Billy Zuni, a young boy whose home life left a lot to be desired, was there. He went to school with Hannah, hung out at the beach, slept under the pier while his mom entertained boyfriends and was sweet as the day was long. Hannah tolerated him but Josie thought that was only a show of independence. He had shed his shorts and T-shirt for a polo shirt and jeans. Josie asked after Billy's mother, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman. She was disappointed but not surprised to find that he had come alone.
Faye Baxter, Josie's friend, colleague and Hannah's surrogate grandmother played hostess to the rest of the guests: Carla Merriman from the Chamber of Commerce, the mayor, the head of the school board, a sprinkling of friends Hannah had made at Mira Costa High School and Mrs. Crawford, the principal. Burt had left his restaurant in good hands and was squiring a sweet young thing who looked half his age and sounded like a mere child. Jude Getts, gorgeous, rich and happily full of himself, had come from Brentwood and purchased the first painting.
Josie was on her second glass of wine, making her way toward Faye and Hannah, when her cell rang. She answered it, fully expecting to hear Archer calling from Mexico, pretending he didn't remember this was a special night, unwilling to admit he had a soft spot for the girl who had turned their very independent lives upside down.
But it wasn't Archer. As Josie processed what she was hearing time wound down to a crawl while everything around her came into pinpoint focus: a petite blonde with a new boob job gliding across the room and leading with her chest, a napkin fallen on the floor, one strawberry left on a platter, a man wearing a wig. Josie felt the strain of her own smile as it faltered. She saw Faye's large body shaking with laughter, her expression turning to concern as she made eye contact with Josie. Hannah's head turning. Her lips moving as she accepted congratulations. Her fingers hitting her denim-clad thigh in a slo-mo count of twenty.
The next moment Josie had squeezed through a wormhole of time and found herself on the other side. Noise rushed in on her, amplified a thousand percent. She turned toward the wall, put a hand over her ear and tried to confirm what she had just heard. Once that was done, she filled Faye Baxter in on this turn of events and walked out of Gallery C. Forty minutes later Josie swung out of the Jeep, slung her purse over her shoulder and jogged toward the door of the Long Beach Police Department. She never made it.
"Ms. Bates?"
Someone hailed her—a man—and Josie was on her guard. She searched the perimeter of the lot and saw a Dumpster, two cars, a wall, surveillance cameras posted on the corners of the building, and a shadow that moved and morphed into a man. She planted her feet wide and firm and let her leather purse slip off her shoulder. With a flick of her wrist, she wrapped the straps around her fist as the man came into the light in bits and pieces.
Young. Medium height. Thick at the waist. A shock of corn silk hair fell over a wide brow. Oval glasses shot back the dim light from the outdoor floods. His cheeks were round and red, his lips a little fleshy. Josie could make out the creases on his brow, a trilogy of furrows between his eyes. He eyed the purse-turned-weapon and stopped just shy of striking distance.
"It's okay. I'm Tim Douglas, Matthew McCreary's campaign manager. We spoke on the phone. I wanted to fill you in before you met with anyone."
Josie couldn't believe it. What an idiot, sneaking up on a woman in the dark and delivering a message like that. She held up her free hand and unfurled the purse straps from the other.
"I'll find out what I need to know when I get inside, Mr. Douglas."
Josie started to leave but Tim Douglas was like a reflection, mirroring her movement. She took another step and when he dared to do it again she growled:
"Get out of my way. I'll talk to Matthew."
Josie skirted around him, her long strides carrying her away quickly but not fast enough to miss Tim Douglas's warning.
"He isn't in there," Tim called, raising his voice tentatively. That got her attention. He went closer, lowering his voice again until Josie felt dirty. Backroom meetings weren't her style; still, she listened. "We wanted to avoid the press if at all possible, at least until we could work out a strategy. We understand this can't be kept completely quiet, but I've been assured that you will know exactly what needs to be done to minimize the impact."
Josie stared at Tim Douglas. To his credit he didn't look away but waited like a good soldier to confirm that those assurances were reliable.
What a fool.
"Go away, Mr. Douglas," Josie said, then turned on her heel, slammed through the front door and walked up to a wary desk officer. "You're holding Grace McCreary on a murder charge. I want to see her now."
CHAPTER 10
"Don't bother going back in, Detective."
Josie caught Babcock just as he was about to open the door to interview room three.
"Ms. Bates." Babcock didn't seem the least surprised to see her. He stepped back and waited for her to join him.
"A heads-up would have been nice this morning," Josie said, as peeved with him for holding back as she was with herself for failing in her charge.
"This morning you were representing the Committee to Elect Matthew McCreary," he explained.
"And now I'm representing Grace McCreary, so you're done."
Babcock opened the door for her. Josie went into the room where Grace McCreary, still dressed in her beautiful suit, sat alone at a plain wooden table. The ring on her left finger was twirling like a top, just as it had at noon, but now Grace's confidence was shaken and the face she turned toward Josie was pitifully hopeful. She tracked Josie for a minute before her eyes ricocheted back to the door. Her face fell when it remained closed. Josie was too busy to notice as she checked out the lay of the land: plain walls, no two-way mirror, a wooden table, four chairs, a notepad with nothing on it. Her eyes followed the line of the ceiling.
Wired.
"If you're recording, Babcock, stop it." Josie threw that out for consideration, and then planted herself in front of Grace. "Were you advised of your rights?"
Grace nodded.
"Are you okay?" The metal legs of the chair grated on the linoleum as Josie pulled it out, then again when she settled herself close to the table.
"Where's Matthew? Did he come with you? Is he here yet?" Grace's fingers touched the table, her upper body strained forward as if by sheer force of will she could make that door open again and Matthew, in all his glory, would arrive and make everything right.
"No, Grace, he isn't here yet." Josie offered the technical truth and hated herself for leading Grace to believe her brother was going to come at all.
"I don't remember where he is," Grace muttered and put her fingertips to her temple. "I called the office and Tim said he would get hold of Matthew. Maybe Tim couldn't find him and I couldn't remember where Matthew was tonight. I'm not thinking straight. It's my fault he hasn't come."
"Grace, it doesn't matter where Matthew is. You've got to focus on where you are." That was enough to bring Grace McCreary back. She blinked and looked around. Josie thought she saw the woman shudder.
"I know where I am. I'm where I always am. Taking blame for something I didn't do. I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm here." Suddenly she put her hands on the table and managed an unsteady smile. "At least you're here. I wasn't sure you'd come. Matthew will be so grateful."
"Grace, I didn't come for Matthew. I came for you." Josie averted her eyes so Grace wouldn't see that she was disappointed Matthew wasn't here too. She had assumed they would champion Grace together.
The reality was that without Matthew, Grace was just like every other client: a stranger, alone and in need of help. That thought grounded Josie like nothing else could. They would start from the beginning. Just like she did with everyone else.
"Grace, you're going to have to make some fast decisions. I will be very clear with you so that you can act in your own best interest," Josie began.
"We should wait for Matthew, Josie. Mayb
e you should go see if he's here yet." Grace talked to Josie, but those restless eyes of hers looked for her brother, those busy fingers gestured as if she could conjure him up. "I think he should be here to help me. I ... I need him."
There were the tics again. The odd tipping of her chin, the stretch of her neck, fingers to the back of her ears. And there was the ring. Always the ring, a manifestation of anxiety that bordered on obsession. But Josie had seen true obsession in Hannah and this wasn't it. This was a high-strung rich woman used to having things go her way.
"No, you don't need Matthew," Josie said firmly. "You need a lawyer and I feel badly about that. You wouldn't even be here if I hadn't screwed up today. I am so sorry."
"It's not your fault. You did the best you could," Grace answered sincerely. "Detective Babcock can be so deceptive. It wasn't your fault."
Josie was not reassured. Such largesse wasn't normal. Anyone else would be livid or so terrified they couldn't think straight. They would be begging for answers, looking for guarantees, demanding apologies. But nothing about Grace McCreary seemed normal, so Josie let it go.
"Okay, then, let's get to business. I'm assuming that you would like to amend our agreement and that I will now be representing you against the charge of murder and not be retained by the Committee to Elect. Is that correct?"
"Of course. I don't want anyone else. I wouldn't trust anyone else. Matthew said—"
"This isn't about what Matthew said." Josie cut her off sharply. "I represent you, not him."
"Talking to Matthew is like talking to me. He'll do what's best. He cares so mu . . ."
Suddenly the ring stopped twirling around her finger. Her voice vaporized as if she finally understood, for whatever reason, that Matthew didn't care. "I just think he should be involved. It makes sense, now that we're a family again."
Josie could barely look at her. How pathetic that Grace McCreary depended on a man who couldn't be bothered to pick up a phone for her. It was one thing for Susan O'Connel, a woman without resources, beaten and brainwashed, not to know which way to turn, but Grace's complete lack of self-reliance was inexcusable. She had already proven that she was capable of making an independent decision when she ambushed Josie at the courthouse.
"Look, Grace, I'm going to tell you the truth. Matthew isn't here and I doubt he's coming."
"But I told Tim to call him," Grace insisted and then her eyes narrowed, her voice lowered to a note that seemed venomous. "He didn't do it, did he? Tim screwed up, didn't he? Didn't he? Or maybe he doesn't want Matthew to know I need help. Maybe that's it."
Josie watched Grace McCreary go through the cycle. Anger. Impatience. Devastation. How easy it was for her to blame Tim Douglas for Matthew's failing. Perhaps this was Grace's memory of childhood. Perhaps this was why she and Matthew had been estranged all those years. Grace, young and bothersome, was now older and troublesome. Maybe Matthew had had enough of her. Then Grace came to her senses and they were back on track.
"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm sure Tim did as I asked. Matthew is probably talking to people who can help us. All we have to do is wait and he'll take care of this."
Josie crossed her arms on the table, trying to imagine how this woman's mind worked, knowing she had to reroute it if she was ever going to help her.
"Look, Grace, Matthew can get you a dream team of attorneys if you want, but he can't pull a string or call in a favor to make everything better. This is a serious situation and you need to treat it that way. Now, if you want a different attorney, that's fine, but don't rely on Matthew. This is your choice, Grace, not his."
"But Matthew will have to be involved. This will affect him," she insisted.
"Listen to me. Listen." Frustrated, Josie rapped the knuckles of one hand on the metal table. "If we work together you will be my client. I will give you my best advice, I will advocate for you and when there are decisions to be made we'll talk about them. Bottom line, Grace, you're accused of killing Matthew's wife. If he thinks there's even a chance you killed her, he'll cut you loose."
Tears came to Grace McCreary's eyes as fast as a gully floods. It was a shame, but a good emotional slap was just what Grace needed. Though gentle, Josie's father had pulled no punches all those years ago when he confirmed that Emily Baylor-Bates wasn't coming home even for her daughter. Josie had been devastated but eventually she understood. Illusions had no place in the real world. Still, she found it hard to be the one to shatter Grace's.
"Do you understand that Matthew will be terribly conflicted?" Josie asked more kindly.
Grace took a minute to think and then gathered her wits. She wiped those eyes with the back of her hands and her mascara smudged.
"Yes, I do. But I want you to understand that I'm not conflicted. Matthew will always be my priority. That is my choice," Grace answered bravely. "If your mother wanted you back, you would do everything you could to make sure she was happy she came to get you, wouldn't you?"
"Fair enough." This time Josie didn't take exception to Grace's observation. She was honest. She was right. "You can tell Matthew whatever you want, but what you tell me stays with me. In return, I expect the truth. If you can't give me that, then I can't represent you."
Dead air filled the next minutes and Josie thought she saw Grace's eyes hood. The emerald turned just once. Josie's eyes went to it, this barometer of Grace McCreary's anxiety. When she looked up again, Grace's expression was as naked as a back laid bare to the whip. It seemed the truth was going to be painful and it was time to see exactly how deep the welts went.
"What didn't you tell me this morning, Grace?" Josie pressed, knowing every minute she waited was one in which Grace McCreary could fashion a lie. The tears returned. Honest tears. Big tears. Painful tears held back for hours and days along with the truth that Josie wanted so badly.
"I was with Michelle," Grace whispered. "I saw her jump."
CHAPTER 11
"I lied when I hired you. I wasn't worried about Matthew. I was worried about myself and I was scared. If anyone knew I'd been on that balcony his marriage and our relationship would be dissected in the newspapers, speculated about on television, judged on radio. It would affect the way people see him. He could lose the primary. I would be responsible for his failure and I couldn't live with that."
Grace took a deep breath. She sat up straight and put her hands on the table, fingers entwining, then lifting, always going to the ring, touching the stone as she spoke.
"I knew it was a calculated risk to contact you but I had no other choice. Matthew's attorneys are loyal to him. A stranger would leave me open to blackmail or they could sell the story to the newspapers. Oh, I know"—she gave her head a dismissive toss— "lawyers are supposed to be above all that but what does an oath mean in the face of big money or a power grab? It means nothing. My brother has enemies on the outside, and he has people who want to control him inside the campaign. I wasn't going to give them anything to use against him. That's why the initial investigation had to be secret and that's why you had to do it. If the police didn't know I was there that night, then I was safe. If they did, then you could help me. You understand that, don't you?"
Grace was close, demanding that Josie become her confidante, her confessor, her comrade in arms because Matthew was the rallying cry. But Josie wasn't a true believer. She didn't trust her memories, so she stayed still, watching the woman, assessing her. In the ensuing silence, as no pact was made to protect Matthew at all costs, Grace's hands began to shake. The emerald stuck at her knuckle. She flicked her fingers to loosen it. Those fingers were angry and impatient and impotent. She threw herself back in her chair, frustrated by Josie's lack of response.
"You're playing games with me. Women always do that." Grace sniffed. "Michelle could do that."
"No, I'm not. I just don't understand your reasoning," Josie answered finally. "If you believed I was trustworthy, then you would have been completely honest this morning."
"You wouldn't have given me the time of day if I'd told the truth then. No one does. Not if you tell the truth about ugly things." Grace complained to her ring and then cut her eyes back toward Josie.
"If that's the way you feel, then I might as well walk right now," Josie countered. "Because I happen to think all truth is important."
"Go. Fine. Walk out. It doesn't really matter what happens to me as long as Matthew is all right."
Grace's hand waved and her fingers itched to scratch at something. Her little tirade was harsh. Yet, for all her bravado, she was clearly scared. The clothes and the jewels could not camouflage that Grace McCreary believed she deserved to be sacrificed—just like every other abused woman Josie had ever known.
"Who ever made you think you weren't worthwhile, Grace?" Josie asked. "Was it Matthew? Was he the one?"
Grace jolted upright. "Don't be ridiculous. Matthew loves me the same way he loved you." Her face had gone pale. Eyes that had seemed sunken with exhaustion now sparked as she readied herself to defend her brother.
"What about Michelle? Did he love her, too?"
"Of course he did. We both did," Grace insisted. "But we're talking about what the world is like. Most people don't stick around when things get hard. You don't blame them; you just expect it. You deal with it. You're grateful when someone does stand up for you."
Josie picked up a pen and tapped it once on the table. She knew it would do no good to argue with Grace or agonize over her skewed view of honor and loyalty. The pen went through her fingers again. Her own plate was full with Hannah, Archer, Susan O'Connel, her own needs and plans. She was Grace McCreary's lawyer, not her shrink or her friend or her personal champion. The pen twisted once more before she held it at the ready.
"You're right," Josie said. "The world is imperfect and so am I. But I'm good at my job and I take it seriously. I'm going to ask two things of you: be straight with me and leave my relationships alone. Playing that card won't get you anywhere."
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