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August 31st, 2012
Will had his suit jacket draped over his arm when he came into his bedroom. It was dark but for Helen’s bedside lamp, and all was muted quiet. His dress shoes padded on the carpet.
She sat in bed, blonde hair tied up, absorbed in her tablet. Her eyes puffy from crying, she was still somehow an illuminated beauty in the dark, the living woman only a model for the marble statue to come.
"Helen," he said as he crossed the big room. No answer. He hung up his jacket in their walk-in closet, and came out undoing his cuffs.
"Hello?" He undid his tie. She swiped the screen with a finger, and acted like she didn’t hear. "Helen, I don’t have time for this."
She chuckled at something she read. She swiped back to reread. She nodded thoughtfully, a gentle crease in her brow.
Will’s lip curled. Tonight was not the night. He walked up. He reached out. The quiet was rent apart by Helen’s yell of surprise. She tried to pull her foot back, but Will gripped her heel through the comforter.
"I need to talk to you." Her nostrils flared.
"Don’t touch me." She jerked her leg, and almost got away. But he had her attention at least.
"Listen." He spoke low and intense. "The police are coming here. Probably tomorrow. Asking questions. You’ll tell them I didn’t leave the house tonight. Do you understand?"
"I’m not talking to you. Asshole." She yanked again, and got her foot back. She curled her legs under her, picked up her tablet, and promptly forgot he was there.
Will growled, and reached out again. She slapped him away without looking up. He tried a different approach.
"Terry’s dead." No response. He went on. "He fell from a construction scaffolding. Nine stories. It takes several seconds to fall that far. Tick, tick, tick, tick, just falling. You should’ve heard the sound when he hit. Like a bag of wet cement—"
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Ugh." Helen dropped the silent act. "Is he really dead?" Will heard worry in her voice.
"Yeah."
The covers rose and fell as Helen breathed. All else was quiet.
"They’ll be investigating, to rule out homicide. It shouldn’t cause us any problems. As long as you tell them, and everyone else, that I didn’t leave the house tonight. Do you understand?"
A long pause.
"Helen."
"Did you…?" A whisper. Barely audible. She trailed off.
"Did I… what? Kill him? No."
Helen studied him, suspicious. "Then why is he dead? Why are the police coming here?"
Will stumbled. "He fell. Like I told you. Look, it’s a long story."
Helen’s suspicion turned to horror.
"Oh my god you murdered him. You're disgusting. I ought to turn you in."
"Stop that. It’s not a joke."
A beat.
"Is he really dead?"
"He really is."
Her delicate brows contorted. Her lip trembled.
"Didn’t know you knew him like that."
"It’s sad when people die."
"Yeah, you’re the empathy queen. Were you fucking him?"
"I can’t believe you would even ask me that—"
"Christ. Who else?"
"You’re paranoid. Don’t you have bigger things to worry about?"
"Bigger than you sleeping with Terry?"
"I’m not sleeping with him!"
"Were you?"
"When?"
"When he was alive."
No answer.
Will chuckled bitterly. "Jesus."
"Ugh!" Helen threw off the covers and slid from the bed. "Why am I on trial? You're the one on a killing spree." She made to leave. Will took long strides and closed the distance. The two were only silhouettes when he seized her arm, just before the door. She tried to pull away.
"Stop!" she spat, blue eyes livid. "Let go of me! Ouch! You’re breaking my arm!" She opened her mouth to scream, but Will put a hand around her throat. She fell silent with his thumb resting on her windpipe. She stared at him with hate.
"No one’s even twisting your arm. But if you start screaming, then I will hurt you." A moment, and he let go of her neck. "I didn’t kill Terry. And I’m not going down just because it looks like I did. Which means you’re not going down, either. As long as—"
"Why would I go down at all? I’m not a murderer." She tried to pull away.
"As long as." He pulled her closer.
"You’re hurting me."
"Believe me when I say this is just a pale shadow of the hurt you’ll experience if you don’t listen." He had her full against him, and you might have thought it was sexy, if you didn’t know what he was saying.
"Do you know what prison is like? Is that somewhere you want to go? Get your shit together. Play your role. Do you understand?"
Helen stared, defiant. For a moment, he glimpsed the fierce and beautiful woman he’d married. Then she spat in his face, and the moment passed. His anger flared and he slapped her.
"Do you understand?"
Tears on her cheeks, her mouth was a snarl.
"Big man," she jeered. "Slapping his wife around. You kill Terry ‘cause you found out he had a bigger cock?"
"What?" Will forgot himself.
"It’s true. I heard a rumor, so I fucked him and found out." She smiled, and Will wondered how he could’ve ever invited this Medusa into his life. Into his beautiful new house. She hadn’t started out like this.
"You’re drunk."
"Maybe. But I still fucked him and you still killed him. What a pair we are, like Bonnie and motherfuckin’ Clyde, huh? I hope Cain or Jacob never look at me the wrong way, or you’ll go murder them too! Won’t you, you fucking psychopath?"
"I didn’t kill him!" Eyes wide, Will nearly lost his temper. She saw it in his eyes. Saw he was losing control.
"Fine, you didn’t kill him. And I’ll say whatever you want to the police. Just… let go of me." Will relaxed his grip, and Helen stepped back, rubbing her arm. "Abuser," she spat, retreating to the bed.
He’d left marks on her arm. She’d cover any bruises with makeup, like everything ugly in their lives. But maybe the stress was getting to him after all. Nothing was going according to plan. First Terry, now this. He dreaded to find out what would fall apart next.
"Chilean sea bass in an apricot reduction, over a carrot-string cole slaw." Chef Suchart Moncrief lifted a covered plate from the cart beside him. He placed it in front of Helen, but she was absorbed in her tablet. He had to work around her. She leaned aside when he lifted the lid, to keep the steam from her screen.
"Paired with grilled asparagus, and a wild-rice risotto."
The next plate he set before Cadence. Cadence Cheerslaughter was a little waif of a girl who seemed much younger than twelve. She had her father’s green eyes, big and shining in her face like someone starving, while her mouth was a meek little dawt that rarely said much. She wore her black hair in a bob, and her only real friends were stuffed animals.
"Thank you, Chef Su." He pulled the lid from her plate with a flourish.
The Cheerslaughters had just upgraded to the Hollywood Hills a few months ago. Will had purchased a rather notorious mansion called Crooked Palms. But he had a new name planned for it, and there were signs of remodeling.
The big dining room was enough for forty people, so the family ate most nights in here, a smaller and less formal room off the kitchen. It was still big, though, and the table seated eight. Very little light from the crystal chandelier. Cady wished they could sit together, but Helen felt it didn’t look right. So she perched in the middle, halfway between her father at one end and her mother at the other.
Helen finished her wine and went to pour more, but only drops fell in her glass. She set the bottle down with an audible thunk that made poor Cady jump, and stumbled getting out of her chair.
"Helen," Will said. The chef set a plate down in front of him.
"No, no, Chef, I’ve got it. You keep serving dinner, you’re doing such a fantastic job." The chef gave her a look that could have been sassy, but she waved him off, and went into the kitchen.
Will looked at his daughter. He gave silent thanks she didn’t resemble her mother.
"Is she okay?" Cady whispered. Chef Su, looking prim, was pushing his cart back to the kitchen.
"She’s a little frazzled," Will said, slicing asparagus. "She didn’t like talking to the police." Cadence nodded.
"They were scary." Will nodded.
"It’s their job to be scary."
"We aren’t going to jail, are we?" Will gave her a comforting smile. His version of one.
"No, honey. No one is going to jail. Definitely not you."
"But you either? And Mom?"
"None of us. Your mother is just frightened. She doesn’t understand what happened to Terry. And they were… friends." Cady looked incredulous.
"Friends?"
Helen emerged from the kitchen. She’d found more wine, and she slumped in her chair to dump it in her glass.
"Helen." Will put patience in his voice.
Helen looked up, even while she was pouring, and wine spilled onto the table. She set the bottle on the tablecloth and pointed to the tablet beside her plate.
"It says here they’re looking for forensic evidence." She gave Will a meaningful look. "And they’ll definitely catch the murderer." She slurred.
Will, deadpan, lifted a flaky forkful of sea bass to his mouth. Helen gave him a lurid smile. Cady’s big scared eyes flicked from one parent to the other. A pair of white headphones rested around her neck. Helen had forbidden them at the table.
"Jake called me." She watched for Will’s reaction. She still hadn’t noticed her food.
"Who?"
"Asher. You’ve only worked with him for a decade."
"Nobody calls him Jake."
"I do. We’re friends."
"Oh, like Terry, right?"
She gave him a poisoned look, and jerked her head at Cady, watching in silence.
"Why’s Asher calling you?"
"He said the cops found a burner phone at the site. Up on the eighth floor scaffolding. It was Terry’s, it had his fingerprints or something. Apparently he was texting someone to meet him up there that night. So whoever he sent those texts to is the murderer. His family knows nothing."
"I’m the sure the other phone is a burner as well. Nobody would be that stupid." Will stared intently at his wife.
Cady watched, confused.
"Oh, wonderful. I’m so glad the murderer thought of everything."
Will clenched his jaw. He breathed slowly.
"What," he said, controlled, "is going on?"
"Oh, nothing. I guess I’m just trying to figure out when I should start packing for prison."
"For the love of God." Will gestured at Cady. She was blinking fast, near tears, and confusion reigned on her face.
"Oh, I’m sure she’ll figure out something’s wrong when the police kick our door in and take us away! But it’s no big deal, they have great trauma programs in foster care."
"No one’s going to prison. Maybe that’s enough wine."
"Oh no, you’re not taking that away from me, too!"
"I've never done anything but give you every stupid thing—" He caught himself, but not in time. She was laughing. And pouring more wine.
"You’re going to have to start treating me with respect, William," she said, as her glass threatened to overflow.
"With what I know, you’ll have to keep me happy from now on. I’ve got you," and she hiccuped, "right where I want you." She stabbed an asparagus on her fork and brandished it like a weapon. Will stood up, chair screeching on the floor.
"I have work to do," he announced, throwing his linen napkin down on the table.
"Who are you off to kill this time?" Helen called after him. "You can’t just silence everyone, William!"
But Will wasn’t listening to her. He was pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling through his contacts. He put a bud in one ear.
"Chico," he said as he slipped out the door, "You got a second? I need a favor."
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