Almost Dead

by Lisa Jackson

  Calls to the police station from people who thought they’d seen Marla had flooded in. So far none of the “Marla sightings” had panned out.

  And they’d come up empty handed with the vehicle as well. The owner of the silver Taurus caught on the hospital security camera had apparently been nowhere near the hospital, nor had his car been stolen. Hector Alvarez had been home with his wife, the car parked in their driveway at the time the ticket at the medical school was issued. Two neighbors vouched that it hadn’t moved. And his back license plate didn’t match with his front. Someone had switched them.

  And that someone was probably the driver of the car—who was Marla Cahill or someone who resembled her. The plates and Alvarez’s car had been searched and printed by the crime unit.

  So far, nothing.

  But they were getting closer. Paterno’s fingers tightened over the wheel. He only hoped they would nab Marla before another one of her relatives went to meet his or her maker.

  A surveillance team was in place at Cissy Cahill’s house as well. Whoever was killing off Cahill relatives would surely have her on the hit list.

  Unless it turned out she was the murderess.

  Either way, she would be followed.

  He changed lanes at the far end of the long suspension bridge. “You find anything interesting in the old woman’s diaries?”

  “A few things,” Quinn said. “I’m still trying to sort them out.” She sat lower in the Caddy’s big bucket seat, her eyes trained out the passenger window. “It turns out the Cahill family has more than a few skeletons in its closets.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You want to hear this?”

  “Give me the condensed version.”

  “Hell with that. You’re getting it chapter and verse.” She ignored his groan and said, “Here’s some ancient history: first of all, Eugenia was engaged before she met Samuel Cahill, but she deep-sixed the first fiancé in favor of the man she married. No big news bulletin, and the guy’s long dead, so I doubt he held any grudges. He married a few years later; he and his wife had three daughters. His wife is dead too, and the daughters are all married with kids. Their lives don’t touch anything remotely close to Eugenia Cahill, so I think that’s a dead end.”

  Paterno stopped at a red light, waiting as a woman with a cane and bag of groceries made her way across the street. It was easier to let Quinn ramble than express the frustration he felt.

  “Then there’s Alex, son number one. He had a few affairs during his marriage to Marla.”

  “Not a one-way street,” Paterno observed as the light changed and he headed through the now-familiar streets of Sausalito.

  “Fidelity didn’t seem to be a part of their marriage. The interesting thing is how Marla first came into contact with the Cahill family: She spent some time at Cahill House—the home for unwed mothers—not as a volunteer, but as a resident.”

  Paterno felt his eyebrows shoot skyward. “She had a kid that she gave up for adoption?”

  “That’s what Eugenia’s diary suggests. It’s probably not a big deal in and of itself, but I did some digging. The records are sealed, of course, but I’d like to find out more about this kid. What happened to him or her? Who was the father? All I get from the notes is that Eugenia didn’t approve of Alex’s marriage to Marla Amhurst. She was, and I quote, ‘socially acceptable but morally reprehensible’.”

  “That’s gotta bite.”

  “If Marla knew her mother-in-law’s feelings.”

  “Eugenia was pretty starchy. She might have put up a front of acceptance to the rest of the world, but if she didn’t like Marla, I’ll guarantee Marla knew it.”

  Quinn nodded. “Stoic to the outside world, a raving bitch with the people she loved.”

  “So we don’t know where the kid is now?”

  “Not yet, but I’m looking into it. The records may be sealed, but there are people who were employed at Cahill House during the time of Marla’s pregnancy—people who have long since retired. I’ve got a list, and I’m working my way through it. Someone’s got to know about that child.”

  Paterno drove past the Holy Trinity of God Church, where a message on the reader board was simple: “Go with God, our Sister Cherise,” and then the notation of a verse from the Bible.

  He frowned as he saw the sign, experiencing the same burning sensation in his stomach that he’d felt when he’d seen the newscasts where the Reverend Donald played the grieving, broken husband who, though he had been a sinner, was taking Cherise’s death as a “sign from God” to mend his ways. The news cameras had been trained on both him and the crowd surrounding him, and Paterno had taped all the local channels.

  Heather Van Arsdale’s face had been missing from the flock, though other newscasts showed reporters hounding her at her apartment, even camped out at the school where she taught, but she’d never honored any requests for an interview. Paterno didn’t blame her. She was the “other woman” in a bad play. Somehow the reverend was turning the situation around, once again the spinmaster, creating publicity and an image of a repentant adulterer mourning the violent and tragic end to his wife’s life. He was blaming himself—and his act was working. Everyone in the church was standing behind him, the weakened man who had bowed to temptation and was now strong. Like Heather’s, Favier’s alibi was tight. So far the police hadn’t been able to track down any money trail indicating he’d paid off a hit man…or woman, if the myopic dog-walking witness could be believed.

  Paterno found a parking spot big enough that he could ease his car into it across the street from the Favier house, a nice rambler with a Spanish motif. Sickly looking palm trees offered a bit of shade to the red tile roof. The lawn was neat and trimmed, the house painted with a fresh coat the color of sand. A brick walk led to a matching porch where big pots were filled with trailing plants that promised to bloom in the coming months.

  “Look like a crime scene to you?” he asked as they climbed out of the car.

  Quinn shook her head. “No, but it sure must’ve to Cherise Favier.”

  A headache pounded behind Elyse’s eyes, and she had to squint as she reached into the medicine cabinet. She found a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed back double the dosage. Lately the headaches had become more severe, nearly debilitating.

  It’s just because everything’s coming to a head, that’s all. You’ve nearly accomplished everything you want…except for Cissy, and that’s about to go down.

  After taking a swallow of the wine from the near-empty bottle on the nightstand, she stretched her muscles, unwound the tension from the back of her neck. It was time to go to her regular job, to pretend to be a woman she wasn’t. The thought irked her.

  Just a little longer…that’s all it’s going to be.

  The wheels have been set into motion.

  She glanced at the big rumpled bed and thought about the man she loved. He was key, of course, to all her plans. He’d been instrumental, had even contacted her from the get-go, but then she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

  Once a fool, always a fool.

  But only if you let yourself.

  Don’t let him use you.

  Don’t let him belittle you.

  Don’t give too much of yourself to him.

  And for God’s sake, don’t let him have your heart.

  He’s not worth it. No man is.

  Remember: he’s expendable.

  Everyone is.

  Now, get your butt to work. This is the last day you’ll ever have to go there and pretend to be someone you’re not.

  Today is the beginning of the end.

  Chapter 17

  “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Cissy asked, as she grabbed her keys and purse from the kitchen counter. She was so glad Jack had moved back in. So glad to feel safe and protected. So glad she’d managed to let go of most of her anger and insecurities, because she needed him now. Really needed him.

  And she hated the thou
ght of spending two or three hours alone with the lawyers for her grandmother’s estate, absorbing legalese and responsibilities. She’d avoided this meeting as long as possible, but there was no more putting it off. She’d twisted her hair into a sophisticated bun, donned her best pair of slacks and a decent sweater, and was ready to go.

  But it would be nice if Jack would come with her.

  Jack, however, was standing near the French doors, a shoulder propped against the wall, drinking from a beer.

  “Talk to your lawyers? The same guys who wanted to stick it to me in the divorce?” Jack shook his head and scooped up Beej, who was nearly wiped out as he careened around a corner while chasing Coco. “Whoa, buddy.”

  “Doggie!” Beej cried, pointing at the little dog, who at the moment was hiding under the table, her back toward the wall. Beej squirmed to get down and give chase again.

  “I’m the babysitter, remember? By the way, you look great.”

  Cissy felt her cheeks warm. God, she was pathetic, responding to Jack’s compliments like a blushing schoolgirl.

  “Down, Dad-dee! I want down!” Beej, thwarted, was getting mad.

  “In a minute,” Jack said, holding fast to the little dynamo.

  “We could take Beej with us.”

  “Oh, he’d be a blast in the lawyers’ office. Let’s take his sippy cup and binky and have him sit on our laps for an hour or two. Maybe we could bring Coco.”

  “Point taken.”

  Jack smiled into Cissy’s eyes. “Actually, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Those tight asses down at the law firm need a little shaking up.”

  “Thanks, but you’re right. I’ll take a pass.”

  “Down, Dad-dee!” Beej slapped his fist against Jack’s shoulder in frustration.

  “Hey, no hitting.” Jack was suddenly serious as a heart attack.

  Beej, surprised by his favorite person on earth’s sharp tone, buried his face in his father’s shoulder in embarrassment and mumbled a soft but defiant, “No, Dad-dee.”

  “Careful, Beej,” Cissy warned. “Dad-dee is pretty tough.”

  Beej turned his face her way and scowled. It was so comical, Cissy nearly laughed. “’Bye, sweetie,” she said, kissing him on his head, but Beej turned away.

  “No kisses!”

  “I’m going to kiss you too,” Jack threatened.

  “Nooooooo!”

  Cissy did laugh then, and Jack succeeded in giving B.J. a loud kiss to the top of his head, which Beej quickly swiped off. Jack and Cissy shared a moment of amusement. Their relationship had improved over the past few days, their life taking on a new togetherness since that final showdown over Larissa. Cissy believed him. She trusted him. She was glad he was home. And now they were moving forward one day at a time.

  Unfortunately, while their relationship continued to improve, the circumstances surrounding the deaths in her family kept them under a shadow of suspicion and fear—and the watchful eye of the police. Cherise’s murder had been another shock, and Cissy also hadn’t gotten over seeing her mother in the doorway of Gran’s house. It was just one unpleasant surprise after another, but she was determined not to shut down and cower in her house. She had a life to live, and Jack was with her now. And with the police providing protection, and the ever-alert Coco on the premises, Cissy felt secure enough to strive for some kind of normalcy. Jack had ordered a new security system, and it was scheduled to be installed by the following week.

  Nonetheless, she was wary and a bit nervous. Her request for Jack to join her today hadn’t been idle.

  But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him see that she felt any fear. They were tiptoeing their way back to each other, and she couldn’t appear too needy, too eager. Their relationship had to be equal and solid for them to ever reach that same level of trust and commitment.

  Cissy gazed out the window. The unmarked police car was parked across the street, courtesy of Detective Paterno. He claimed he was concerned about her welfare, as well as that of her uncle and brother, and that was the reason for the continued protection. The police in Oregon were watching Nick and James while Paterno considered Cissy his responsibility. This was both comforting and annoying. It was weird having two officers stake out her house 24/7.

  Cissy cast an eye toward the sky. It was still sunny, but cold. She opened the closet door in the foyer and pulled out her jacket. “Tanya’s supposed to come by in a bit and pick up her final check. If you want to get out for a while, you could ask her to watch Beej.”

  “I thought you didn’t trust her.”

  Cissy made a face. “I don’t know. It’s not really a matter of trust. We just never quite clicked.”

  “Because I suggested her upon my dad’s recommendation?” Jack asked, daring her to argue the point. “You were prejudiced. Thought maybe they’d had a fling or something?”

  “Tanya? No.”

  One of his eyebrows arched.

  “She wasn’t his type,” Cissy explained, shrugging into her coat. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Jonathan would hit on any attractive younger woman; he seemed to think it was practically a job requirement. But Cissy felt he wouldn’t have recommended Tanya if they were romantically involved. The man was a cheat, but he didn’t like untidiness in relationships. At least that was Cissy’s take. He wouldn’t want the woman he was currently “seeing” working for his son.

  And lately Jonathan had seemed more interested in his various business endeavors than women. He was always looking for the big score, a man who would rather chase rainbows than work. The same could be said for Jack’s brother. J.J. was a chip off the old block if Cissy had ever seen one, except that he wanted next to nothing to do with Jack’s life. Where Jonathan insinuated himself into Jack’s affairs, J.J. stayed away. Cissy had met J.J.’s ex-wife, Amanda, long after they’d been divorced and was sorry that hadn’t worked out. She’d liked Amanda right away. But Amanda couldn’t take the womanizing and the big dreams that never materialized, so she divorced J.J. and struck out on her own. She’d done well since the divorce, much better than when she’d been married.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jack asked when Cissy went quiet.

  “Your dad…and Tanya. Not as a couple. Remember, Tanya fired me, not the other way around. She suggested I check with the nanny school. She also thought I should see a shrink.”

  Jack snorted derisively.

  “I probably should.” Cissy smiled. “I mean, look. I let you back in the house.”

  “That was pure sanity on your part.”

  “Uh-huh. Anyway, Tanya’s check’s on the counter.” Cissy walked into the kitchen and tapped the white envelope with a finger. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “With those guys, don’t count on it.” Jack took another pull from his beer, set the bottle on the counter, and eased Beej to the ground.

  “’Bye.” She brushed a kiss over Jack’s lips, and he grinned. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her long and hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs and make her think longingly of their recent passionate nights in the bedroom.

  When he lifted his head, he casually picked up his beer again, as if he hadn’t experienced the sensations that were still sizzling through her bloodstream. He took a long swallow, eyeing her with amusement.

  “You’re a big tease, Jack Holt.”

  “Stick around and see how much teasing there is.”

  “Promises, promises…I’d love to, but, you know, I have this hot date with three stuffed shirts who want to talk about wills and trusts and limited liability corporations and tax advantages, and gee…it just sounds so damned fun, I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  She headed toward the garage and hit the button for the garage door opener. As she climbed into her car and backed down the drive, she saw Sara wheel in next door. Sara climbed out of her car and left the engine running. Spying Cissy as she headed toward her front porch, she sketched a wave, then stopped. A moment later she was he
ading Cissy’s way.

  Inwardly groaning, Cissy pasted a smile on her face and rolled down her window.

  “Hey, I want to apologize for the other day,” Sara said. “I know you’re going through hell. Sometimes I just forge ahead and damn the consequences. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Today Sara wore espresso-colored slacks and a matching jacket with a V-necked cream sweater and a dull-pink, cream and taupe silk scarf looped artlessly around her neck. “I’m meeting some clients,” she said. “Had to run home and pick up some docs. Thank God the sun’s out, at least for the moment. Sales are hard enough without a torrential downpour.”

  “The clients from Philadelphia?”

  “No, they’ve decided to come in a couple of weeks.” Sara peered at Cissy more closely. “You changing your mind about the house?”

  “It’s not mine to change.”

  “Well, when it is, promise you’ll keep me in mind?”

  Her persistence was awe-inspiring. “As I recall, you already gave the attorneys your business card,” Cissy reminded dryly.

  “I’m a bitch on wheels,” Sara admitted with an embarrassed laugh. She shot a glance at the unmarked police car with its burly driver. “What’s going on there?”

  “The police are watching the house just in case Marla shows up.”

  She snorted. “I’m surprised the press aren’t camped out here too. One of ’em came to my door, wanted to know if I’d give an interview. I said sure.”

  Cissy blinked. “You agreed to an interview?”

  “I didn’t give away your family secrets, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like I know anything, but I thought maybe if they put my name on the news, I’d get some free publicity out of the deal.” To Cissy’s look of consternation, she said, “I must have been beyond boring, because it never even aired. I spent the whole time telling them how great you and Jack were and how unfortunate it was that you had to deal with all the bad publicity, and then I asked, oh, by the way, did I mention that I sell real estate? They didn’t go for it.”