The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes

by Diane Chamberlain

  “Did you kidnap Genevieve Russell?” Sal Schreiner asked.

  “Yes,” Tim said. “With my brother.”

  “How did you do it?”

  Tim described the kidnapping. It was just as he’d planned it, though not quite as Eve had pictured it, since she hadn’t realized that Genevieve knew Tim from her class.

  “I asked her if I could talk to her for a minute, and she said sure, so we sat in my van. She didn’t know Marty was in the back. I started driving and Marty blindfolded her. We eventually put handcuffs on her because she kept trying to grab the steering wheel.”

  The camera found the Russells in the courtroom. President Russell put his arm around Vivian, whose head was lowered, her fist pressed against her lips.

  “Did you drive directly to the cabin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what happened when you arrived at the cabin?”

  This is it, Eve thought. This is it.

  “We tied her up inside and then Marty and I drove to Jacksonville, where we stayed with Terry Newhouse.”

  Tied her up? Eve leaned forward, the pain in her wrists forgotten.

  “You left her alone in the cabin?” Schreiner looked as though he didn’t believe him.

  “Yes,” Tim said.

  “My God,” Eve said out loud.

  “Where did you tie her up?”

  “On the sofa. We tied her hands and feet.”

  “Lying down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she still blindfolded at that time?”

  “No.”

  “Not blindfolded at that time,” Schreiner said, as though that had some significance. “And the gun found buried with Mrs. Russell,” he continued. “That was yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you use it?”

  “No.”

  “Yet there was a bullet from that gun—your gun—found in the wall of the bathroom.”

  “I don’t know how it got there,” Tim said. “Maybe my brother fired it.”

  “Wouldn’t you have known that?”

  “Maybe I’d stepped out of the cabin for a minute.”

  “Liar!” The voice came from the courtroom and a camera swung toward it. Vivian Russell was standing, hands gripping the back of the bench in front of her and her face red with rage. “Stop lying!” she shouted at Tim.

  Irving Russell stood up and put his arm around his daughter as he tried to get her to sit down again.

  “He’s making things up, can’t you tell?” Vivian glared at the judge.

  “Sit down, Ms. Russell,” the judge said.

  Vivian bit her lip, going limp as her father drew her into her seat again.

  “Please continue,” the judge said to Schreiner.

  “Isn’t it true that you killed Mrs. Russell in or near the cabin?”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Tim said.

  “Did your brother kill her?”

  “Neither of us killed her,” Tim said.

  “Did you tell Mr. Newhouse you had left Genevieve Russell with someone guarding her?”

  “Yes,” Tim said. “We told him that because he would have thought we were foolish to leave her alone. Which we were.”

  “Why didn’t one of you…you or your brother…stay with her?”

  “We thought it would be okay. There was no place she could go even if she managed to get herself untied.”

  Eve was so absorbed in the testimony that it was a moment before she realized Jack was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. She gasped in surprise, hand to her throat.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “You scared me,” she said. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Just got home.” He walked through the room and sat down next to her on the sofa. “I called your office and they told me you were home sick, so I thought I’d better check on you between classes.” He studied her face, and she felt her cheeks go hot under his scrutiny. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m okay. Just felt a little iffy when I got up this morning.” She tried to listen to the television as she spoke.

  Jack looked at the TV. “So, what’s happening?” he asked.

  “They’ve got Tim…Timothy Gleason on the stand,” she said. Schreiner was speaking again, his voice powerful and insistent.

  “…and you expect us to believe that someone else stumbled across this cabin in the middle of nowhere, unbound and killed her and somehow got a baby out of her and—”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Tim said. “I’ve told you that. All I know is that when Marty and I went back to the cabin, it was empty. We figured that she’d gotten out somehow and taken the gun with her. We were shocked when we heard that she never went home. I always wondered what happened to her.”

  “You left her with the gun?” Schreiner wore a look of mock surprise. “Why didn’t you take the gun with you?”

  “We had another one and didn’t need it.”

  Wow. As good as he’d been at lying to her, he was doing a lousy job of it now. But now he wasn’t lying to hurt her; he was lying to protect her. That was clear. Eve was stunned. He could so easily free himself of the tangled web he was weaving if he said: There was someone else involved. A girl I knew. A girl I could make do anything. But he didn’t. Instead, he let the sticky web of lies draw him in. He’s changed, she thought. He’s softened. No matter how hard his interrogator pushed and prodded, he was not going to tell them about CeeCee. He would hang himself to keep her out of it.

  She filled with both gratitude and guilt, willing the jury to find him innocent of Genevieve’s murder. How could she let him be convicted of a crime she knew he didn’t commit when she could exonerate him? His lies were so ludicrous that, while they might save her, they were never going to save him.

  “Did you know she was pregnant?” Schreiner asked.

  “I didn’t know she was as pregnant as she was,” Tim said. “I thought maybe she had the baby while we were gone and died.”

  “And the baby did what? Walked out of there on its own?”

  People snickered in the courtroom and the judge called for order.

  “This idiot’s a bad liar,” Jack said. “Can you imagine how President Russell must feel, sitting there looking at this guy? I’d want to get up and strangle him.”

  “He should have said Marty did it,” Eve said.

  “What?”

  “His brother. Marty. Martin. Even if it was a lie, he should have just said his brother killed her and that would have been enough to give the jury reasonable doubt.”

  “Why do you care?” Jack asked. “This guy should hang.”

  “I thought you were against the death penalty?”

  “I’m speaking metaphorically,” Jack said. “Even if his brother had been the one to pull the trigger or stab her or whatever, this guy—Gleason—put her in the position to get killed. He’s scum, Eve.”

  She needed to shut up. “I know,” she said. “I’m just…it’s fascinating.”

  They watched the trial in silence for a few minutes. Then she heard Jack draw in a breath. She knew what he would say even before he said it.

  “Eve, did you call in sick so you could watch this?” he asked.

  She rested her head against his shoulder so he couldn’t see her cringe at the question. “Don’t be silly,” she said, but she wondered if the uncertainty in her voice gave her away. Her life had not felt so out of her control since she was sixteen and Tim’s partner in crime.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Cory said she’s never seen Ken so charged up as he’s been covering the trial,” Dru said as she munched her salad at the kitchen table. It was Sunday night and she was over for lasagna, which had been a team effort, Jack cooking the noodles and Eve assembling the casserole at the table, where she could sit down. Eve loved it when Dru came over, and not only because she enjoyed the company of her younger daughter. Dru was her lifeline to Cory. She would never know what was going on with C
ory if Dru didn’t keep her and Jack informed.

  “Cory said he’s got some unique angles on the story,” Dru said, “so it’s different from the way the other stations are covering it. She said he’s definitely going to be nominated for that Rosedale Award.”

  Oh, Eve thought, what a unique angle I could give my daughter’s fiancé!

  “And I have one more important piece of Cory news,” Dru announced.

  “Did they set a date?” Eve asked, hoping they had not.

  “She’s pregnant,” Dru said.

  “Oh, no.” Jack made a face as though the lasagna tasted bad, and Eve couldn’t find her voice. She’d hoped the relationship between Cory and Ken would eventually wear itself out and that Cory would, at least metaphorically, come back to the fold. A baby would tie her to Ken forever. She couldn’t even feel joy about a potential grandchild—a child who would never know its biological grandfather.

  “Happily pregnant?” she asked.

  “Yes, and I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you but she didn’t say not to, so…” Dru shrugged. She couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.

  “Are they going to get married?” Jack asked.

  “I think so,” Dru said. “I mean, she thinks so. She only told Ken last night.”

  Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Who’s dragging his or her feet there, Dru, do you know?” he asked. “When it comes to marriage, I mean. Is it Ken or Cory?”

  Dru hesitated, as though she knew she’d already said too much. “It’s just inertia, I think,” she said. “They’ve been together so long, they’re afraid to rock the boat. But this will probably propel them to take the big step. Anyway, the cool thing is that I’m going to be an aunt! And you two are going to be Grammy and Grampa.”

  Eve barely heard her. Her mind was somewhere in the past, and all she could picture was Genevieve Russell, lying still and lifeless on a blood-soaked bed.

  She sat at her computer late that night, staring at the screen for a long time before starting to type.

  Dru told us about your pregnancy, Cory. Congratulations! I’m excited for you. She hesitated, then continued typing. I know you don’t like it when I try to tell you what to do, but this is important: red-haired women can have a problem with hemorrhaging after they give birth. That’s something you should ask your doctor about. Okay? I love you.

  She clicked on Send and instantly wished she could pull the e-mail back. What was she thinking? No wonder Cory never wanted to hear from her. Sending the e-mail had been stupid and impulsive—maybe even cruel. Cory didn’t need to hear this particular concern for months, if ever.

  She was between clients the following morning when Dru showed up in her office.

  “What did you do, Mother?” she asked, plunking down in one of the upholstered chairs. “Cory said you sent her this ridiculous e-mail about redheads hemorrhaging after childbirth.”

  “It’s true,” Eve said from her desk. “I thought she should know, although I realized after I sent it that she didn’t need to know right this minute.”

  “God, Mom, I have to agree with Cory on this one,” Dru said. “It’s like you were trying to scare her or something. Just being pregnant for the first time with an imbecile for a fiancé is bad enough without you adding to it.”

  “You’re right,” Eve said. “I shouldn’t have. I just…I want her to be healthy and happy and have a healthy baby.”

  Dru hesitated, staring at Eve as though uncertain if she should say what was on her mind. “You’re…Mom, you’re not thinking real well these days,” she said. “I know you’re in a lot of pain and everything and maybe the medicine you’re taking is screwing up your head or something. I know you can’t help it. But please, if you get the itch to call Cory or e-mail her or write to her, promise you’ll check with me first, okay? Let me be your brain for a while.”

  It was humiliating to have her nineteen-year-old daughter treat her like a child, especially here in her office, where she was usually the one doing the counseling. Worse, though, was the knowledge that Dru was right: she needed guidance. She could barely trust herself to find her way from her bed to the bathroom in the morning.

  “All right,” she said with a nod. “I will.”

  Chapter Fifty

  On Friday afternoon, Tim was convicted of the kidnapping and murder of both Genevieve Russell and her infant, even though the baby’s body had not been found. The jury deliberated less than an hour. They didn’t believe a word out of his mouth. The sentencing was set for the following Tuesday and would determine if he’d receive life in prison or the death penalty.

  The talking heads on CNN and Court TV and Larry King had a field day debating the merits of the case, trying to predict the outcome. Vivian Russell herself appeared on the Larry King show. Eve barely heard a thing she said because she was too absorbed in searching every delicate facet of her face for traces of Cory.

  Vivian was furious. “He took my mother from me,” she said, thick tears lining her lower lashes. “My children’s grandmother from them. My father’s wife from him. It was calculated and cruel, and what makes it hardest is not knowing how…how she died.” Her chin quivered. “How he killed her,” she said. “If she suffered. It’s unbearable to think about, and yet I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  People calling into the show were angry and impassioned. One man whose own wife had been abducted and murdered said, “He should fry, and I want to be there to cheer when he does.” That seemed to be the majority opinion of the callers. They were out for blood.

  The night before Tim’s sentencing, Eve couldn’t still her mind. She lay awake listening to Jack’s light, even snoring, wondering if she should stay home the following day to watch the sentencing or go to work. Just forget she knew him. Forget she had anything to do with the charges against him. Forget that he was innocent of murder and that she was the only other person alive who knew that. She’d waited for someone to come forward who could clear him of that charge. She’d waited for Tim’s attorney to say something that would put reasonable doubt into the minds of the jurors. Neither had happened, and now she couldn’t sleep.

  It was very warm for October. She got out of bed, pulled on her robe and limped outside in her slippers. She followed the stone pavers through the small backyard to the garden bench, where she sat down. The moonlight gave the trees and shrubs and vines an unearthly, ghostly look befitting her dark thoughts.

  Leaning against the back of the wooden bench, she looked at the night sky fringed by the leafy greenery of her yard. I don’t want to lose this, she thought. I want to be able to sit here in my tiny yard and feel the air on my skin and see the sky above me filled with stars.

  And what about Cory? What would the truth do to her? Tears welled up in Eve’s eyes, and a sudden, unexpected sob escaped her throat. Her physical pain, her day-to-day worries, paled next to the thought of hurting Cory. Cory would be torn apart. And Eve would lose the little bit of relationship she had left with her.

  Then she thought of all Genevieve had lost. All the Russell family had lost. And what Tim, guilty though he was of many things, was about to lose over a crime he should not have to pay for.

  What were her crimes? She ticked them off in her mind: Aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of Genevieve Russell; kidnapping Genevieve’s infant and crossing state lines with her; changing her identity solely to flee the law. Surely there were any number of smaller laws she’d broken as well. In her mind, though, one of the worst things she’d done was what she was doing right now—letting a man pay for a crime she knew he had not committed.

  “Eve?”

  She turned to see Jack standing on the small deck. He was wearing the white T-shirt he slept in and he’d pulled on his jeans.

  He walked down the path and reached his hand toward her. “Come back to the house, Eve,” he said, the way someone might speak to a person about to jump from a ledge.

  “I’m all right.” She smiled at him to
prove it, to try to erase the lines of worry across his forehead. “I couldn’t sleep and it’s such a beautiful night I thought I’d sit out here a little.”

  “Please come into the house, honey,” he said again. “I want to talk to you.”

  His tone told her not to argue. She stood up and let him guide her into the house, where he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and motioned for her to take a seat.

  She sat down. “I’m sorry if I woke you when I got up,” she said.

  “You didn’t. I woke up on my own and saw you weren’t there, so I went looking for you.” He sat down himself. “I’m worried about you, Evie,” he said. “I’d like you to see a therapist.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Hear me out,” he said. “Dru and I both agree on this.”

  She squirmed at the thought of Jack and Dru having a discussion about her mental health.

  “We both feel that this flare…this relapse of your RA…has taken a huge toll on you,” he said.

  Oh, no. She felt guilty for allowing his sympathy to be so misplaced. Her tears started again.

  “It’s all right.” He moved his chair up against hers so he could put his arms around her. “It makes sense, honey. You were doing so well healthwise for so long. It was almost as though you were in remission. Then this flare came along and you suddenly had to admit that you still have the disease. I know going back to the scooter was terrible for you. Like admitting defeat. I know you didn’t want to be seen riding it around the grounds and have everyone ask you what was wrong. I know the questions get to you.”

  Leaning forward, she rested her head against his shoulder, glad to be able to hide her face from his eyes.