Whether Paula wanted to or not, she had to alert Casey. As she walked down the hallway, she could no longer hear the sounds of canned laughter. When she turned the corner, Casey and Angela were staring at the television screen. The cable news host’s face was filled with pious indignation. “It has been reported that Casey Carter was released from prison today and headed for a shopping mall. That’s right, folks, Crazy Casey, Killer Casey, the so-called Sleeping Beauty Killer is back among us, and the first thing on her mind was a closet full of new clothes.”
Casey clicked off the television. “Now do you see why I’m so desperate about Under Suspicion? Please, Angela, I’ve written to defense lawyers and law clinics across the country, and no one will help me. That television show could be my best shot, my only shot. And your friend Charlotte has direct access to the producers. Please, I just need one meeting.”
“Casey,” Paula interrupted, “we already talked about this. It’s a terrible idea.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Paula,” Angela said. “I hate to say this, but some people think you got off with a slap on the wrist.”
Paula and Frank had been devastated when their only daughter was convicted of manslaughter. But the media reported the verdict as a loss for the prosecution, which had depicted Casey as a cold-blooded murderer.
“Let one of those people spend a week in a cell,” Casey protested. “Fifteen years is an eternity.”
Paula placed a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “The Raleighs are a powerful family. Hunter’s father could pull strings with the producers. That show could paint you in a very negative light.”
“A negative light?” Casey scoffed. “I’d say I’m already there, Mom. You don’t think I saw all those people staring at me when we went shopping today? I can’t even walk into a store without feeling like a zoo animal. What kind of life is that? Angela, will you call your friend for me or not?”
Paula could feel Angela beginning to cave. The two of them had always been so close, and Casey was as persuasive as ever. Paula looked to her niece with pleading eyes. Please, she thought, don’t let her make this mistake.
She felt so relieved when Angela tactfully responded, “Why don’t you wait a few days and see how you feel then?”
Casey shook her head, clearly disappointed, but then reached silently for the remote control and turned off the television. “I’m tired,” she said abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”
Paula fell asleep that night praying that the media would move on to something else so Casey could start adapting to a new life. When she woke up in the morning, she realized she should have known that her daughter never waited for anyone’s approval to do anything she believed was important.
Casey’s room was empty. There was a note on the dining room table. Took the train into the city. Be home tonight.
Paula knew that Casey must have walked the mile to the train station. She didn’t need to wonder why Casey had left while she was sleeping. She was going to see the producer of Under Suspicion, no matter what it took.
3
Laurie Moran smiled politely to the waiter and declined another refill on her coffee. She stole a glance at her watch. Two hours. She had been at this table at 21 Club for two full hours. It was one of her favorite restaurants, but she needed to get back to work.
“Mmmm, this soufflé is absolute heaven. You’re sure you don’t want a bite?”
Her companion at what was turning out to be a painfully long meal was a woman named Lydia Harper. By some accounts, she was the brave widow from Houston who’d been raising two boys on her own since a deranged stranger killed their father, an esteemed medical school professor at Baylor, after a road rage incident. By others, she was the manipulative woman who’d hired a hit man to kill her husband because she desperately feared that he was going to divorce her and sue for custody.
The case was perfect for Laurie’s show, Under Suspicion, a series of true crime-based “news specials” focusing on cold cases. It had been two weeks since Lydia agreed on the phone to participate in a reinvestigation of her husband’s murder, but she still hadn’t signed the paperwork. After telling Laurie repeatedly that she “kept meaning to go to the post office,” she suddenly declared two days ago that she wanted to meet in person-in New York, with a first-class airline ticket and two nights at the Ritz-Carlton-before signing on the dotted line.
Laurie had assumed that Lydia was looking for a free five-star trip on the show’s dime, and was willing to oblige if that’s what it took to get her to sign her participation agreement. But each time Laurie tried to broach the issue over lunch, Lydia had changed the subject to the Broadway show she’d seen the previous night, her shopping trip to Barneys that morning, or the excellence of 21’s classic turkey hash she’d ordered from the lunch menu.
Laurie heard her cell phone buzz from the outside pocket of her handbag once again.
“Why don’t you answer it?” Lydia suggested. “I understand. Work work work. It never stops.”
Laurie had ignored several other calls and texts, but was afraid to ignore this one. It might be from her boss.
She felt a pit in her stomach as soon as she saw her phone screen. Four missed calls: two from her assistant, Grace Garcia, and two from her assistant producer, Jerry Klein. She also saw a string of text messages from both of them.
Brett is looking for you. ETA?
OMG. Crazy Casey is here about her case. She says she knows Charlotte Pierce. You’re going to want to talk to her. Call me!
Where are you? Are you still at lunch?
CC is still here. And Brett is still looking for you.
What do you want us to tell Brett? Call ASAP. Brett’s head might explode if you don’t get back soon.
And then a final message from Grace, sent just now: If that man comes back to your office one more time, we might need an ambulance on the 16th floor. What part of “she’s not here” does he not understand?
Laurie rolled her eyes, picturing Brett pacing the hallways. Her boss was a brilliant and renowned producer, but he was impatient and petulant. Last year, a Photoshopped image of his face pasted onto the body of a swaddled baby with a rattle in hand had made the rounds among studio employees. Laurie always suspected that Jerry was the guilty party, but she was confident that he’d covered his electronic tracks so as not to get caught.
The truth was that Laurie had been avoiding Brett. It had been a month since their last special aired, and she knew he was eager for her to start production on the next.
Lord knew she should be thankful. It wasn’t that long ago that Laurie had been losing sleep wondering if she still had a career. First, she’d taken time off from work after her husband, Greg, was killed. Then when she returned, her track record was bumpy at best. With each flop of a show, she heard ambitious, young production assistants-each of them eager to take her place-wondering aloud whether she was “in a funk” or had “lost her touch.”
Under Suspicion had changed all that. Laurie started toying with the idea before Greg died. People loved mysteries, and telling the stories from the perspective of the suspects was a fresh take on cold cases. But after Greg was killed, she sat on the idea for years. In retrospect, she realized she didn’t want to look like a widow obsessed with her husband’s own unsolved murder. But, as they say, necessity is the mother of invention. With her career at stake, she finally pitched what she knew was her best idea. They’d had three successful specials, with ratings and “viral trending” increasing each time. But, as they also say, the reward for good work is more work.