The Sleeping Beauty Killer Part 6

"I ate some, too," Alex volunteered. He was sitting on the couch, his arm around her.

"Ramon, if it were up to Timmy, he'd eat nothing but macaroni and cheese, and cheese popcorn," Laurie said.

Ramon's official (and self-selected) t.i.tle was butler, but he was also Alex's a.s.sistant, chef, and trusted friend. And fortunately for Alex and anyone he invited into his home, he was a natural party planner, always able to pull together the perfect menu for an event.

"Don't worry, it's not all junk," Ramon responded with a smile. "I made a healthy turkey chili for dinner. Can I pour you a gla.s.s of Chardonnay?"

Alex had greeted Laurie with a warm kiss. "I'd say Ramon knows you pretty well, Laurie," he now said matter-of-factly. "I'm glad you made it. I know how heartbroken you'd have been if you missed a single play."

Laurie enjoyed watching football, but she was not an avid fan. But she loved watching her son and father enjoy sports together, so she cheered for all their favorite teams. And when Alex had settled next to her on the sofa for the kickoff and placed his arm around her shoulder, she liked that, too.

At halftime, Timmy eagerly followed Ramon into the kitchen to make his own sundae for dessert. Laurie's father immediately asked how things had gone in Connecticut. "At least Casey didn't take another shopping trip," he said disapprovingly. "Hitting the mall straight from the prison? Not the best PR move if she wants people to feel sorry for her."

"It wasn't like that, Dad. She literally didn't have any clothes."

Laurie started to bring Alex up to speed, but Alex cut her off. "Your father mentioned she had come to see you." There was something odd in his voice.

"Based on that reaction, I'd say Dad also made it clear that he doesn't want me touching the case with a ten-foot pole. And I suspect you don't either."

"Sorry," Alex said, "I didn't mean to sound so negative."

"So now that you've had more time with her, what's your opinion?" Leo asked. "Is she as crazy as they say?"

"Not at all." She paused, searching for the right adjectives. "She's straightforward. Very matter-of-fact. She spoke very clearly and openly about her own case, but without emotion. Almost as if she were a reporter or a lawyer."

"That's because she's lying," Leo said.

"I don't know about that, Dad. Her description of her mental state that night seemed very credible. And there's evidence that one of Hunter's most treasured possessions was missing from the house. From what I can tell, the police never looked into it."

"See? She's got you blaming the police, just like she did during her trial."

"That's not what I meant. No one ever realized it was gone. She figured it out herself from old crime scene photos. I confirmed it with Hunter's housekeeper. That's where I was after work tonight. Alex, you're being awfully quiet. Did you follow that case during the trial?"

"Sorry, I figured now that I'm no longer on the show . . ."

"Nothing official. I'm just curious about your take," she urged.

Leo shook his head. "Please talk some sense into her."

"Look, the evidence against her was very strong," Alex noted. "I'm sure you know that. Some of the jurors said after the trial that the overwhelming majority wanted to convict her of murder. There were two holdouts who felt sorry for her and convinced everyone to go with manslaughter to avoid a hung jury."

"Do you know anything about her lawyer, Janice Marwood? Casey and her mother made it sound like she was a disaster."

"Not personally, but at the time, I thought she wasn't very good. Her defense was all over the place. On the one hand, she tried to suggest that the police may have tampered with evidence to get a quick arrest in a high-profile case. But toward the end of the case, she suggested that even if Casey were guilty, she'd killed Hunter in a heat of pa.s.sion. Meanwhile, Casey didn't testify, and the jury had no clear narrative to guide them. Basically, I'd give it a C-minus."

"Dad, for what it's worth, if I do look into Casey's claims, I wouldn't be giving her a free pa.s.s. You know how our show works. We put everyone under a microscope. She could come out of this looking very, very bad."

"But not going to prison," he said. "She already served her time. And if it turns out that she killed him in cold blood, they can't send her back for murder. She was acquitted. Double jeopardy, right, Alex?"

"That's correct. Laurie, she would be the first person to appear on your show without fear of being charged and convicted if you found additional evidence against her."

It was a good point, but Laurie wasn't sure it should be a deal breaker. "I'll need to decide soon. Brett is breathing down my neck."

Alex looked troubled.

"You look as though you want to say something."

He shook his head, but still seemed distant. "I just wouldn't rush into something because Brett is pressuring you."

"Not to mention the pain in the b.u.t.t he hired as my host without consulting me."

Leo immediately began protesting on her behalf, threatening to call Brett to lecture him about leaders.h.i.+p.

"Dad, I'm a grown woman. I can't have my father calling my boss."

"Any chance I know this particular guy?" Alex asked.

"Maybe. His name's Ryan Nichols."

Alex let out a whistle. "Serious up-and-comer. I've got to say, you could do far worse."

"I know. On paper, he's perfect in every way. He's got a big reputation, but with an ego to match. He strikes me as the kind of person who kisses the mirror every morning, and I'm just not sure he has the goods. Plus, he's the nephew of Brett's best friend, so there's major nepotism at work. You should have seen the way Brett kept looking to Ryan for his opinion. It's as though I'm losing my own show." She noticed Alex's gaze s.h.i.+ft toward his view of the East River. Talking about Casey was one thing, but she shouldn't have started complaining about Ryan.

Timmy arrived in the living room with a banana split. "Mom, Ramon bought five different flavors of ice cream. Isn't that great?"

For the rest of the night, she didn't mention work because she didn't want Alex to feel responsible for the problems she was having. But she realized how much she was missing him already.

17.

Casey found herself pressing the tiny b.u.t.ton to lock the door of her new bedroom and then stopped. She forced herself to leave the door a little open instead.

Now that she was on the outside, what would she do? Where could a convicted felon find work? Surely not art auction houses. She could try her hand at writing, but that would bring her the publicity she wanted to avoid. Would a court allow her to legally change her name? Lots of questions, very few answers.

She had heard stories from women who left the prison, only to come back again, that it was difficult to adjust to freedom on the outside. Never once did she think that would apply to her. But, here she was, afraid to sleep with the door open in her own mother's house.

Nothing had been as awful as that trip to buy clothes. It didn't dawn on Casey until they walked into the shopping center how strange it would feel to be among strangers in public. No uniforms. No unwritten rules of conduct. On the train ride to and from the city the following day, she had hid behind the pages of a newspaper.

Maybe her mother and Angela were right. She could forget the past and try to start a new life. But where, and doing what? Was she supposed to change her name, move to the middle of nowhere, and live like a hermit? What kind of life was that? Besides, if she'd learned anything in the first few days, it was that she couldn't even go to a mall in suburban Connecticut without the past finding her.

And not her entire past. No one remembered her as a top student at Tufts, the star of the college tennis team, or the president of the local chapter of the Young Democrats. Or as one of the few people to get a job at Sotheby's straight out of college. Or the way she made Hunter laugh the first time she met him by reciting Pica.s.so's full baptismal name from memory: Pablo Diego Jose Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno Mara de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santsima Trinidad Martyr Patricio c.l.i.to Ruz y Pica.s.so. Or the night he held her and sobbed while describing the pain of watching his mother die from breast cancer, the same disease that stole her aunt Robin at such a young age.

No one will ever recall one kind thing about me, Casey thought, as she began to undress. She was a persona, a caricature, a punch line.

Unwillingly, she thought about Mindy Sampson. She was the one who had coined most of those nasty nicknames for Casey.

She would have thought Mindy would be retired by now. She knew Mindy had been fired by the New York Post. She hadn't realized until tonight that Mindy had taken her column online instead, to a blog called The Chatter.

The medium may have changed, but her garbage remained the same. Even before I was arrested, Casey thought, Mindy was out to get me. She was the one who ran that awful photograph of Hunter standing next to that miserable Gabrielle Lawson. The day it ran, I could hear the other women at Sotheby's whispering I-told-you-so's and I-knew-it's. I told you she couldn't hold on to him. I knew they'd never make it to the vows. So many people were jealous of what she'd had with Hunter, and Mindy had cashed in on that jealousy to sell papers.

Now Mindy was at it again to get more publicity at my expense for her website, Casey thought.

Casey put on her new pajamas, then picked up her new cell phone, which she'd been using to read The Chatter's posts about her release. She used her fingertip to refresh the screen the way her mother had shown her and scrolled down to the comments. She felt an old, familiar chill run down her spine when she saw a new message in the comment section. No surprise. Everyone who knows Casey can tell you she's a narcissist. In between shooting Hunter and drugging herself, she probably freshened her makeup to be ready for the cameras. The user had signed the comment with a nickname: RIP_Hunter.

The room was quiet, but Casey could almost hear her heart thumping in her chest. The top of the little screen told her it was a little after ten o'clock. Thank heavens she still had one person who'd take her phone calls, no matter the hour.

Her cousin answered after two rings.

"Angela," she said, her voice breaking. "Go to Chatter.com and put in my name. There's another horrible comment about me from RIP_Hunter. I swear it must be Mindy Sampson getting dirt from Gabrielle Lawson. They're throwing knives at me again." She began to sob. "Dear G.o.d, haven't I gone through enough?"

18.

The following Monday, Laurie's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Grace and Jerry outside her office, comparing notes about their weekend. From what she could make out, Jerry had binge-watched an entire season of a show she'd never heard of, Grace had had a third date with someone named Bradley, and Jerry was now pressing for all the details.

It was rare that Laurie beat Grace into the office, let alone early-bird Jerry, but today she planned to tell Brett that she wanted to use Casey's innocence claim for their next special. She needed to be prepared.

"So have you and Bradley picked out the china pattern yet?" she asked, popping open her office door.

"Sorry," Grace said, "I didn't realize you were here. You need coffee?"

Laurie held up the Starbucks Venti Latte she'd picked up on her way in.

"There will be no wedding," Grace announced, "nor any more Bradley for that matter."

"Oh boy," Jerry quipped, "what's wrong with this one?"

Grace had no difficulty finding fans among the opposite s.e.x, but the reverse was not always true. "He asked me to be his date at a company party next weekend. And before I had a chance to accept, he said, 'And of course I'd pay for an outfit that would be appropriate for the setting.' "

"And is Bradley still breathing?" Laurie asked with a laugh.

Grace smiled. "I let him live. I wouldn't want to wind up featured in our next special, would I? But I blocked him from all my social media. He's a ghost as far as I'm concerned."

Laurie admired Grace's talent in the sometimes cutthroat world of modern dating. Before Laurie met Greg, she had never felt comfortable navigating romantic relations.h.i.+ps. She found nothing more miserable than a disastrous date. Grace, on the other hand, always found a silver lining. Even a bad date was worth a good story down the road. And, above all else, she loved herself just the way she was, and that was all that mattered.

"Speaking of our next special," Laurie said, "I want to run my pitch past you before I roll it out for Brett. And tell me if you think it's okay."

They both pulled up chairs. "We're all ears," Grace a.s.sured her.

She had spent so much time preparing that she seamlessly laid out the core evidence against Casey, along with the new information she'd gathered since meeting her.

Jerry gave a quick round of applause when she finished speaking. "That was amazing. I'm not sure we need a new host after all."

Grace held up a stern index finger. "Don't you get between me and that Ryan Nichols. That could be a very dangerous place, Mr. Klein."

Having met Ryan, Laurie had a feeling he might not find Grace's banter quite as humorous as Alex had. "Please try to refrain from s.e.xually hara.s.sing our new host, Grace. Besides, you may not be so fond of him once you meet him."

"Uh-oh. Sounds like someone's on your bad side already," Grace remarked.

"Do tell," Jerry urged, leaning forward for the details.

"Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything. So what do you think? Is this case good for the show?"

When Laurie had first met Jerry, he was a socially awkward college intern fetching sandwiches at lunch for production crews. Over the years, he had grown, not just figuratively but literally, as he no longer slouched to hide his tall, lanky frame. Under Suspicion had begun as Laurie's baby, but it was now a team project. Jerry had an eye for taking a reporter's story and transforming it into a visually compelling television show. And Grace had become their most valued test audience, able to pinpoint in an instant how viewers would respond.

Jerry spoke up first. "You know me, I always think first about setting. I love the idea of recreating the gala at Cipriani. Very ritzy and elegant. Then the transition to the pastoral Connecticut setting of the country house will be very dramatic. So it works from a production perspective. The Raleigh family and Casey herself are major audience draws. I'm less confident about how to present the financial stuff with the foundation, but I'm sure we can find a way to spell it out in compelling terms. What else do we know about the former CFO of the foundation?"

"His name's Mark Templeton," Laurie said. "I did a news search. When he first resigned, a reporter looked at the foundation's public filings and noticed that the a.s.sets had decreased substantially over the last few years, suggesting a possible link between his departure and the dwindling finances. But Hunter's father, James, quickly put the speculation to rest by saying that fundraising had decreased since Hunter's murder. He hired a new, full-time fundraiser and CFO, and since then, the foundation looks like it's been on st.u.r.dy footing. As for Templeton, he's now the director of Holly's Kids."

"What's that?" Jerry asked.

"A nonprofit dedicated to shelters for homeless teenagers. Sounds like a solid group, but he had an eight-month gap after leaving the Raleigh Foundation. Could be time off, or a sign that those rumors took their toll on his employability. I left a message for him late Friday, but haven't heard back."

Grace was being uncharacteristically quiet.

"You look concerned," Laurie told her.

"Don't ever let me play poker. I can't hide my thoughts with a blanket. Fine: I'll say it. Casey Carter's a nut. You can see it in her eyes. Even back then, I told my mom, 'Mommy, that girl's got crazy eyes.' "

Jerry was laughing. "Grace, we were kids when this happened."

"Maybe so, but I knew how to spot a mean girl, believe me. She had a good thing going. She was going to be Mrs. Hunter Raleigh the Third. She probably had a gown all picked out for his presidential inauguration. And then she was a big sloppy mess at that gala, and he dumped her when they got home. Case closed."

"And the missing picture frame?" Laurie inquired. "You didn't find that convincing?"

"She probably threw it at him when they were fighting, cleaned up the shards, and buried the picture in the woods before calling 911, or she took it with her as a souvenir after she wasted him."

Jerry wasn't convinced. "Then why wait until now to mention the missing picture? Her lawyer could have used it back then to create reasonable doubt at trial."

They were interrupted by the sound of Laurie's desk phone. Grace answered, "Ms. Moran's office." As she hung up, she said, "Speak of the devil. Reception says there's a Katherine Carter and an Angela Hart here to see you."