Family

by Karen Kingsbury

  “I’m glad you came by.” The owner was an earthy sort, a woman who dressed in layered gauzy skirts and heavy brown sandals. She always had a pair of bifocals balanced on the end of her nose.

  “Looks like the pieces I had out front are gone.” Ashley felt the familiar rush. The fact that she was pulling in a decent income as an artist was still overwhelming. And every time she brought in a batch of paintings, they were gone in a month.

  The woman raised her finger in the air. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She made a puzzled face. “Some guy came in and bought all three—” she snapped her fingers—“just like that. Didn’t even blink at the price.”

  “Maybe we’re not charging enough.” She smiled, teasing the woman. There were new candles on display near the register, and Ashley picked one up. The smell was a rich mix of pine and musk. When the store owner didn’t laugh, Ashley looked at her. “I’m just kidding.”

  “No, it wasn’t the price, nothing like that.” The gallery owner’s look lacked any humor whatsoever. “It was something about your paintings. He seemed taken by them. Had them shipped back to some post office box in Los Angeles, California.”

  Devin stirred in his stroller, and Ashley set the candle down. “Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, and here’s the strangest thing.” She adjusted her bifocals. “I could’ve sworn the guy was that actor fellow Dayne Matthews. He told me he was in town visiting his kid brother, a student at the university.” The woman shook her finger. “But I know a face when I’ve seen it before, and his belonged to a Hollywood movie star if ever I’ve seen one.”

  Ashley was glad she wasn’t holding the candle. Otherwise she would’ve dropped it. “Dayne Matthews?” She moved close to the counter. “Well, how did he pay? Did you see his name?”

  “It wasn’t Dayne Matthews.” She made a suspicious face. “Something similar, though. If you ask me, it was him. I’m convinced.”

  The conversation shifted. Ashley and the woman talked about what sort of paintings had done the best over the past year. Ashley agreed to bring in another two featuring the Baxter house, one of the old people from Sunset Hills Adult Care Home, and two with a little blond boy as the main subject.

  Sometimes she enjoyed painting the same type of scene more than once. It gave her a chance to find ways to make each one unique, even if the subject was similar. But as she pushed Devin’s stroller back to her van, she wasn’t thinking about which paintings she might bring to the shop in the next few days.

  She was thinking about the guy who had walked in and bought everything she had for sale. Could it have been Dayne? And if so, why would he want her paintings? Maybe he’d bought them as a gift for Katy, or because Katy had suggested them. Or maybe the guy only looked like Dayne, and he really was visiting his kid brother at the university.

  She mentioned something about it to Landon that night, but he only smiled at her. “Maybe your dad’s been giving Dayne advice about decorating his house.”

  The idea was ludicrous, and Ashley realized Landon was only teasing her. She gave him a playful shove on the arm.

  “Come on, Ash. I don’t want to talk about Dayne Matthews.” He pulled her close and kissed her. “Tell me about my little boys and all I missed while I was waiting for the fire bell to go off.”

  And just like that, the whole strange day—the call on her father’s cell phone, the purchase of her paintings, and every odd mention of Dayne Matthews—was forgotten. Her father was right. The actor put his pants on the same as anyone else, and with the discussions among her siblings about their older brother, she hardly had time to waste thinking about a movie star.

  Even one as nice as Dayne Matthews.

  Friday morning Dayne arrived at the courthouse an hour before Katy. From everything Joe had told him, the press conference seemed to have worked. Joe staged it outside on the front steps at nine that morning, just as the media was arriving for what looked like the final day of testimony.

  “Katy Hart hasn’t left her hotel room since late Tuesday,” Joe told them. “I must reiterate that she is not a celebrity. She deserves her space and privacy.”

  Now as he and Joe Morris sat in the small waiting area adjacent to the courtroom, Joe had to chuckle at the plan. “Brilliant, Matthews.” He kicked one leg over the other knee. “Nothing those creeps don’t deserve.”

  Of course, the paparazzi, the people who had hunted them down on the beach and pounded on the door, wouldn’t have attended the press conference. But the respectable members of the media—the major networks and newspapers—had all been there. They would report the story, and it would create a reality that would later make the tabloid stories look like nothing more than trashy lies.

  Which Dayne was pretty sure they would be. The tabloids would guess that whatever was happening between Katy and him, their relationship was apparently hot and steamy and forbidden. He prayed hourly that whatever they churned out for Monday’s editions, the lies wouldn’t damage Katy’s reputation, at least not for long.

  Joe was telling him what to expect this afternoon. “Testimony should wrap up by eleven, and we’d like you and Katy both in the courtroom for closing arguments, all of which should come before lunch.” As usual, Joe had an open file in his hands. He was a copious note taker, part of why he was so successful, no doubt. “The jury’ll take one look at the two of you, and all the boring medical testimony will be forgotten. They’ll be right back where you had them Tuesday afternoon, horrified by the details of the attack.”

  “You think they’ll deliver a verdict today?”

  “Yes.” Joe gave a firm nod. “Tara thinks it’ll be an easy decision.”

  Dayne understood the importance of their presence in the courtroom, but he had so much to talk to Katy about, so many pieces of their future to work through. He’d meant what he told her yesterday. If she ran he would follow her. He didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her running back to Bloomington until he’d told her how he felt. That he loved her and that he was willing to make whatever changes were necessary to be with her.

  Instead, the day figured to be another frenzy of drama and media attention. Katy had called him from her hotel room early this morning. Since the case was expected to end today, she’d gotten permission from Tara to book her flight home by Saturday. Katy had sounded distant, anxious to get home.

  Great, he wanted to tell her. Where did that leave them? He had felt this way before, trapped by his fame. Every time he longed to meet with the Baxter family. But never mind the trap. Somehow after they were finished at court today, he and Katy would have a last night together. And if the paparazzi got in the way, this time he would call the police.

  Whatever it took to find some alone time with her.

  She slipped into the private sitting area adjacent to the courtroom a few minutes before the proceedings. The look they shared told him everything she was feeling. Their time at the beach still shone in her eyes, but she was anxious about what lay ahead, probably terrified about how the paparazzi would play up the fact that she’d stayed all night at the beach house. He wanted to pull her aside and hug her, soothe away her fears.

  Instead he only stood and gave her a quick hug. “Joe says the press conference went perfectly.”

  “Yes.” Joe stood and nodded at Katy. “They were happy to have a new angle.” An easy laugh slipped from his lips. “The respectable media sees themselves as superior to the paparazzi. They all looked appalled at the idea of you sitting in a hotel room, afraid to leave because of the aggressive tabloid reporters.”

  Dayne could see by Katy’s expression that she wasn’t sure. “I don’t like lying.”

  “Look at it this way.” Joe sat back down. “You’re telling the first lie—an innocent lie—to make their nastier lies look less believable.”

  The notion was Hollywood logic, for sure. Dayne was about to ask Katy if she had trouble getting inside the courthouse, but Tara appeared at the door. “Okay, let’s go. We begin in fiv
e minutes.”

  As Dayne suspected, the rest of the morning was a blur. In her closing, Tara presented the details of the attack, the way it was plotted and premeditated, the notes Margie Madden had sent to the police warning of her impending attack. The way she had lain in wait for Dayne on more than one occasion.

  The gray-haired defense attorney took an entirely different approach. He avoided trying to explain away the details of the attack. Instead he launched into a dissertation on mental illness. “A person with Margie Madden’s sick mind could not possibly be capable of premeditating a murder.” He gave the jury a sad smile. “She can’t even be sure who she is, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Tara had the final word. She came back strong with a point that Dayne felt was often missed by defense attorneys and prosecutors alike. “Any person capable of killing someone is a person with a sick mind.” She looked at Margie. The woman was very subdued, but she was watching the proceedings like everyone else.

  “I am not here to convince you that the defendant, Margie Madden, is of sound mind, people.” Tara’s tone was adamant, self-assured. Every person in the courtroom had to see how convinced she was about this case. She stopped and looked at the face of each juror. “I’m here to convince you that she is a danger to society, that she made a plan to kill, prepared for that plan, and did everything in her power to carry it out. If you agree that the defendant intended to kill Katy Hart and Dayne Matthews, you must—you absolutely must—return a guilty verdict to this court.”

  The judge gave the jury their instructions for deliberation, and the court was adjourned.

  Dayne gave each of the jurors a serious smile as they filed out, nodding his thanks at them for serving. When they were gone, Tara hurried them into the waiting area. A caterer had brought lunch, but Dayne wasn’t hungry.

  He sat next to Katy and kept his voice low. “If the verdict comes in, Joe wants us to meet with the press later.”

  Alarm flashed in her eyes. “In person?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe took the seat opposite them. “Katy, it’s important. You’ll stand on either side of me, and we’ll answer as many questions as we can. It’ll give the public a professional picture of you. Me between the two of you. The image you’ll want them to remember if the tabloids print a bunch of dirt next week.”

  “Oh.” Katy poked at her club sandwich. “Thanks. That makes sense.”

  “It’s part of the plan.” Dayne sighed. “So you can get out of Hollywood in one piece.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do it. Definitely.”

  Joe was saying something about the closing arguments when Luke pulled away from the team of prosecuting attorneys and sat next to Joe.

  Under the table Katy reached over and squeezed Dayne’s knee.

  He understood. This was the first time they’d been together with Luke since Dayne had told her the truth. The young man sitting across from them was Dayne’s brother.

  Luke took a drink from a can of pop. “I heard things got a little out of control at the beach?”

  “They did.” Dayne looked into his brother’s eyes. How much they’d missed by being raised in different worlds. Luke was a guy Dayne would’ve liked to have known better. They might’ve played pickup basketball games in the summer or gone skiing in the winter. They were more than a decade apart in years, but there was a sameness about them that went beyond their physical resemblance.

  Katy fell quiet, eating her lunch and watching the two of them.

  Time passed slowly, with Joe and Luke leaving after lunch and holding a meeting in preparation for the press conference at the end of the day.

  Dayne studied Katy, and when he was sure Tara and her team were preoccupied, he turned to face her. “You’re running.”

  “I’m not.” Her answer was quick. “I just want it to be over, the trial, all of it.”

  “The Monday morning tabloids too.”

  “Yes.” She crossed her arms, and for the first time today her tone softened. “I wish we were back on the beach.”

  He smiled. “Me too.” An idea hit him. “Hey, let’s have dinner at Pepperdine tonight.”

  She laughed. “We and our hundred closest paparazzi friends?”

  “No, really.” He sat back. “After the press conference, Joe will take you back to your hotel. You’ll pack up, and around dinnertime you can take a cab to Pepperdine. I’ll find a way there; don’t worry. I’m better than you at losing the photographers.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.” He paused at a sound by the door. “We can talk about it later.”

  A clerk stepped into the room and looked at Tara. “The judge would like to see you.”

  Tara pulled herself away from her team. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “It has.”

  The room went silent. A verdict didn’t necessarily mean a victory. Tara left and came back a few minutes later. “We have half an hour.”

  In that time, Joe and Luke returned and prepped Dayne and Katy on the upcoming press conference. When they found their seats in the courtroom thirty minutes later, the place was packed with reporters and cameramen.

  To keep up appearances, Dayne didn’t sit by Katy. But he wanted to. He was suddenly more nervous than he’d been throughout the entire proceedings. Margie Madden deserved prison time. If she was released because of her mental illness, then any crazy fan would think it was okay to stalk a celebrity, to make death threats and wield knives—all in the name of insanity.

  The jury filed back into the room, and the foreman stood up.

  Judge Nguyen peered at the man from his bench. “Has the jury reached a decision?”

  “We have, Your Honor.”

  “Very well.” The judge held out his hand.

  The foreman gave a slip of paper to the clerk, who then passed the note to the bench.

  Judge Nguyen opened it and read it, his expression blank.

  Dayne held his breath. Please, God . . . let there be justice.

  The judge handed the paper back to the clerk, who delivered it once more to the jury foreman.

  “Read the verdict for the court, please.” Judge Nguyen sat back and waited.

  “We, the jury, find the defendant, Margie Madden, guilty as charged in both counts.”

  They’d done it! They’d won! The judge was asking each juror if the verdict reflected his or her say in the matter, but Dayne was on his feet, hugging Joe Morris and then Luke, and finally he smiled at Katy. Her face was filled with relief, and he could read her thoughts. It was almost over. The trial, the public scrutiny, the hounding press—a few more hours and she could have her life back. At least for now.

  “Order, please.” The judge’s admonition was only halfhearted. He finished questioning the jurors; then he issued a sentencing date. “Until that time, the defendant is to be remanded to the city jail.” He rapped his gavel. “Court dismissed.” He stood and left the room through a door behind the bench.

  The celebration in Dayne’s row continued. Joe had told them that this moment—if it came—was one the press needed to capture. It would provide them with a front-page picture and keep the focus on the trial and not the relationship between Katy and Dayne. Dayne hugged Tara Lawson next, lingering near her and shaking her hand in full view of the cameras. Luke did the same with Katy—again making the photo opportunity one they wanted to portray.

  Joe addressed the media, explaining that Katy Hart and Dayne Matthews, along with the prosecutor, Tara Lawson, would be available directly outside the courthouse in a few minutes.

  The crowd seemed to swell, and Dayne nodded to Luke. “Take care of Katy, okay?”

  “Got it.” Luke stayed by her side as the group made their way out of the courtroom.

  Outside on the steps of the courthouse, the positioning was as deliberate as everything else Joe had put together that week. They stood in a line, Joe, then Dayne, followed by Tara, Katy, and Luke.

  For an hour Joe fielded questions for the gr
oup, acting as an impromptu guest host of some twisted reality show. They asked Dayne to comment on the boldness of fans in seeking access to celebrities.

  “It’s not only the eccentric fans.” Dayne’s tone was serious, and he was dressed to fit the part—less the movie star than the successful businessman. “It’s the paparazzi. When people are hounded, dangerous situations arise.” He spoke like a politician, making eye contact with the press. “I hope the guilty verdict today will make the fanatical fans and the paparazzi take note. A person’s fame does not make them fair game for harassment or personal attacks.”

  The attention turned to Katy. “Was the attack by Margie Madden the reason you turned down the part in Dream On?”

  Katy stepped up to the sea of microphones. “There were many factors that went into my decision.” She smiled, hiding her nervousness. “But, yes. I prefer my private life.”

  Tara answered the next question, but Dayne was stuck on Katy’s words. For some reason, they lodged in his heart like a painful splinter. “I prefer my private life . . . private life . . .”

  He wasn’t sure why her statement hurt. He already knew she felt that way, but still . . . hearing it now at a press conference was like confirmation that she was never—not ever—going to compromise where his fame was concerned. He would have to find a way to love her on her terms, on her turf, or he wouldn’t have the chance to love her at all.

  When the press conference ended, they hurried off in different directions. Joe took Dayne home, and Luke took Katy back to her hotel.

  Three hours later Dayne drove into the parking lot at Pepperdine University and looked around. Three cameramen had followed him, but he’d lost them after driving through Starbucks. He complimented himself as he parked behind some bushes and stepped out of his Escalade with a blanket, two coffees, and a bag of food. Fancy driving and patience. See, it was possible. Living life around the paparazzi. Besides, they could see that Katy wasn’t with him, and that made them less motivated, since capturing them together was the hot story of the hour.

  Dayne made his way down a path to a plateau that was hidden from the parking lot. He’d been in touch with Katy by cell, and after a few minutes he heard the sound of a car in the parking lot above him. A door opened and shut, and the car drove off.