"What happened today to set you off?"
"Nothing," she muttered. "Everything, I suppose. I'm missing things, Archer. The cops found Vicodin in Hannah's bedroom along with a roach. Rudy's setting up to say she killed Rayburn for drugs and tried to cover it up with the fire. Hannah says Rayburn gave the pills to help with the pain when she cut herself."
"And what do you say?"
"I say this is beginning to stink. If Rayburn were this saint who sent Hannah away to rehab to get her sober, why in the hell would he give her something as addictive as Vicodin? It makes no sense no matter how much pain Hannah was in. And that's another thing. Hannah doesn't show pain. Not when she cuts herself, not when she burned herself. She made that clear the first time I met her. I spoke to her psychiatrist. Hannah's pain is so internalized she could probably slit her throat and watch it bleed and not blink. So, why would Rayburn be so concerned?"
"Maybe he was the one who had a low threshold for pain. You know how some people are. They nurture, and they worry. Sometimes they don't do it the right way," Archer suggested.
Josie shook her head vehemently. "Nope. He was a judge. Rayburn would be guilty of breaking a dozen laws if he handed out prescription medication to a minor. I don't buy it."
"So Hannah is lying?" Archer asked, taking the beer back.
"I don't want to think so but what other conclusion is there? Especially given her reaction. Hannah was too furious when I suggested she was lying. Way too mad, if you know what I mean. She was trying to make me feel guilty for even suspecting she was untruthful. To make matters worse, I think Linda knew something about it."
"What was the boy wonder doing this whole time?"
"Kip? He was about as interested as a deaf, dumb, and blind man. Once we were behind closed doors it was pretty evident he's barely tolerating Hannah, or me." Josie's fist pounded the ground lightly before she drew her open palm over the tile she had so lovingly laid. "I'm starting to think I made a real bad choice taking this on."
Archer sat down beside her. Josie leaned into him. They sat in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, hot and tired. Max wandered by. Archer and Josie put out their hands and let them roll across his back as he headed toward the grass. Josie handed the beer back to Archer. When he took it, Josie put her head on his shoulder.
"Are you ever sorry you didn't have kids with Lexi?' she asked.
"Nope."
"Never?"
"I didn't worry about what we couldn't do. It didn't weigh on Lexi." He took another drink, tipping his head back, closing his eyes as if he wanted to savor the moment. The can clattered against the already laid tile as he set it down. "They would have been good kids. Beautiful kids, if Lexi had 'em." He put his hand on Josie's knee. "You'd have beautiful kids, Jo."
"Not me. I wouldn't know how to do it."
"Last I heard it didn't take any practice to do it." Archer's hand traveled up her thigh. His finger caught a thread on her cutoffs.
Josie smiled and turned her head just enough to smell the salt on his bare arm, the leftover sunshine from his day photographing the lifeguards for the city.
"I know how to do it; it's the other part that I wouldn't know about; the part about taking care of a kid. I would be so neurotic. I'd be all around, never let him go anywhere. I'd be a hovering mom."
"So? That's good. Just the opposite of what your mother did," Archer said.
Josie disagreed. "No, that's not all there is to it. Look at Linda. She's with her daughter all the time, but there's something wrong there. Linda is still selfish and Hannah is so screwed up it might have been better not to have had a mother at all. Nope, no kids for me. In fact, right now, I'd give anything just to get Hannah out of my head."
"Anything?" Archer asked. Taking a sip of beer then putting his cold lips against her warm neck.
"If it worked, sure," Josie whispered, snuggling into him.
"Tell you what. Why don't we try the cure, and then discuss how much it's worth later."
Josie raised her head, looked into that rugged, wide face of his and then took it between her hands. She kissed him hard. She was going to owe Archer a fortune. Hannah Sheraton was already nothing more than a memory.
***
"Are you going to be okay, honey?"
Hannah looked up. Linda was put together perfectly: a white dress and jacket, a gold pin on the lapel. Her shoes were bone; her purse so small there was only room for cigarettes and a lipstick. Her hair was down around her shoulders and her make-up was minimal. Though the change had been made for the benefit of the jury, the look had been kept because Kip thought it far more appropriate for a judge's wife. Linda's peach colored smile faded when Hannah's eyes trailed back to the paper.
"What are you working on?" Linda asked even though she knew exactly what Hannah was doing. For the last six hours Hannah painted as if she were sculpting, chipping away at the paper and Linda's nerves. The dining room table was littered with watercolors and brushes, glasses of water and rags. The table was a mess. Hannah had painted without consideration of the furniture, the housekeeper's time, the. . .
Linda stopped before she said what she was thinking. All she had to do was keep Kip from seeing this and keep Kip from seeing Hannah. A few more weeks – a month at most – and everything would be sorted out. As it stood now she was living with two children: Kip demanding she attend to him and his newfound prominence, Hannah and her constant need for reassurance. Linda knew too much about both of them.
Forcing herself to smile Linda put her hands on Hannah's shoulders, kissed the top of her daughter's head and breathed the scent of shampoo. She let her lips linger in the softness. She almost convinced herself that this was her little girl, her baby, but then Hannah stiffened. The shrug of distaste was slight but imminently insulting. Linda dropped her hands; one look at Hannah's painting the smile followed suit.
Gone were the clear bright colors of oil replaced with opaque grays and blacks, thin blues and sheer browns of watercolor. Night shadows, indistinct figures, and just enough definition so that interpretation could be open for discussion. This painting was damn personal. Linda saw what Hannah wanted her to see: a woman with her back to a girl, a fire behind them both. The woman's hair was long and dark; it streamed out behind her as if she was running away from the girl.
"What do you think?" Hannah asked sharply. Her eyes were down. She pushed the tablet to the side giving Linda a better look.
"Do you think that's funny, Hannah?" Linda fussed over her purse. Hannah pulled the pad back in front of her. The spiral binding scratched the table. Her burned hand held a paintbrush up, its bristles pointing heavenward. Linda pulled out a chair and sat down. "Well, do you?"
The hard end of Hannah's brush clicked against the table. A drip of water squeezed out of the bristles and trailed down the shaft until it fell like a dirty tear onto Hannah's hand. The sound, the movement, the mere idea of this counting was making Linda crazy.
"No," Hannah said, her voice small, the tapping ever more quickly.
"I haven't walked out on you, have I?"
"No." Hannah's voice got smaller but still it slid on a slick of defiance. "They think I'm a drug addict."
"And we know you're not," Linda snapped. "When are you going to get it through your head that all this stuff is just stuff? The thing that matters is whether or not Josie can convince that jury that they can't be totally sure who you are, or what you did. That's what our case rests on – not six Vicodin."
"It's not our case, Mom." Hannah slid her eyes toward Linda. "It's mine. I'm the one that everyone is looking at and everyone is talking about? I'm the one they think killed Fritz and the one who does drugs and sets fires. Or have you forgotten?"
"No, I haven't forgotten one damn thing." Linda's voice dropped. "If it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have nice clothes or a big house to live in or a car. You sure wouldn't have the time for all this self-indulgent tapping and walking and checking crap. I haven't for
gotten that I'm the one who got you a great attorney, and I really haven't forgotten that I promised you every thing would work out. I always deliver on my promises. Name me one that I haven't."
Hannah's lashes fluttered. The paintbrush tapped, tap, tapped. The gray water wept from the bristles. "Kip's going to testify against me. Josie wanted to know what I thought he was going to say. I don't know what he's going to say, but I'm scared."
"He has to testify, Hannah. They subpoenaed him. There's only an exception for husband and wife. I've talked to Josie about his testimony, too, and I'll tell you what I told her. Kip barely paid attention to you since we've been married. What can he say? What can he know?"
When Hannah remained silent, Linda took a deep breath.
"Look, Hannah, my priority has always been to keep you and me together but I'm in the middle here. I told you when I married Kip keeping him safe would keep us safe. Without him we'd be back in those cheap apartments. Without him we couldn't pay for your defense. You should get down on your knees and thank him for that because he didn't have to. . ."
"Why should I get on my knees? You're already there," Hannah hissed.
Before the last word was out, Linda grabbed her daughter. Hannah's chair teetered. The paintbrush flew out of her hand; the thick pad of watercolor paper slid across the table and fell to the floor. Linda put her face close to her daughter's. Her make-up had sunk into the lines around her eyes and the small fissures above her lips. Anger aged her; frustration dried her out.
"You listen to me, Hannah. I'm no prostitute. I do what I do so we can both survive. You think there haven't been times when I wanted to just leave you behind and make my life easier? I could have put you in an orphanage. I could have dropped you in a trashcan, but I didn't. I kept you with me, I fed you, and I'm sure as hell not running out on you and you better not run out on me." Linda tried to shake the look of cold fury off Hannah's face. "Do you think this is easy for me knowing what I know? Knowing what went down? Do you think it's easy?"
"No," Hannah mumbled.
Linda's loosened her grip but her voice was no less passionate.
"Without Kip we don't have money. Without money, we don't have a life. Without money, you don't have a defense. Learn that lesson."
"That's not true!" Hannah's anger flared and she struggled to pull away. "Josie would defend me even if we didn't pay her anything."
Linda laughed once as she let go. Hannah might as well have punched her in the gut with that one. The goddess Josie was with them even here. Linda draped her arm over the back of her chair and shook her head sadly.
"I've raised an ungrateful fool." Linda's lip curled in an ugly smile. "How many people have let us down, Hannah?"
Hannah stared at the floor. Linda leaned forward. Her breath, hot and sweet smelling, brushed her daughter's cheek. Linda's perfume surrounded Hannah and Linda's voice was sticky with truth.
"I'll tell you who let us down. Everyone except Kip, so don't kid yourself. Josie cares about this case, but she doesn't care about you more than I do. Nobody cares about you more than I do because I'm your mother."
"I think you care, more than anyone, what happens to me, Mom. I think about it all the time," Hannah said icily. "But Josie cares about all of me."
Mother and daughter's matching eyes met and held.
"You think like a child." Linda reached out to touch Hannah's face but Hannah pulled away just far enough. Linda smiled tightly. She stood up and stepped toward the door but couldn't leave without getting one more thing off her chest. "Josie's got nothing invested here but time. She doesn't care what's in that sick head of yours. She's not going to go out on a limb for you, especially if she knew the truth. The one thing Josie hates is a liar."
"You're wrong, Mom." Hannah whispered. "She did understand."
Linda's shoulders slumped. It was so hard to be young and optimistic. Maybe it was even harder to be old and know the score.
"No, baby. Nobody does anything just because they like someone."
"They do if they love them," Hannah mumbled.
"Yeah. If you love someone you do anything for them," Linda reiterated almost to herself. She pulled herself out of the reverie. "Just remember that."
"I do," Hannah whispered, reaching out to touch her mother. Two, three, ten times. Linda shook her off.
"Josie wouldn't know how to love you, baby. You think a woman who has no husband, no children, and no mother of her own would know how to love a screwed up kid like you? All you are is a challenge, Hannah. Both of us are, and that is why we need to stick together. We're two of a kind honey so don't wish for something that doesn't exist. I know what I'm doing. I always have, haven't I?"
Hannah watched her mother with clear, sad eyes. When the silence became too tedious, Linda wrapped it all up.
"Oh, for God's sake don't look like that. Everything is going to be all right."
Linda needed to go. Kip wasn't happy these days when she spent more time than necessary with Hannah. Still there should be something more, something settling she should say.
"I'm sorry about what I said about Josie. She cares what happens to you. Just don't count on her for too much. Never count on anybody for too much."
***
Linda was having cocktails with Kip at Shutters in Santa Monica when Hannah closed the door of the Malibu house and ran to the shoulder of Pacific Coast Highway. Her hair was pinned up, hidden under a bandana. She wore a hat pulled low over her eyes even though it was almost dark. Her sweatshirt was old, her jeans baggy. Heavy clothes for a hot night but Hannah didn't want to be recognized. She stuck out her thumb, moving from foot to foot, praying that somebody would stop soon because she didn't have much time. She had to be back before Linda and Kip.
The fourth car on the road swerved sharply and Hannah thanked God for small favors. She ran for the Toyota, hollered 'Huntington Beach' when asked where she was going and climbed in the back even though the guy at the wheel wanted her up front. He let her out in Long Beach. It took her two more rides to make the short hop to Huntington.
Pulling her hat down further, Hannah walked six blocks then circled around the back of Turc's, pulled on the ancient door and slipped inside. No one gave her a second look. The band was playing. People were drunk. The entire place was sweating pheromones and Hannah needed to find the one man who would understand what she needed; the man she hadn't seen since the night Fritz died.
***
Josie curled into Archer. He was warm. His arm was heavy across her waist. Taking his hand she put it on her breast as he looked at the clock by the bed. It was two in the morning. It was unlike her to wake in the wee hours of the morning yet here she was with her eyes open, staring at the bedside table. Then she heard it, the sound that had roused her.
On the table, her cell phone vibrated like chattering teeth. She'd forgotten to turn it off and now someone was calling. She inched away from Archer and grabbed it.
"Yeah?" She whispered, her mouth barely working.
A whisper came back.
"One, two, three. . ."
Josie closed her eyes and listened until Hannah stopped. She closed her eyes, sleep coming over her, Archer reaching out for her again.
"I didn't lie," Hannah said but her voice was far away, the words were lost, Josie was asleep.
CHAPTER 18
"There's no question that Rudy Klein has done a fine job of establishing that the defendant had both the means and the opportunity to commit this crime. Big points are going to be scored today, though. It says something when Kip Rayburn, stepfather of the defendant, is testifying for the prosecution. That really says something, doesn't it?" – Court TV
Eight forty-five. The last day of the prosecution's case. Judge Norris was late taking the bench, and that was just as well because Linda and Hannah were late, too. Josie sat at her table, looked at her watch, then stared at the bench. Finally she checked with the clerk and asked when she thought the judge wo
uld be ready. Ten minutes. Not exactly a reprieve, but there was some leeway.
Oblivious to Rudy Klein's curious look and the reporter's more interested ones Josie left the courtroom. The hallway was nearly deserted. Washington's Birthday was just around the corner. Only the courtroom kitty-corner from Norris's was in session. A crying woman sat on the bench outside it sniffling and blotting her nose. Everyone had troubles and Josie's were multiplying by the minute.
She reached into her pocket, got her phone, punched the numbers too hard, missed one and had to start all over. The phone at the Rayburn place rang until the machine picked up. Josie left a short message. She called Linda's cell and did the same.
Where in the hell are you?
Josie dropped her phone in the pocket of her blue blazer. She was halfway to the elevators when one of them opened. No one came out. Josie kept going. Another ding. The scraping of the doors. This time Hannah and Linda emerged. Josie covered the next ten yards fast.
"Where have you been?" She grabbed Linda by the arm and twirled her around. The other woman teetered in her heels.
"Traffic. It was down to one lane on Pacific Coast Highway. My cell phone battery was dead so I couldn't call. Hey! Slow down," Linda yanked her arm away. "Are we in trouble or what?"
"Not yet. Judge Norris was delayed. You just cut it damn close. I want us settled at the table before they bring the jury in."
Josie pushed Linda forward while she held the door open. Linda went in but Hannah had fallen behind and veered off toward one of the long benches that lined the hall.
Annoyed, Josie went back for her. Her client had taken a nosedive. Hannah's hair frizzed around her shoulders, her skirt was long and almost transparent. A short-sleeved t-shirt bared her arms. If Josie could make out the tracks of scars and scabs on her arms the jury could too, and that was the last thing Josie wanted the jury to see.
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