After She's Gone (4 page)

Her mother was frantic with fear for her younger daughter. Robert, too, was worried about Allie. Cassie knew because she’d talked to both of her parents at length. And she knew how they felt. She, too, was obsessed with finding her sister.

A headache formed behind her eyes as she considered her splintered family. Her mother and stepfather, a sheriff, no less, resided in Oregon, while her much-married father lived in LA with his current wife, Felicia, twenty years his junior and, of course, a gorgeous would-be actress. As they all had been.

Not that it mattered.

Closing her eyes, Cassie tried to place her thoughts in some kind of order. For months she’d been a zombie. A patient in a hospital, who’d been told what to do, when to do it, and where to be. Now, she was on her own. No more hiding away and licking wounds and feeling bad. No more coddling herself. It was time for action and answers.

First order—she needed a place to crash. She didn’t know for how long. A car would help. Also, she had to get her cell phone up and running. Right now the battery life was nil.

You need some kind of plan,
she told herself as the cab driver negotiated the narrow street that wound down this section of the West Hills. Fir, maple, and oak trees canopied over the pavement where a walking path was cut along the roadway. Intrepid joggers and bikers vied for space along the steep asphalt trail. Every once in a while, through gaps in the forest, she caught peekaboo views of Portland sprawled along the banks of the Willamette.

She was no longer an actress. She’d given up that dream once her younger sister had come onto the scene and literally upstaged her. Cassie didn’t need harsh reviews to remind her of the fact, and Allie had been a natural while she’d struggled. The camera loved Allie and she shined bright, whatever residual shyness from her youth disappearing as she lost herself in a role. The irony of it all was that it had been Cassie who had lured her younger sister to the bright lights of Hollywood. Cassie who’d suggested she move out of Falls Crossing, Oregon, as soon as Allie graduated from high school.

So all of this was, in some way, her fault.

The cab reached the bottom of the hill and found the freeway, a wide swath of concrete that ran the length of the westernmost states and beyond. Here in Portland I-5 was often a snarl, the traffic not a whole lot better than the loaded freeways of LA, but today they lucked out and the cab was able to sail across the wide span of the Marquam Bridge to the east side of the river.

Fifteen minutes later she was filling out paperwork for a rental car, a compact that turned out to be a white Nissan. Tonight, she’d stay in a hotel. Tomorrow, worry about something more permanent.

And then she was going to find out what the hell had happened to her sister.

 

T
he hotel room was basic—two beds with matching quilts, a couple of pictures, a TV, desk, and chair with an ottoman. The bathroom was fitted with a tub/shower and toilet and sink, all squeezed into an impossibly small space. The “suite” would do. For now. Cassie eyed the phone on the bedside table, thought about calling her mother, then shoved aside the jab of guilt that cut through her heart. She’d wait to tell Jenna where she’d landed, otherwise she’d be sucked into that maternal vortex that didn’t seem to let go. It wasn’t that Jenna played the guilt card, or at least not very often, it was that Cassie couldn’t really deal with her mother and stepfather and their ranch sprawling along the banks of the Columbia River. It was all too bucolic or rustic or Podunk for her, and the place brought back a never-ending tidal wave of memories she’d rather keep buried—the bloody, brutal images that were better off forgotten, or at the very least tamped down, until they reared up in horrific, ugly Technicolor in her nightmares.

“Head case,” she muttered, grabbing up her cell phone. It was barely alive after being charged for less than fifteen minutes, but it was all the time she could afford. Ever since leaving the hospital she felt that time was slipping through her fingers. She’d been cooped up for what seemed like forever but had only actually been a few weeks, and now she needed to get moving.

Once behind the Nissan’s steering wheel, she Googled the name of the rehabilitation center were Lucinda Rinaldi was recovering. Allie’s body double had pulled through several surgeries, which included removing part of her spleen, and some liver damage, along with spinal injuries, all of which were on the mend, thank God.

She negotiated the grid of streets that were East Portland and found Meadow Brook Rehabilitation Center, where there seemed to be no meadow, nor brook, anywhere nearby. The long, low, tan building just off Fifty-Second had been constructed in the fifties or sixties from the looks of it, a bank of glass windows facing the street, the reception area under a jutting peak in the otherwise unbroken roofline. An asphalt parking lot in need of resurfacing flanked one side of the sidewalk, a rose garden gone to seed on the other.

Cassie was met by a hefty receptionist with a gravelly voice and easy smile who checked a computer screen and asked, “You’re a relative?”

“Friend.”

“Don’t see your name on the visitor list.”

“I’ve been out of town.”

“She’s in physical therapy now.”

“I’ll wait,” Cassie said brightly. Before the woman could argue her phone rang, her concentration broken as whoever was on the other end of the connection commanded all of her attention.

“Now, hold on,” she said into the phone. “Who is this? What kind of emergency?” Her brow knitted and she started typing on her keyboard, so Cassie pretended to be taking a seat on one of the worn chairs near the window. As soon as the receptionist’s back was turned, she hurried down a short hallway and followed the signs to physical therapy. If the receptionist figured out that she’d been thwarted and chased Cassie down, or called security, Cassie would deal with it then.

For now, she stepped quickly through the doorway into a large room that smelled of sweat, plastic, and antiseptic.

Lucinda, dressed in sweats, was working at walking between two parallel bars, a therapist at her side. Her hair was scraped back with a headband, unkempt curls showing dark roots. She was concentrating hard as she inched her way down the length of the apparatus. Her face was flushed, sweat making her skin sheen under the fluorescent lighting.

As if sensing someone’s presence, Lucinda looked into the mirrors lining one wall and caught sight of Cassie’s reflection. She stumbled, but the aide who was with her was quick to grab her as Lucinda caught her balance again, her lips flattened with unrepressed fury.

“Get her out of here,” she gritted.

“Lucinda, wait.” Cassie stepped farther into the room as Lucinda made it to the far end of the bars and with the aide’s help nearly fell into a waiting wheelchair.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Really?” Cassie was flummoxed and tried to skirt the thin woman in nurse’s scrubs who was attempting to block her access.

“I think you should leave,” the woman said firmly. Her name tag read Louise-Marie and she was tough-looking, her expression brooking no argument.

Ignoring her, Cassie said to Lucinda, “I just wanted to see how you were doing, that you were okay.”

Lucinda shot her an
oh-sure
glare. “I was nearly killed, all because your stupid sister didn’t show up on the set again, and they thought they could get away with shooting the film without her, meaning using me. Shooting
around
her,” she stressed, her lips curling as if she’d just tasted something foul. “And I get shot in the process. Ironic, don’t you think?” She caught a glimpse of herself and frowned. “God, where’s Laura Merrick when you need her?” she muttered, mentioning the makeup person who’d been on the set of
Dead Heat.
Another glance in the mirror and she blinked quickly as if fighting a sudden spate of tears. “How could anyone do this?”

“It was an accident.”

Again, the dark glare. “I was almost murdered, but I think they meant to shoot Allie. Or maybe even you. Not me, for God’s sake!” Reading the protest forming on Cassie’s lips, Lucinda held up a hand. “I’m not talking about that Neanderthal Sig,” she said, meaning Sig Masters, the actor who had fired the prop gun on the set. “He was just a pawn. Like me. In the wrong place at the wrong damned time.” She yanked the headband from her hair and mopped her forehead. “Y’know he actually sent me flowers. They came with some kind of sympathy note that said ‘Sorry.’ Can you believe that?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean who does that? Almost kills someone and sends them roses and carnations and shit?”

Cassie shook her head. The truth was no one, not even the cops, thought Sig Masters was behind the accident. His record was clean and he had no ax to grind, no motive to harm Allie or Lucinda or her.

“I just want to find my sister,” Cassie said.

Lucinda snorted through her nose. “I didn’t think you two ever got along. I heard that the only reason you had a bit part in the movie was because she threw you a bone, or that she thought it would be good for publicity or something.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, come on. Everybody knows.” Lucinda lifted a dismissive shoulder, then wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “As for trying to find your sister, she’s probably already dead somewhere.” Cassie made a sound of protest but Lucinda went on without a hint of emotion, “I kinda thought you might have an idea of what happened to her.” She unlocked the brakes of her wheelchair and began rolling closer to the doorway where Cassie stood, still blocked from entering farther by the intractable Louise-Marie.

“Why would you think that?”

Lucinda gave a humorless laugh. “Everyone knows you were jealous as hell of her success, and then after she goes missing and I get shot,
you
end up in the nuthouse?” She was close enough now that Cassie didn’t have to shout. “That’s convenient.”

“What’re you saying?” Cassie asked, stunned. “You think . . . that I know where she is?”

“If the Manolo Blahnik fits . . .” she said tartly as the wheel of her chair caught on the corner of a mat sticking out from where it had been tucked under the parallel bars. Lucinda had always had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar. “Jesus,” she growled, irritated, before she was able to push around the obstacle. “I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she said, rolling to the door and edging out the aide.

“I want to know where Allie is, that’s all.”

“Really? She stole your husband, didn’t she?” Lucinda reminded, and Cassie felt as if she’d been slapped. But she couldn’t deny it. Heat stormed up the back of her neck as she thought about Trent, whom she’d once considered to be the love of her life, her husband, her damned soul mate, and then his jarring betrayal. Deep inside she felt something break, the dam holding back her raw emotions. She didn’t want to but she thought suddenly of Trent’s rugged good looks, his strong jaw, deep-set eyes, and thin lips that could twist into an irreverent smile with little provocation. She’d loved him. Wholeheartedly. Stupidly, and as it had turned out, wretchedly . . .

Forcing his image from her mind, she focused on Lucinda’s avid gaze. “Trent and I were already over,” she lied.

“You know, I’m surprised the cops aren’t looking at you for Allie’s disappearance. You’re the logical choice.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with—”

Lucinda cut her off. “Yeah, right. Of course not.” She let out a short laugh.

Cassie’s fingers tightened over her keys and she tried vainly to tamp down the wave of emotion that had started deep inside and was boiling upward. Anger and rage, fury and fear, all threatening to erupt.

“You know what? I’m tired of this,” Lucinda muttered, as if she sensed the change in Cassie’s mood and didn’t want to witness the storm. “I’m not supposed to talk to anyone associated with
Dead Heat.
My lawyer’s advice.” To the aide, she said, “Can we go now?” then pushed past Cassie and rolled indignantly down the wide tile corridor.

“This isn’t a legal thing,” Cassie called after her.

Lucinda stopped and deftly turned her wheelchair a hundred and eighty degrees. “What planet do you live on? Hellooo. This is Earth, for God’s sake! America.
Every
thing is a legal thing.” Then, with a quick movement, she was rolling away again, her head held high, as if she’d just won a chess match.

Great,
Cassie thought, her jaw sliding to one side. She considered storming after Lucinda, demanding answers, but knew it would get her no further than being tossed out of Meadow Brook Rehab on her ear. Besides, Lucinda probably had no better idea than she about what had happened to Allie.

Turning to leave, she nearly tripped over another woman in a walker. “Sorry,” she said as the woman stopped short.

“Watch where you’re going,” was the gruff response.

She couldn’t get out of the rehab center fast enough. Pushing open the front door, she drew in a long breath of damp Portland air, then made her way to the parking lot. As she did, Lucinda’s accusations followed after her. The truth was, they didn’t ring false. She and Allie had always had a love/hate relationship, one that drove their mother crazy. In her teenage years, Cassie had been rebellious and thwarted Jenna at every turn. She’d been angry and hurt over her parents’ separation and divorce, had never adjusted to life away from Southern California, and generally hated everything to do with Falls Crossing, Oregon. Aside from her boyfriend, Josh Sykes, who was three years older. Jenna, of course, hadn’t approved of the relationship, but she wasn’t exactly a shining example when it came to finding Mr. Right.

Allie, too, hadn’t liked their parents’ divorce and her mother’s subsequent move north, but she’d been more introverted, more of a baby in Cassie’s estimation, more of an “odd duck” who had hated anything to do with Harrison Elementary. It wasn’t until she’d entered high school that she’d turned on to education and spent the next few years outshining all of her peers.

Cassie had been flummoxed. Suddenly, shy, babyish Allie had become a stellar student and athlete, with college prospects and scholarship opportunities. Their mother had been so proud and Cassie, struggling to make it in Hollywood, had been more than a little jealous. Even now, she felt it, that burning rage that boiled up when she remembered their mother bragging up her younger child, mentioning the schools to which Allie had applied.

It had been surreal.

And just plain wrong.

Cassie had intervened, and it had probably been a mistake.

Allie might have been content to live a more “normal” life if Cassie hadn’t butted in. As Cassie thought about that now, how stupid she’d been to insist her younger sister follow her, she felt the old rage raise its ugly head and her blood begin to boil. All her plans had backfired! Allie, too, had anger issues with her sibling. There had been times when they’d loved each other and other times when their feelings had bordered on hatred.

“Story of my life,” she said as she climbed into the rental car and threw the little Nissan into reverse. A horn blasted and she jumped, standing on the brake pedal and jerking to a stop. In her mirror she caught the blur of a smart car flash by, the driver obviously using the parking lot as a cut-through to avoid waiting at a traffic light.

Cassie wanted to flip the driver off, but didn’t. Her hands clenched over the wheel and her heart rate was still somewhere in the stratosphere. “For the love of God. Don’t lose your cool. Do not.” Drawing a deep breath she scanned the area again and caught sight of the gravel-voiced receptionist walking along the sidewalk as she smoked a cigarette. She threw Cassie a suspicious glance, which Cassie steadfastly ignored as she backed out of the slot. Ramming the Nissan into drive, Cassie drove to the exit. The smart car was long gone and Cassie melded into the flow of traffic without any other problems.

Visiting Lucinda Rinaldi had been a total bust, she decided. She consulted the GPS app on her phone before heading back to the hotel to regroup and come up with a better plan to locate her sister.