Cold Truth

by Mariah Stewart

  “Excellent. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” Khaliyah said softly.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their water, watching the swallows swoop around the lights on the court.

  “It’s getting late, I should get you back home so you can study for that test and maintain your perfect record.”

  “Fifteen more minutes?” Khaliyah got up and began to bounce the basketball.

  “Ten.” Cass stopped to set the alarm on her watch, then set about to steal the ball.

  Twenty minutes later, Cass was dropping Khaliyah off in front of her aunt’s house.

  “Thanks again for the phone.” Khaliyah’s eyes were shining. “I can’t wait to call Tonya. She’s had her own phone since middle school.”

  Cass waved to Khaliyah’s aunt as the girl hopped out of the car, calling, “Aunt Sharona, look at what Detective Burke gave me …”

  Cass grinned to herself and drove away, thinking how little it took to make Khaliyah’s brown eyes light with happiness.

  It had not always been so.

  Cass had met the girl after having been called to a grisly scene five years earlier. Khaliyah’s mother had been stabbed to death by her boyfriend, when she’d discovered that he’d raped her only child. Only twelve at the time, Khaliyah had endured more, had seen more, than any child should, but there was something in her spirit that had kept her strong enough to testify against the man who had attacked her and murdered her mother.

  During the months leading up to the trial, Cass had spent a lot of time with Khaliyah, and the young girl had responded to the detective’s kindness and truthfulness at every step of the investigation and throughout the trial. Along the way, Cass had become a mentor to Khaliyah, who lived with her mother’s sister and her family. As much as Sharona loved her niece, the woman was already overworked with five children of her own and two jobs and had little time for the emotional needs of a damaged child. Cass had stepped in and become Khaliyah’s advocate, her best friend, and the big sister she’d never had.

  It had been Cass who had made certain that Khaliyah got all the counseling she needed in the months and years after her mother’s death, Cass who had encouraged Khaliyah to ask to be tested for the top academic track when she reached high school, Cass who had paid for the summer school classes that had allowed her to catch up after having lagged behind in junior high. It had been Cass who had recognized Khaliyah’s athletic promise and enrolled her in basketball camp, and Cass who had helped Khaliyah get the part-time waitressing job at the diner where all the local officers stopped for meals during the day, and who had sat down with Khaliyah’s aunt and asked her to permit Khaliyah to take the PSATs this past year. Come the fall, it would be Cass who would work with the guidance counselors to look at the options for college, help her seek out the financial aid she would need, and take her on campus visits.

  It was not lost on Cass that perhaps she was trying to replace one lost younger sister with another, but she’d shrugged off the thought. Khaliyah was smart and brave, brave enough to sit in open court and describe what had been done to her, what had been done to her mother. She had endured and survived, and was, in Cass’s mind, deserving of whatever advantages Cass could help her attain. She’d have done the same for Trish, if she’d had the chance. Now she’d do for Khaliyah. She knew what it was like to lose your mother, to have that core of strength and confidence taken from you. She, too, had been placed with relatives, and though she’d never doubted her aunt and uncle loved her, she’d never quite been able to completely settle there. Whatever she now did for Khaliyah, it was to help her through the toughest times and make certain that she knew there was someone who would stand behind her. Cass never regretted a minute of time she spent with her.

  It was almost nine-thirty when Cass arrived home and crept into the stone driveway next to her bungalow. This year, she was going to get these stones replaced if she did nothing else. Macadam, maybe. Something nice and smooth …

  Exhausted, she started to open the car door, then realized the lights were on inside her house. Had they been turned on when she left?

  A shadow moved across the kitchen window.

  Taking her bag from the front seat, she felt around for her gun. Holding it down, her finger on the safety, she exited the car but left the door ajar so as not to slam it. She crept up the back steps, and peered through the window. The shadow moved through the front hall into the living room.

  Cass eased the door open and slid inside, lowering her bag to the floor silently as she proceeded toward the front of the house. She rounded the corner, her gun level in front of her.

  “Don’t move,” she told the figure who stood in the middle of the living room floor.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cassie, don’t you get enough of that cop drama during the day?”

  “Lucy.” Cass exhaled loudly and lowered the gun. “Jesus, Lucy, I could have shot you.”

  “A simple ‘Gee, it’s nice to see you’ would suffice.”

  Muttering under her breath, Cass went outside and closed the car door.

  “I brought dinner with me. Or have you eaten already?” Lucy said as she came into the kitchen. “And how ’bout a hug?”

  “No, actually, I haven’t eaten.” Cass embraced her cousin lightly.

  “Good. Chicken parm and pasta. I stopped at that place right as you come into town?” Lucy hustled to the refrigerator and opened it. “Get two plates, Cass, I was waiting for you.”

  “Where are David and the twins?” Cass asked.

  “The kids are both at sleepover camp this summer—they’ve gone before, but it never ceases to amaze me that they’re old enough for real sleepover camp.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know where the years have gone, Cass, I swear it.”

  “And David?”

  “You want a little wine with this, Cassie? I brought a bottle with me, it’s right there on the counter, by your elbow.”

  Lucy fixed two plates and popped one into the microwave.

  “Yay, a new microwave. The old one finally pooped out, eh? With any luck, the stove will follow suit and you’ll have to get a new one of those, too. Have you seen the kind that has two ovens? A little oven on the top and a full-sized one on the bottom? It’s super.”

  Cass popped the cork on the wine bottle as Lucy found two glasses.

  “Well, we could probably spring for a few real wineglasses, but I suppose it tastes just as good in these fat little tumblers.” Lucy smiled brightly and took a sip. “Yum. Cass, why don’t you sit down—you look like you’re about to pass out on your feet—and I’ll just find us some knives and forks …”

  “The second drawer next to the sink.” Cass sank into a chair.

  “Where they have been for the past, oh, thirty-five or so years.” Lucy turned and opened the drawer. “No one can ever accuse you of rocking the boat, Cassandra Burke.”

  Cass stuck out her tongue at Lucy’s back.

  “I saw that. I saw it in the window glass.” Lucy grinned and handed Cass the flatware just as the microwave beeped. In one motion, Lucy removed one plate, handed it to Cass, then slid the second plate into the microwave.

  “I already moved my stuff into my room,” Lucy told her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why should I mind?” Cass shrugged. “The house is as much yours as it is mine.”

  “Only because Gramma’s will left it that way. We both know it’s your home, Cassie. I don’t mind. I’m glad you decided to live here. It keeps the old place alive. I’m grateful for my little bit of time down here in the summer.”

  The microwave beeped and Lucy took the plate out and placed it on the table, across from Cass.

  “I may want to stay a little longer this year, if that’s okay.” Lucy pulled out a chair and sat down. Her eyes were on her plate. “I mean, if it’s not inconvenient for you …”

  “My home is your home. Literally. Stay as long as you like.”

  “Thanks. It migh
t just be a few weeks. I’m not sure.”

  “Luce, what’s going on?” Cass took another sip of wine. “Are you and David having problems?”

  “Problems?” Lucy speared a piece of chicken and studied it. “If you call finding out your husband has been playing footsies with your next-door neighbor for the past six months and everyone on your block knew but you having problems, then, why, yes, David and I are having problems.”

  “Lucy, I’m so sorry.” Cass set her fork down on the side of her plate. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Not much to say.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “The bastard.”

  Lucy nibbled at her food, sniffing all the while. “I’m sorry, Cass.” She shook her head. “I know you probably don’t really want to know about it. I know you don’t do emotional, and right now, I’m awfully emotional. And am likely to be weepy on and off for the next few months. I’ll try to do most of my best crying when you’re at work.”

  “Lucy …” Cass protested weakly.

  “It’s okay, honey.” Lucy wiped at her eyes.

  “Lucy, you can feel free to cry whenever you need to or want to. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I wish I could make it better for you.” Cass met her cousin’s eyes across the table. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You could say, ‘David is a total creep and bastard and he was never good enough for you.’”

  “David is a total creep and a bastard, and I never did think he was good enough for you, Lucy.”

  Lucy nodded. “That was good, Cassie.”

  “I never understood what you saw in him. He’s not worthy of your tears.”

  “You’re getting better at this.”

  “Actually, I thought you were crazy to marry him in the first place.”

  “Nice, honey. Thank you.”

  “To tell the truth, he always reminded me a bit of Mr. Janner.”

  “Mr. Janner?”

  “Sleazy guy who ran the movie theater when we were kids and who always seemed to have teenage boys hanging around him.”

  “Okay, perhaps we can ease up a little now. I get the point, and I appreciate it. We’ll reserve the right to reopen the David-bashing at a future time. And I might need a shoulder to cry on now and then. Just a little.”

  Cass reached across the table and patted Lucy’s hand. “You can cry on my shoulder anytime.”

  “I might take you up on that, you know, so you might want to think twice.” Lucy began to tear up.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You mean, am I going to divorce his sorry ass?”

  Cass nodded.

  “Yes.” Lucy took a deep breath. “One of the reasons I wanted to stay here a little longer was to have some time to get my game plan down, you know? What I want and how we’re going to tell the kids and all that. Oh, I know they’re not babies, but still, it’s going to be a big shock, and I need to find a way to tell them. I just need some space.”

  “You can have all the space you want, Luce. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you want to be alone, that’s okay, too. And you can stay until you feel like going back. Whenever that might be.”

  “You’re still like a sister to me.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. Again.

  “Hey, you know what they say about blood being thicker, and all that.”

  “I want you to know that I appreciate it. I’ll try to stay out of your hair.”

  “Truthfully, with this sudden rash of murders, I’m almost never home. And when I am, for the most part I’m asleep.”

  “You just go about your business. I’ll do my own little thing.”

  “Oh, shit.” Cass frowned. “I meant to change the linens on your bed before you got here. And I was going to go food shopping.”

  “I can do the grocery thing tomorrow, not to worry. And you can just tell me where the sheets are. Oh. Wait. Let me guess.” Lucy grinned. “Same place they’ve always been, right? Honestly, Cass, you walk into this house and it’s 1950 all over again. Nothing has changed since Gramma died.”

  “I haven’t really had a lot of time to spend decorating, Lucy. For the past few years, I’ve been the only detective in town. We finally hired another one, and his wife decides she hates it here and she wants to go back to Wisconsin. So he, being a good husband, packs it in and leaves us in the middle of a couple of nasty homicides. Long story short, I’m back to being the only detective in town.” Cass blew out a long breath. “Which is a roundabout way of saying I just haven’t had the time.”

  “I thought you looked tired. You have dark circles under your eyes. Hey, I have some really good eye cream that takes that dark puffiness away.” Lucy pushed back from the table. “Come on, if you’re finished eating, I’ll get it for you.”

  “I’m finished eating—thank you very much for stopping to pick up dinner—but I’m exhausted, Lucy. I think I’ll turn in.”

  “No, no, you need to try this cream first. Come on …”

  Cass got up wearily and locked the back door. She swung her bag over her shoulder and followed Lucy out of the room.

  “Leave the kitchen lights on, Cass,” Lucy was saying as she went up the steps. “I’ll come back down and clean up from dinner. I’ll be awake for a while yet.”

  She reached the top of the steps and said, “I’ll just grab that eye cream for you …”

  Cass stood in the doorway of Lucy’s room and watched her cousin open a satchel.

  “What the hell do you have in there?” Cass laughed. “You clean off the department store cosmetic counters? What is all that stuff?”

  “Oh, different products for different things. Vitamin C day cream, it has an SPF of 25. Vitamin E night cream. Makeup. Shampoos. You know.”

  Cass, who used one all-purpose face cream—when she thought of it, which wasn’t often—and who had used the same brand of shampoo since she was a teenager, shook her head and took the small jar Lucy held out for her.

  “Here, come in the bathroom and I’ll put it on for you.”

  “Lucy, I can handle putting creamy stuff under my eyes. I’m assuming that’s where it goes.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.” Lucy turned on the light in the small bathroom, which was barely big enough for both women. “Give me that jar.”

  Cass rolled her eyes while Lucy dabbed the cool white cream onto her skin.

  “See, you don’t want to rub it in, you just want to smooth it on a little.”

  “Right. Thanks. I’m going to bed now.”

  “Cassie, you ever think we were maybe switched at birth?” Lucy grabbed her cousin by the arm and pointed to the mirror that hung above the sink. “You look so much like my mother, and I look so much like yours. You have the light hair, I have the dark.”

  “Well, our mothers were sisters, Luce. We do share lots of the same genes.” Cass stared into the mirror. She and Lucy did share a strong resemblance. “But I never realized how much you look like my mom. And how much like Aunt Kimmie I look, now that you mention it. Of course, since we are four months apart, it would have been hard to switch us in the hospital, you know?”

  “Seems like the resemblance grows stronger as we get older,” Lucy noted. “Not such a bad thing, though, right? They were both knockouts.”

  “They sure were. Last time I saw your mother, she still looked fabulous. I can only dream of looking that good when I’m her age.”

  “She takes good care of herself, though I think she gets too much of that Arizona sun. You’ll look great, too, when you’re in your fifties if you take care of your skin. Oh—I have a wonderful little concealer you have to try. It will just wipe away those puffs and lines under your eyes. I’ll just leave it in the bathroom for you to use in the morning.”

  “And they say rest is essential, right? Well, I’m all for getting some rest.”

  “Okay, then, I’m going to make up my bed and you go right ahead and crawl into yours. I have a feeling you’re going to give that under-eye cream a severe test.”r />
  “Are you sure I can’t give you a hand?”

  “Go to bed, Cassie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” Cass yawned. “Lucy, I’m glad you’re here. And I’m sorry you’re having problems.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, too. And as for my problems, well, a little retail therapy might help. Would you be upset if I did something about that sofa in the living room?”

  “Whatever.” Cass laughed and went to bed.

  Downstairs, a small notebook in hand, Lucy began to plan the bungalow’s makeover. If she couldn’t be happy, she could at least be busy.

  Seven

  FBI Special Agent Mitchell Peyton only wanted one thing on this Friday afternoon: an uninterrupted ten-minute block of time in which to finish his lunch.

  He scowled as the fifth phone call in a row was put through to him. Okay, I’ll settle for five. He counted to ten, put down the sandwich he’d been about to bite into, and tried to talk himself into not picking up the receiver.

  He wished he could make himself not answer, just once.

  “Peyton.”

  “Mitch, it’s John Mancini. Got a minute?” As always, the boss wasted little time with small talk.

  “Sure.”

  “Come on down, then.”

  Mitch hung up and rewrapped his sandwich—his favorite, roast beef and provolone with horseradish on a crusty whole-wheat roll—in the heavy white butcher’s paper Andre’s Deli used for some of its best work. He put Andre’s latest masterpiece back into the bag it had been delivered in, then opened the bottom drawer of his desk. Not that anyone in his office would walk off with someone else’s sandwich, of course.

  Yeah, right.

  “Bunch of sharks around here,” Mitch muttered, and dropped the sandwich into the open drawer, then took a long drink from the bottle of water that sat open on his desk before setting out for the elevator.

  “He’s expecting you. Try not to let him go on for more than eight to ten minutes. He has a meeting with the director at noon,” Eileen Gibson, longtime secretary to John Mancini, said without looking up from her computer when Mitch entered her office. “The coffee’s fresh. I just made it.”

  “Thanks, Eileen.” Biting back the urge to refer to her by the name the field agents called her behind her back—the Little General—Mitch paused long enough to pour a cup. He ignored what he knew coffee would do to his near-empty stomach.