York wasn’t a place where Casey had ever pictured herself, but York had been her home for a decade and a half.
As she walked the tiled halls-one guard in front of her, one behind-fellow inmates called out to her. “You go, Casey.” “Don’t forget about us.” “Show them what you can do!” She heard whistles and claps. She wouldn’t miss this place, but she would remember so many of these women and the lessons they had taught her.
She was excited to leave, but she hadn’t been this scared since she first arrived. She’d spent 21,900 clanks counting down her days. Now she had finally earned her freedom, and she was terrified.
As she heard an entirely new sound-the prison’s outside doors swinging open-she wondered, What will my life be like tomorrow?
A wave of relief washed over her when she saw her mother and cousin waiting outside. Her mother’s hair was gray now, and she was at least an inch shorter than when Casey began serving her sentence. But when her mother wrapped her arms around her, Casey felt like a small child again.
Her cousin Angela was as gorgeous as ever. She pulled Casey into a tight hug. Casey tried not to think about the absence of her father, or the fact that the prison hadn’t allowed her to attend his funeral three years earlier.
“Thank you so much for coming all the way up from the city,” Casey said to Angela. Most of Casey’s friends had stopped talking to her once she was arrested. The few that pretended to remain neutral during her trial disappeared from her life once she was convicted. The only support Casey had received beyond the prison walls was from her mother and Angela.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Angela said. “But I owe you an apology: I was so excited this morning that I left the city without the clothes your mom asked me to bring. But no worries. We can stop by the mall on the way home for some basics.”
“Leave it to you to find any excuse to go shopping,” Casey joked. Angela, a former model, was now the head of marketing for a women’s sportswear company called Ladyform.
Once they were in the car, Casey asked Angela how well she knew the Pierce family, which founded Ladyform.
“I’ve met the parents, but their daughter, Charlotte, runs the New York operations. She’s one of my best friends. Why do you ask?”
“The disappearance of Amanda Pierce, your friend’s younger sister, was featured on last month’s episode of a show called Under Suspicion. It re-investigates cold cases. Maybe Charlotte can help me get a meeting. I want them to find out who really killed Hunter.”
Casey’s mother sighed wearily. “Can’t you just enjoy one peaceful day before starting up with all this?”
“With all due respect, Mom, I’d say fifteen years is a long enough wait for the truth.”
2
That evening, Paula Carter was sitting in bed, her back against the headboard, an iPad mini on her lap. She found comfort in the muffled voices of Casey and Angela from the living room, backed by a television laugh track. She’d read several books about the “reentry” transition for prisoners returning to the outside world. Based on Casey’s free-spiritedness in her younger years, Paula had initially been worried that her daughter might immediately try jumping back into a busy life in New York City. Instead, she’d learned that, more often than not, people in Casey’s position had a hard time realizing the extent of their freedom.
Paula was self-confined to her room to give Casey a chance to move around the house without her mother hovering over her. It pained Paula to think that a trip from the bedroom to the living room, with full use of the TV remote control, was the most independence her smart, talented, strong-willed daughter had enjoyed for fifteen years.
She was so grateful to Angela for taking the day off to meet Casey when she was released. By blood, the two girls were cousins, but Paula and her sister, Robin, had raised their daughters as if they were siblings. Angela’s father had never been in the picture, so Frank had been a father-figure to Angela. Then when Angela was only fifteen years old, Robin was gone, too, so Paula and Frank finished raising her.
Angela and Casey were as close as sisters, but couldn’t be more different. They were both beautiful and shared the same bright blue eyes, but Angela was blonde, and Casey was brunette. Angela had the height and frame of the very successful model she had been in her twenties. Casey’s build had always been more athletic, and she had played competitive tennis in college at Tufts. While Angela skipped college to work on her modeling career and a busy social life in New York, Casey had been a serious student, dedicated to multiple political causes. Angela was a Republican, Casey was a Democrat. The list went on and on, and yet the two of them remained as thick as thieves.
Now Paula looked down at the news she’d been reading on her iPad. Only ten hours after leaving her cell, Casey was back in the headlines. Would the attention drive her into her room, never to venture out again?
Or even worse, would it send her straight before the public eye? Paula had always admired her daughter’s willingness to fight-often loudly-for what she thought was right. But if it were up to Paula, Casey would change her name, start a new life, and never speak of Hunter Raleigh again.
She had been so relieved today when Angela sided with her against Casey’s idea of contacting the producers of Under Suspicion. Casey had dropped the subject once they were at the mall, but Paula knew her daughter. That wouldn’t be the end of the conversation.
She heard another burst of canned laughter from the television. Casey and Angela were watching a sit-com for now, but with one click, they could stumble onto the news. She was surprised that word had leaked so quickly. Did reporters monitor the names of prisoners released each day? she wondered. Or maybe one of the prison guards had made a phone call. Or perhaps Hunter’s family had put out a press release. Lord knows they thought Casey should have gone to prison for the rest of her natural life.
Or maybe someone had simply recognized Casey at the shopping mall. Paula kicked herself again for delegating to Angela the task of pulling together a wardrobe for her cousin. She knew how busy her niece was.
Paula had made such an effort to have everything Casey would need waiting for her at home. Magazines on the nightstand. New towels and a bathrobe. A medicine cabinet filled with the very best spa products. The whole point of preparing was to keep her out of the public eye, but instead they’d ended up at the mall.
She looked again at her iPad screen. CRAZY CASEY’S SPENDING SPREE! There were no photographs, but the so-called reporter knew which mall Casey had been to and which stores. The hit piece concluded, “Apparently prison food was kind to the sleeping beauty’s figure. According to our source, Casey is slim and fit from all the hours she spent exercising in the prison yard. Will the accused gold digger be wearing her new wardrobe to find a new boyfriend? Only time will tell.”
The blogger was Mindy Sampson. It had been a long time since Paula had seen that name in print, but she was up to her same old tricks. The reason Casey was in excellent shape was because she had always been the worker-bee type, constantly on the go between her job, volunteer work, political groups, and art showings. In prison, she had nothing to do but exercise and obsess over finding someone to help her clear her name. But a tabloid hack like Mindy Sampson made it sound like she’d been preparing for a red carpet.