by Lilly Black
“You don’t really think she’d kill her sister, do you?”
“I don’t know, but I keep wondering if Sunny could have found out about what happened to Liz and tried to make it look like the same guy killed her sister. I know I haven’t had enough sleep. I’m probably delirious.”
“You probably are, and Rain is probably just holed up in her dungeon.”
“What?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure she has acted on those fantasies from high school,” I say, thinking about her keychain.
“What did you two talk about?”
“Nothing like that. I just think it’s a viable assumption, don’t you?”
“Mmmm…what was it you were saying about a threesome last night?” He’s teasing. That’s a good sign.
“Now I know you’re delirious because you’re saying shit that will earn you a beating.”
“Maybe that’s what I need.”
“What you need is sleep. Come on. Lie back down with me,” I say, closing the curtains to shut out the light. I want to offer him more, but I don’t know how he would interpret it given the circumstances.
“I can’t sleep, baby,” he says as he finally stops pacing and sits on the end of the bed.
“You need to try.” I stand beside him, nudging him to lie down. He pushes back, and I push harder. We grapple, laughing and playing like children, until Cain abruptly stops the fun by grabbing my wrists in an almost painful grip. He holds them downward as I stand between his legs, and the look in his eyes as he peers into mine is not playful at all.
“Put me to bed,” he demands.
“Are you sure?” I ask, and with his eyes, he directs my attention to his cock. He’s sure.
“Lie down,” he commands, and I obey, lying in the middle of the bed. I’m expecting something rough and forceful after the way he grabbed me, but that isn’t what he gives me. His touch and his kiss are gentle, loving, not our standard at all, and as he guides himself inside me in the missionary position, I recognize that this is more about comfort than gratification. In the absence of the hard, fast crashing of our bodies that I love so much, the intensity comes from the way he’s staring into my eyes and the grip he has on the sheets by my head as he thrusts deeply into me, his rhythm torturously slow. With his hips pressed against my inner thighs, his abdomen gliding over my clit, I tremble beneath him as he pushes us to a simultaneous and miraculous end. His eyes never leave mine for a second, and for the first time, there’s no screaming, both of us muted by the unfathomable intimacy of the moment, holding onto each other as if for dear life.
Sated, Cain finally drifts away in my arms as I lie lost in the bliss of the moment, overwhelmed by the depth of my love for him.
I slip out of bed without waking Cain to call Nicole and Dave because I’m supposed to work tomorrow night. Though I agreed to quit my job yesterday, I would at least like to give two weeks’ notice, but I know there is no way Cain is going to allow me to go the bar after Elizabeth’s murder.
In his office, I take my phone from the charger and find that I have more than a dozen missed calls and several texts from Nicole.
Why are reporters at our door? Call me.
What the hell, Evan? They’re all over the lawn. Call me!
Goddamn it! CALL ME!
If Nicole says goddamn, she’s super mad. I start to call, but I realize that I don’t know what to tell her. The reporters being there probably has something to do with Elizabeth’s murder, but why is beyond me. I can’t wake Cain right now, and all I know for sure is to tell her not to speak with them. I send her a text instead.
Don’t do anything. I’ll call you in a minute. Then I grab Cain’s cell phone to get the number for his attorney. He has a password, but I hack it quickly. It’s the date we met.
Smiling as I look through his recent call history, I find Atty Trent Michaelsen, and though I pause before placing the call, worried about how Cain will feel about me getting into his phone, I decide that reporters being camped out on my lawn supersedes any potential invasion of privacy. I press the call button.
“Cain?” asks a deep male voice.
“Mr. Michaelsen?”
“This is he.” This must be his cell phone.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Michaelsen. This is Evan Lucien, and…”
“Ah, Miss Lucien. How are you?”
“Concerned, and please, call me Evan.”
“Call me Trent. What’s your concern?”
“I don’t know if you are allowed to discuss this with me or advise me…” I explain the situation, and when he hears about the reporters, he’s irate.
“Goddamn it!” he shouts. “Both of your names were supposed to be kept out of this. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m on it. Is there somewhere your friend can stay for a couple of days until I can get this resolved?”
“I can have her come here after she gets off work tonight.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll contact Nicole’s employer about tonight and do all I can to keep the reporters away from her workplace, but neither of you should go anywhere tonight. Meanwhile, I’ll get the reporters off your lawn and send a car for Nicole, and Evan, I am very sorry this happened.” I give him our address and Dave’s phone number, and after he instructs me to have Nicole to pack a bag and be ready, he asks me to have her jot down the names of the news agencies on our lawn in case anyone leaves before his people arrive. I hang up and call her immediately.
About three hours later, the doorman calls, addressing me by name, and I’m pleased to see that Cain has already informed security that I live here now. I authorize him to send Nicole up, and when she arrives, she tells me why it took so long for her to get here. We now have home security in our little house because Mr. Michaelsen sent a team to install it before bringing her here. It’s amazing how quickly people with money are able to get things done.
They got the reporters off the lawn fast, too, but before they started leaving, Nicole made sure to get not only the news agency names but the reporters’ names as well, finally finding a use for all of those extra lemons I bought when Cain cooked for me. September days in La Mesa are warmer than the coast, so Nicole came out of our front door with a stack of disposable cups, a pitcher of lemonade, and a cell phone in her breast pocket recording every reporter’s name as she introduced herself to them.
“I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this,” I tell her.
“Well, you know what they say. When life give you lemons…”
“How long have you been waiting to pull that gem out?” I laugh.
“About three hours. If someone hadn’t been murdered, that would have been my sound bite for the press.”
“I can’t believe the press is trying to drag us into this. His mother is really going to hate me now if his name gets in the paper.”
“Don’t worry. The people Michaelsen sent to our house said if any of the reporters there actually printed our names, they’d find themselves blacklisted all over the west coast.”
“How can an attorney do that?”
“Trent Michaelsen is a powerful man. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”
“Really, Nicole? I never even knew society pages actually existed until you told me. This is your department.” She laughs.
“Trent Michaelsen is super rich and super connected. When I gave his people the reporters’ names, they just started disappearing.”
“I hope whatever they are doing works. Our alibi is the stuff tabloids drool over.”
“What were you doing?” she asks.
“Um…having sex in his car,” I admit, embarrassed. Nicole giggles.
“So what was it like last night?” she asks.
“Oh, God, it’s was incredible! The things he can do with his…”
“I meant the party at the country club.”
“Oh,” I say with a laugh, and though I would rather just prattle on about my awesome sex life, I guess I do owe her the whole story about
last night. But not before a nice, distracting tour.
“Let me show you around first,” I say, picking up her bag and leading her to the guest room. Decorated in light blue and brown, it looks like a high-end, boutique hotel room, which is right up her alley, but since being nosy is also up her alley, I make it clear to stay out of the Cain’s closet. Then I end the tour in my closet, and Nicole is positively green with envy.
“Where did he take you shopping this time?” she asks, excitedly looking through the designer dresses.
“He took me to a place called Entrance to get a dress for the thing last night, but he picked out all of the rest of this for me.”
“Entrance? Damn, Ev! You’re so lucky!”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course.”
Of course!
“Anyway,” I say, “Cain’s really pissed off at them because my dress wasn’t one-of-a-kind, and the sales lady promised to hold the others, then someone showed up wearing one of them.”
“Oh, Ev, I’m sorry.” I roll my eyes at her. That would probably be a humiliating experience for Nicole, but it just isn’t the kind of thing I care about. The damn thing still cost $5,000.
“It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the person who wore the other dress was Elizabeth.”
“That’s really weird.” Nicole says. “Is that the dress?” It’s still draped across the fainting couch. I hold it up for her.
“I wore it with sapphires and those shoes,” I say, indicating the pumps still on the floor.
“It’s gorgeous. Can I see the sapphires?” I open the velvet lined jewelry drawer, and she picks up the bracelet, salivating. “These are incredible! Did Cain buy these, or are they on loan?”
How does she know about these things?
“He bought them, but I don’t think sapphires are that expensive.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she laughs at me. “This bracelet alone is worth more than $20,000. How many carats is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like it matters. If Cain and I break up, I’m not keeping them.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Ev.”
When Nicole is finished devouring my closet, I’ve run out of avoidance tactics and have to finally tell her about last night, omitting any information about Caleb or the harpy altogether. I end my story with Rain getting into her grandfather’s car, and now that she’s on my mind, I grab my phone to try her again. Still no answer.
“How are you so comfortable with a woman who used to sleep with Cain?” Nicole asks, surprised.
“It was high school.”
“But you really handled Elizabeth well this time, too.”
“That’s probably why the cops came here and questioned us at 7:00 am.”
“The cops came here? I hope you and Cain aren’t suspects. Your alibi is really weak.”
“That doesn’t matter if we didn’t do it.” But even as I say it, it sounds ridiculous. Of course it matters. Innocent men with weak alibis go to prison all the time, and Detective Vega seems like the sort who would revel in bringing down the arrogant, rich asshole she thinks my Cain is. “I have to have faith that they’ll find the right person.”
“Well, at least he has Trent Michaelsen in his corner. I don’t think he’s ever lost a case.”
“Why do you know that?” I ask, exasperated. If she would just channel half the brain capacity she uses for tucking away useless facts about fashion designers, the local elite, and jewelry appraisal toward an education, she could do really well for herself, but she would rather find a man who could give her practical use for all of her trivial knowledge.
Hmmm…wonder if Trent Michaelsen is single…
I’ll bet Nicole knows.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a light come on down the hall. Cain is up, and I excuse myself to make sure he’s okay with Nicole staying here before he comes out to find her. Having also called Trent, I can’t help but feel that I have overstepped my bounds today, but when I tell Cain, he’s actually pleased.
“If you hadn’t called Trent, it sounds like your name and mine could have ended up in the evening edition. Evan, I don’t want you to feel like you have to ask permission here. I want you to make this your home.” He kisses me, my hands in his, and though it seems like the perfect moment to say the L word, neither of us does.
Later in the evening, Cain sends out for dinner, and as he watches the news, I check the internet to see if more details about Elizabeth’s murder have been released. Already knowing how she was killed, it’s still a shock to hear a reporter say that she was stabbed twenty-eight times in the face, chest, and genitals and was found with her back across the center console of her Fiat Abarth with her legs stuffed in so the door could be closed, and it gets worse when I click on a link to find that a blogger has somehow obtained a crime scene photograph. It’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen, her face beyond recognition and her dress so saturated with blood that only the length from her knees down remained its original color.
“Jesus!” Cain cries out, covering his mouth.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know there would be a picture,” I say, quickly turning the tablet off.
“It’s the dress,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t see Liz at all last night. When I see that dress, I see you.”
“Cain, it’s okay to mourn her,” I urge him.
“I just can’t shake the feeling that it could have been meant for you,” he says, pulling me close on the couch, his grip tight around my shoulder. “A hired killer could make a mistake like that.”
“Maybe if he was a crack head,” I argue, trying to ease his mind. “It would have taken a serious level of incompetence to confuse a blonde in a red Fiat with a brunette in a black Maybach.”
“You may be right,” he relents, but thinking about the parallels - same dress, parked in cars not far from the country club, my mind is set upon a dark path. At the same time my dress lay on the seat of Cain’s car while he fucked me, just a few miles away, someone raped and killed Elizabeth in her dress. I could have been screaming in ecstasy while she screamed in pain and terror.
Could we have heard her if I weren’t so loud? Worse, could she have heard me? Suddenly I regret what I said to her last night. She has been awful to me, but now one of the last memories she ever had was the new girlfriend of the man she thought she was going to marry telling her about having sex with him and getting his come on the dress she was wearing.
Fuck! Cain’s DNA is on the hem of that dress! Probably mine, too! Now we have to tell the detectives that we also had sex in the dressing room, and as I struggle to decide whether or not I should mention it to Cain yet, we have our second unheralded knock today.
Evening of September 22
“What the fuck now?” Cain hisses. No one should be on this floor without a call from the doorman other than the police, but it isn’t the police. It’s worse.
“What the hell is going on?” Catherine Ballantyne demands, barging in like she owns the place. “Would you like to explain why two detectives came to my house regarding Liz Chadwick’s murder? Did your little coonass have something to do with it?”
“You will not be disrespectful to Evan in my house!” Cain snaps, and she stops dead in her tracks, seeing me sitting in the living room with Nicole. Cain lowers his voice. “You can apologize or you can leave.”
“Well, of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d be here. I thought she worked nights.” That’s not exactly what Cain meant, but I give him a signal to just let it be.
“Catherine,” I greet her sarcastically. So lovely to see you again, and no, I did not have anything to do with Elizabeth’s murder, thank you very much. If I had, since I would already be on the path to prison, I would probably just go ahead and knock you off while I was at it.
Walking straight past Cain into the living room, Catherine plops herself down in a chair as Jack, Cary, and Caleb gather around t
he breakfast bar. I see Nicole’s eyes flash when she sees Caleb, but they both play it cool.
“The police at my house, Cain. Explain it,” Catherine demands.
“I would love to, Mother. I’ll just reach out to the detectives with my fucking telepathy.”
Ah, his scathing sarcasm.
“According to Sunny Meriwether…” As Catherine says the name, Nicole stifles a laugh, and after a dirty look from Catherine, she sneaks away. It would be best to limit her exposure to Caleb’s mother anyway. Catherine may be a lot of things, but I don’t think she’s stupid.
“According to Sunny Meriwether,” she repeats, louder. “Your Miss Lucien was the last person to talk to Liz last night…”
“Sunny Meriwether is self-serving cunt, and if that is what she told you, she’s a liar, too. We both know she’s the one who put Liz up to cornering Evan in the ladies’ room last night, but you’ll be pleased to hear that Evan handled herself beautifully.”
“Yes, Sunny told me what she said about her sister.”
“And what was that?” Cain asks.
“Maybe it would be better if Miss Lucien told you herself. I don’t use that sort of language.”
“Are you talking about me fucking Lorraine the whole time I dated Sunny?” Cain is smiling, but I can almost feel his blood boiling inside. “Evan didn’t say that. I did.”
“Well, it was cruel, and I expect you to call and apologize. Let her know that you just said it to upset her.”
“I did say it to upset her, Mother, because she deserved it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was fucking Lorraine the entire time I was keeping up the farce of dating her plastic, bitch sister,” Cain says it so cavalierly that it’s all I can do to suppress my urge to laugh, especially when Cary bursts out. He comes into the living room and sits down beside me.
“He never pissed her off this bad before you came along,” Cary whispers in my ear.
“Really?” I’m surprised. I had imagined that Cain tormented her from the time he hit puberty if not sooner.
