Paula’s pacing halted abruptly. “Shut UP, Casey!” Casey could not remember her mother ever using that phrase with her. “What is WRONG with you? It’s like you’re addicted to drama. You invite this kind of chaos into your life, and you don’t listen to another soul. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place!”
The room fell silent as Casey glared at her mother. “Go ahead and say it, Mom. You think I did it. You always thought I did it.”
Her mother shook her head, but did not deny the allegation.
Angela reached for her aunt’s hand. “This is all too much,” she said gently. “It’s late, and you’re both upset. Why don’t you both sleep on it and talk again tomorrow?”
“Why bother?” Paula threw up her hands futilely. “She’s going to do whatever she wants.”
Casey didn’t stop Paula from going to her room. Once the door closed and her mother was out of earshot, she felt a weight lift from her body and allowed herself to sprawl in her chair. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it. One of us is going to end up dead.”
“Don’t even kid about that,” Charlotte said.
Casey wanted to tell Angela’s friend to mind her own business, but then she stopped herself. Other than Laurie Moran, Charlotte was the only new person in her life who had been kind to her since she was released. And here I am, resenting her very presence, she thought. Was I always this mean? Or did prison make me like this?
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she complained, reserving her bitterness for her mother. “My parents stuck by me, but they never believed that I was framed. Did you know that she even prays for me at church? She’s always telling me that I’ve paid my debt to society, as if I ever owed one. I swear, sometimes I wish I was back in that cell.”
Angela sounded sheepish when she spoke again. “Don’t get mad at me for saying this, Casey, but she might have a point. About kicking the hornet’s nest, so to speak. RIP_Hunter is posting ugly comments about you. And somehow the Chatter website got the inside track on your plans for the show-”
“It wasn’t Laurie,” Charlotte said, unprompted.
“Whether it was Laurie or not doesn’t matter,” Angela said. “My only point is that you wanted to do this show to clear your name, and now it might be backfiring. I thought Jason or Gabrielle might be alternative suspects, but without new evidence, they’ll repeat all the horrible things they said about you at trial. Do you really want every negative thing about your past thrown in front of cameras again?”
“What are you saying?” Casey asked.
“That maybe you should rethink this, Casey. Your mother might be right-”
“That I’m guilty?” Casey could hear the anger in her own voice. She could feel Charlotte’s eyes boring into her.
“No,” Angela said gently. “About lying low for a while. Give yourself time to get settled into a new life.”
“Absolutely not,” Casey snapped. “I know you’re looking out for me, but you don’t understand. I’m not doing this to clear my name. This is for Hunter. I owe him.”
“You can’t blame yourself-”
“But I do. Don’t you get it? Someone drugged me and killed him. But if I hadn’t been drinking that night, we would have known earlier that something was desperately wrong. We would have left the gala and gone to the emergency room. I wouldn’t have passed out. He wouldn’t have been home. But instead I thought maybe I’d had a little too much wine. He’d still be alive if it weren’t for me.”
Angela held Casey when she broke out into sobs. After Casey recovered her ability to speak, she looked directly at Charlotte Pierce. “You tell me, Charlotte: Can I trust Laurie Moran?”
Charlotte answered immediately. “Unequivocally.”
“Then it’s settled. I don’t want to hear another word about backing out of the show. I’m done being silent.”
•••
That night in bed, Casey listened for sounds of her mother roaming around the house, but heard nothing. She thought about going to her room to apologize for the dustup, but didn’t want to start another round. They could clear the air in the morning.
She picked up her iPad and re-read Mindy Sampson’s blog post. Do you really think Gabrielle and Jason will change their stories? You could be playing with fire.
As Casey stared at the airbrushed, Photoshopped image of Gabrielle Lawson’s face, she felt her blood pressure rise. She might be willing to spend another fifteen years in prison to see that horrible woman meet a deserving fate.
Mindy Sampson’s reporting wasn’t always accurate, but she sure was right about Casey’s feelings toward Gabrielle Lawson. Rage didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt when she saw the Chatter column about Hunter and that horrible woman. Didn’t he realize how it would look? The women at work would all be talking about me like I’m a fool!
What people often described as her temper was simply passion for ideas and arguments. But that day? She’d been truly angry.
As she fell asleep, she spoke the words aloud, hoping that the intended listener could somehow hear her. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’m so very, very sorry.”
36
A week later, every surface of Laurie’s usually tidy office was blanketed with paper. Three whiteboards, covered with colored ink, framed her conference table.
Jerry was raking his fingers through his hair so intensely that Laurie was worried about premature baldness. When they first started on this special, it had felt like everything was falling into place. Hunter’s family agreed to participate. Location scouting was a cinch: the principal sites were Cipriani and the country home that Hunter’s brother now owned. The trial transcripts had given Laurie a tremendous head start on the facts. But now, they were flooded in paper-three days from production-and Laurie was regretting ceding to Brett’s ridiculous demand for speed.
Most of the disorder in her office was attributable to Laurie’s obsession with identifying the Internet user who called himself RIP_Hunter.
“Privacy, schmivacy,” Jerry cried, every syllable marking his frustration. “There has to be some way to know who posted all of these messages.”
Monica from Information Technology tried for the sixteenth time to lower expectations. She was twenty-nine years old with a slight frame and barely five feet tall. Other members of the IT Department had more years of experience under their belts, but Laurie trusted Monica as to computer matters implicitly. She was hardworking, thorough, and most importantly, able to explain technical details in a straightforward way.
“You’re forgetting,” Monica explained, “that fifteen years ago the Internet was treated by most people as a computerized bulletin board. To use it at all was fairly cutting edge, but for the most part, the information flowed in one direction. You’d pull up a page and read it. The idea of responding, let alone engaging in a conversation, was groundbreaking. News providers posted content online, but there was no way to respond.”
“Oh, how I miss those days,” Laurie sighed. As far as she could tell, only the most extreme viewpoints were expressed on the Web. Her own show’s social media pages were filled with praise from viewers, but Laurie always felt the sting of the harshest comments.
Monica was tapping away at the keyboard excitedly. “The desire to engage was out there,” she explained, “but the mainstream media pages weren’t creating a forum. The early adopters found their own cohorts through message boards. Fortunately, I’ve found shadow sites where the content is archived. It took days to print out all the buried conversations about Hunter’s murder and Casey’s trial. If the sites were still operational, I could try to find a company willing to share IP addresses with us. But these sites are no longer active.”