by Merit Clark
“Why wouldn’t she know about it?” Serena asked.
“I have no idea.” His mouth formed a grim line. He added the paper to the piles on his desk.
“I have something else to show you.” Serena pushed a pile of papers out of the way and turned on a computer.
“Corie’s laptop?”
“Uh-huh. Found a folder for her school project, the one she was working on with Brice.” Serena double-clicked an icon and a picture of a model house displayed on the screen. “Look familiar?”
Jack stared. “It’s the crime scene. From Charlotte.”
“Yep. Right down to the paint color and the little knocker on the front door.”
Serena folded her arms across her chest. “Corie told us she was in a class. She told you about the sister’s murder. She ever tell either one of us she built a scale model of the crime scene?”
Jack scrolled through the pictures on Corie’s computer, his frown deepening. “They even have the phone off the hook in the kitchen.”
“And a bedroom full of blood. Seriously creepy. Maybe Corie should go into forensics.”
“Where’s the model now?”
Serena shrugged. “Didn’t find it.”
“Maybe the killer took it that night, along with the computer. Or maybe that’s what Evan went back for.”
Serena nodded. “Find the model, find the murderer.”
Chapter 31
Corie placed her hand on the guesthouse door. Her heart was pounding. Would it smell? What would it look like? There was powder on the door from where the police dusted for fingerprints and still the strip of yellow crime scene tape, which she pulled down, angrily. Inside she took a tentative breath but the smell wasn’t bad. A little funky, and she could easily talk herself into it being worse, but definitely manageable.
In her mind she saw the model on the coffee table in the living room. Was that only a few months ago? In her memory Brice looked up with a smile, glad to see her. It was so good to have a friend. Corie forced herself to take another step.
She remembered exactly when Brice told her about his sister. It was a rainy April night and she’d found the right color paint for the exterior of the model house. Rain was unusual for Colorado and Corie had prattled on excitedly about how much she loved the rain, how green it would make everything, how she hoped it would continue all night. It took her a few minutes before she noticed her friend’s subdued mood. The coffee table was covered in newspaper and the model sat on top. Brice was seated on the floor staring at it, lost in thought.
“Brice? Hello?”
“Sorry.” Brice got up, walked into the kitchen, and poured her a glass of Chardonnay. She used to joke that he was turning her into an alcoholic.
They worked on the model in the guesthouse because they didn’t want Evan to see it. Which of course was stupid. If she wanted to hide something from her husband, she shouldn't have worked on it at home. Or stored it at her mother's house.
Corie returned in her mind to that April night. Brice had told her that the rain reminded him of home and his dead sister. And then he explained why. Monique was housesitting for their grandparents and Brice and his mother had gone to visit her. When he and his Mom pulled up, they saw Monique's car in the garage. All the lights in the house were blazing and they didn’t suspect a thing.
“When Monique didn’t answer the door,” Brice said, “Mom thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. It was raining like crazy and we were getting soaked, so Mom let herself in. We walked into a nightmare.”
Brice's voice faded and Corie had waited for him to continue.
“The first thing we saw was the blood,” Brice said. “It was hard to make sense of it at first. Mom yelled, ‘Monique!’ I said, ‘Maybe she cut herself.’ But why would there be so much blood? It didn’t sink in. We walked through the house looking for her. In the kitchen, the phone was off the hook and my Mom, without thinking, automatically replaced it. It was as if we couldn’t acknowledge for a second what we saw. My sister was sitting up, slumped against the wall, as if she’d leaned against it and then slid down when she . . .
“Her eyes were open. I didn’t know that happened. I remember I waved my hand in front of her face. I didn’t want to touch her. My Mom was behind me and she yelled, ‘Brice. Don’t do that.’
“I said, ‘We have to call the police.’ I picked up that same phone and dialed. When I hung up, my mother stared at me and she started to scream. That was scarier than anything. She kept screaming and screaming and I yelled at her to stop. Later, I realized I’d gotten blood on my face from the phone. Monique’s blood.”
Corie's heart had been pounding, and when she picked up her glass to take a hefty swallow, her hand shook. “Oh God, Brice.” Then she set down her glass and held him. He hung onto her and cried and—the memory hit Corie with such stunning force she gasped. How in the world could she have forgotten? Evan had walked in on them. He’d caught her holding Brice and she’d jumped up in a panic. Her friend forgotten, she ran to catch her husband who’d immediately turned on his heel and stalked back to the main house. Corie had tried desperately to explain, although she hadn’t told him about the murder, only that Brice was upset. Evan had pretended he didn’t care. But Evan cared about everything.
Her cell phone rang, interrupting the reverie; a second call from Jack. This time she answered.
“Corie, we’ve got some information about the bank account.”
Corie dragged herself back to the present. “Okay.”
“There’s a couple of other things we’d like to ask you. Can you come down to the station?”
She hesitated and he grew concerned. “Where are you? Are you all right? Did you get a call about Evan’s release?”
“I’m in the guesthouse.” Her tone was flat. She was neither shocked to learn of Evan’s release nor, to her own amazement, scared.
“Why?” Jack asked.
“I live here,” Corie said.
“Well I don’t think you should be in there.”
“Right. You don’t.” Corie walked to the bedroom doorway and stared at the brown stain on the floor. What was left of her friend. Her vision blurred.
“Corie, are you sure you’re all right?”
Just sick of everyone telling me what the fuck to do. Corie saw Brice’s clothes hanging in the closet. She should take them to Goodwill. But she couldn’t think about that now.
“Corie, what’s happening? Talk to me. Is Evan there?” Alarm tinged Jack’s deep voice.
“No.” Corie turned away from the bedroom and walked back outside into the sunshine. “No. I’m fine. I can come to the station.”
Her feet dragged up the stone steps. So beautiful here. So sad. What a waste.
God, she was starting to think like her mother. And what, exactly, was being wasted? Corie remembered the way Evan watched her when they used to engage in the BDSM stuff, the way his eyes glittered when she was in pain. This house was contaminated by those memories.
Evan’s technique was so well calibrated. Ratcheting up the sensations a little more each time, knowing exactly how long to let it continue and when to back off. Evan had a sixth sense when it came to sadism. Corie remembered one time when he dripped hot wax onto her. Carefully, slowly, drawing out the suspense in between each small infliction of pain. The effect was cumulative. The point wasn’t to hurry and get it over with, he told her. Evan was her guide through the experience and he used to talk to her during their sessions—she couldn’t call it lovemaking. He would hurt her and then reassure her, his voice soft and soothing. He said the point was to anticipate the pain and then embrace it, like a lover. She used to think Evan had monumental self-discipline. He could torture her for hours before obtaining release himself; it seemed a source of pride for him.
Corie’s stomach hurt. It felt like she’d been resisting the urge to vomit for days. Why had she allowed it? Why had she liked it? Would she ever feel clean again? Would a normal, healthy man’s lovemaking arouse her
anymore, or had that simple pleasure been taken away, too?
A car pulled up. Corie heard the door slam. Instead of going into her house she crept around the side, flattened herself against the paneling, and waited. Someone rang the doorbell. Once, twice, three times. She crept closer to the front until she could make out an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Stu Graber walked back to the car and put his hand on the door handle.
Corie stepped out and confronted him. “What the hell do you want?”
The lawyer jumped and put a pudgy hand to his chest.
“Are you alone?” Corie looked beyond Stu into his car, searching for any sign of Evan. She wished for the first time in her life that she had a gun.
“I’m alone,” Stu said. “Can I talk to you for a minute? I have a proposal to run by you.”
You had to give the dirtbag lawyer credit for one thing: he cut to the chase.
“I only need five minutes,” Stu said. “Can we talk inside?”
“No.” So this was what it took to finally drop her good-girl manners.
Stu looked like an owl the way he blinked at her. His eyes bulged like he had Graves’ disease or something, only he was fat instead of thin.
“Stu, if you have something to say, please say it. I’m not going to stand here playing guessing games.”
“There are a lot of ties between you and Evan,” Stu said. “Both business, as well as the obvious personal.”
“What on earth are you talking about? You charge that high bill rate for this shit?”
“Evan did not wish for the dissolution of either the personal or the business partnership. He’s sad you want to go that route.”
“Did not wish or does not wish?”
Stu blinked at her in that owl-like way again. “What?”
“Stu, why the hell are you here?” Corie didn’t want him to see she was rattled, but it was hard to keep her voice level.
“I’m trying to explain. Evan doesn’t want a divorce, but—”
“Too goddamn bad.” Corie turned away from him and started walking.
“Wait.”
Corie stopped and turned. “I know Evan didn’t pay for you to drive all the way out here to feed me bullshit platitudes about the heartache of divorce.”
“Evan would like you to do something for him. It’s something you want to do anyway.”
“I’ll bet.”
“The benefit tonight. It’s very important to Evan, I know to both of you. Go to the benefit. That’s it. That’s all he’s asking for.”
“I’m sorry you wasted your time. Now get the hell off my property.”
“Hear me out,” Stu said. “I know this is a rough time. But if you do this one thing for Evan, he’ll treat you well.”
“He should have treated me well in the first place.”
“Agreed. I can’t argue. But I think we both know what Evan’s like.”
“Stu, you’re not really going to try and act like we’re in this together, are you? I know you work for Evan, not me. I’m getting my own attorney to represent my interests in the divorce. You’re off the hook. You don’t have to pretend you like me any longer.” It was a relief really, finally speaking her mind.
“About that.”
“Liking me?”
“No, the divorce. Don’t you even want to hear the bargain I have to propose?”
“You can take your bargain and shove it up your ass.”
“I think it’s something you’ll be interested in.”
Corie hesitated. “What in the world could you have to bargain with?”
“Your freedom.”
Now it was Corie’s turn to blink. “I’m not sure what that means. But you have my attention.”
“You go to the benefit, you do this one thing—and it’s really such a simple thing—and Evan won’t contest the divorce. It’s not what he wants, let me be clear about that, but he’ll give you your freedom, an even split of the business assets, and his equity in this house.”
“The business is half mine anyway. I don’t want the house. And I’m in no mood to go to a party.”
“Corie, you and I both know how difficult Evan can be. You do this one thing and he’s prepared to let you get on with your life—no games, no roadblocks. You want your freedom? Here’s your chance to have it on a silver platter. He had me draw up a statement. No bullshit.”
A statement? When the hell had Evan done that? “If I don’t?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Stu looked at her.
They both knew full well the range of Evan’s vindictiveness. This had to be a trick. And it stung Evan was ready to let her go so easily. He’d used her like he used everyone. “It won’t just be this one thing. I know him. There will be something after that, then something else, then one other detail.”
“No. It won’t be like that. Here, look at what he had me draw up. Have your lawyer look at it.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper which he held out to her. “I don’t think I have to tell you how much easier it will be if you give Evan what he wants.”
Corie took the paper from his outstretched hand but didn’t look at it. She wouldn’t give the lawyer the satisfaction. He wasn’t going to have any tales of her emotional reaction to take back to Evan. She’d have lots of time once she was free to nurse her hurt feelings. “You must get in a lot of billable hours because I’m sure you don’t sleep soundly at night. Now if there’s nothing else, you really need to get the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 32
This was his plan: start with something innocuous, something he would do anyway. Once Vangie let her guard down he’d ask the real questions.
When Evan got back to the cabin and told her an edited version of his night in jail and the circumstances leading up to it, Vangie was, predictably, outraged. “How could they treat you like that? Why are they doing this to us?”
She looked like a crazy woman, naked except for a thick pair of wool rag socks. She told him there was nothing to wear, that the clothes in the dresser smelled of mouse droppings and mothballs. She’d even seen a mouse, which seemed shocking to her.
Evan liked her naked but demanded she take off the socks and put the high heels back on. He needed to think clearly, so he sat back on the couch and let her kneel in front of him. Not one complaint about the hard wooden floor. He assumed from her excited and happy demeanor that she hadn’t had a visitor.
Then he got everything ready. He unlocked the second bedroom, the one that had been his sister’s. He made sure the bed was prepared. Most importantly, he made sure there were plenty of towels. Evan wasn’t ever going to make that mistake again.
He told her they were going to try something new.
When he covered Vangie’s head with the hood he noticed that she was trembling. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head and he fastened the strap around her neck, pulling it snug but not tight enough to choke her. The hood allowed her to hear and openings left her nostrils and mouth unobstructed. It was a strange effect and something he’d never tried before. The sleek, black leather made her head look smaller and her breasts more pronounced. As long as she didn’t speak he could almost forget it was Vangie. A definite plus.
Evan explained that she was going to taste wine and answer questions about it. “Wearing this, your senses will be focused on taste and smell.” And touch, of course, although he didn’t say that. He’d never wanted to cover Corie’s face because he liked watching her reactions, but now Evan pushed away any thoughts of Corie or his own failure.
Vangie had been a tedious student so when he selected a bottle of wine he chose something tricky: a Rhone blend. Hardly anyone could guess all of the grapes in a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which could contain up to thirteen different varieties in varying proportions, including obscure varietals like Mourvedre and Cinsault. Certainly not Vangie.
“You’re not chewing gum or anything like that, are you?”
“Mm-mm.” Vangie shook her head
.
“Take this.” Evan placed a white tablet on her tongue.
She was still trembling but obediently swallowed without question. Maybe he’d made some progress with her after all. Too little, too late.
“Eat a piece of bread to neutralize your palette.” Evan fed Vangie a thin baguette slice. “Can you swallow all right?”
The black leather bobbed up and down as she nodded.
“I want you to smell the wine and identify five legitimate aromas. That’s the first game.”
“Five? That’s hard.”
“I don’t believe I asked you a question.”
“Sorry.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Evan stroked the side of her left breast with one hand and Vangie flinched. Really marvelous large breasts, hard, much better than nature intended. Evan couldn’t help but admire the plastic surgeon’s work. Shame it was going to go to waste.
With a sigh he attached a clamp to each perfect nipple.
Vangie gasped. “Evan, no. I don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t tell me no, remember?” He carefully added a small weight, similar to a fishing line sinker, to the chain strung between the clamps.
Vangie gasped again and whimpered, but didn’t say anything. Her trembling intensified.
Along with the hood, the clamps were new. It was really an ingenious design. Any weight or tugging on the chain caused the clamps to tighten. He watched his index finger circle each insulted nipple, fascinated with the way they reacted. Then he poured a little of the lovely Rhone red into a stemmed crystal glass and put it in her right hand. “The way you’re shaking you’re going to spill the wine.”
“Sorry.” But she couldn’t seem to stop.
Evan balanced another small weight in his palm. It had been so long he’d almost forgotten how it felt. The nerves, the electricity that hummed along his veins, the longing for it to end, the longing to make it last. “I want you to smell the wine—don’t spill it—and tell me one aroma.”
He’d ask questions. She’d answer them. A knife waited on the nightstand. Evan’s heart thudded in his chest. There wasn’t another house within two miles so it didn’t matter how loud she screamed.