by Lis Wiehl
Part of Allison had known the first day Cassidy had told her about how Rick threatened her in private and kissed her in public that something was very wrong. How he showered her with presents and apologies. If only Allison had spoken up about him earlier, maybe Cassidy would have left before things got bad.
Maybe then Rick McEwan wouldn’t have handcuffed her, strangled her, stabbed her, and shoved her body under her own kitchen sink.
CHAPTER 13
When she and Allison walked out of Channel Four, the heat took Nic’s breath away. The sun was so dazzling it hurt to even glance at the sky. The air above the sidewalk shimmered.
“So that’s it,” Nic said. “It’s over.” She felt emptied out, a hollow woman walking around on two matchstick legs.
“Want to go someplace quiet and have a drink?” Allison asked.
Nic turned in surprise. “Don’t you want to go home?”
Allison sighed. “I just need a little time to catch my breath. Things are moving too fast.”
Nic nodded. Twenty-four hours earlier Cassidy had still been alive. It seemed like another lifetime ago that they had waited for her at the restaurant. Waited while Rick stole the air from her lungs and the blood from her heart.
“How about the VQ?” Allison suggested. The Veritable Quandary, a downtown restaurant and bar, was a Portland institution.
“It’s too hot to sit outside.” Any other summer day the VQ’s patio, which was surrounded by flowers and had a view of the Willamette River, would have offered an oasis. Now all Nic wanted to do was hide from the sun.
“I was thinking we could sit inside at the bar.”
Nic imagined sitting in semidarkness, a cold drink sweating in her hand. “Let’s go.”
The interior of her car was even hotter than it was outside. It was like sitting on a griddle that had been cleverly fashioned to look like seats. Allison sat hunched forward so that as little of her body as possible made contact with the vinyl. After starting the car, Nic turned the air-conditioning on full blast. She maneuvered her way out of the parking lot, gingerly handling the steering wheel with just her fingertips. What she really needed were oven mitts.
Inside, the VQ was blessedly cool, with air-conditioning and fans overhead. They took a seat at the far end of the bar with its ranks of hundreds of bottles.
The bartender had a shaved head and one gold earring. Nic vaguely recognized him, but after he brought their drinks and snacks, he asked, “Where’s your friend? That blond spitfire you two always come in with?”
Nic froze, and Allison’s eyes widened. In choosing a familiar location, they hadn’t realized it would result in its own special brand of pain.
Nic was too tired to soften it. “She was murdered last night.”
The bartender took a step back and swore under his breath. “Really?”
“They just arrested her old boyfriend.” Nic took a sip of her drink, sour and sweet. It was one of the VQ’s specialties, a martini made with limoncello and lavender-infused vodka. It had been one of Cassidy’s favorites.
He blew air out of pursed lips. “That is really hard to believe. She was just so, so—alive, you know?”
“We know.” Nic suddenly wanted to put her head down on the cool, dark wood of the bar, close her eyes, and wish it all away. The bartender squeezed her right hand and Allison’s left, then gave them a nod before going over to another customer.
Nic tried to put into words what was inside her. “I thought I would feel better when they arrested someone. Instead, I just feel kind of lost. Cassidy’s gone. And now I can’t even obsess over who killed her.”
“You were right, though. You thought it was Rick.” Allison picked up her magenta-colored VQ-8, the house Bloody Mary made with beet-infused vodka.
“Somehow that’s not much of a consolation.” Nic’s sigh was so deep it shook. She took another sip to steady herself. “I didn’t want to get in her business, but I should have. The first time I met Rick I knew things weren’t going to go well. I should have said, ‘Cassidy, you know he’s bad news, girl. You need to stay away from him.’”
“And would she have listened?” Allison made a sound that was something like a laugh. “Do any of us listen when people give us advice?”
“I still should have tried to say something. But I figured she was a big girl. Only she wasn’t, was she? I mean, in some ways Cassidy was like a little kid.” Nic thought of their friend’s enthusiasm, her petulance, her excitement.
“Yeah.” Allison managed a half smile. “That was her good point—and her bad point. I guess that’s the same for any of us. The trait that you love most about someone also becomes the trait you wish you could change.”
What was Nic’s bad trait, then? She was afraid to ask. Instead she picked up one of the stuffed dates they had ordered, along with a bowl of sweet and spicy cashews. “Cassidy really loved these,” she said, before popping it into her mouth. The dates were stuffed with goat cheese and Marcona almonds, then wrapped in pancetta. They were a lovely mix of sticky, sweet, salty, crispy, and squishy. Perfect for nibbling alongside a drink.
“Was there a food Cassidy didn’t love?” Allison smiled. “How many times did she eat more of our entrees than we did? Plus hers.”
“Yeah.” Nic felt her eyes get wet. “Nothing was safe from her. You didn’t want to get between that girl and something she wanted to eat.”
“And she loved it when someone recognized her.” Allison glanced at the bartender who was now serving three Japanese businessmen.
“Yeah,” Nic agreed, “but she wouldn’t have liked that he didn’t know her name.”
“He probably works when she’s on air.” Allison paused. “Was on air. It’s so hard to think she’ll never be on again.”
“You know what I’m going to miss?” Nic asked rhetorically. “Cassidy’s purse. Her big black tote. That thing was as big as my garage. It was like a magician’s hat—anything could come out of it, up to and including a rabbit.” Now there would be no more magic purse. “I used to make so much fun of that purse,” she choked out. “That and everything else about her. I rolled my eyes behind her back, and she caught me. More than once. And when I wasn’t giving her a look, I lectured her. But I never told her that I loved her. I figured she knew, you know?”
Allison patted the back of her hand. “Oh, Nicole, I’m sure she knew.”
“If I could go back, I’d be more patient. I’d be nicer. I’d tell her how much she means to me.” Nic picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes, not caring if she smeared her mascara.
Allison gave her hand a squeeze and then released it. “All you can change is today. Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.”
It took Nic a second to figure it out. “That’s good. Did you just think that up on the spur of the moment?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s already a saying.”
The bartender set down another drink. Nic was surprised to find that her first glass was empty.
“Oh, I didn’t order another one.”
“That’s okay. It’s on the house.”
She thought about protesting, but instead she just thanked him and took a big sip.
“I hardly have any photos of Cassidy. That’s one thing I’m going to start doing more,” she told Allison. “Taking more photos.” Someday Nic would lose her parents, maybe her older brothers. Nothing was permanent. Someday Makayla would lose her. Nic couldn’t bear to contemplate that even ten-year-old Makayla wouldn’t live forever.
“There’re plenty of photos of Cassidy on the Web,” Allison said. “And I was watching her on YouTube before you came by.”
“But it’s us I want to remember,” Nic said. “The Triple Threat.” She slipped her phone off her belt and pressed a few buttons to put it into camera mode, then she beckoned to the bartender. “Could you do me a favor? Could you take a picture of my friend and me?”
“Sure.” He took a step back while Nic slung her arm around Allison’s shoulders. Then the flash wen
t off, and he handed back the phone while an older couple glanced over at them curiously.
Allison leaned in close, and the two of them regarded the photo. The sadness was still in their eyes, but their smiles were broad.
“That’s perfect,” Nic said. “Thanks.”
As she put the phone back on her belt, she saw the bartender’s eyes take in the holster and then skitter away. A minute later he brought her another drink. She thought about waving it away, but instead she drained the last inch of her old drink and picked up the new one.
“It’s weird that we can watch videos of Cassidy anytime we want,” Nic said to Allison. “In the old days, when you were gone, you were gone. Maybe someone cut off a lock of your hair and framed it. But that was it.”
Allison popped a cashew into her mouth. “Have you ever seen those scary old daguerreotypes they used to take of people lying dead in their coffins? Most of the time that would be the only photo of the person ever. Now even after you’re dead you can live on forever on the Internet.”
“Not to mention the billboards,” Nic said. “I wonder how long until they take those down?” She had passed one this morning on her way to work. Your Friends at Channel Four, with pictures of Cassidy as well as Brad, Phoebe, and the sports guy whose name Nic could never remember.
“And I think they’re on at least one of the MAX trains.”
“Everything’s going to change,” Nic said, feeling the weight of the truth. “Not just the billboards, not just at Channel Four. The three of us—you and me and Cassidy—it just worked. She was lighthearted and fun, and I’m way too serious. And you’re right in the middle. It’s not going to be balanced anymore.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Allison said. “You and I still need each other. Maybe even more than we did before.”
Allison was probably just saying what Nic wanted—needed—to hear.
“Everything is changing. Makayla won’t hold my hand anymore. She gets mad if I come into her room and she’s not completely dressed. She wasn’t even scared to go to sleepaway camp for two weeks by herself. According to her, ten years old is practically grown up.”
A flicker crossed Allison’s face, and Nic remembered the baby her friend had lost. Did it hurt her every time Nic mentioned her daughter? Had that flicker always been there, but she just hadn’t been tuned in enough to see it?
“What about you and Leif?” Allison asked. “Is that changing?”
“He definitely wants things to change. He wants to get married. But you know me. I’m too independent and too old to change. Not that he’s not great. He actually pulled me out of the interview room last night and told Jensen we were done. Then he followed me home to make sure I was okay.”
Leif had stayed and held her for a couple of hours, listened to her cry, not interrupting as she tried to make sense of Cassidy’s death. And when she was all talked out and all cried out, he had told her funny stories about a private investigator he was working with who was really more like a computer.
“This was your friend’s favorite, right?” The bartender’s voice interrupted Nicole’s memories. He set down three forks and a chocolate soufflé that had grown over the top of the white ramekin. It was dimpled with melting chunks of chocolate and dusted with powdered sugar. Next to it was a small white pitcher of chocolate sauce. But it was the three forks that Nic couldn’t look away from. Three forks, as if there was still a Cassidy to share it with them.
Nic nodded at the bartender, unable to speak. Instead she forked up a bite and lifted it into the air. “To Cassidy,” she said.
“To Cassidy,” Allison answered, lifting her own bite in a toast. The bartender nodded and then turned away.
They busied themselves, taking bites in turn. With no Cassidy to fend off, it felt strange. As Nic waited for the last of the sauce to drip out of the pitcher, she had a flashback so clear it made her gasp. The last time they had been here, they had eaten the ramekin empty. Then Cassidy had run her index finger inside the pitcher and licked it clean, declaring, “I’m not letting a single drop go to waste.”
Cassidy hadn’t let anything go to waste. She had thrown herself into every activity, from eating to covering a crime story, with unbridled enthusiasm.
And now she was dead. And only one person knew why.
“You know what I keep wondering?” Nic said. It wasn’t really a question. “What were her last few minutes like? Did she suffer?”
“I hope it was fast,” Allison said. Her eyes looked haunted.
“The only person who knows is Rick.” Nic stood up, and for a moment it felt like her head kept moving even after she was on her feet. She put her hand on the bar to steady herself. “And I’m going to go talk to him. With or without you.”
Before Nic could stop her, Allison snagged the keys from her hand. “It’s definitely with me. And I’m driving.”
“I’m not drunk,” Nic said, but she knew it was a lie.
CHAPTER 14
Official visiting hours for the Multnomah County jail were only on weekends. But certain types of people, like clergy and bail bondsmen, could visit at any time. As could law enforcement personnel and attorneys. It wasn’t unheard of for an officer to want to talk to a prisoner being held on an unrelated case. Bad guys were bad guys, after all, and tended to be involved in or have knowledge of more than one bad thing.
When Allison walked through the jail’s double doors with Nicole, she was immediately assailed by the mingled stench of greasy food, sweat, and sewage. Her gorge rose and she swallowed hard, forcing down the suddenly nauseating mixture of cashews, stuffed dates, and alcohol. Even though the jail felt cool, almost clammy, the heat outside must somehow be intensifying the smells. She concentrated on breathing shallowly through her mouth.
Nicole managed to appear not only completely sober, but she had also tapped into her patented don’t-you-dare-mess-with-me vibe. The corrections officer didn’t ask them what their business was with Rick, and they didn’t volunteer. While they were presenting their IDs—Nicole had left her Glock in the gun safe in her car—Allison asked, “So does McEwan have a lawyer yet?”
The corrections officer shrugged. “Word is he’ll have Michael Stone representing tomorrow at the arraignment. I guess Stone’s out of town until then.”
Allison and Nicole exchanged a glance. Michael Stone and Rick McEwan were meant for each other. No crime was too heinous to be defended by Stone. Past clients included a surgeon accused of operating while drunk, an actor charged with sexually abusing a middle-school student, and a Portland Trail Blazer who had shot his wife and then tried to make it look like a robbery.
And now a cop who had killed his ex-girlfriend.
They were ushered back to the empty visiting area, a cheerless row of windows separated by chest-high cinder block partitions. On either side of each section was a single battered chair. Allison dragged a second chair over to the first window and then sat down to wait for Rick. Under her fingertips, the scratched and scarred counter felt like some kind of reverse Braille. How many people had sat here? Their desperation, depression, and disappointment still hung in the stale air.
Accompanied by a guard, Rick appeared on the other side of the glass. He wore an orange jumpsuit over a white T-shirt. Allison stiffened. This was the man who had brutally killed her friend. Her hands curled into fists, her fingernails cutting into her palms. For a second time, her stomach rose and pressed against the bottom of her throat.
Rick normally strutted, but now he shuffled. When he turned to face them, Allison gasped. His left eye was purple and swollen shut, and the whole side of his face was bruised. When they came to arrest him, he must not have gone along quietly.
Staring at them through the Plexiglas, Rick slowly lowered himself into a chair. With his face so distorted, it was hard to tell what expression he wore. Allison’s rage changed into something duller and heavier. It was all so stupid. Rick had taken Cassidy’s life and ruined his own, and for what? For what?
&
nbsp; She picked up the black corded phone from the wall, trying not to think about how many hands had handled it, how many lips had rested against the mouthpiece.
For a long moment, Rick did nothing, just stared at them with his one good eye. The guard stood off to one side, his hands clasped in front of him. Finally, Rick picked up his own phone. Allison tilted the receiver so Nicole could hear.
“Here to gloat?” He lifted his chin.
Allison didn’t answer him immediately. Finally she took a deep breath. “What happened to your eye?”
Nicole pulled back and looked at her, but Allison kept her gaze on the man on the other side of the glass.
He gingerly touched his lower eyelid. “A little souvenir from an old friend.”
She was shocked. “They put you in with everyone else?” Cops were normally segregated from other prisoners for their own safety.
“Oh, I’ve got my own cell. But the guy in charge of the uniforms recognized me.” The undamaged side of Rick’s mouth twitched upward. “I guess it wasn’t a good memory.”
Nicole grabbed the phone from Allison’s hand. “You’ve made a lot of those, haven’t you, Rick? Especially for Cassidy. Tell us what happened last night. Did she suffer? Did it take her long to die?”
His mouth twisted, and his good eye blinked rapidly. “I loved that girl once, you know?”
“Oh, please.” Nicole made a sound as if she were spitting something foul from her mouth. “Love? What kind of love is that? The kind where you strangle someone and then when that’s not good enough, you stab her? What kind of love is that, Rick?”
He straightened up, and there was a flash of the old Rick, always aggrieved. “You two never liked me. Not for one minute. You cheered when Cassidy dragged me through the mud.”
The anger was back, stiffening Allison’s spine, pushing back the sadness and the nausea. She took the phone from Nicole. “That’s because we saw what you did to her. Like making her cut up her underwear because you thought it was too sexy.”