by Gregg Olsen
Like my lousy 401K from the paper, she thought. We’re all going down the drain. Some people like Tori and Alex simply have a bigger reserve.
Next, she went upstairs to the master bedroom. In her time as a houseguest she barely set foot inside. Her sister, possibly rightly so, considered it her private sanctuary. The door was unlocked and she went into the room. The white linens and pillowy duvet cover made the large antique Rice bed look like it was topped by a cloud. A painting of Tori hung over the bed, which signaled in no uncertain terms who was the most important person in that room. Apart from a crystal dish that held two pairs of cufflinks, there was nothing in the room that remotely suggested a man had lived there after her sister’s discharge. It was all perfume bottles, sachets, and an étagère that displayed pink art glass.
You can take a girl out of Port Orchard . . . Lainie thought. Lainie moved quickly to the dresser and started to prod through Tori’s belongings. It was wrong and she knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself. The compulsion to find out whatever it was that she was looking for was too great. She gingerly lifted her sister’s lingerie, all beautiful, white and ivory silk. Nothing trashy. Everything was tasteful and expensive—the kind of undergarments a woman buys for her lover, not because she needs them for herself.
Under a set of cranberry-colored satin sheets, which seemed so ’80s that it gave Lainie some temporary relief from her jealousy of her sister’s lavish life, she unearthed a battered manila envelope. It was clasped shut but not sealed, making it fair game for an interloper. She went over to the bed and sat down, fanning out photographs and papers inside. Among them were images of the sisters, their father, their mother. It nearly brought tears to her eyes to think that Tori cared enough about any of them that she’d keep the photographs.
Lainie soaked in each image. There was proof in the faded snapshots that indeed there had been happy times in the O’Neal household. Their mother sat on the old camelback sofa with her babies in each arm, their Siamese cat Ling-Ling at her feet. One photo showed their father with Tori . . . or was it Lainie? . . . at the seagull-calling contest in Port Orchard. Several pictures revealed the family as they opened Christmas presents under an obviously fake Christmas tree.
Dad hated that tree, but Mom insisted it was wrong to cut down a living tree for the holidays, Lainie thought.
Her blue eyes pooled with tears. Vonnie O’Neal had her moments. She was not always the tragic figure that she later became. For a time, she did love life. She loved her husband and her girls. She loved the family cat. She made chocolate chip cookies for the twins and never failed to put extra chips on the top of each cookie—“because you can never have too much of a good thing, girls.”
Under the last photo Lainie found an envelope marked “Hawaii.” She instantly knew the connection her sister had with the Aloha State and her heartbeat quickened a little. It was a part of her sister’s life about which she knew very, very little. She pulled out the contents of the envelope—photocopies of a police report, a couple of photographs of her sister, and some other notes related to the accident that took Zach Campbell’s life. His photo, the Washington state driver’s license image, brought few memories. She’d seen him only once or twice before her sister called and said she’d married him.
“He’s handsome, has some money, and wants to have a family,” Tori had said.
“I’m happy for you,” Lainie said, though she really wanted to say, “Since when did you want kids?”
As she flipped through the pages she noticed a couple of other photos—a young man and a car. As she wondered about their inclusion in the packet, the security alarm sounded its quiet chime that someone was coming up the steps.
Lainie turned toward the sound and crept toward the hallway to the staircase. She heard footsteps coming up the walk. It was the smacking of heels. Expensive boots against the pavement.
Tori was back.
As quickly as she could, Lainie hurried back to the bedroom. She shut the drawers, fluffed up the spot on the bed, and ran down the hallway to her bedroom. She went into the bathroom and locked the door. Her heart was pounding and sweat collected under her arms.
What to do? How to explain what she was up to?
“Lainie, I’m here! Forgot some paperwork,” Tori said, calling up the staircase.
Lainie splashed water on her face and patted herself dry. She waited a beat and flushed the toilet, as if she’d been using it. She ran the water, taking another moment to eat up some time. She wanted the redness from her face to fade. She realized she’d taken the Hawaii envelope with her. Whatever panic had seized her when she heard her sister return was ratcheted up tenfold.
Where to put it?
She lifted the toilet seat cover and put the envelope on top before setting the lid back down.
When she opened the bathroom door, Tori was right outside in her black boots and charcoal suit, with a wary expression on her face.
“I’m not feeling well,” Lainie said, pressing her hand gently against her abdomen. “Must be something I ate.”
Tori studied her sister. “We had the same thing,” she said. “I feel fine.”
“I don’t feel good,” Lainie repeated, which was the truth, though not for the stated reason. It was more about what she’d been doing and what she saw. She lingered in the doorway.
Tori looked past Lainie. “Oh, I see,” she said. “There are some antacids in my bathroom. I’ll get you some.”
“No,” Lainie said, a little too forcefully. She didn’t want her sister to go into the bedroom. In her haste to put things back, there was room for error. “I just took some.”
Tori studied her sister. She could always see when she was hiding something.
“All right. I’ll be back at four or so.”
“I’m sure I’ll feel better then.”
“Good, because I want to take you out for a nice dinner to celebrate our reconnection, our sisterhood.”
Lainie smiled and nodded as she watched her sister leave, hesitate for a moment, then head back to her bedroom before going down the staircase to the waiting car and driver.
That was odd, Lainie thought, Tori didn’t pick up any paperwork.
Lainie O’Neal had no idea that the whole time she was rifling her sister’s belongings in search of God-knows-what, the eye of a webcam was on her. On the other side of Tacoma, in his bedroom in Fircrest, Parker Connelly watched the goings-on in the master bedroom that had once belonged to his father and stepmother.
But now, in some strange way, he felt it belonged to him.
Tori had told him so.
“All of this will be ours,” she said, not long after they first started making love in that very bed. “Yours and mine.”
Tori had kept the two-way webcam on for his pleasure.
“I have no secrets, baby,” she said. “I want you to see me, as I am.”
Sometimes she would linger a little as she undressed, teasing him with the beauty of her body. One time, she turned to the camera and fondled her breasts.
“When I was your age, I was told I had nice titties,” she said. “I still do, don’t I?”
“I want to touch them,” he said. “No fair.”
“Soon, baby.”
They had talked the morning before she was to go to her lawyer’s to discuss the estate. Tori showed Parker different outfits, and he selected the black boots and the charcoal suit.
“Makes your hair look really sexy,” he said of the color he chose over a dark blue dress. “And your legs, the boots make your legs look hot.”
A few minutes after she left, he saw Lainie go into the bedroom.
What’s she doing in there? he thought. He picked up his phone and texted Tori.
YR bitch sister is in YR RM.
Tori texted back: What is she doing?
looking where she shouldnt.
Ill take care of it, she texted. Ill give her a surprise. LOL.
Fifteen minutes later, Tori appeared in her bedroom
and faced the webcam. She mouthed the words “Stupid bitch,” indicating her sister.
Next, she blew a kiss at the webcam and whispered, “I love you.”
A teenager with barely noticeable stubble on his chin was likely smiling back. She couldn’t see Parker, but she knew the power she held over him. It felt very, very good.
The shower in the guest bath was running and the door was shut. Tori Connelly set down her coffee cup and walked over to the bureau next to the canopy bed. Her sister’s purse was sitting on top, slumped over like it was just waiting for her to reach inside. She shifted its contents until she found Lainie’s cell phone. The water turned off and she heard her sister get out of the shower. With the precision and speed of a kid at a mobile phone kiosk, she opened the back of the phone and removed the SIM card. She inserted another, closed it up, put it back into the purse.
Too bad Lainie doesn’t have enough money for anything better than a Coach, she thought.
When Lainie emerged from the bathroom, she noticed that her sister had brought her some coffee. It wasn’t hot and it wasn’t a full cup, but Tori was never the “hostess with the mostest,” so it wasn’t a bad effort.
She’s not all bad. She just can’t be, she thought.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that neither one of us had any kids?”
Tori looked at her sister as they stood in the foyer of the grand Victorian.
“How do you mean, odd?” she asked.
Lainie watched the street for the taxi. She wondered if the same driver would pick her up for the ride back to Seattle.
“I wanted to,” she said. “But Alex didn’t. He said that Parker was enough and that he was getting too old.”
“He wasn’t that old. At least not by today’s standards. Look at Larry King.”
“I’d rather not. But, really, the point was pretty moot,” Tori said. “He’d had a vasectomy years ago. I didn’t push it. I might have enjoyed being a mother, but honestly, I didn’t really want to ruin my body.”
“No, not when you’ve put so much money into it.”
The remark was a dig and Lainie wished she hadn’t said it. Tori didn’t seem to care. It might have been that she was just as glad that the O’Neal sisters’ reunion was over. Lainie had come to Tacoma to help her sister get through a very rough patch. She was uncertain if she’d been asked out of love or because there was no one else who her twin would be able to call.
“How many years this time?”
“Excuse me?”
“How many years will pass before I see you again?”
“You’ll see me soon. I’m thinking of coming out to the class reunion. I’d like to show those losers that no matter what life has handed me, I’m still smarter, better looking, and, yes, richer than any of them.”
The taxi parked and a driver started up the walk.
Lainie turned to hug her sister good-bye. The past few days had been full of drama, resentment, bitterness. Except for the murder, it seemed like old times.
Or maybe it was because of that.
“See you soon. Call me,” she said, as she walked out the door.
Lainie smiled warily at the cab driver as he lifted the door handle to let her inside.
“Heading home. Stayed with my sister.”
“Nice visit, I hope,” he said.
“I guess so,” she said. “I stayed about as long as I could, as I was needed.”
“I’ve got a sister like that, too,” he said.
Oh, no you don’t, Lainie thought. She got into the backseat and reached for her phone. The screen was dead.
“Damn,” she said.
The driver looked over his shoulder at Lainie before pulling away from the Connelly house.
“What’s the trouble?”
She held out the phone. “I recharged it, but it isn’t working. Says that the SIM card is corrupted.”
“That sucks,” the man said. “That happened to me one time. You’ll have to start over.”
Lainie didn’t say anything, but she agreed. She would have to start over. Seeing her sister brought back so many memories that needed to be laid to rest. Once and for all.
Kendall walked across the plaza toward the sheriff’s office. She looked down at her ringing phone.
It was Lainie.
“How are things? How are you?”
“A nightmare. But you could have guessed that.”
“It wouldn’t take a detective to figure that out. You’re right,” Kendall said. “How’s Tori?”
“She’s mad because the police want to question her. Again.”
“Tell her to get a lawyer,” Kendall said, stopping by a parked car and squinting up at the damp May sky, hoping no more drops would rain down. It had been the soggiest spring in recent memory and she had to fight the urge to wring out her shoes.
“I’m surprised you’d offer up that kind of advice.”
“Look, it’s the right thing to do. How long are you going to stay?”
“I’m about ready to leave.”
“Funeral this week?”
“Get this ... no funeral. She says she’s too upset. Or something.”
“Sounds like the Tori I remember.”
“You’d be surprised. She hasn’t changed a bit. Except for a boob job. She’s about the same.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Lainie said before switching the subject. “What’s going on with the Jason investigation?”
Kendall sighed. “You know I can’t talk about that. But not much. I guess you are caught up in the Mike Walsh murder.”
“You know he was there the night of the accident?”
“Yes, I do. But that’s all I can say. You know that.”
“I guess so. I hope you catch his killer. Sad to think of a man who’d pulled his life around only to get murdered.”
“All murders are tragic,” Kendall said. “But, yes, this one is very sad.”
“Tori doesn’t remember Mikey, but I do. Tori doesn’t remember anything that doesn’t move her ahead in any game that she’s playing.”
They talked a bit more, about Tori, about the committee and the reunion, before saying good-bye. Kendall slipped the phone into the pocket of her purse. She wondered what it was like to have a sister like Tori. She was always a drama queen, the center of attention, the kind of person who truly believed that any attention was better than none at all. She’d wanted to be a singer, an actress, something that would get her noticed by everyone.
Ahead in any game she was playing. That was Tori to a T.
After hanging up the phone in her Tacoma bedroom, Tori rolled closer to snuggle her lover.
“That went pretty well,” she said. “She thought I was Lainie. People are so stupid.”
“It was genius to dog yourself over the boob job,” he said.
“Genius. That’s me. A very naughty genius.”
“Let’s make love again,” he said.
She smiled. “Fast, okay? We’ve got things to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Tacoma
The hospital cafeteria at St. Joseph Medical Center was having a special on salmon in a creamy dill sauce, and the entire space smelled like a fish and fry shack. While waiting for the two nurses to join her, Kendall Stark stupidly selected the salmon. It was a light gray with a swath of green sauce that was anything but appealing. Ultimately, she wasn’t hungry. Not really. She was way out of her jurisdiction and she hadn’t bothered to notify Eddie Kaminski that she was going to talk to his witnesses. It was a lapse in protocol, but she thought it was worth the ethical misstep. No one could understand Tori O’Neal like those who knew her.
To know her was to distrust her.
She’d told Josh that she was running an errand. He didn’t seem to understand her preoccupation with Tori, either, and it was just as well. Steven, however, was another matter. He deserved to know what she was thinking. But she wasn’t ready for that.
It was around 1:00 P.M. and
the cafeteria was busy. Kendall shuffled her tray along the steel shelf to the cash register. A young man with heavy-lidded eyes and a soul patch that was so overgrown it might have required a hairnet if he’d been on the food-serving side of the operation took her money and told her that refills were free.
“Hopefully, you aren’t an iced tea drinker,” he said. “That spigot’s dry.”
Kendall took a seat next to the window. It had rained most of the day and the parking lot glistened. If there was anyplace she hated more than a hospital cafeteria, it was probably the visiting room at a mortuary. Slumber room, as the mortuary staff had called it, in the euphemistic vernacular of an industry that sought to make death seem transitory, rather than permanent.
Corazón White and Diana Lowell caught her attention from across the cafeteria as they ambled over with their trays of assorted lunch items.
“Salmon’s good,” Corazón said.
“Good for you, I guess. But not so good here,” Diana said.
“I’m glad that you could see me,” Kendall said.
She waited for them to sit before she gave her spiel that the Connelly murder investigation was ongoing and that she’d need them to sign statements later if she thought what they had to say was important to the investigation.
“Administrator says we can cooperate,” Diana said. “They like to help the police—”
“—when the death isn’t on our watch,” Corazón said, interrupting her.
Diana gave the younger woman a cool look. “You didn’t hear that from me.”
Kendall drank her mocha, a regular, not the Tuxedo from Starbucks that she favored. It gave her one more reason to hate hospitals. As if she needed one.
“Of course not. What I did hear from you,” she said, looking at Diana, “is that you and Corazón observed a few things that bothered you a little during Ms. Connelly’s brief stay here.”