If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1)

by Kiersten Modglin

  “You okay?” Rachael asked.

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t look her way.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “The trial.”

  “Did you think of something else?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’m working on it. I still believe we’ve missed something. I’ve got four and a half weeks to come up with something great.”

  Four and a half weeks left and so far all I’ve got is ‘your honor, you can’t convict this woman. Why, you might ask? Well, simply because I can’t bear to imagine life without her.’ Something told him that probably wasn’t going to cut it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Caide

  “Mother?” Caide said into the silent phone line.

  “Yes, darling,” she responded smugly.

  “Uh, how are you?”

  “Don’t flatter me with small talk, Caide Matthew.”

  “Then what do you want? You called me, remember? I’m not in the entertaining mood. You haven’t spoken to me in nine years so whatever it is you’d like to say, just say it.”

  “Caide Matthew!” She gasped, he could picture her grasping her pearls in shock. “That’s no way to speak to your mother. Like I didn’t birth you. Like I didn’t raise you and give you everything a boy could dream of, just to have it thrown back in my face for some floozy. I called to check on you, my boy. I heard about your wife.” The word dripped with distain from her tongue.

  “Her name is Rachael, Mother. It won’t burn your tongue to say it. So basically, you called to say ‘I told you so?’”

  “Oh, that tone. I did not call to rub it in your face that your wife is a no good, piece of garbage just like I warned you, or that she ruined your life like I knew she would.” She paused letting her words sink in. “I called to see if my son needed help.”

  Caide laughed. “Help? I asked you and Dad for help years ago when our daughter was born and we were both without jobs. You told me no then, what has changed now?”

  “The wounds were still fresh back then, son. You’d just abandoned your father and I for some knocked up woman we’d never met. What did you expect?”

  “I expected you to help me. I expected you to be a normal grandmother and want to meet my children, want to meet my wife.”

  Martha scoffed.

  “Look, I know our marriage was less than ideal, but you wrote me out of your will, you told me never to contact you again. When I, against my better judgement, called you begging for help, begging for help that would’ve meant nothing to you, do you remember what you said to me?” Without waiting for an answer he continued. “You said ‘you are not our son. Our son is dead.’ Do you remember that, Mother? You said ‘you are dead to us.’” Anger welled inside of Caide, remembering that day.

  “I did not call to reopen old wounds. You were making a mockery of yourself and I was not going to help you to do it. No one is important enough to ruin a reputation for, not even you, son. Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition?”

  “Bart Meachum has informed us that you were recently let go.”

  “Temporarily.”

  “Temporarily if that wife of yours is found not guilty, the way Bart tells it. Are you really willing to risk it all on those odds?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “Your father and I are willing to wire you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars today to help you sustain yourself over the next six weeks. After which, should your wife be found innocent you can return to your old job at Mason and Meachum and keep the money. However, should your wife be sentenced and you are not allowed to return to your job, you could come to work for your father. We’d even grant you access to your old trust fund and consider meeting with the lawyers to have you added back into our will.”

  Caide’s mouth watered at the thought of money like that. He and Rachael had never been very good at saving. What little they had in savings would be gone soon, with no money coming in. Not in a month, no, but after the trial if he couldn’t return to work he’d made no plan for what would happen then. The offer was too good to be true, knowing his mother, it’d come with a steep price.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “I’m not trying to swindle you, son.” She sat quietly for a moment before speaking again. “I would, however, need you to publicly drop your support from your wife’s case. In the off chance that she was released, obviously, you would have to force a divorce.”

  “You want me to what?”

  “Well, you can’t stand the negative press that will undoubtedly come if you continue to play the poor, doting husband. If you announce that you no longer believe your wife to be innocent and you withdraw your support now, before the verdict, they are more likely to believe you.”

  “Or I’d just ruin her case.”

  “You shouldn’t pay for her mistakes, Caide Matthew. You didn’t kill that poor girl. You’ll agree to work openly with the prosecutor for the remainder of the trial. Oh, and bring your children into it. Say you won’t raise your children around a monster—the press will love it. You’ll go from a lying husband, to a devoted father.” She laughed loudly, obviously proud of her plan.

  “My children are not pawns in this trial, Mother. A move like that will ruin Rachael’s chances at winning.”

  “She killed someone, Caide Matthew. Open your eyes.”

  “She possibly killed someone. It hasn’t been proven. She’s still my wife, she’s still a good mother. I agree that I don’t want to support her. I’ve already told her lawyer that—”

  “You did?”

  Caide sighed. “I’m an Abbott at heart, Mother. After the trial I realized that’s what I had to do. If this all ends badly, I’ll be able to say I backed out.”

  “That’s not going to be enough, don’t you see? Any fool can say that once it’s over with. You have to be one step ahead of the game. You have to make the statement.”

  “She’s still my wife. Our marriage may be falling apart, she may even be a murderer, but I have to know that I did this to her. If I hadn’t cheated on her, none of this would be happening. I’m not blameless here.”

  “Nobody made her do this, Caide Matthew, least of all you. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

  “I’m not blaming myself. I’m just admitting that I put her in the situation. Backing out now, withdrawing support will make me look like even more of a dirt bag. You can’t honestly expect me to do this. She may have done something terrible—”

  “Unspeakable,” his mother added.

  “But I don’t want to see her burn for it if she doesn’t deserve to. To drop support, it would tip the scales unfairly. Her lawyer believes she may truly be innocent—”

  “That’s what he’s paid to do.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I sent in his final paycheck the day after the trial. Whatever it is they’ve got, it’s good enough for him to continue without pay.”

  “You don’t even know what he’s planning?”

  “I don’t, Mother, and I don’t care. Whatever it is, she deserves a fair chance without the jury being swayed. I won’t do that to her. I still care about what happens to her.”

  “You still care about her yet you’re refusing to pay her lawyer?”

  “What can I say, Mother? You raised me to be just like you. Image above all else, right? Isn’t that the Abbott motto?”

  “So you’ve made up your mind then? You won’t take our money?”

  “I’d take your money if it were actually to help me, not just to smite my wife. My decision is made.”

  “Very well. Should you come to your senses and change your mind, you just let me know.”

  “Goodbye, Mother.” Caide snapped his phone shut, his head pounding with anger. He glanced at the clock. Realization overtook him. I’ve overslept. Brinley missed school. Way to go, Caide. Great freaking job. The voice in his head sounded eerily l
ike Rachael.

  He grabbed a pair of gray pajama pants from the top of his closet and threw them over his boxers. He kicked the empty bottle of bourbon underneath the bed and rushed from his bedroom toward Brinley’s room. He flicked on her light and saw her white and purple canopy bed unmade and empty.

  “Brinley?” He called out, fear tickling his heart. He darted across the hall from her room to Davis’. The red race car bed that Rachael had bought for his last birthday was rumpled with covers and pillows, but Davis was nowhere in sight.

  Nightmares began to fill his mind: what if they’d tried to walk to school? What if they were outside in an ocean of reporters? What if they’d tried to eat breakfast and choked? What if they’d been kidnapped? What if social services had taken them from their beds? Oh, God, where are they?

  If you’ve never lost a child, even briefly in a department store or because of a miscommunication about which parent was supposed to pick them up, you can’t even imagine the feeling. Ice cold fear grips your organs, gruesome images of milk carton children fill your mind, and nothing at all seems like the right plan of action. The fear filled Caide, making his heart pound and his stomach churn. Everything began happening in slow motion. He turned to run out of Davis’ room, checking the kitchen table, beneath the computer desk, in the refrigerator and cabinets he knew they couldn’t possibly be in. He threw back curtains in the living room, overturned couch cushions, he checked the washer and dryer, the backdoor, the pantry; running wildly throughout the house in the hopes that his children were playing a simple game of hide and seek. He stopped in the hallway, hearing a faint sound. Running toward the bathroom, he spied the light shining under the door. Could it be? He burst through the door, his last hope, and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Corie?”

  Corie was seated on the bathroom floor, Davis in front of her wrapped in a giant green bath towel. She was running a comb through his dark brown curls. Brinley sat in the bathtub, pouring water from the faucet to her head with a cup. She blinked through a water-covered face and wiped hair from her eyes.

  “Daddy’s awake. Daddy, look who’s here.” Brinley pointed to Corie happily.

  Caide smiled at Corie who politely nodded his way, before turning back toward Davis. “Brinley sit back down and rinse, sweetie. You’re going to get shampoo in your eyes.”

  Brinley sat back down obediently, gathering another cup of water.

  “Corie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just overslept. I can’t thank you enough for being here. I’m just so embarrassed. I’ll triple your pay this week. I can take it from here if you need to get to class.” Caide offered, unsure of what to say.

  Corie didn’t bother to look his way. “It’s okay. I’m already late for my last class. I’ll just catch up tomorrow. I fixed the kids breakfast and they’re almost done with their baths. You can go bring me an outfit to dress them in, if you’d like. If you need to go to work today, I can stay with them.”

  “Thanks. I don’t plan on working today. You’re free to go whenever. I’m going to go and call Brinley’s school though, to let them know she wasn’t there.”

  “Already called them.” A hint of annoyance rang in her voice.

  “Oh, right. Well, thank you again. I’ll go get those clothes for you.” He backed out of the bathroom like a scolded child.

  Upon entering Brinley’s closet Caide was struck with just how much he’d missed. Sometime or another, when he’d been at work, his daughter had apparently outgrown all the frilly dresses and jumpers he had pictured her closet being filled with. He realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even actually been in her closet. He could’ve sworn the last time he was there it had been pink. When did it get painted purple to match her bed? Surely Rachael didn’t paint it herself. He faced the white dresser in front of him, gambling at which drawer might hold what he needed. After several wrong guesses, he pulled open a drawer that held several folded t-shirts and pants. They all looked so big. Geeze, when did Brinley start wearing size eight? He flipped through six or seven pairs of jeans before he finally reach a pair he recognized. They were bright red corduroy pants that Brinley had worn for her second Christmas. Rachael had brought them home from some sale she’d seen on her way home from the studio one day. Caide remembered throwing a fit over the one hundred and sixty dollar Christmas outfit. It had a white shirt to match, decked out with Christmas trees along the hem. It had been cute, sure, but just as Caide had predicted it had been worn for only an hour or two before it came off for her to eat. Then, of course, she couldn’t wear it out of season and she’d outgrown it by the next year. Caide thought she’d forgotten about the outfit, like he had. He should’ve known better. Rachael didn’t forget. The fight that year had been brought up in several arguments throughout the years—not the outfit or the waste of money, no, those had been Rachael’s fault so of course they were forgotten; it was Caide’s mistake that night that had never been let go.

  Rachael had come home from the mall toting Brinley on one hip and a shopping bag on the other. Their finances had sorted out since he’d taken the job with Mason and Meachum but Christmas shopping had put a damper on the budget Caide had laid out. Rachael had insisted on buying each of her students’ new tutus. Mason and Meachum had received new watches with golden plating. Caide had gotten Rachael a new diamond necklace and earring set, they’d sent Audrey and John a new wine cooler, and their tree was loaded up with gifts for Brinley. Rachael had yet to find the right gift for Caide. She was supposed to have been out looking when she came home that day, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You’ll never guess what I found,” she exclaimed, sitting the bag on the kitchen table.

  “If you tell me, doesn’t that ruin the surprise?”

  “Not for you, silly goose, it’s for Brinley.”

  “I thought we’d agreed we were done shopping for Brinley?”

  “This isn’t a present. It’s for her to wear on Christmas Day. Wait ’til you see it.”

  Rachael has dragged him into the kitchen. She grabbed the bag—Caide couldn’t recall now what store it had even been from. She opened it and pulled out the red pants and matching shirt.

  “Isn’t it cute? She’s just going to love it.”

  “Seems kind of pointless to buy her a Christmas outfit, don’t you think?”

  “Why would it be pointless?” she asked, her smile fading.

  “It’s an outfit for one day, Rach. She’ll outgrow it before she can wear it again.”

  “You don’t know that she’ll outgrow it. Besides, maybe I want to get a good Christmas picture for her to see when she’s older. It’s her first real Christmas. Last year she was too young to understand.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Caide held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not arguing.”

  “Thank you.”

  Caide nodded, turning to walk away.

  “Can you go hang this in her closet for me? I don’t want it to wrinkle.”

  Caide took the outfit from her, knowing that whether or not it was wrinkled Rachael would be sure to iron it incessantly the night before and probably the next morning as well. Somehow, as he’d spun around with the outfit, the price tag had managed to come loose, allowing him to see. One hundred and sixty-six dollars.

  He turned back to face her. “Please. Rachael, please tell me you did not spend two hundred dollars on this.” He held the outfit in the air.

  “Oh, practically one hundred and fifty. Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Are you kidding me? I mean, you realize we aren’t made of money, right?”

  “Caide, can you just not?”

  “Not what?”

  “Not make this a bigger deal than it is. It’s one outfit.”

  “It is a big deal, Rachael. You can’t just go blow that much money on an outfit she’ll wear for an hour and then hang in the closet for months before you eventually decide to throw it away.”

  “I just wanted her to have a nice outfit like yo
u did growing up.”

  “She isn’t me, Rachael. We aren’t my parents. You know you aren’t going to take pictures and even if you do, they’ll never end up developed. No one will see her but us.”

  “That’s not true. Someone could stop in.”

  “No one will stop in, Rachael. No one ever stops in. We aren’t the freaking Brady Bunch. I know you try to do up Christmas because you’re insecure about our life—”

  “I’m what?” Rachael’s voice grew livid. “You think I’m insecure about our life?”

  “You always do this. You buy presents for people who don’t get you anything in return. You make us dress up just to change two hours later, you spend a month decorating every inch of this house and no one even sees it but us and you cook a meal large enough to feed us for a year and half of it goes bad before we even get to it. I know you love holidays, Rachael. I get it. I know your dad went all out for you as a child and I get that you want that for Brinley. That’s fine, but sweetie, it’s just not realistic. Our family is gone. You can pretend that we’re something else all you want, but your fooling yourself. It’s like you play some little game with yourself and I’m tired of it. I’m sorry, this is too much. You have to take it back.”

  “How dare you? How dare you make this about the money? It’s about the feeling that our daughter gets when she wakes up to a house full of presents, a pie baking in the oven, and our family, no matter how small, dressed up and ready to celebrate. I don’t know what Christmas was like for you, Caide. I’m sure, like most of your childhood, it probably sucked. But our daughter won’t grow up that way.”

  “Our daughter is two years old. She barely understands any of it. She doesn’t need a dress to make her feel special. She won’t even remember it. What she will remember is living in the streets because her mother spent us out of house and home.”

  “We have the money. I get that you’re used to a huge bank account, but ours has plenty in it. Caide, we have more now, after buying Christmas, than I ever had growing up.”