by Beth Yarnall
“Yes,” she moans.
For a moment I’m struck with the image of her beneath me saying that over and over again. I put one hand on the door behind her, then the other, because if I don’t get my hands off her I’m not going to be able to stop.
I give her a hard kiss and push away from her, separating us and unwinding her arms from around my neck.
“Good night, Bluebird.” I open her door and guide her inside.
She blinks at me for a moment, then slowly closes the door. I make myself walk back to my car and climb inside. That girl is going to kill me. I force myself to start the car and pull away from the curb. You’ll see her tomorrow, I tell myself. And I did get the promise of another date out of her. Even after nearly blowing it with my comments about her brother.
The whole way home, what Cora said about prosecutor misconduct rolls around in my brain. I can’t get it out of my head. Somehow I have to prove to her that not all prosecutors are in it to close cases at any cost, including the DA who got the conviction on her brother. If I can somehow get ahold of the DA’s case notes and copies of her files, I can show her that Beau’s conviction was an unintentional mistake. He truly was a dolphin in the fish net.
Chapter 13
Cora
I don’t know how Leo does it. From the outside he looks like a total slacker. But somehow he manages to pull things off that I never could. Like getting Beau to open up to him and actually agreeing to talk on the phone. Beau hates talking on the phone. Even before he went to prison he had a thing about telephones. He’d say what he needed to say and then end the call. Sometimes in the middle of the other person’s sentence. Used to drive my mom nuts. The only person he ever spent any real time with on the phone was Cassandra.
That fact says everything about their relationship.
I also don’t know how Leo managed to get me to agree to go out with him again. Our first date proved how much I suck at it. I can’t even carry on a normal conversation without bringing it back to me and especially back to what happened to Beau. I never used to worry about how that little quirk of mine affected my relationships with people. After losing just about everyone in my life after Beau’s conviction, there weren’t a lot of people left around to offend. And those who stuck accepted my obsession.
What does he see in me? He could have just about anyone. Hell, he had Savannah and probably a dozen girls just like her. What does he want with me and my cargo ship of baggage?
I pace our tiny office, waiting for Leo to get back from talking to Cassandra’s friend Maisy. It took us a few days to track her down. To our surprise she agreed to meet with Leo, totally buying his ruse of being a law student researching a high-profile local case. Leo had an appointment with her first thing this morning and texted me an hour ago to tell me he has some news, but he didn’t say what. It’s killing me not to know.
At some point in the past few weeks I’ve come to see Leo as a partner in this fight. Before I met him I never would’ve been comfortable sitting on the sidelines while someone else worked on Beau’s behalf. No, that’s not true. I can pinpoint exactly when it was that I gave over all my trust to Leo—when he got Beau to agree to his visit.
The outer door opens and I rush out to the reception area, hoping it’s Leo at last. I come to a screeching halt at the sight of my mother peeling off her sunglasses.
“Hello. I’m here to see Cora Hollis.”
My first reaction is to back away slowly and pretend I’m not here. No such luck. Both my mom and Savannah turn toward me. I have no choice but to paste on a smile.
“There she is,” my mother says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I came to see you, since you don’t answer your phone.” She says this as though she sees me all the time. I haven’t seen her since Mother’s Day and I saw her then only out of guilt.
And there’s a reason I don’t answer my phone when she calls.
Savannah leans back in her chair with a smirk, totally onto what a giant farce my mother’s visit is.
“Why don’t we take this to the conference room?” I don’t want my mom to see Leo’s and my office. It’s littered with snippets of Beau’s case. She’d take one look and launch into some shit about how I don’t take her feelings into account and how could both of her children have turned out so badly?
“Mr. Nash has a client coming in fifteen minutes,” Savannah says. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“We’ll be finished by then,” I say. “Mom?” I motion for her to follow me down the hall and close the door after us. “What’s wrong?”
“For starters, you can tell me why a private detective—one of your coworkers, I assume—called me, wanting to talk about your brother. I’m trying to put that chapter of my life behind me. I don’t need my failings shoved in my face all the time. I can only assume this is your doing. Why do you have to constantly find new ways to torment me?”
I take a deep breath. When my mom gets that look of righteous indignation she reminds me so much of Beau that it makes it hard to look at her. He gets most of his features from her, whereas I look my like our dad, except for my eyes—those are all Mom. She used to like it that Beau looked so much like her. Now she does all she can to separate herself from him. Hence the blond highlights and colored contacts. I have good memories of my mom, but they’re washed over and scarred from moments like this.
“You assumed wrong. I didn’t tell anyone to contact you.” Goddamn Leo. Why didn’t he check with me first before involving my mother?
“I don’t understand you.” She looks around the room. “What are you doing here? What happened to that nice job at the law office? And when are you going to stop dying your hair that god-awful color? It’s not professional. Men, real men, aren’t going to give you a second look, let alone a first one, with that blue hair. You’re a beautiful young woman. Why are you trying to turn people off?”
“I don’t care what other people think of me.”
She props a hand on her hip. “That’s obvious.”
“I’ll tell Leo to leave you alone.”
“Who’s Leo?”
“You said someone from this agency contacted you.”
“His name wasn’t Leo.”
If it wasn’t Leo, then who? “What was his name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“If it wasn’t Leo Nash, was it Ed Nash?”
“It was nobody named Nash.”
“Jerry Sullivan? Al Torres?” She shakes her head after each name. I’m stumped. Those are the only guys who work at the agency. “Then it wasn’t anyone from this agency. Probably a crank caller and you came down here for nothing.”
“No, he said he was with a private detective agency and that he wanted to talk about your brother.” Your brother, not Beau or her son, as if his conviction is somehow my fault.
“Which detective agency?”
“I told you, I don’t know. I assumed you’d know, since you’re the one who won’t let anything go.”
Yeah, I’m the one who won’t let anything go. “If he calls again, get his info and I’ll take care of it.”
She puts a hand on the doorknob and pauses. “Have you seen your father lately?”
I don’t know why my parents split up, because they’re always asking about each other as though there’s some glimmer of something still left between them. They’ve always had a strange dynamic I can’t begin to understand. Now that they’re divorced, they use me to find out about the other instead of just picking up the phone or taking the time to go see each other. I hate being caught in their whatever it is.
“I saw him on Father’s Day.”
“How’s he managing?”
“Fine. He’s managing fine just like you.”
“I’m not fine, not that you’d care.”
With that, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and leaves. No goodbye. No see you around. She didn’t ask about Beau. She never does. Our father never does either. B
ut for our dad it’s different. For him Beau is a deep hurt. For Mom he’s a deep shame. I’m not sure what I am to either of them anymore except a reminder of Beau.
Leo strolls in as my mother huffs out. He gives her a first, then second take. He raises his brows at me. My answer is to go into our office, out of Savannah’s earshot.
He closes the door and leans back against it. “That had to be your mother.”
“Yup.”
“She didn’t look very happy.” He slides into his chair opposite me.
“She never is.” Especially with me. “What did you find out from Maisy?”
“The name of the guy Cassandra was seeing. Dylan Newman.”
“No way.”
“You know him?”
“He was Beau’s best friend. No wonder it was such a secret. Goddamn it. That sucks.” I can’t tell Beau this. He can never know.
“He apparently had a thing for Cassandra the whole time she was going out with Beau. He moved in the minute the field was clear. Asshole.”
“Yeah, and he stuck by Beau right up until he was convicted. Was in the courtroom nearly every day.”
“If Beau and Cassandra got back together, that would’ve left Dylan the odd man out. Some guys wouldn’t take that well.”
“What are you saying? That Dylan could’ve killed her?” I shake my head. “No, I don’t see it. He’s an asshole for taking up with Cassandra as soon as it looked like she was free, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“He was obsessed with her, according to Maisy—her word, not mine. That obsession could’ve turned violent. It also could account for the strange things that were happening to Cassandra.”
“But if he’s obsessed and he has access to the object of his obsession, why mess with her?”
“To ensure she needs him.” He fakes picking up a phone. “Oh, Dylan.” He pitches his voice really high like a woman’s. “I need you to come over right now. Something strange just happened.” He resumes his normal voice. “Could’ve gone down that way. Some guys have rescue fantasies. In his mind, he could’ve been ensuring she needs him to save her from the big bad whatever.”
“Maybe. Okay, a strong maybe. He was pretty broken up at Cassandra’s funeral. But then a lot of people were.” Except Beau, because he wasn’t there. He was sitting in a jail cell. “He still lives in San Diego. I’ll call him and see if he’ll meet with us.”
“There’s something else. After our conversation Saturday night I did some digging. What you said about prosecutor misconduct stuck with me.” He pulls a file from his messenger bag. “So I called in a favor and got access to some of the prosecutor’s notes and reports on the trial. I wanted to see if there were any inconsistencies.”
“And?”
“There was. One.”
I bolt upright in my chair. “What is it?”
“Two different DNA samples were discovered on Cassandra’s bed.”
“What?” I dig through my box until I find the DNA report that was given to Beau’s attorney. I flip through it, searching for any mention of this second sample. “There’s no mention of it in this report.”
“I know.”
“What was the sample?”
“A body hair found on Cassandra’s bedding with the root intact.”
“Why didn’t they disclose that to Beau’s lawyer?”
“All of the samples were tested and all were a match to the only suspect in the case—Beau. The lone unmatched sample was never compared to any database.”
“Why the hell not?”
“They had a witness who placed Beau there at the time of the murder, a preponderance of his DNA on Cassandra’s body, his fingerprints all over her apartment, and Beau himself admitting that he had sex with Cassandra shortly before she was killed. There was no reason to run that second sample.”
“Except that it could’ve exonerated Beau.”
“It might not have. It could be from her dad, her housekeeper, a friend, coworker, or anyone else in her life. It might not belong to the killer.”
“But it might.”
“Or it might not.”
“There’s no way to know that until it’s run through the national and local databases.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up. No one’s going to run it without a reason to.”
“And with a conviction in the case, there’s no reason to.” I know I sound sarcastic, but I don’t care. The unfairness of it kills me. None of this would’ve happened if they’d run that damn sample.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“So basically we have a smoking gun that can link the killer to the crime, but we have to find the guy before we can match it to him.”
“Yup.”
“That’s so bass-ackwards.”
“I know it is. I’m sorry.”
I sigh. It’s not his fault. The fact that he thought to get that info by himself and discovered the second sample is pretty dang awesome. Not to mention finding out about Dylan Newman and Cassandra.
“I have more news,” he says. “Zelda agreed to meet with me.”
“What is this magic you have?”
“What do you mean?”
“You get people to do stuff they don’t want to do. First Beau, then Mindy, then Maisy, whoever you got that report from, now Zelda.” And then there’s me.
He taps the tips of his fingers together. “I have my ways.”
“If only you could get Savannah to curb the hostility. Your record would be perfect.”
“Is she still giving you a hard time?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but it’s annoying. Just saying.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t worry about it. When are you meeting Zelda?”
“Day after tomorrow at four o’clock. Why don’t I pick you up for dinner afterward?” He slides that in so coolly.
“Do I have to wear something pretty?”
“If you want to. I’ll be in whatever I wear to meet Zelda.” Which means shorts or jeans and a T-shirt.
“So it’s not a date?”
“It’s definitely a date.”
“See what I mean about getting people to do what they don’t want to do?”
“Oh, you want to go out with me and you know it.”
“Not really.” Yes. Totally.
Chapter 14
Leo
“You know, meeting with that Maisy chick was brutal,” I tell Cora. “She kept hitting on me. I finally had to tell her I have a girlfriend.”
She looks up from the DNA report I got for her, a corner of her lips tugging up. “Poor baby. Girls just throw themselves at you left and right, don’t they?”
“Pretty much.” Except for the one I really want to throw herself at me.
“You don’t look any worse for the wear.”
“But I am.” I rise and move around our desks to sit down on the edge of hers next to where she’s sitting. “I think I need a kiss to make it better.”
“Go sit down.”
“Come on, Cora. Just a little one.”
“The problem with you is you never stop at just one.”
“Kisses are like potato chips, you can’t have just one.”
“I don’t like potato chips.”
“Come on.” I bring her around to look at me with a finger on her chin. “Hey. What’s wrong?” Something in her eyes…
“Nothing. Get your kiss, then get your ass back to your own desk. I’m working here.”
“No. Something’s up. What’s going on?”
She catches my finger and holds it in hers. A bold move for my little Bluebird. “My mom said something…I don’t know whether to believe her or not. She can be more than a little dramatic.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she got a phone call from a PI who wasn’t anyone from here, asking about Beau’s case.”
“Did she get a name?”
“Of course not. That would be helpful.”
&
nbsp; “A phone number?”
She shakes her head.
“If he called on her cell or she has caller ID, then we could get the number.”
“I didn’t think to ask. I’m going to have to ask, aren’t I?”
“That would be helpful.”
“Ha, ha. But seriously, why would someone call my mom wanting to talk about Beau’s case? And why identify themselves as a PI?”
“Yeah, when they could’ve used the old law-student-studying-a-local-case ruse. That’s worked for me three times now.”
“I’m serious. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Could be a reporter.”
“Beau’s case is old news.”
“Get that number from your mom and we’ll check it out.” I lean in and give her a quick peck on the lips.
She has a thing about not getting caught here in the office. I agree. All I need is my dad coming at me again or Savannah pulling more of her crap. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Savannah. I’ve tried every way I know how to apologize and smooth things over with her, but she just doesn’t want to forgive or forget. It pisses me off that she’s taking it out on Cora though. That shit is not cool at all.
“We have a meeting with my dad in five minutes,” I remind her.
“Yeah, okay.” She’s nose-deep in that report, comparing it to the one she had.
I go back to my seat and check my email. I put out some feelers that I’m hoping will lead to something new in the case. I don’t want to tell Cora about them, because they could come to nothing. Which is pretty much what we’ve got right now—a whole lot of nothing.
There’s a knock at the door, then my dad pokes his head in. “You mind if we start a little early? I’ve got another meeting.”
“Sure,” Cora says, packing up her files.
I do the same and we follow my dad to the conference room. He sits down with a mug of steaming coffee and a big grin on his face. Something’s up. I close the door and take my seat next to Cora.
Dad starts, “As you know, I’ve been working on getting in to see your eyewitness, Damien LeFeaux, at Donovan state prison. Well, I’ve got a meeting with him next Saturday.”
“I swear,” Cora mumbles, “I don’t know what kind of voodoo you Nashes have, but I’m glad to have it on my side.”
