“I don’t think so, Dad. He’s too smart to get hit by a car. I think he just went for a walk around the block.” She rested her hand on his. It was warm and bony, the skin wrinkled. “You know how he enjoys his walk.”
Ed pushed the cookie into his mouth, crumbs sticking to his lower lip. “But President Nixon is dead.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The teakettle whistled and Casey got to her feet.
“Then who the hell was that looking in my window?” Ed demanded.
“I’m really sorry again about bein’ late.” Angel got out of Shonda’s car, hauling Buddy with her. He was fussing and he smelled like poopy pants, but she didn’t dare complain about Shonda not changing him. Not after she screwed up Shonda’s night like this.
James had never shown up with the car. Big surprise there. After work, Angel had ended up having to catch a ride to Shonda’s with the pothead from the pizza place at the flea market. Her friend had been furious, but she hadn’t put Buddy out on the step like she had said she would. Shonda would never endanger Buddy’s life like that because her cousin was Buddy’s daddy; they were family. Then, to make things worse, Angel had had to ask Shonda to take her home, making Shonda even later for her hot date.
“I told ya, ya need to get a new set a wheels.” Shonda flipped on the interior light of her car so she could look at herself in the rearview mirror. She was all done up with new hair extensions, a low-cut white sweater, tighter-than-tight red pants, and four-inch heels. She wore a big necklace around her neck that said “Shonda” in gold and rhinestones. Her baby’s daddy had given it to her in the hospital after the birth of their daughter. Shonda and Darrell didn’t go out anymore, but he had let her keep the necklace.
“I know. I know I need a better car.” After shifting Buddy on her hip, Angel grabbed the two plastic bags of groceries she got at the flea market off the seat of the car. “I’m just glad I got a friend like you, Shonda. A real friend. I don’t know what me and Buddy would do without you.”
Buddy grabbed at her hair and screamed.
Angel had to grit her teeth to keep from smacking his little hand. She was cold and she was tired and she was pissed as hell with James. She never should have loaned him the car. She knew she shouldn’t have let him take it.
But what was she going to do? She couldn’t let him tell Charlie she’d slept with his brother when Charlie was in jail. It didn’t matter how drunk she’d gotten, she should have known better than to sleep with him. It wouldn’t matter to Charlie whether he and Angel were really together back then or not—he’d still be angry. He’d still slap her around.
“You have a good time with Tyreek,” Angel told Shonda, trying to sound upbeat. “And thanks again. I owe ya.”
Just as Angel was about to shut the door, Shonda leaned all the way over, looking past Angel, a lip gloss wand poised over her full mouth. “Hey, I thought you said your car broke down at the flea market?”
“I—” Angel turned around to see her car parked in the handicapped spot near the back door to her apartment. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, slamming the car door.
“S’ pitch ,” her little boy repeated.
Casey had just settled her father on the couch in front of the TV with the ski report for the Midwest when she saw headlights in her driveway. Lincoln was back. She went through the laundry room, out onto the garage steps and opened the automatic garage door.
The passenger-side door of Lincoln’s Mini Cooper opened and Frazier bounded out. He ran up the driveway, made a pit stop at a rhododendron bush, and then raced into the garage.
“Frazier!” Casey called, thankful to see the big oaf.
The dog bounded by her and a second later Casey heard her father. “Good boy. Where you been, boy? You been to the presidential library in California?”
The dog barked wildly. Something fell and crashed.
Lincoln walked up the driveway, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He was so stinking cute. “Get me your keys and I’ll put your car in the garage.”
She waited while he pulled her car in, and when he walked into the laundry room, she threw her arms around him. He was wearing a soft, navy peacoat and an interesting blue and green scarf that was woven from alpaca. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Where did you find him?”
Lincoln held her close, kissing her forehead. He was making it so easy for her. Easing her so seamlessly into a relationship.
“Edge of the neighborhood near a big drainage ditch. I think he had a rabbit or something on the run, but he came right to me when I called him.”
Casey felt a weird little shiver. She pushed back in his arms and looked up at him. “He was chasing someone?”
“I didn’t see anyone. It was something in the brush. It was dark; I couldn’t really see anything but a big dog lumbering in the tall grass.” He held her in one arm. “So what’s this about a blue car?”
“Nothing. It was silly.” She unwound his scarf. She could still hear Frazier jumping around in the living room barking. Her father was trying to get him to sit, apparently, but the dog was still too excited.
“I made a pot of tea.” She draped his scarf on a hook near the door and unbuttoned his coat. “You’re freezing.”
He shrugged off his coat and hung it over his scarf. “Ed says we’re expecting a cold winter.”
“Ed would know.” She went into the kitchen.
Lincoln passed through and went into the living room. “Hey, Ed. Guess you found your buddy,” Casey heard Lincoln saying.
Frazier barked.
“He doesn’t start behaving himself, he’ll have to go on a leash. Won’t you, big boy,” said Lincoln.
Casey stood in the kitchen listening to Lincoln talk to her father and the dog. The sound of his voice made her warm and not just in a sexual way. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get into bed with him.
“No, Father, everything is fine.” Adam rested the telephone on his shoulder. He was too tired for this conversation. Conversations with his parents took a lot of energy. It was nine-thirty at night and he had just walked in the door a few minutes ago. He’d left for the office at five-thirty this morning.
He entered the kitchen and flipped the light switch. Bright light glared off the polished stainless steel appliances and glossy marble countertop. “Honestly, there’s nothing that can be done for Grandfather. I think you and Mother should stay with your itinerary and continue on to Brussels.”
Adam’s leather slippers made a tapping sound on the Italian tile. He’d left his dress shoes and his tie in his bedroom.
The gourmet kitchen he’d had remodeled the previous year was phenomenal. It was too bad he didn’t have time to cook. It was too bad he didn’t have anyone to come home to cook for.
When he’d bought the oceanfront house ten years ago with money he’d inherited when his grandmother had passed away, it had been as an investment. Then, when he’d been appointed a prosecutor for the county, he’d made the decision to move into the house, which was nearer his office. It was important, he thought, for a man in public office to stay in touch with those he served. Adam had moved into the house with the intention of bringing a wife home one day, and later, babies from the hospital.
Nights like tonight, when he was beat and still had hours of casework to pore over, he wondered if his dreams were nothing more than that—dreams. Tonight, a wife and children seemed a far-fetched possibility.
“No. That’s all been straightened out, Father. He has private care, just as we discussed.”
Adam opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic take-out dish. He popped off the plastic lid and slid the meal into the microwave. He punched the buttons and the light came on. His dinner turned as it reheated.
“I used the company you suggested, Father. They were pleased to work for the Preston family again.” Seeing a spot on the microwave door, Adam tore off a paper towel from a roll on the counter and rubbed at it.
The maid had been here today. She wa
s usually pretty good. He wondered how she had missed something like this. The toilet paper had also not been replaced in the master bath and a mirror in the entryway hadn’t been cleaned.
Adam tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash can under the sink. He hoped he wouldn’t have to fire the maid. The poor Latino girl needed the job; a single mom with two little kids trying to makes ends meet. He liked being able to help her out. He’d even once given her an advance on her pay when one of her kids had been sick and needed an expensive inhaler for his asthma. But he had been clear with her from the beginning that he was a little obsessive and that he paid well. He paid well enough that he could be obsessive.
“No, Father. I don’t need to speak to Mother. The decision’s already been made,” Adam said into the phone.
The microwave beeped.
“Any changes in Grandfather’s status, good or bad, and I’ll call you. I promise, sir. Good night.”
Adam hung up the phone and retrieved his dinner from the microwave. He carefully set a place with a place mat, a knife, a fork, and a spoon in the correct place and a real plate. He ate at the counter in the cold, quiet kitchen and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling French doors that led out to a deck. In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of waves crashing white on the beach.
Though it had come from an excellent restaurant in Rehoboth Beach, the veal was a little dry. Adam added some freshly ground pepper and pushed another bite into his mouth.
He wondered what Casey McDaniel was doing tonight. He thought about her eating home all alone, too, without a companion to share her meal or the happenings of the day, and it made him sad.
The following Friday afternoon, Casey escorted her elderly client, Mr. Jansen, to the elevator door and promised to call him next week. He and his wife and his ninety-seven-year-old mother-in-law had been involved in an automobile accident Halloween night. Casey was trying to help him through the red tape of auto insurance claims. While he had not been charged in the accident, he was terrified he would lose his driver’s license if he contacted the insurance company of the man driving the other car.
Mr. Jansen walked away from the accident with only a broken arm and a cut above his eye that had taken eight stitches, but his wife and her mother hadn’t fared so well. Their injuries were extensive enough that they would both require a stay in a rehabilitation center after their hospitalization.
“Thank you so much,” Mr. Jansen said, getting stiffly onto the elevator. “I don’t know how I could have done all this without you, Miss McDaniel.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know something. By next week’s end for sure,” she promised as she reached around and pressed the first-floor button for him.
The old man moved to the back of the elevator and placed his plaid, wool cap on his bald head. The shiny doors closed. Her father had once had a cap very similar to Mr. Jansen’s. One of his students had brought it back from Ireland. Ed had always liked wearing caps. Maybe that was something she could order him for Christmas, perhaps from an Irish import shop.
On her way back to her office, Casey stopped in the copy room and grabbed her mail from one of the keyhole boxes. They called it the copy room, but it was really a multipurpose room. There were copy machines, fax machines, a table for meeting with patients who brought too many relatives to fit into the tiny offices. There was also a little kitchen area with a refrigerator, a microwave oven, and a gigantic coffeepot.
“Hey, you.” Marcy leaned against the counter, making herself a cup of coffee in a big pink mug that said “#1 Mom” on it.
“Hey.” Casey started to thumb through her mail.
“Nice skirt.”
Casey looked up, swishing the skirt a little. “Age appropriate?” It was a little short for what Casey normally wore, but nowhere near as short as Marcy’s.
“Absolutely. Very cute.” Marcy licked her plastic spoon as she looked Casey over. “And cute sweater. Got a date tonight?”
“Actually, I do. My sister’s taking Dad to Annabelle’s ballet recital and then they’re going out to dinner. I’m making dinner for Lincoln.”
“Nice. Very nice.” Marcy reached for her coffee mug, nodding approvingly. “So he’s good in bed, your attorney?”
Casey turned around, keeping her smile to herself. If things worked out as planned, she might know the answer by tomorrow morning. “That’s none of your business.”
“Does that mean yes?!” Marcy hollered after her as Casey went down the hall.
Back in her office, Casey returned a phone call and then attacked her mail. She was amazed by how much junk mail a person could receive at her or his place of business. This was what she got for forgetting to pick up her mail the day before. She tossed several items into the circular file.
Why on earth is a department store sending me a sales flyer at work?
Three quarters of the way through the pile, Casey opened an envelope that was hand addressed to her, no return address. She set the letter opener down, then pulled a folded piece of paper out of the envelope and opened it. She froze. On the half sheet of what appeared to be plain-white copy paper was a large blue eye drawn in colored pencil. It was looking at her.
Watching her.
Casey glanced up at her open door. There was no one there. She heard voices in the hallway. Marcy was still in the copy room. Talking to someone. Laughing. Flirting, it sounded like.
Casey looked down at the eye looking up at her. She was almost afraid to pick up the paper.
But it was just a piece of paper.
She flipped it over. It was blank on the back. She stared at it again. Checked for a return address on the envelope again. There was nothing but a Millsboro, Delaware postmark.
A blue eye. Who would send me a drawing of an eye?
It only took her a moment to make the connection.
Was I you, missy, I’d have eyes in the back of my head.
That was what Charles Gaitlin had said to her in the parking lot the day of his prelim.
Casey stared at the eye, her heart pounding. What did she do now? She couldn’t help but think of the past. Had she confronted Billy sooner, could she have changed anything? Over the years, she had come to the conclusion that maybe she could have.
Casey’s fear turned to anger. Billy had robbed so much of life from her. She had survived, but where was the learning curve? History repeated itself unless someone changed. Truly changed.
She got out of her chair, pushing it back harder than she needed to. It hit the wall with a heavy clunk. She crossed to the single file cabinet and squatted to find the right file in the bottom drawer. She laid her hand on it at once, then carried it back to her desk, flipped it open, and searched the top page, where she always noted contact information.
Sure enough, beside Linda’s home phone number, there was a cell number. As Casey angrily punched the buttons into her phone, she remembered what Linda had said while sitting right in that chair across the desk from Casey.
“I ain’t got a cell, but Charlie does. You can get me on his, if ya need to.”
Casey took a chance that someone had paid Gaitlin’s cell bill while he was in prison. Maybe the same grandmother who had hired his lawyer.
Casey got lucky. Someone picked up on the third ring.
Or maybe, in retrospect, she would wonder if this was the moment in time when luck really turned against her.
Chapter 11
“So what you wanna do?” James asked. He’d pulled his truck off the blocks but it wasn’t sounding so hot. Charlie figured it’d be broken down again before the day was out. “We got an hour to kill before I have to pick Drina up at the place she’s cleanin’ in Dewey Beach.”
Charlie stared at the window, watching the houses fly by. “New job?”
“Yeah. Sorta. Doin’ it as a favor to one of her friends who was too hungover to go. I walked around inside when I dropped her off. Some pretty sweet shit in there. Some rich-assed doctor’s summer house. He’s comin’ for the
weekend from Washington or something.” James shuddered. “Man, it’s too freakin’ cold to be at the beach.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. James was always up to no good. Scamming some old lady or pretending to be hurt and trying to get money from auto accidents. He did a little B&E on the side when he needed quick money.
“You can’t swipe stuff out of the house your girlfriend cleaned today,” Charlie said. “The first thing the cops do is ask who’s been in the house the last week, appliance repair guys, maids and shit. You’ll be in jail before Angel gets home with the fried chicken for us for dinner.”
“I didn’t say I was goin’ back. I told ya, I’m layin’ low, bro.”
Charlie glanced at James and then back out the window again. “Yeah, right.”
Charlie’s cell phone on the car seat rang. He could find the phone only half the time, but Angel had given it to him this morning. Apparently it had been in the couch cushions again.
James stopped at an intersection, looked both ways, and pulled forward. The phone rang again. “You gonna answer that?”
Charlie stared out the window. “What for? It’ll just be Angel bitchin’ about something.” Then he imitated her: “Did you put the job application in at Wawa? Did you put in the application at the chicken plant? Did Mom-Mom send the check?”
“It might be Mom-Mom.” James picked up the phone. “’Lo.”
“Hello.”
Charlie could hear a woman’s voice, but it wasn’t Angel. She was at work, anyway. She never called when she was at work. That bitchy sister of hers wouldn’t let her talk on the phone.
The woman on the phone said something.
“This is him,” James said. “This is Charlie.” He grinned at his brother like he was some kind of ape.
Charlie tried to grab the phone, but James pulled it away from him. The car swerved. The driver of a minivan coming toward them in the westbound lane laid on its horn as the minivan veered to the shoulder.
Don't Turn Around Page 11
