Closer Than Blood

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it” was one of Tori’s catchphrases from high school.

“Been a lot of activity across the street,” Lainie said.

“Nothing on the news, though.” She looked at her laptop and shut the lid with a snap. He took a seat on the end of the sofa. Tori brushed against him as she bent close to take his coat from his lap.

“Let me hang that up for you,” she said.

“Oh, thanks,” he said. Lainie watched as the detective’s eyes followed Tori. If her sister had hooked a worm and dropped it into Puget Sound, Eddie Kaminski had his mouth open, ready to take the bait. The moment was uncomfortable and familiar.

“What’s been going on?” she asked again. Tori slithered back into the space next to the detective. Kaminski breathed her in, deeply. Maybe too deeply. She smelled of wild honey and flowers. He glanced at the wall, the vacant spot where the tacky painting had hung before the forensic team came and confiscated it.

“My husband loved that painting,” she had said as they carried it away.

“It makes me sick that it was used in such an evil way. Used against me by that awful man next door.”

“Mrs. Connelly—” he started to say.

“Tori,” she said.

“All right then, Tori. I have a few questions. I’m hoping you can help.” Lainie watched as her sister inched a little closer to the detective.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“What can you tell me about your affair?” She shifted a little and crossed her feet at the ankles.

“Oh, that. It all comes back to that.”

“I’m sorry. I know it is painful to recall all of that.”

“He practically raped me.” Kaminski was surprised, but he didn’t show it.

“Mr. Fulton?” Tori looked right at him, with those drilling-deep-as-possible blue eyes.

“Who else?”

“But you’ve never indicated it was a rape. I thought it was consensual, an affair.” Her eyes started to flicker. The tears are coming, Lainie thought. And they did.

“I didn’t put up a fight; there wasn’t a struggle. But I told him I didn’t want to do it. He just kept pushing and we drank too much. It was not an affair.” The remark was curious. Kaminski looked at the e-mails recovered from Fulton’s computer. He could quote them almost verbatim, though he didn’t just then. Instead, they ran through his mind like the juvenile prose from a lovesick middle-aged man. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. You make me feel so good. Too good. I can’t take it. I saw you today in the yard. I love the way the sunlight spins your hair into gold. When can I see you? When will he be gone? Maybe I’ll just have to make him gone.

“I feel completely violated,” Tori said.

“I’m sure you do. You have every reason to feel that way.” Lainie said nothing. Her sister was fascinating as always, and this man, this detective in their midst, seemed to play her in a way that she hadn’t seen before. It was unclear if he was buying all that she had to sell.

“One thing the team wonders about,” he finally said, “is how it was that you didn’t recognize him when he was in your house the night your husband was gunned down. It was in this room, right?” All three of them knew full well that it had been.

“Yes,” Tori said.

“Right here.” She reached for her glass. Ice water? Vodka? “So how was it that you didn’t know it was him?”

“I told you. He wore a mask.”

“Yes, you did say that. But didn’t he seem at all familiar? His voice?”

“Not really. I was too upset. I was in shock.”

“Of course you were.” Lainie thought of jumping in to defend her sister, but she thought better of it. Tori was a big girl and if she’d gotten herself into trouble, she alone was the one to extract herself from the mess. No one could wriggle out of a conflict better than she. Tori set down her glass, aiming for the ring of condensation on the coaster. She liked things to be just so. When she stayed mute, Kaminski asked once more.

“I mean, you knew him pretty well.”

“He had his pants on, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She looked at him, then at her sister.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I know you are doing your job.”

“Yes, I am. So, please, how was it that you couldn’t place the intruder as someone whom you’d slept with?” She tilted her head and looked at him, once more, dead-eyed.

“It’s hard to keep track of my lovers, detective.”

“I wasn’t suggesting anything like that,” he said.

“Really?”

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“I’ll add it to the list of things I’m trying to get over. It’ll be somewhere at the bottom on a list topped by the fact that the Tacoma Police treat crime victims like criminals.” She stood.

“I’m glad that you’ve got that creep, detective. I am happy to help with the investigation in any way that I can, but I will not have you come in here and treat me like trash for an error that I made.” Kaminski got up and thanked the women for their time. His eyes lingered on Lainie, who said nothing more.

A good night’s sleep was so needed. The endless drama with Tori had tied her stomach in knots. Lainie O’Neal looked up at the gauzy canopy and stared. There were no tiles to count and her eyes were too tired to try to discern something in the weave of the fabric to hold her interest and work her brain into slumber. She slipped out of bed and put on a robe that Tori had hung on an antique hook by the doorway. She wasn’t really thirsty, but a glass of milk seemed like a good idea. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed a sliver of light coming from under her sister’s doorway. Maybe she can’t sleep, either. She was about to knock when she heard Tori’s voice.

“All right,” she said.

“That sounds good. But be careful.” Silence.

“Look, for this to work you have to use the phone I gave you.” The phrase was odd. Lainie pushed closer to the door frame and turned the knob, cracking it open a bit more so she could hear exactly what her sister was saying.

“. . . soon. I love you. I need you.” Lainie felt the muscles in her legs weaken some. Who was her sister talking to at that hour? Who in the world did she love? Her husband was dead. She let go of the knob and took a step backward, turned around, and started toward her room.

“Lainie!” The voice was loud, jarringly so for the stillness of the night. She turned around. Tori stood right behind her.

“What are you doing up?” Lainie stood still before slowly folding her arms. She was unsure of how that hallway meeting would go. Argue? Confront? “Just can’t sleep,” she finally said. Confrontation never worked. Tori studied Lainie’s face, looking for something.

“I have some pills I can give you,” she said.

“To help you sleep.” Lainie shook her head.

“No, thanks, Tori. I think I’m just going to lie down and try it again.” She had another thought on her mind and she knew right then she’d never voice it. She couldn’t help but wonder just what pills her sister would give her. To help her sleep . . . like in the dream of their mother’s death.

Tori had scattered three dresses on her bed. They were expensive with fine embellishments that caught the light, organza overlays that undulated in the crisp air from a cracked-open bedroom window. Oversize tags hung from the bodice of each, reminding the purchaser that “special occasion” dresses could not be returned without the tag intact. Lainie peered over Tori’s shoulder and offered her assessment of the dresses that they’d looked at the week before when they were doing a reconnaissance shopping expedition at a downtown Seattle department store.

“I thought you only got the blue one,” she said. Tori offered up a slight and knowing smile.