Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  Jayne turned around to face Casey. “Casey, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. Really.” She waved the paring knife. “I’m seriously PMSing today. Ask Frazier,” she joked. “I practically bit his head off this morning when he took too long at the rosebushes.”

  Jayne hesitated a beat, then picked up the conversation. “I think I’m going to like Miss Cerise. Annabelle already loves her.” She covered the casserole dish with tin foil. “I’m wondering if Chad should start in the toddler class. He really does seem to be artistically talented, compared to other children his age.”

  Casey smiled and nodded. She knew better than to bring up the irony of Jayne spending her days fighting for the rights of the poor and the uneducated and her evenings sending her preschool children to dance classes, art classes, yoga classes. As it was for their own childhoods, the list was endless, as was the excess, in Casey’s mind. If she ever had children, she wasn’t going to do it this way. She knew she wouldn’t be the perfect mother, she knew she wouldn’t make all the right choices, but she was pretty confident she could make better choices than her parents had made and her sister was making.

  Dinner went off without a hitch. The turkey was cooked perfectly. The sweet potato soufflé was a mile high. Lincoln was practically the belle of the ball. He sat next to Casey and laughed and chatted, completely at ease with her family. He complimented both Casey and Jayne multiple times on the fantastic meal and said how sorry his grandparents would be that they had decided to go to his grandfather’s cousin’s house for dinner instead of coming with him.

  He teased the children. He talked sports scores with Joaquin. And again and again, he took the time to draw Ed out of his shell. As the children were excused and the adults pushed back from the table to have a second glass of wine, Lincoln actually got Ed to talk about what it had been like to be a professor. Ed began to tell stories of the old days, and he spoke fondly of Jayne and Casey’s mother, Lorraine.

  Casey was proud of her new boyfriend, proud to show him off to her family. She was touched that he went beyond the perfunctory boyfriend conversations with her father to really engage him. As Ed sat at the head of the table and wiped his mouth repeatedly with the cloth napkin from his lap, he became more animated, recalled more memories, and seemed to be enthusiastic about relating them to Lincoln.

  At last, Casey stood and began to collect dirty plates. She was stuffed to the point that she was considering unbuttoning her jeans. She needed to stretch her legs before she sat down again to dig into the pies lined up on the kitchen counter.

  Somewhere between her first and second trip to the kitchen, the conversation between the men turned to wild game and Joaquin made the mistake of asking Lincoln if he ever hunted. Lincoln’s eyes lit up with a fire, and Casey groaned, quickly grabbing half-filled water glasses. She should have warned Joaquin to avoid any discussion involving firearms. Joaquin, an avid hunter locally, had even made a couple of trips out West to hunt elk. Jayne didn’t hunt, but she didn’t mind that her husband did as long as he donated the game he killed to the local charity that distributed the meat to the poor.

  “I’m appalled, Joaquin. A man of your intelligence, a father?” Lincoln said, shocked. “Do you have any idea how many guns get into the hands of children each year in this country?”

  “Pie? Anyone up for pie?” Casey asked, making a beeline for the kitchen door, her sister leading the way.

  “He’ll be fine,” Jayne assured her as she entered the kitchen with an armload of dirty plates. “He can hold his own. And if he’s serious about you, he needs to learn to get along with his future brother-in-law.”

  “Please,” Casey groaned, carrying plates to the sink. “We’re not anywhere that far along.”

  Jayne tapped Casey on the shoulder. “You stay here and start rinsing and loading dishes. I need to check on the kids and then I’ll make another pass by the dining room table. Once the dishwasher is full, we can just let the rest of them soak,” she said as she went through the swinging door into the dining room.

  Casey heard bursts of Lincoln’s impassioned voice. Joaquin was equally fervent.

  She mechanically rinsed, loaded, and rinsed some more. Her father wandered into the kitchen carrying a plastic bag of tub toys he must have found on the perimeter of the dining room.

  “Dad, give me those.”

  “Thought I’d help.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Getting late. Joe will be wondering where we are.”

  Casey smiled to herself. Her father didn’t often remember that the dog’s name was actually Joe. She had nicknamed him Frazier because of the heavyweight boxer her father had admired. They started calling him Frazier, and eventually Ed forgot what the dog’s name actually was.

  “It was nice to hear you talk about Mom.” She put the plastic bag she had taken from him on the counter. “You don’t speak of her often.”

  “Lorraine was a lovely woman. Soft wrists.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “Her father refused to bless the marriage, but we got married anyway.”

  Casey smiled. The dishwasher full, she added soap, closed it, and turned it on. “That’s right. But after we were born Granddad came around a little, didn’t he?”

  “I wasn’t from the right kind of family. Worked my way through college. Not like your mother, who had her trust fund. She liked to wear red. Red was a good color for Lorraine.”

  Casey’s throat tightened. She loved hearing her father talk so kindly of her mother. The memory of her mother’s dissatisfaction with the man her father had warned her not to marry seemed to have faded. Either Ed no longer remembered his wife’s unhappiness or he chose to forget. Casey liked the idea that bad memories faded with time. She only wished the same could have held true for her mother before she passed.

  “Red was a good color for Mom, wasn’t it, Daddy?” She sat down at the table across from him. She could hear Jayne talking in the dining room. The heated conversation between Joaquin and Lincoln on gun control seemed to have died down. Her sister had been right. Lincoln had been able to hold his own.

  “Do you remember that little red convertible she bought herself on her fortieth birthday?”

  Her father half smiled, seeming to recall. “I told her to take the damned thing back.” He hooked his thumb in gesture.

  Casey clapped her hands. “You did. But then she convinced you to take it for a drive before she took it back to the dealership. You guys were gone for hours. Jayne and I didn’t know what had happened to you.”

  “Drove to Annapolis,” he told her. “We stopped at this little place along the bay for cocktails.”

  Lorraine had always been one for cocktails. Of course, apparently so had Ed. The first time Casey’s mother had caught her father cheating on her, it had been in the middle of the day in a bar just off campus. To this day, Casey didn’t know what her mother had been doing there at that time of day either. Maybe she never really wanted to know.

  “Mom loved that car,” Casey said. “You guys used to take it out every Sunday afternoon in the summer. I remember you backing out of the driveway, top down, Mom wearing one of those silly scarves so her hair wouldn’t blow.”

  “You got pie?” Ed asked, craning his neck. “I thought I smelled pie.”

  And as quick as that, the moment was over. The light of memories died in Ed’s eyes, and the only thing he was concerned about was immediate gratification.

  “Yeah, Dad, we’ve got pie.” Casey rose. “What would you like? Pumpkin? Apple?”

  Casey ended up staying in the kitchen and sharing a piece of each pie with her father. Jayne carried the pies into the dining room for the men. Casey tried to get her father to take his pie into the dining room, but he would have no part of it. Suddenly he became crabby and obstinate; he wanted to eat and get back to his dog. Apparently he’d had enough of memories and family for one day.

  Casey was stacking dishes in the sink to soak when Lincoln walked into the kitchen carrying what was left of the pi
es. “Delicious. Everything was amazingly delicious,” he told her, then gave her a quick kiss. “It’s been a great day.”

  “Yeah?” She looked up at him. “Sorry I couldn’t join you for dessert, serve as a mediator or something, but Dad wouldn’t budge. I think we’re going to have to take off shortly.”

  “It was fine. I’m an attorney, Casey. Arguing is what I do best.” He winked at her as he grabbed plastic wrap off the counter and began to wrap the pies. “I need to get home, too. Goats to feed.” He arched his eyebrows.

  With his grandmother still somewhat incapacitated, Lincoln had been helping his grandfather take care of the few animals still left on the farm. Casey knew he had tried to convince them it was time to find good homes for the chickens and goats, but to date, the old folks had refused to even consider the matter. In the meantime, several mornings and nights each week, Lincoln put on rubber Wellies and a barn coat and played farmer.

  “I’m glad you joined us,” Casey told him, smiling. “You made it a perfect day.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He leaned down to press a kiss to her neck, plastic wrap still in his hand. Then in a low voice he said, “Too bad I can’t make it a perfect night, too.”

  Jayne pushed through the swinging door and Lincoln backed away from Casey.

  “Hey, hey, hey, you two. Let’s keep this kitchen a general audience rating. I’ve got young, easily influenced children in this house.”

  Casey laughed. “Dishwasher’s running.” She pointed. “Dishes in the sink are soaking. We probably need to get going. Dad’s already gone to find his coat. He’s worried about Frazier being home alone.”

  “I’m amazed he was willing to stay this long.” Jayne turned to Lincoln. “We’re glad you joined us, Lincoln. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to at the dinner table. Someone new for my husband to argue with.”

  “Well, I appreciate you inviting me and I appreciate the engaging conversation.” Lincoln smiled as he moved toward the kitchen door. “I’ll check on Ed. Whenever you’re ready, hon, I’ll walk out with you.”

  Jayne barely waited until the kitchen door swung shut. “Hon? Whenever you’re ready, hon?” She grabbed Casey’s shoulders in a rare show of affection. “I think he’s already half in love with you. What a great guy. And right there in plain view. Why didn’t you tell me you met him while working on the Gaitlin case?”

  Casey, who was sweeping pie crust crumbs off the counter into her hand, turned to her sister. What was she talking about? What had she and Joaquin and Lincoln been talking about while Casey was in the kitchen with her father? “Gaitlin didn’t have anything to do with me meeting Lincoln.”

  “He didn’t?” Jayne scowled. “But he said his firm had represented Gaitlin. I just assumed—” Seeing the look on Casey’s face, she halted midsentence. “Oh, gosh, I’m really sorry. Did I screw up here somewhere?”

  Chapter 14

  Maury lay on his back on his bunk, one arm tucked beneath his head as he studied the cartoon drawing of the turkey on the greeting card Danni-with-a-heart-over-the-“i” had sent him for Thanksgiving. He’d only written “Thinking of You! Love Danni” on the bottom.

  No letter.

  Maury had been thinking about Danni, too. Waiting. Enjoying the anticipation of how the relationship would unfold. Waiting to see what Danni wanted from him. A part of Maury desperately wanted to know, but another part of him didn’t. Not yet. And Danni seemed to recognize that. Understand. The anticipation, for Maury, was painfully sweet.

  Pain was like that. It hurt. Sometimes it hurt a lot, but at the very end of each wave of pain was a pleasure so pure….

  He closed his eyes thinking of the dead woman in the barrel. His last before he wound up here. What agony she had been in before she had died. How sweet that agony must have been for her. It certainly had been for Maury.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the turkey again. With the day off from work and nothing to do since his sister had refused to have him for dinner, he had been contemplating for hours whether or not it was time to write back to Danni. Something simple, of course, just to test the waters. Maybe he would practice his secret code. It had been, after all, nearly two years since he had used it.

  He had been thinking a lot about the code he had once used early in his career in a couple of letters to a newspaper. About who knew about it. Only the FBI, as far as he knew. Just that dyke cop and whoever she had told. Whoever believed her. Maury had sent those letters just for fun. For his own personal amusement. To tease the cops. The media. He had never expected anyone to actually be able to read them for what they truly said.

  So was the dyke sending him the mail? Was she Danni? He supposed that could make sense. She wasn’t really a woman, was she?

  But Maury didn’t think it was the dyke writing to him. She didn’t know Maury was responsible for all those women; otherwise, he’d be on death row right now, instead of the work-release program. If she really knew his identity, even suspected it, he wouldn’t be looking at walking out of this place.

  He looked at the turkey on the card and then lifted his gaze higher to the ceiling tiles. The pattern was off in the far corner of the shabby dormitory room. Maury had discovered it the first night here. Shoddy workmanship. He hated it when patterns were screwed around with. Some people didn’t understand their importance. People like that, he just wanted to…

  Maury clenched his hands, feeling his blood pressure rise as his heart beat faster, his pulse quickening….

  But then he took a deep breath. He let his hands relax. He consciously lowered his heart rate. A man had to have control. Control was what allowed him to do what he wanted. Allowed him the pleasures.

  He reached under his pillow and retrieved the half a candy bar he had saved from last night. He unwrapped the paper slowly, inhaling the heavenly chocolaty scent.

  Again, he thought of the young woman in the barrel. He thought about her pretty red hair and how it had stuck to her temples wet with blood.

  He wondered what Danni would think of the woman in the barrel….

  “Your firm represented Gaitlin?” Casey demanded, hanging on to her car door, putting it between her and Lincoln.

  Casey had managed to get her coat on and say good-bye to Jayne and Joaquin and the kids. She had gotten her father in the passenger’s side of the car and buckled him in. Now, standing in the cold driveway, in the dark, she stared at Lincoln.

  “What?” He looked totally confused. Then, by the light from the car interior, a flash of guilt. “Yeah, my firm did represent him. Casey, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” she repeated in amazement. “I told you almost three weeks ago that I had a problem with this guy. I told you his name and you didn’t feel it necessary to tell me your firm was representing him in the case that I’m supposed to testify in?”

  “Casey.” He looked at his feet.

  Bad sign.

  He looked up. “Casey, this is complicated. He wasn’t my client.”

  “Are we going?” Ed demanded from the other side of the car. “We should be going.”

  Casey leaned over to speak to him. “Dad, we’re going.” She straightened up and turned back to Lincoln. “But your firm represented him. His grandmother hired you to defend him. To defend this murderer.”

  “Casey,” he said entirely too calmly, “it’s what attorneys do. And I wasn’t his attorney. One of my colleagues was.”

  Her lower lip trembled. She felt betrayed. And she felt stupid for feeling that way. Of course that was what attorneys did. Gaitlin had a right to an attorney, no matter how guilty he was.

  This wasn’t personal. That’s what Lincoln was saying.

  She didn’t care. It was personal. It was personal because Gaitlin had invaded her privacy. He had made people doubt her. Doubt her word. He had made her doubt herself.

  “I want to go home,” her father repeated petulantly. “Take me home. Snow flurries in the forecast. I have to check the forecast.”
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  “I need to go,” she told Lincoln. She climbed into the car and tried to pull the door shut, but he held it so she couldn’t.

  He walked around the door and crouched so that he was eye level with her. “Casey, I’m sorry. I should have told you, but honestly, I don’t talk about our firm’s clients. I didn’t think—”

  “You didn’t think I would want to know that you had represented the man I’m trying to have thrown in jail for the rest of his life?” The man she feared was stalking her, she wanted to say. But of course he didn’t know about that.

  “I didn’t think it was that important to our relationship.”

  She wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “I told you who it was. You acted as if you didn’t know him. As if you didn’t know of him.”

  “I should have told you,” he offered, with a shrug. His emotion seemed honest. “I’m sorry. Okay? I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

  So, no real explanation. “I have to go,” she said.

  “Casey, don’t go like this. Angry.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She tugged on the car door he was still blocking. “Excuse me.”

  Lincoln was quiet for a moment. He just stood there looking down at her. Then he stepped out of the way.

  Casey slammed the door shut and started the car.

  “Snow flurries,” Ed said, folding his arms across his chest as she backed out of the driveway.

  “Snow flurries,” she echoed.

  Casey didn’t call Lincoln that night and when she saw his name on the Caller ID, she didn’t pick up. She didn’t listen to the messages he left, either.

  On Black Friday, she left the house at six A.M. to shop with Jayne at the Rehoboth Beach outlets for a few hours. The two sisters followed this tradition annually, not so much because they were big shoppers, but because it had been an institution with their mother. Jayne and Casey didn’t get dressed up, they didn’t go to department stores with escalators, and they didn’t have a girls’ lunch at an expensive white-table-cloth restaurant, but they shopped for Christmas gifts.