Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  When was Mom going to step up and return to the land of the living, take responsibility for the family again, so that Cassie could extract herself? It was hard to imagine Ariel bouncing back without Rachel’s help, but Ariel refused to talk to her. Cassie got that, though Rachel wasn’t really to blame. She didn’t kill Remy. Why couldn’t people see that?

  Why couldn’t Mom see that?

  She let her gaze wander to Ariel, who sat beside her, a silent shell of a woman in the courtroom. Ariel could be so clueless when she was tanking. Cassie had to force her mother to come today. Ariel was not going to be Cassie’s savior.

  Cassie was looking beyond the immediate pain of losing Remy to a lifetime of disappointment. A bleak landscape. How many years had it taken Ariel to get over Oliver’s death? How many years of Cassie playing mother to the others? She could not do it again. She could not, would not. But looking at her mother, who could pass as a movie star under the veiled hat and dark glasses, Cassie was not sure that she had any choice in the matter.

  The threat of the courtroom was dissolved by the filters of a single veil and two Vicodin. Although Ariel had not wanted to come, she felt surprisingly secure in her nest of black material and dark glasses. It allowed her to close her eyes and tumble back to a time when she was happy but didn’t even know it yet. Remy was barely two, and Paul had already flown the coop. It didn’t matter because she had adorable, soulful Remy. Remy, who narrated sweet magical lives for the floaty toys in the tub and made up songs about the friendship between a carrot stick and a raisin. Everyone had adored her.

  And Ariel was not biased just because Remy was hers. She realized that people had a harder time learning to like Cassie, who dutifully picked up all the tub toys and placed them in the bucket. Cassie, who ate her vegetables without fanfare and put herself to bed. Cassie was a good kid, but Remy was amazing—a wondrous girl.

  Someone stood up in the courtroom—the judge was leaving the bench—and Ariel immediately sensed the shift. Something changed in the air, like a front coming in from the Pacific, and suddenly, it was over. A guard emerged from the woodwork and motioned for Jared to stand. People began to talk, their voices rising like a flock of starlings lifting from a field, blocking out the sun. Reporters swooped in, buzzing flies. They stabbed the air with their microphones, ramming them toward Ariel’s face, breaking the barrier of privacy.

  How ironic that she had spent so much of her life eliciting this sort of attention, and now she couldn’t handle it. Panic made her heart trill in her chest, and she looked to Cassie and Eli for a cue. When Eli offered her his arm, she hooked on to him and rose to her feet. She was an actress; she knew how to take direction and make an exit.

  Chapter 28

  Just as George Hunt had speculated, the arraignment proceedings had moved swiftly: The charges had been read, a court date set for discovery. The lawyer had told Rachel that nobody wanted to be in court on a Saturday, but with a high-profile case, sometimes it was necessary. Hunt had also been right about the outcome: Jared was being held without bail. Rachel had been warned that the judges did not release suspects like Jared, but still, when she heard the edict issued, she burst into tears again.

  And suddenly, it was over, for now.

  Rachel waited in her seat, holding tight as the guard waited for Hunt to say something to Jared. The attorney was leaning close, his hand clamped on Jared’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture.

  It should be me. I should be by his side, supporting him, reassuring him.

  But Jared didn’t want that. She stared at the two men, hungry for answers. What had happened? What had happened to her son, her boy, the kid who used to catch spiders in a cup and set them free outside? For the past twenty-four hours she had been badgering herself with these questions. She longed to ask Jared, give him a chance to explain, but her access had been brief, and her son had turned his back on her.

  She watched with a heavy heart as the guard took Jared’s arm and led him away. Jared stared down at the floor, his shoulders slumped, his spirit broken. A sob escaped her throat as the side door closed behind Jared and the guard. He was gone. Beyond her control. Locked up beyond anyone’s reach.

  “Your honor, Jared Whalen confessed to killing Remy Alexander.”

  She had heard the prosecutor’s words, but somehow she had not processed them until this moment.

  “He confessed.”

  The cop had told her yesterday, and KJ had reiterated it last night, but Rachel had let their words slide off her, like rain off a duck. She had claimed to be waiting for an explanation, some extenuating circumstances, but now she saw the truth, bold and blinding as the sun.

  He had killed her.

  No wonder Jared refused to see her. There was no explanation, no circumstance that could justify killing Remy. He could not deliver the words she wanted to hear.

  “All right, then.” George Hunt’s ruddy face appeared before her, his long whorls of eyebrows reminding Rachel of a daddy longlegs spider. “Jared says he’ll see you, brother, and we have about ten minutes until he gets transported back to the jail. Come with me. What’s your name again?”

  “Kyle James . . . KJ. But I’m not sure this is a good idea.” KJ was on his feet, glancing back at Rachel. “We need to get the hell out of here. I’ll do it another time.”

  “It’s not so easy, kid.” Hunt scratched his furred cheek, annoyance flickering in his eyes. “Another meeting might take days.”

  “Just go,” Rachel begged, rising to place a hand against KJ’s smooth cheek. “Please. Tell him I love him no matter what. Even if the worst is true. Tell him I love him to the moon and back.”

  “Do I have to?” KJ’s mouth was taut, but the soft drawl of his voice told her that he was relenting. “Fine.”

  As she watched him follow Hunt out of the courtroom, Rachel suddenly became aware of the attention she was getting from having talked with Jared’s lawyer. The reporters were piecing together her identity. Just as she began to turn away she saw Tiffani beside the window, blatantly pointing at Rachel as she spoke to a female reporter from a TV station. The woman—Cissy something—waved at Rachel as she turned away.

  “Aren’t you Rachel Whalen?” a man asked. He had come out of nowhere, and he held a microphone that said KZTV.

  Rachel shook her head, backing away from him. She had thought to wait here for KJ, but suddenly people were closing in on her, pressing closer. Could they smell her panic? She could imagine the footage they would run of her with her swollen, bloodshot eyes and red nose. The killer’s wreck of a mother. She had wanted to wear sunglasses, but did not want to look like she was hiding something.

  “Can you tell us what brought on the attack?” one woman probed.

  “Was your son experiencing behavior problems at school?”

  “Is it true that your son was a childhood friend of Remy Alexander?”

  “Please.” Rachel held up a hand to block the glaring light and their cameras. “I have nothing to say.” She kept backing away, desperately wishing she could bolt out the exit, but now a crowd had amassed between her and the door. “No comment.” A hard barrier behind her stopped her retreat. She’d hit the railing blocking off the front of the courtroom. She could go no farther.

  “Is it true he was angry with Remy for refusing to go to prom with him?”

  “That’s enough, now.” A low male voice came from behind her.

  Mike McCabe. He stood on the other side of the railing, his face impassive, his hands on his gun belt. “Ms. Whalen is not answering questions, and I believe the bailiff is trying to clear the courtroom.”

  Rachel gaped up at him in relief.

  He moved to the center of the rail, opened the gate, and ushered her inside. She nearly fell against him as he took her arm and whispered, “We’re not supposed to be in here, but I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” He escorted her through the door leading to the judge’s chambers in the back. It opened to a corridor, where the bailiff sat at a desk.
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br />   “Hey, Mike. Getting kind of crazy out there?”

  “It is. We’re going to cut out this way to avoid the crowd. If that’s okay with you, William.”

  The bailiff waved them off. “Anybody asks, I never saw you.”

  Dazed, Rachel let herself be led down the stairs and through a few roundabout turns that brought them to the parking lot. She fumbled for a pocket on her green dress, then realized that KJ had the keys.

  “I feel so helpless. KJ drove me here, and he’s meeting with Jared.”

  “I’ll take you home,” he said, pointing to the row against the wall. “I’m parked over there. Why don’t you shoot him a text. Tell him you got a ride so he doesn’t worry.”

  “I didn’t even bring my phone. My hands have been so shaky, I didn’t want anyone to see me fumbling. Besides, who would call me now? My whole life was in that courtroom.”

  He handed her his cell. “Use mine.”

  Once inside the car she sent KJ a text, then let her head drop against the seat. The smooth leather was a far cry from the patrol car. “Thank you for saving me. The second time, I guess.”

  “It was only a matter of time before the media surrounded you. It’s a big story for them.”

  “I know that. No one can understand why a talented, kind teen would snap like that. All over a prom date. At least, that’s what they seem to think.”

  “There’s more to it. There always is.”

  “But what? What happened? I’m his mother, dammit. I need to know. Why did he do it? I won’t be able to rest until I know the answer to that.”

  “That’s like asking why the sky is blue. It just is.” He braked at a stop sign, waited for a truck to pass, and then turned onto the entry ramp for the highway. “Sometimes people do terrible things. And I’ll let you in on a secret. Even when you know the reason why they do it, you don’t feel any better.”

  “You have experience with this.”

  “I have a brother. Justin. Considering all the abuse he’s done to himself, he should be dead. But he’s still kicking around. Still out there, stealing and dealing to feed his habit.”

  “Meth?”

  “Mostly booze. A legal high. Except in his case he’s resorted to illegal activities to support his drinking. Anything to carry on the mission. I used to look up to him when I was a kid. I thought he was just the coolest dude. He had a line for everyone, and he could make people laugh. But he used that charm to get over on people. Stole from our parents. He was running a fencing operation out of our family garage.” He let out a heavy breath. “Look, I’m not trying to dump on you. Though maybe I am. My point is, I know what drives him. I know he means well when he says he’s sorry and he’s going to pay me back the money he’s borrowed or taken from me. It’s the addiction—that’s the beast in his soul. But even knowing that, I can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  She rubbed her finger along the edge of the seat belt, letting it cut under her nail. A man was mowing a field with a tractor, leaving a cloud of green dust in his wake. The scent of new-cut grass and gasoline reminded her of hot summer days when the kids would dash through the sprinkler, stomping around until the lawn turned into a swamp. Back then, when Jared and KJ were kids, she knew what made them tick: their favorite foods and birthday wish lists, their strengths and weaknesses. But adolescence drove a wedge between parent and child.

  “Is it wrong that I want to console him? Even if he’s guilty, I’m still going to love him.” Her voice broke. “I don’t think Jared believes that, but it’s true.”

  “I know. I love my brother, but we can’t have a relationship while he’s drinking.”

  She was crying now, and he reached over and rubbed her thigh, a familiar but comforting gesture.

  “He’s my son,” she sniffed. “He’ll always be my son.”

  There was comfort in the silence as the car sped on the freeway, winding back toward Timbergrove. By the time he pulled up in front of her house, she felt exhausted but grateful. This was not something she could discuss with the other stylists in the shop. Ariel was not returning her messages—she probably never would—and KJ was too young to understand the complexity of the situation.

  “Thanks. For listening,” she said.

  “I think I did most of the talking.”

  “So, does this mean we can’t see each other since you’re on Jared’s case? Aren’t we a conflict of interest?”

  “Just to set the record straight, I’m not working Jared’s case. There’s a special homicide investigator, a guy named Lou Shives, and a detective working with the prosecutor. This is not like television where a cop works on his girlfriend’s case.”

  “But you were there yesterday, at the school.”

  “I’m the Timbergrove sheriff, and a crime was committed in my jurisdiction. But I wasn’t the arresting officer. I’ll testify if they call me, but I don’t have much in the way of evidence. From here on, the case is out of my hands.”

  “You don’t want to be involved with me,” she croaked out. “After this, I’m going to be poison around here.”

  “Pretty poison.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. “I’m willing to take that chance.”

  Chapter 29

  When Cassie answered the door Saturday afternoon, a handful of teenage girls stood on the front porch in the rain. “Hi, Cassie.” Remy’s friend Malika Little stood at the center of the group. With mocha skin, a willowy build, and a stud in her nose, she had an exotic look that always seemed composed. “I hope you don’t mind. Some of Remy’s friends wanted to come along.”

  “That’s fine.” Cassie recognized some of the faces popping from hooded jackets; some she’d seen here, hanging with Remy.

  “I remember you. I’m Sophia.” The ginger-haired girl with the large doll head was the obvious leader. “And this is Rosie and Tia. And Kristina brought you something.”

  “Well, my mom said to give your mom this.” A pair of hands reached between the two girls in front and handed over a covered foil pie plate. An Asian girl with dark hair swept back from her face peeked through behind it. “It’s spinach quiche.”

  “Thanks.” Still warm, the quiche smelled good, though Cassie knew the kids wouldn’t touch it if they saw the telltale green of vegetables. It would join the leagues of casseroles that had landed on the dining room table.

  “We’re really sorry about your sister,” said one of the girls in the front, a pretty girl with blond bangs that hung in her eyes. Cassie recognized Tia from Gleetime. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Like we could run errands or wash dishes,” Kristina added.

  “We have a dishwasher,” Cassie said, staring down at the foil-covered pie pan. “But if you seriously don’t mind, there’s something you guys could help me with.” It wasn’t like she could ask them to help her figure out if her sister was haunting her or to help her look for reasons why Jared Whalen went crazy. But she could use their help de-ghosting Remy’s room, which was proving to be a little overwhelming, with over a hundred glowing stars to remove from the ceiling.

  The girls filed into the house, seeming nervous but eager to help. Leading the way, Cassie worried that this was a bad idea. Up close she could see their puffy eyes and shaking hands. Everybody was off-balance, on the verge of tears. If this turned into a crying fest, Cassie would have to leave the room. She was not up for a group hug. She had to keep moving, had to stay distracted by stupid trivial tasks. Upstairs, they entered Remy’s bedroom with gaping mouths and wide, shiny eyes. Did they feel Remy’s presence lingering here, too? Like a cool mist, it hung in the air, thick and stalled.

  “What happened to her tapestries?” Malika’s lower lip jutted out in a pout as she touched a blue-and-green tie-dyed print that dangled from two pushpins.

  “I started taking them down. They . . .” Cassie caught herself before she said that the room gave her the creeps. Remy’s friends might not understand the strong compulsion that had tugged her out of bed
that morning—the urge to purge. “They remind me so much of her, and I . . . I can’t handle that right now.”

  “This whole room reminds me of Remy, but that’s a good thing, right?” Sophia picked up the bright zodiac tapestry that Cassie had folded and shook it out. “She made it pop with color and life . . . so her.”

  “Aw. I know what you mean.” Tia sat on the bed and puckered her mouth, fighting tears. “I can feel Remy here in this room.”

  That’s exactly my problem, Cassie thought. No way could she stay here in this shrine. Her sister’s death was bad enough; right now Cassie couldn’t live here surrounded by artifacts of Remy’s life, by her lingering spirit.

  “It’s weird to be here without Remy. I’m not sure I’m feeling this, Cassie.” Sophia moved toward the desk and opened Remy’s laptop. “What exactly do you want us to do?” she asked as she clicked the mouse and typed on the keyboard.

  “I need help with the stars.” Everyone glanced up at the ceiling as Cassie explained that the fluorescent stars were keeping her up at night. “I started taking them down but there are a hundred, at least. I just can’t.”

  “We can do that.” Rosie balled up her jacket so that the wet part wouldn’t drip. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Okay, but I’m hanging this up first.” Sophia grabbed some pushpins from the desktop and pressed a corner of the zodiac tapestry to a bare spot of wall. “Come on, girls. Let’s get this done.”

  Cassie bit back her objection as Sophia tacked up one corner. Cassie could undo it again later. As she took the quiche from Kristina and ran it downstairs, Cassie wondered why everyone else was so intent on preserving everything about Remy. Didn’t they understand the pain that flared at the sight of constant reminders? Didn’t they realize that some people needed to put the pain behind them?

  When Cassie returned to the room, music rose from Remy’s computer, where Sophia was bringing up playlists, trying to keep the mood chill. Rosie manned the ladder, handing flowers down to Kristina and Tia. Malika stood alone, hugging herself as she stared out the window. Did she feel the bad aura here? Cassie thought the girl was kind of brave to come here after the trauma of yesterday.