Тесс Герритсен - I Know a Secret

“Most of you have probably heard that Matthew can’t be here with us today,” said Priscilla. “I know he wants to be, but he’s in the hospital, recovering from the shock of losing his wonderful daughter. So I must be the one to speak for both of us. We have lost — the world has lost — a beautiful and talented young woman. And our hearts are broken.”

A snort erupted behind Jane, loud enough to be heard across the aisle, where Frost was sitting among the Team Priscilla mourners. She saw Frost give a disbelieving shake of the head and she wondered about the comments he was hearing from Priscilla’s allies, who now aimed dark looks at the woman who’d just snorted.

“I first met Cassie when she was only six years old. She was a shy and skinny girl, all legs and long hair,” continued Priscilla. If she’d heard the undercurrent of disapproval in the room, she steadfastly ignored it. She also avoided looking at the front pew, where her rival, Elaine, was sitting.

“Even though we were still new to each other, Cassie wrapped her little arms around me and gave me a hug. And she said, ‘Now I have another mommy.’ That’s the moment I knew we were going to be a real family.”

“Bullshit,” muttered the woman behind Jane.

A young woman lay dead in her coffin, her father was gravely ill in the hospital, and this was how the Coyle family grieved, with resentment and rage. Jane had seen it before, at other victims’ funerals. Murder strikes without warning, and it leaves no chance to settle feuds or say goodbyes. It leaves conversations forever unfinished, and here was the result: a family that would always be split by loss.

Priscilla sat down and a familiar trio stood up to speak next. Cassandra’s filmmaker colleagues had managed to clean up reasonably well, with both men now dressed in dark suits and ties. While Amber was somberly garbed in a black dress, her gold nose ring glinted startlingly bright under the altar lights. They looked like three dazed explorers who’d somehow wandered into the gathering and weren’t quite sure how to blend in.

Amber was obviously too upset to say a word, and Ben simply stared down at his Reeboks. It was Travis Chang who spoke for all of them as he nervously blinked in the spotlight.

“We were the Four Musketeers, and Cassie was our D’Artagnan,” said Travis. “She was a fighter, a leader. A storyteller who could spin gold out of childhood trauma. That was our Cassandra. The four of us met in a filmmaking class in NYU, where we learned that the most powerful stories emerge from the most painful episodes of our lives. We were in the process of bringing one of those stories to film, when we lost her.” Travis’s voice broke. As he paused to recover, Amber took his hand and Ben dropped his head even lower.

“If what we learned in that film class is true,” said Travis, “if pain is what brings forth the best stories, then one hell of a story is coming out of this. Losing her is more pain than the three of us know what to do with. But we swear we’ll finish what you started, Cass. This movie is your story and your baby. We won’t let you down.”

They left the podium and returned to their pew.

For a moment no one stood up to speak.

In the prolonged hush, the sudden creak of the pew seemed all the louder as Elaine Coyle rose to her feet. Today Cassandra’s mother looked far more formidable than she had four days ago, when Jane and Frost had interviewed her and the shock of her daughter’s death had left her barely able to speak above a whisper. Now she moved with grim resolve to the podium and stood for a moment, surveying the audience. Unlike Priscilla, whose face had been nipped and tucked into a sleek but plastic version of eternal youth, Elaine wore her age without apology, and she was all the more impressive because of it. Her upswept hair was streaked with gray and her face was etched by the passage of fifty-eight years, but she radiated strength.

And bitterness.

“My daughter didn’t suffer fools gladly,” she said. “She chose as her friends only people she believed in, and she returned their loyalty a thousandfold.” She looked at the three young filmmakers. “Thank you, Travis and Ben and Amber, for being my daughter’s friends. You know the obstacles that Cassie overcame. When the going got tough, you stood by her. Unlike some people who have no sense of loyalty. Who walk away from their responsibilities at the first whiff of temptation.” Elaine’s gaze shifted to Priscilla, and her eyes hardened.

Behind Jane, the Team Elaine women gave murmurs of approval.

“If Cassie were here, she’d tell you what real love is. She’d tell you it means not walking away from a child who’s only six years old. You can’t make up for that betrayal by throwing money and gifts at her. The child always knows. The child never forgets.”

“God, can’t somebody stop this?” a man whispered.

Priscilla stood up and walked out of the church.

It was the minister who gently took control of the situation. He stepped up to the podium, and the live microphone caught their murmurs.

“Shall we move on to the next speaker, my dear?”

“No. I still have something to say,” Elaine insisted.

“But perhaps there’s a better time for this? Please, let me help you back to your seat.”

“No, I—” Elaine suddenly wobbled. Her face went white and she reached out to clutch the podium.

“Help! Can someone help me?” the minister pleaded as he tried to catch her beneath the arms. He was still holding on as Elaine’s legs slid out from under her and she crumpled to the floor.

Elaine sat in the minister’s office, sipping a cup of heavily sugared tea. Her color was back, and so was her steeliness; she’d refused the ambulance and decisively shut down any talk of a visit to the emergency room. Instead, she sat grim-faced and rigid as the minister scurried to refill the teapot with hot water. Behind her loomed a bookcase filled with volumes about compassion and faith and charity, none of which could be read in Elaine’s eyes.

“It’s been a week now,” said Elaine, looking at Jane and Frost. “And you still have no idea who killed my daughter?”

“We’re following every lead, ma’am,” said Jane.

“What have you found out?”

“Well, we’ve learned that you have a very complicated family.” And there’s nothing like seeing it in all its brutal glory. Jane pulled up a chair and sat down so she was eye-to-eye with Elaine. “I have to say, you were pretty rough on Priscilla.”

“She deserves it. What else can you say about a woman who steals your husband?”

“I’d say the husband had something to do with it.”

“Oh, they both did. Do you know how it happened?”

I’m not sure I want to know.

“Matthew was her CPA. Did her taxes, kept track of all her various accounts. He knew how much she was worth. He knew she could give him the good life. When he started flying out of town on business trips, I had no idea that he was jetting off with her . There I was, at home with poor little Cassie, and it was an awful time for us to be left alone. A little girl had just been kidnapped in the neighborhood, and all the families were rattled, but did he give a damn? No. He was too busy chasing after that rich piece of ass.”

The minister froze, steaming kettle poised over the teapot. Red-faced, he turned away.

Elaine looked at Jane. “You’ve spoken to her. I bet she gave you a completely different version of the story.”

“She told us that your marriage was already in trouble,” said Jane.

“Of course she’d say that. Home-wreckers always do.”

Jane sighed. “We’re not family counselors, ma’am. We’re just trying to find your daughter’s killer. Do you think Cassie’s death might have something to do with the various conflicts in your family?”