak for yourself. Come on.” Kelly had flashed her naughty smile, and her hair glinted red in the shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds. “We deserve this. Finally we’ve got our share of Grandpa Benny’s money. God, how long have we heard about it?” She stood on the deck, one hip thrown out as she’d taken a long, appreciative look at her purchase. “You know what I think?”

  “I’d hate to guess.”

  “I think, no, I believe that old bastard would have liked nothing better than for his favorite granddaughters to do a little celebrating.”

  “What makes you think we were his favorites?”

  Kelly had laughed and winked as she’d squinted at Caitlyn. “Who else? Amanda? Hannah? Or those damned Biscaynes? Come on, I’m sure we were his favorites. Not that it matters. Now, come on, Caitie-Did! Let’s go.”

  Of course, she’d been unable to resist. Kelly’s enthusiasm was and always had been infectious.

  Now, sitting in the psychologist’s office, Caitlyn remembered the day vividly, and whereas she’d rarely spoken of what had happened on her twenty-fifth birthday to anyone, not even the members of her family, she told Adam. About sailing through the darkening water, about the clouds rolling in, about the friends and family that had gathered. There had been a band and a birthday cake and champagne and they’d partied long and hard into the night. By the time they returned to the boat, the wind had come up. Kelly had been drinking, but had insisted she could maneuver the craft back to the mainland, and Caitlyn had consumed too much champagne to argue. Looking back, it was a situation set up for tragedy.

  On the way back to the marina it had begun to rain, but Kelly had been undaunted at the helm of her new craft. She’d turned on her running lights, and Caitlyn had felt more than the light buzz from her champagne. But beneath the euphoria ran a darker sensation, a headache threatening to throb, a tightness in her skull. However, if Kelly had felt any hint of her own upcoming hangover, she didn’t show it. She had still been laughing at the weather, standing at the helm, the wind tearing at her hair when the boat just stopped, the engine sputtering and dying.

  “What the hell?” Kelly had muttered but was still laughing as she tried the ignition. The engine ground and then nothing. “Jesus . . . this isn’t supposed to happen. I had the thing checked over by a mechanic. When I see him again I swear I’m going to wring his fat neck!” Suddenly it seemed darker than it had been, which, of course was impossible. But the lights of shore appeared miles away, the wind picking up eerily. “Shit.”

  “Did you run out of gas?”

  “I don’t think so. Christ, it’s dark out here.” She’d fumbled in a compartment for a flashlight and managed to switch it on. The boat had rocked on a swell and the night seemed eerie and stark . . . as if they were alone in the world.

  Caitlyn’s nerves were strung tight. “Maybe we should call for help,” she’d said.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Coast Guard.” The wind had quickly died, and the water was quiet. Deathly quiet. Too quiet . . . just the lap of the water against the hull accompanied by the gentle rocking of the craft. Caitlyn stared out at the water, imagined she saw dark shapes shifting below the surface.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the engine.” Kelly was still cranking on the ignition, muttering under her breath, when the damned thing started again. She gave it some gas. The engine roared. “See! It was nothing!” She turned to look smugly back at Caitlyn, but there was something in the air, the feel of electricity that Caitlyn sensed. Just a trace of smoke—the scent of electrical wires burning.

  “And you wanted to call for help!” Kelly laughed.

  “I think we should still—”

  BAM!

  The explosion tore through the boat. Smoke and fire erupted. Crackling loudly over the splintering of wood. Caitlyn was thrown off her feet. Her head banged against the deck. Pain blasted through her brain. Her head reeled.

  From somewhere faraway Kelly screamed in terror.

  The boat pitched and shuddered.

  Caitlyn struggled to stay conscious. Frantically she wrapped her fingers through the railing.

  “Kelly!” she tried to scream, but no words came. “Kelly!” She was swirling, the blackness trying to pull her under.

  With a slow, ominous groan, the hull cracked, wood splintering, fire burning on the spilled oil and gasoline. The cruiser trembled, then crumpled in upon itself.

  “Kelly!” Caitlyn forced out, but it was barely a whisper. Oh, God, where was she? “Kelly!” Panic strangled her, and blackness threatened to swallow her. She clung to a piece of the railing, her eyes narrowing through the smoke and darkness as Kelly’s dream boat sank deeper into the surrounding void. Cold water tumbled over her, pulling Caitlyn downward as she flailed and tried to stay afloat. God, please don’t let me lose consciousness, don’t let me drown here. Kelly! Kelly, where are you? A seat cushion floated past and she grabbed wildly for it, wrapping her arms around the bobbing piece of plastic and foam. “Kelly,” she cried, desperate, coughing and sputtering. “Kelly!” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t keep her eyes open. And then the blackness consumed her. She felt the cold water pulling at her and from somewhere far away she thought she heard a bone-chilling, agonized groan, but she couldn’t locate the sound.


  Water filled her lungs. She could no longer fight.

  She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to a God she didn’t trust and then she let go....

  The accident had been a horrid experience, one she still couldn’t think about too long. Now, ten years later, as she sat in Adam Hunt’s office, she felt a chill as cold as the sea had been that night. Shivering, she looked up at him leaning back in his chair, his hand propping his chin, his note pad balanced upon a leg, his eyes centered on her. “Are you okay?” he asked when she stopped talking. Only then did she feel the tears in her eyes. She blinked. Looked away and heard the chair protest as he stood and picked the tissue box off the table.

  Sitting next to her, he handed her a Kleenex.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, grabbing the damned tissue and swiping away the stupid tears. Why was she such an emotional wreck? Why couldn’t she pull herself together? She knew he saw people in this condition all the time. It was his job, for God’s sake. This was what he dealt with. Worse, if that was possible. Yet she felt like an idiot as he sat there all concerned.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Adam asked, his voice soft with concern as she threw Kelly’s nagging worries out of her mind.

  “There’s nothing more to say.” She managed to stem the flow of those damned tears. “I was comatose when a passing boat found me, and I woke up three days later.”

  “And Kelly?”

  “Kelly always manages,” Caitlyn said. “She was picked up, too, and out of the hospital before me. I think she was more ticked off about the boat than anything else. She hadn’t bothered to insure it, and she’s been kicking herself ever since.” Managing a smile, she added, “And I haven’t heard her talking about buying another one.”