by Lis Wiehl
Allison’s days were normally filled with prayers, large and small, but Cassidy’s death had rocked her. Her guts felt like they had been pulled out and replaced with twisting snakes.
On the screen, the theme song for Channel Four’s nightly newscast sounded. File footage swooped dizzyingly around the city skyline before the camera cut to Brad Buffet, looking solemn.
“Tonight we’re going to depart from our usual format to open with a tribute to Channel Four’s own Cassidy Shaw, our crime reporter, who, in a terrible twist of irony, has become a crime victim herself. As you may have heard, last night Cassidy was found murdered in her Portland condominium. Police are investigating. All we know is that the death occurred sometime after she broadcast her last story. We’ll be sure to bring you the latest information as it develops.”
At Brad’s words, Allison found her mind flashing back to that terrible moment when Nicole had opened the cabinet under the sink. She again saw Cassidy’s flat blue eyes, staring at nothing. Someone had done that to her friend, discarded her like a piece of trash.
Brad continued, “Like our viewers and all of us at Channel Four, I am in shock and in mourning over this tragedy. I had the pleasure and the privilege of working with Cassidy for the last eight years.”
As he spoke, a montage of photos appeared behind him. Cassidy laughing. Cassidy holding a mike. Cassidy at the front of a pack of press. Cassidy with both hands raised as she talked to a cop. Arguing, if Allison had to guess.
It was the photo of the impassive cop and the always-anything-but-impassive Cassidy that nearly brought Allison to her knees. Or maybe it was the finality of the unchanging words underneath the flurry of photos: Cassidy’s name and the dates of her birth and death.
A choking sob forced its way out of Allison’s mouth. She put the flat of her hand between her teeth and bit down. Hard. The external pain was a welcome distraction from what was inside her.
Nicole leaned in close. “That’s right,” she whispered. “Crying’s not going to do us any good. We can’t cry for her. We have to get whoever did this.”
Allison freed her hand and took a shaky breath.
Meanwhile Brad was saying, “Cassidy had the biggest smile and the loudest laugh of anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine our newsroom, or my life, without her. She was the heartbeat of the station, and in many ways the heartbeat of our community.” He paused to clear his throat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Cassidy was never afraid to ask the hard questions or tackle the tough issues. She exuded energy in everything she did. She walked fast, she talked fast, and”—he managed a shaky smile—“boy, did she love to eat.”
Allison tried to hold on to that familiar image of Cassidy relishing a bite of food. Often it was a bite of someone else’s food. Cassidy was never shy about sharing—or waiting for an invitation.
“I’d like to read you some tributes from viewers.” Brad picked up the top piece of paper from a two-inch-thick pile. “This one comes to us from Diane Short of Portland. She writes: ‘My husband and I felt like we knew Cassidy because we have watched Channel Four for so many years. When our son died from a drug overdose and we felt no one was paying attention to the terrible drug problem out there, to how these pushers are making thousands of dollars and their customers are dying, I contacted the only media person I “knew.” ’ ” Brad’s inflection indicated the quotes. “ ‘That was Cassidy. She took the time to e-mail me back with some good advice, and she helped us get in touch with a group working to toughen the sentencing laws. She touched our lives for a brief moment in time. But at a time when we needed someone, she was there for us. Thank you, Cassidy.’ ”
Brad looked into the camera and nodded, then set the paper aside and picked up the next. “Suzanne Sheffield writes, ‘I am certain that God had a reason for your life and a reason for your death. Your life had a purpose and your work was part of His plan.’ ”
Allison felt a pang of something like jealousy. She didn’t feel certain of anything. Instead she felt lost and alone. The only thing keeping her going was anger. Anger at the man who had done this to her friend. But was it also anger at God for allowing it to happen?
Even when she had lost her baby, Allison had been able to tell herself that there must have been a reason. Maybe something had been wrong with the baby. Perhaps God had spared them when He decided to take the child before it had even been born. But what purpose did Cassidy’s death serve?
Last night Allison had cried and prayed in the darkest hours of the night. She had knelt on the oak floor of the living room, her elbows resting on the well-worn brown leather of the couch, stifling her sobs so they wouldn’t wake Marshall or Lindsay. She had asked God why He had taken her friend.
And she had gotten no answers.
God’s ways were not man’s ways, she knew that. Could she be at peace without understanding why?
Maybe Nicole was right. Maybe peace would not come from the why, but the who. All they could do for Cassidy now was to find the man who had done this to her and bring him to justice.
Brad was still reading viewers’ notes. “ ‘You may be gone here on earth, Cassidy, but we know you are in heaven. You were loved and respected by many. Thanks for being part of our lives, and may your name live on.’” He glanced back up at the camera. “You’ll find these comments and many more on our website, where you are welcome to leave your own.
“As for me . . .” Brad’s voice hitched. “I’ll always remember the time I asked Cassidy what her favorite was of all the stories she had covered. And she told me, ‘The next one.’ That is so like Cassidy. Always surprising. Always looking forward. And that is how I will always remember her.”
Allison heard a muffled gasp. When she glanced over at Nicole, she was shocked. Nic’s face was wet with tears. Nicole, who never cried. Nicole, who had perfected the art of wearing no expression at all. Nicole, who, even when Allison knew she must be angry or sad or worried, just retreated behind a stony facade until her eyes were looking out from little caves.
Allison put her arm around her friend’s shoulder, at first tentatively, then more tightly when she felt how Nicole trembled. They leaned into each other.
“Well, isn’t this a touching sight?”
They turned to see Detective Jensen.
“I can’t believe my eyes. Didn’t we just talk about jurisdiction last night?”
Nicole straightened up and wiped her hand over her face. Her expression was so cold that Allison shivered just looking at it.
“It’s after five,” Allison pointed out. “We’re off the clock.” It was true, as far as it went.
“Public servants are never off the clock,” he growled. He had foregone the tie today, as well as the jacket. His badge was clipped to his belt.
“And you seem to keep forgetting that Cassidy was our friend,” Allison said, “not just a case. Brad told us about Roland Baxter. Are you looking at him?” She wanted to put the focus back on finding Cassidy’s killer.
Jensen bounced on his toes like a boxer in the ring. “Brad can’t have told you everything.”
“Like what?” Allison narrowed her eyes.
“Like how this Roland left Cassidy a voice mail saying how much he loved her, no matter what. But that she needed to be true to him.”
Nicole’s head snapped up. Allison waited for Jensen to say that he had arrested Baxter. Instead he just shook his head and said, “He left that message around eight o’clock this morning. Before news broke that Cassidy was dead. But way after she was.”
“It could be a ruse,” Allison said. “He could have left that message knowing it would throw everyone off the scent.”
“It’s possible,” Jensen said in a tone that made it clear he didn’t believe it was. “But while that guy’s thinking is definitely twisted, I’m pretty sure it’s not twisted like that. It’s not twisted in a way that would lead him to commit murder. He was falling down and crying and begging us to tell him it wasn’t true, that she wasn’t re
ally dead. Personally, I don’t think he’s that good of an actor.”
Nicole started to say something, but the phone on Jensen’s belt buzzed. He flipped it open and walked away from them. “Jensen,” he said. And then after a long pause, “No.” He repeated it. And swore. And listened some more. And when he turned back toward them, a muscle was twitching under his right eye.
“They made a match to the prints on the knife they found under Cassidy’s body,” he said. “They’re only partials, but they matched them. They were already in the database.”
“And?” Nicole prompted.
“They say they’re Rick’s.” Jensen suddenly looked empty, as if he might dwindle and collapse like a leaking balloon. “They just arrested him for her murder.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Rick and me came up together fourteen years ago. We were in the same class. That’s not the Rick I know. Sure, he’s got a temper. Who doesn’t? But to do that? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“It most definitely does make sense,” Nicole said. “It’s like I tried to tell you last night. Cassidy exposed Rick McEwan to the world, and he found a way to get back at her.”
“But he’d have to be crazy to do it the way he did. Stab her and leave the knife right next to her body?”
“Maybe even as he did it, he knew he was wrong,” Allison ventured. “Maybe he wanted to get caught.”
No one answered her. Both Jensen and Nicole were quiet, caught in their own thoughts.
So that’s that, Allison thought. The hunt was over before it had even begun. Rick had killed Cassidy. He had bided his time and then he had killed her. Stuffed her under the sink like garbage.
Part of Allison had known the first day Cassidy had told her about how Rick threatened her in private and kissed her in public that something was very wrong. How he showered her with presents and apologies. If only Allison had spoken up about him earlier, maybe Cassidy would have left before things got bad.
Maybe then Rick McEwan wouldn’t have handcuffed her, strangled her, stabbed her, and shoved her body under her own kitchen sink.
CHAPTER 13
When she and Allison walked out of Channel Four, the heat took Nic’s breath away. The sun was so dazzling it hurt to even glance at the sky. The air above the sidewalk shimmered.
“So that’s it,” Nic said. “It’s over.” She felt emptied out, a hollow woman walking around on two matchstick legs.
“Want to go someplace quiet and have a drink?” Allison asked.
Nic turned in surprise. “Don’t you want to go home?”
Allison sighed. “I just need a little time to catch my breath. Things are moving too fast.”
Nic nodded. Twenty-four hours earlier Cassidy had still been alive. It seemed like another lifetime ago that they had waited for her at the restaurant. Waited while Rick stole the air from her lungs and the blood from her heart.
“How about the VQ?” Allison suggested. The Veritable Quandary, a downtown restaurant and bar, was a Portland institution.
“It’s too hot to sit outside.” Any other summer day the VQ’s patio, which was surrounded by flowers and had a view of the Willamette River, would have offered an oasis. Now all Nic wanted to do was hide from the sun.
“I was thinking we could sit inside at the bar.”
Nic imagined sitting in semidarkness, a cold drink sweating in her hand. “Let’s go.”
The interior of her car was even hotter than it was outside. It was like sitting on a griddle that had been cleverly fashioned to look like seats. Allison sat hunched forward so that as little of her body as possible made contact with the vinyl. After starting the car, Nic turned the air-conditioning on full blast. She maneuvered her way out of the parking lot, gingerly handling the steering wheel with just her fingertips. What she really needed were oven mitts.
Inside, the VQ was blessedly cool, with air-conditioning and fans overhead. They took a seat at the far end of the bar with its ranks of hundreds of bottles.
The bartender had a shaved head and one gold earring. Nic vaguely recognized him, but after he brought their drinks and snacks, he asked, “Where’s your friend? That blond spitfire you two always come in with?”
Nic froze, and Allison’s eyes widened. In choosing a familiar location, they hadn’t realized it would result in its own special brand of pain.
Nic was too tired to soften it. “She was murdered last night.”
The bartender took a step back and swore under his breath. “Really?”
“They just arrested her old boyfriend.” Nic took a sip of her drink, sour and sweet. It was one of the VQ’s specialties, a martini made with limoncello and lavender-infused vodka. It had been one of Cassidy’s favorites.
He blew air out of pursed lips. “That is really hard to believe. She was just so, so—alive, you know?”
“We know.” Nic suddenly wanted to put her head down on the cool, dark wood of the bar, close her eyes, and wish it all away. The bartender squeezed her right hand and Allison’s left, then gave them a nod before going over to another customer.
Nic tried to put into words what was inside her. “I thought I would feel better when they arrested someone. Instead, I just feel kind of lost. Cassidy’s gone. And now I can’t even obsess over who killed her.”
“You were right, though. You thought it was Rick.” Allison picked up her magenta-colored VQ-8, the house Bloody Mary made with beet-infused vodka.
“Somehow that’s not much of a consolation.” Nic’s sigh was so deep it shook. She took another sip to steady herself. “I didn’t want to get in her business, but I should have. The first time I met Rick I knew things weren’t going to go well. I should have said, ‘Cassidy, you know he’s bad news, girl. You need to stay away from him.’”
“And would she have listened?” Allison made a sound that was something like a laugh. “Do any of us listen when people give us advice?”
“I still should have tried to say something. But I figured she was a big girl. Only she wasn’t, was she? I mean, in some ways Cassidy was like a little kid.” Nic thought of their friend’s enthusiasm, her petulance, her excitement.
“Yeah.” Allison managed a half smile. “That was her good point—and her bad point. I guess that’s the same for any of us. The trait that you love most about someone also becomes the trait you wish you could change.”
What was Nic’s bad trait, then? She was afraid to ask. Instead she picked up one of the stuffed dates they had ordered, along with a bowl of sweet and spicy cashews. “Cassidy really loved these,” she said, before popping it into her mouth. The dates were stuffed with goat cheese and Marcona almonds, then wrapped in pancetta. They were a lovely mix of sticky, sweet, salty, crispy, and squishy. Perfect for nibbling alongside a drink.
“Was there a food Cassidy didn’t love?” Allison smiled. “How many times did she eat more of our entrees than we did? Plus hers.”
“Yeah.” Nic felt her eyes get wet. “Nothing was safe from her. You didn’t want to get between that girl and something she wanted to eat.”
“And she loved it when someone recognized her.” Allison glanced at the bartender who was now serving three Japanese businessmen.
“Yeah,” Nic agreed, “but she wouldn’t have liked that he didn’t know her name.”
“He probably works when she’s on air.” Allison paused. “Was on air. It’s so hard to think she’ll never be on again.”
“You know what I’m going to miss?” Nic asked rhetorically. “Cassidy’s purse. Her big black tote. That thing was as big as my garage. It was like a magician’s hat—anything could come out of it, up to and including a rabbit.” Now there would be no more magic purse. “I used to make so much fun of that purse,” she choked out. “That and everything else about her. I rolled my eyes behind her back, and she caught me. More than once. And when I wasn’t giving her a look, I lectured her. But I never told her that I loved her. I figured she knew, you know?”
Allison patted the back of her hand.
“Oh, Nicole, I’m sure she knew.”
“If I could go back, I’d be more patient. I’d be nicer. I’d tell her how much she means to me.” Nic picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes, not caring if she smeared her mascara.
Allison gave her hand a squeeze and then released it. “All you can change is today. Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.”
It took Nic a second to figure it out. “That’s good. Did you just think that up on the spur of the moment?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s already a saying.”
The bartender set down another drink. Nic was surprised to find that her first glass was empty.
“Oh, I didn’t order another one.”
“That’s okay. It’s on the house.”
She thought about protesting, but instead she just thanked him and took a big sip.
“I hardly have any photos of Cassidy. That’s one thing I’m going to start doing more,” she told Allison. “Taking more photos.” Someday Nic would lose her parents, maybe her older brothers. Nothing was permanent. Someday Makayla would lose her. Nic couldn’t bear to contemplate that even ten-year-old Makayla wouldn’t live forever.
“There’re plenty of photos of Cassidy on the Web,” Allison said. “And I was watching her on YouTube before you came by.”
“But it’s us I want to remember,” Nic said. “The Triple Threat.” She slipped her phone off her belt and pressed a few buttons to put it into camera mode, then she beckoned to the bartender. “Could you do me a favor? Could you take a picture of my friend and me?”
“Sure.” He took a step back while Nic slung her arm around Allison’s shoulders. Then the flash went off, and he handed back the phone while an older couple glanced over at them curiously.
Allison leaned in close, and the two of them regarded the photo. The sadness was still in their eyes, but their smiles were broad.
“That’s perfect,” Nic said. “Thanks.”
