Closer Than Blood

relationship was complicated and it was better to change the subject.

“Did you shoot him, then yourself?” Tori sighed.

“I knew you’d think that,” she said.

“Well?”

“Are you my lawyer or my sister?”

“Being your lawyer would be a choice. No, I’m your sister.” Tori looked directly into her sister’s eyes.

“No, I didn’t shoot him.” Lainie finished her wine, and the salads arrived. She would not have another drink. She never wanted to give Tori the upper hand.

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” She looked back down at her glass.

“Pour you another?” Lainie ignored her offer.

“You seem to be hiding something, Tori.” Tori studied her sister; this time her eyes glistened with tears. Oh, yes, Lainie thought. I’ve seen those tears before. They come whenever she needs to get her way.

“I’m in trouble. I’m afraid,” Tori said, speaking in a plaintive manner that didn’t seem like the sister who’d been out of sight but not completely out of mind.

“What happened, Tori?” No response. Just more thinking, buying time, scanning for the right words.

“What happened?” Again, Lainie restrained herself from ending the question with the words “this time.” Tori told her about the night of the shooting, how she hadn’t really seen all that much. How quickly everything happened. She mentioned that one of the detectives had been rude to her, almost suggesting that she wasn’t being truthful.

“I really don’t know how much more forthcoming I could be,” she said.

“I was a victim here, too. I was shot. If I didn’t get out of there, I probably would have been raped, then murdered.” The old but speedy waiter awkwardly took their order. Lainie selected grilled tofu with a miso vinaigrette, peanut noodles, and curry coconut butternut squash. Tori ordered a pan-roasted organic chicken breast with kalamata and green olives.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vegan now,” Tori said.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tori smiled.

“It would be so like you not to eat meat.” Lainie changed the subject. She motioned to Tori’s leg.

“How many stitches? “Three or four. I’ll never be able wear a bikini again.” At thirty-three, Lainie doubted she’d ever wear a bikini, and it had nothing to do with a scar.

“What do you want from me, Tori? I mean, really, you call me up out of the blue. You walked out on Dad and me. You didn’t even come when he was so sick. He almost died! Where in the hell were you?” Tori stared into Lainie’s eyes.

“I have issues with the past. You of all people should know it.” If they were playing a game of chicken, neither was going to blink.

“You can’t use that forever, you know that, right?” Tori held her sister frozen in her stare.

“Who says? You?”

“Let’s move on,” Lainie said, realizing she had blinked.

“Your husband is dead. You’ve been shot.”

“Yes and yes.”

“I don’t know anything about him. About Alex, your husband, whose name you seldom use. Honestly, I don’t know anything about you.” When the words left her lips, Lainie O’Neal knew that she could not have been more accurate in her description of the state of affairs between the twins.

“Fair enough. But I don’t expect you’ll like much of what I have to say,” Tori said, showing no emotion. Her eyes could be filled with charm and sparkle one moment and completely dead the next. She could play the center of attention or the woman no one wants to make eye contact with for fear of a cruel remark.

“You’ve always been such a bitch, Tori. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.” Tori smiled.

“Remember,” she said, “I’m the bad one.” Lainie didn’t take the bait.

“That brings me to the next question. Were you having an affair? The detective thinks so.”

“It wasn’t an affair. It was a mistake. A big one. And I think that’s the reason all of this happened.”

“Who was it? Did your husband know?” Tori lowered her head and put her palms against her forehead, gently. Not so much that she’d muss her hair or smear her makeup. She rolled her forehead against her hands, as if coaxing the memories.

“My neighbor, Darius,” she said, looking up.

“I was lonely and stupidly got involved with him. Alex was always working and I was in that big old house all alone. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I really didn’t. I was ... just so alone.” Cue the violins, Lainie thought. She’d heard her sister’s attempt at contrition plenty of times before. In fact, a cascade of memories poured over her as they sat.

“What happened?”

“He just wouldn’t take no for an answer, Lainie. I swear it. He kept coming over. He told me he loved me and that he couldn’t live without me. Then he told me that he’d do anything to be with me again. I told him no. I told him that the sex was a mistake.”

“When was this?” she asked, thinking of the condom wrapper.

“It has been over for a while. At least as far as I was concerned.” Lainie didn’t believe her, but she didn’t want to confront her about what she’d found.

“Did he shoot you? Did he kill Alex?” Tori shook her head.

“I wish I could say he did. But honestly, I didn’t see the face of who did it. It happened so fast. I heard the gunfire. I ran into the room, bent over Alex . . . a man in a black mask shot me. . . .” She started to cry. At least, tears rolled down her cheeks, and if it was any other person it would have been genuine tears. With Tori, Lainie wasn’t so sure.

“You didn’t see him well enough to identify him?” she asked.

“No. I ran over to Darius’s house to confront him. I thought it could be him . . . I stood there bleeding and I told him that I would kill him myself. I don’t know if it was him. He didn’t seem to be out of breath or blood soaked or anything. I passed out, and he called nine-one-one.” Lainie leaned forward to make sure her sister got the point.

“You need to tell the police.” Tori looked away, then back at her sister.

“I’ve tried, but considering my history, I’m not sure anyone would believe me.” Lainie knew what she was talking about. There was the matter of that other dead husband of hers. Their food arrived and Tori brightened.

“God, I’m so hungry!” She pierced her chicken with her fork.

“I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks!” Lainie nodded. She wanted to say something about how it was so nice that her sister had gotten back her appetite.

“You know, since your husband has barely been dead a few days.” But she didn’t. She didn’t dare.

Tori Connelly didn’t look like the kind of woman who would need to use a twenty-four-hour Kinko’s copy machine or computer, but she was. She made her way into the copier center off South Nineteenth Street. She carried with her a notebook and a purse. She needed neither. She had no intention of using cash or a credit card, and she certainly didn’t need to refer to any notes. She pretended to peruse the stationery section and paper samples while she waited for a caffeine-buzzed student to leave his rented PC for the bathroom. It took her about a minute to pull up a phony Hotmail account. Stupid idiot, don’t you know about computing security? She typed in an e-mail address and tapped out a message that included a bank account number in the Bahamas. It was typed in reverse order as she’d been advised to do. The subject line was: You Better Not Screw This Up.

“Hey, I was working there.” The voice belonged to the student-idiot. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were gone for the night.”

“You can see I’m not. I left all my stuff here while I went to take a leak. Do you mind?” He glared at her and waited for her to give up. He looked down at the screen to read what she was doing, but she’d minimized the