Kate Carlisle - The Lies That Bind

Maybe I would break into tears later, or struggle all night to get the picture of her dead body out of my head. But for now, I felt nothing. And that probably wouldn’t help my karma situation much.

Since I planned to drive to Sonoma this weekend, maybe I would ask my mother for suggestions. She was dabbling in Wicca lately and could run a happy positivity spell on me. If not, I could always undergo some ojas replenishment. Or, what the heck, I might even get my chakras lubed. I was desperate.

And not that it was all about me, but did Layla have to die on a night when I was wearing my cutest outfit for my big night out with the hot British guy?

Yes, I was whining, but I’d gone to a lot of trouble earlier, calling up my best friend and fashion maven, Robin, and opening myself up to possible mockery by asking for her advice. So I deserved to whine for a minute in the privacy of my own brain.

Sure enough, Robin had enjoyed a few laughs at my expense. Then she’d gotten down to business, insisting that I wear the one dress I owned with my sexiest pair of black heels. She knew I owned them because she’d forced me to buy them a few weeks back for an art opening I’d attended that featured some of her newest sculptures.

I’d done exactly as she suggested. Why ask for expert advice if you’re not going to take it? I’d even managed to fix my straight blond hair the way she’d instructed, using a touch of gel on my bangs for a chunky, punky look. Those were her words.

And it all seemed to work, if my students were any gauge. I was looking good. I was uncomfortable and my feet were killing me, but I looked good. And I felt good. Until Layla had to go and die.

So here I sat, feeling sorry for myself and guilty for it, plus worrying about my karma and my feet and Derek Stone and the future of BABA. Because even though I disapproved of some of Layla’s methods, I couldn’t see Naomi or Karalee or Alice running this place with the same skill and panache.

“Meow.”

“Hey, Baba,” I said, and leaned down to pick up the cat. He was large and unwieldy, but he seemed to need a comforting touch. I held him in my lap, stroking his soft fur, and wondered what he thought of this odd place he called home. Had he seen anything? Heard anything? Had he looked into the eyes of a killer tonight? If so, he would take his secrets to the grave.

“Meow.”

“Yeah, I know, you’ll never tell.”

The door opened slowly and Alice poked her head in. “Oh, you’re in here. I was worried. Are you okay? Do you mind if I come in?”

I smiled at her, glad to be distracted from my selfish woes. “Come in and sit down. I’m just hiding in here with the cat. We’re feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Pretty kitty.”Alice leaned over and scratched Baba’s ears for a minute. The cat allowed it for a few seconds, then ran off. Alice straightened and pushed her long hair back off her shoulders. “Are you feeling sorry about Layla? Because I feel awful. And I’m so worried. I hate to even think these thoughts while Layla is… well. But I just don’t know how we’re going to go forward. Layla was everything to BABA.”

She paced the floor, wringing her hands as she spoke a mile a minute.

“Naomi is a mess,” she said, almost to herself. “The managers are both in a dither, and there’s Ned. He’s an odd Thomas, isn’t he? Well, I just hope nobody expects me to pick up the slack. I’m one step removed from a basket case at the best of times.”

“Alice,” I interrupted, amused despite the fact that I had the same concerns, “things will work out. Nobody expects you to grab the helm. Everyone here needs time to grieve and regroup.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “You know what, Brooklyn? I think I should grab the helm. Now is not the time to shrink back, but to move forward. Now is the time to hit the ground running, to ask ourselves, What would Layla do?”

She began to march back and forth, a little soldier now, shaking her fist with firm resolve. “I can’t give in to the fear. We have a festival to get off the ground. And next month, the print arts program will be launching a new book. There’s already publicity out on that and we’ve got a huge party at the end of the month. No, Layla would want us to proceed full steam ahead. There’s no time for lollygagging, no time indeed.”

Maybe she was channeling Layla, but whatever she was doing, I was glad to see she wasn’t crying or rubbing her stomach anymore. Maybe her taking charge was a good thing, just the diversion she needed to take her mind off her friend’s sudden death.

On impulse, I said, “Alice, I’m having a girls’ night at my place tomorrow night. There’s just a few of us, dinner, drinks, some laughs. Would you like to come?”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Is that a yes?” I said after a moment.

“You… you’re inviting me over to your house? To meet your friends?”

“Yeah. You want to come?”

She sniffled. “I would be so honored. Thank you.”

“We’re just talking pizza and cheap wine here.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she whispered. “I’ve hardly met anyone since I moved here and I don’t get out much, so you’ve got to excuse me if I’m overcome with emotion.”

I laughed. “Okay, good. I’ll write down the directions.”

The door swung open and Inspector Nathan Jaglom walked in. I smiled, happy to see the homicide detective who had investigated the murder of Abraham Karastovsky less than two months before. Was it perverse to feel as if I were greeting an old friend?

“Inspector Jaglom, hello,” I said, hopping down from the chair and walking over to shake his hand. “Do you remember me?”

“Ms. Wainwright,” Jaglom said with a broad grin. “Of course, how could I forget you? Are you involved in this?”

“Only peripherally, I promise you.” I waved my hands a little too frantically. “I was teaching a class when we heard the gunshot. I’ve got more than ten witnesses that will back me up.”

“Good.” He looked relieved, but not half as relieved as I was.

“Everyone in my class is a witness for each other, as well,” I hastened to add. “We were all working when the gunshot was fired.”

“Okay, that’s good. We’ll need a few minutes with each person, ask a few questions, check their IDs and contact info. Then you should all be free to go home.”

“Okay, sounds fair.” I noticed Alice then. “Inspector, this is one of my students, who’s also the center’s assistant director. Alice Fairchild.”

He nodded. “Ms. Fairchild.”

“How do you do?” she said, her voice barely registering. She gave me a questioning look.

“I met Inspector Jaglom recently,” I explained, “when he worked on a case where a friend of mine was killed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She touched my shoulder in sympathy, then whispered, “I’m just going to wait in the gallery.”

After she left the room, Jaglom browsed the front counter. Holding up one of my journals, he said, “Is this the kind of stuff you’re teaching?”

“Yes. It’s a bookbinding class.”

“Looks good,” he said, then smiled kindly. “So, how are you getting along these days?”

“I’m doing pretty well, thanks.” I knew he was asking how I was dealing with Abraham’s death. “Really, fine.”

“Good.” He turned as the door opened and Detective Inspector Janice Lee entered. “Hey, Lee.”

“Sorry I’m late,”Lee said,then saw me.“Brooklyn Wainwright. Why am I not surprised?”

“She’s got witnesses this time,” Jaglom said, and chuckled. I was so happy to provide amusement for local law enforcement.

“Listen,” Lee said. “We’ve got two classrooms available for interviews. You want to take this room or the other one?”