Only Ever You (29 page)

Great to know that whores had standards. Jill gritted her teeth. “Someone took my daughter—if you’re right and David had multiple affairs, then it could be one of those other women.”

Leslie gave her a half smile. “Like I told the police, I don’t know who else David was seeing, I just know that his firm had a lot of extracurricular activity.”

“I need names.”

The other woman laughed. “I can’t give you any. I don’t work for Adams Kendrick, remember?”

“But you’ve worked with them—who are the other women?”

“Oh, God, I don’t know.” Leslie Monroe put her cup down on the glass coffee table next to an issue of
Cosmo
and sat back in her chair. “There was that skinny front desk girl—Karen somebody? I know she was with someone, but I don’t think she’s David’s type. There was a young associate—Lisa? Lee? Something like that. She was a hot little number; I’m sure he noticed. David’s always had an eye for pretty things, but I’m sure you know that.”

She stood up, stretching a little like a cat. “I don’t know what more you want from me. Details? David’s good in bed, he likes to give and receive oral pretty equally. Is that what you want to know?”

Jill felt her own face getting hot and the other woman saw it and smiled, a nasty little smile with plump lips parting to reveal capped teeth.

“Doesn’t he do that with you? Well, he does like to hear some response.”

Jill’s grip on her self-control suddenly loosened along with the hand gripping the mug. She threw the cup of coffee in the other woman’s face and walked out.

chapter thirty-two

DAY TWENTY-THREE

A tour bus returning from a casino had gone over the side of a mountain road in West Virginia, and the grisly accident scene was being featured on every station. Bea rapidly switched through the channels, frustrated to discover that the disappearance of Sophia Lassiter was no longer top news. Damn reporters! Hyenas, all of them, their limited attention spans drawn away by fresh kill.

She had to wait through five more stories before they finally did a piece on the missing child. “Tension is high in Pittsburgh on the twenty-third day since three-year-old Sophia Lassiter vanished from her parents’ Fox Chapel home.”

Tension. That was all? She’d practically gift-wrapped this case for the police; she didn’t understand why they hadn’t made an arrest. Bea switched the TV off in disgust. If she and Avery had to be out of this house before the end of the month then she had to do something else, make the final move.

The real-estate agent had called last night to tell her the date for the inspection. “You’re welcome to be there, of course, but it will probably be easier if you and your husband could arrange to be out of the house that morning.” Oh, she’d
arrange
to be out of the house. She’d
arrange
to be gone for good well before the inspection.

It was early afternoon, Avery’s usual naptime. Bea paced from the living room to the second bedroom, trying to move quietly, before settling in front of a DVD to watch, for the umpteenth time, as her daughter ran around in that small yard they’d had when she was young, jumping through a sprinkler, face radiant in the way that only little kids could look. Before life disappointed them.

“We were happy then, weren’t we?” Frank had slipped in to take the seat next to her. He laid his arm along the back of her chair, letting his hand lightly cup her shoulder, but it felt more like a restriction than a comfort. She shifted in her seat, trying to lose herself in the past, but she couldn’t relax. She’d been unsettled since the visit from the real-estate agent. Patsy Duckworth had been a little too interested in Avery. What if she’d recognized her? If the police came to the house again they’d do a more thorough search—there was no easy way to explain the outside bolt on the bedroom in the basement. They had to move, but what would she do with the child if they went back to Florida? How could she go back to the hospital full-time when she had Avery to look after? Day care cost a fortune; there was no way she could afford that plus rent on a condo.

“I tried to tell you,” Frank said, and for once he didn’t sound superior, just sad. She pressed a hand to her head, which was throbbing, while her daughter danced silently on the screen in the little ruffled blue bathing suit that Bea could remember buying for her years ago. Strange how the past was so clear now, memories rushing at her vivid and intense, while things that had happened more recently—the years alone with Frank, for instance—were fading into obscurity, a blur of sensation.

She’d tried so hard to make things right. She’d wanted to be a perfect mother, working hard to give her daughter the opportunities she’d never had, but somehow she’d alienated her only child in the process.

And what of the child asleep downstairs? When she’d found Avery, the only thing Bea could think of was how this was her chance. Her second chance. An apology of sorts and a redo button. But life didn’t give you any redos, there was only the now. She had to move, that was a given. Except she couldn’t go without seeing the Lassiters arrested. It wasn’t fair. She’d done all this work, she’d come this far, and for what? To have them fall into that limbo of so many parents of missing children, held under suspicion, certainly, but never having to pay for their sins? It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

Bea left Frank watching the video and went down to the basement. She tiptoed past the bedroom door, which she’d left open a crack, a concession to Cosmo, who liked to be free to come and go, but had taken to curling up against the child when she slept. The little dog lifted his head and looked at her quizzically, but didn’t bark. Bea donned latex gloves before pulling a bag from the closet. She carried it upstairs and spread paper towels on the kitchen table before opening the bag. In it was a dish towel and wrapped inside was a knife with a long, sharp blade. It was an expensive item. German steel, very thin. The kind of knife that people with money bought at overpriced cooking stores. She’d found it in the draining rack in the Lassiters’ kitchen.

She considered the knife while she waited for the blood to thaw, feeling the heft of it in her hand, before testing its feather-thin blade against an orange. It sliced through the rind cleanly, with only the faintest pressure. This was the last remaining item that she’d taken, this and the used dish towel. Both likely had usable fingerprints on them. If this didn’t work, then nothing would.

She coated the blade with the child’s blood, smearing it over the carbon steel before dabbing more onto the wood handle, pleased when she saw a fingerprint suddenly outlined. She wiped the blade down roughly with more paper towels; it looked like someone had done a fast cleanup. With most of the blood gone she fetched a Ziploc bag of the child’s hair and carefully adhered a few blonde strands to the blade, and then she rewrapped the knife in the original dish towel and put the bundle back in the plastic bag.

Where could she plant it? That was the big question. There was no way she could get back in the Lassiter house without getting caught. David’s office? Too many people. She sat at the kitchen table resting her head in her hands, mentally running through all possible alternatives. This was her last big move, the final, decisive play that would bring closure. “Where can I put it?” she said out loud, calling on her daughter for help. Her angel would help her; she always had. Bea closed her eyes, picturing her daughter’s smiling face, and just like that, she knew where to go.

Bea hummed as she changed into a church lady’s polyester dress and the brown wig, before heading back downstairs and prepping a syringe. She tiptoed into the child’s bedroom. Avery lay curled in a ball on the bed, fast asleep. Cosmo growled softly as Bea gently tugged one arm down and placed the syringe on the soft inner skin. The child suddenly rolled, some of the drug spilling from the needle onto the sheet. Bea cursed. How much had she lost? She held the hypodermic up in the dim light from the window, trying to see. It would have to be enough; the child was stirring. She quickly tugged the child’s arm back down, bracing for the initial jerk as the needle slid inside. The child’s blue eyes flew open and Avery stared at Bea for a moment, alarmed, before her eyes rolled back in her head. Bea released her arm gently and walked out without bothering to tiptoe, pulling the heavy door closed behind her. Cosmo could stay with the child; if she happened to wake, the dog would comfort her.

She was still humming as she backed out of the garage, the bag with the knife on the seat beside her.

*   *   *

The tears came again as Jill drove away from Leslie Monroe’s, hot, angry tears that she brushed away with her hands, determined not to break down. She would not cry over that stupid bitch; she refused. Had Leslie been telling the truth about David? Had he really slept with other women as well? If David
had
cheated with other women then why hadn’t the police mentioned it? Wouldn’t they have uncovered that in their investigation?

Her phone buzzed as a text came in from him:
Stopping by home to get some boxes to clean out office; partners suggest an “indefinite leave of absence.”
Code for being fired. So the firm wasn’t immune to the court of public opinion; apparently Andrew’s support only went so far. Jill wondered if the rest of the partners knew about David’s infidelity and whether that had played any part in the decision. For a moment she felt angry on his behalf and sorry for him, too, but then another text came in:
Talk when I get there?
Trying to take advantage of the moment to win her sympathy. She ignored the text. She didn’t want to see him—not like this, not now. She needed to talk to Andrew first; he would tell her the truth about David, she’d force it out of him. He didn’t answer his cell phone, so she drove straight to his home.

There were no cars in the driveway at the Grahams’. Jill parked in front of the first bay in the three-car garage and marched to the front door. She rang the bell and heard the complicated chime. Silence. She heard the noise of an airplane, but couldn’t see it through a hanging curtain of heavy clouds. It was so cold. She shivered and rang the bell a second time. Again the ridiculous peal of bells. Where were they? It was early Saturday morning, wasn’t somebody home?

At last she saw a shadow coming through the glass, and then one of the Graham boys opened the door wide, barefoot and dressed in a soccer uniform, a piece of toast in his hand.

“Hi,” Jill said. “Is your father home?”

He shook his head and took a bite of toast, crunching loudly. “Who is it, Jamie?” Paige came down the center staircase behind him. Even in a hurry she walked like the pageant queen she’d once been, descending the stairs as if she were arriving at a debutante ball.

She looked picture-perfect, too, even casually dressed in jeans and a sweater. “Jill?” She sounded wary, and instead of ushering Jill in she pulled her son back. She poked her head out the door, looking quickly right and left as if afraid that some neighbor might be watching.

“I need to see Andrew,” Jill said.

“Oh, I am sorry, honey, but Drew’s not here. He’s gone into work. You know how lawyers are—even weekends are billable hours.” She laughed, a light, twinkly sound that held more relief than humor, and started to close the door.

Jill put her hand against it. “When will he be back?”

“Not until late.” Paige pushed against the door. “I’m sorry, Jill, but I’ve got to take the boys to soccer,” she said, adding to her son, “Jamie, go get your cleats on.” She gave Jill a tight smile before closing the door in her face.

Despite the cold, Jill felt hot with embarrassment as she walked back to her car. Anger warred with the shame; why should she care what Paige Graham thought of her? Had she really expected Miss Perfect to react differently than everyone else?

She backed out of their driveway, pulling over at the end of the street to try Andrew’s cell again. Straight to voice mail. As she sat there trying to decide what to do, Paige drove screaming past in her Mercedes SUV. On impulse, Jill followed her over a familiar network of hilly, narrow roads to end up at the playing field where she’d gone so many times with Sophia. A game was just ending and the field and parking lot next to it were crowded with parents and children. Jill parked illegally on the shoulder, waiting until Paige had gotten her sons out of the car and onto the field before she ran across the hard grass to confront her.

“—can barely keep up with all their activities,” Paige was complaining to another mother when Jill touched her arm. She swung around, and at any other time the dumbfounded expression on her face would have made Jill laugh.

“What are you doing here?” Paige said, taking a step back as if Jill had a virus.

“You know what happened at the police station, don’t you?” There was something in Paige’s gaze and the way it darted away. Jill persisted, “Did you know about David?”

Paige looked embarrassed. “For heaven’s sake, Jill, this is not the time or the place—”

“I need to know.”

They were attracting attention. Mothers had stopped watching their kids running around the field and turned their way. One woman held a Starbucks cup poised at her lips, looking from Jill to Paige and back again as if they were the better sporting event.

Paige was nothing if not keenly aware of attention. “Not here,” she said through a clenched smile, and stomped toward the parking lot. Jill followed. Paige didn’t stop until they were on the far side of the lot, out of sight behind some cars, where she whirled around, arms crossed. “I can’t believe you came here,” she said, the veneer of Southern hospitality giving way like soft wood to reveal the rot underneath. “Nobody wants you here; they don’t trust you around their children.”

“I went to see Leslie Monroe,” Jill said.

“Who?” Paige asked, but she’d stiffened at the name.

“I know you know who that is. What else did Andrew tell you? Leslie Monroe told me that David had multiple affairs. Is that true?”

A crow cawed like a woman’s high-pitched scream. Paige looked in its direction, then back at Jill. “I think you should talk to David about that.”