Closer Than Blood

Lainie.

“How are things? How are you?”

“A nightmare. But you could have guessed that.”

“It wouldn’t take a detective to figure that out. You’re right,” Kendall said.

“How’s Tori?”

“She’s mad because the police want to question her. Again.”

“Tell her to get a lawyer,” Kendall said, stopping by a parked car and squinting up at the damp May sky, hoping no more drops would rain down. It had been the soggiest spring in recent memory and she had to fight the urge to wring out her shoes.

“I’m surprised you’d offer up that kind of advice.”

“Look, it’s the right thing to do. How long are you going to stay?”

“I’m about ready to leave.”

“Funeral this week?”

“Get this ... no funeral. She says she’s too upset. Or something.”

“Sounds like the Tori I remember.”

“You’d be surprised. She hasn’t changed a bit. Except for a boob job. She’s about the same.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Lainie said before switching the subject.

“What’s going on with the Jason investigation?” Kendall sighed.

“You know I can’t talk about that. But not much. I guess you are caught up in the Mike Walsh murder.”

“You know he was there the night of the accident?”

“Yes, I do. But that’s all I can say. You know that.”

“I guess so. I hope you catch his killer. Sad to think of a man who’d pulled his life around only to get murdered.”

“All murders are tragic,” Kendall said.

“But, yes, this one is very sad.”

“Tori doesn’t remember Mikey, but I do. Tori doesn’t remember anything that doesn’t move her ahead in any game that she’s playing.” They talked a bit more, about Tori, about the committee and the reunion, before saying good-bye. Kendall slipped the phone into the pocket of her purse. She wondered what it was like to have a sister like Tori. She was always a drama queen, the center of attention, the kind of person who truly believed that any attention was better than none at all. She’d wanted to be a singer, an actress, something that would get her noticed by everyone. Ahead in any game she was playing. That was Tori to a T. After hanging up the phone in her Tacoma bedroom, Tori rolled closer to snuggle her lover.

“That went pretty well,” she said.

“She thought I was Lainie. People are so stupid.”

“It was genius to dog yourself over the boob job,” he said.

“Genius. That’s me. A very naughty genius.”

“Let’s make love again,” he said. She smiled.

“Fast, okay? We’ve got things to do.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Tacoma

The hospital cafeteria at St. Joseph Medical Center was having a special on salmon in a creamy dill sauce, and the entire space smelled like a fish and fry shack. While waiting for the two nurses to join her, Kendall Stark stupidly selected the salmon. It was a light gray with a swath of green sauce that was anything but appealing. Ultimately, she wasn’t hungry. Not really. She was way out of her jurisdiction and she hadn’t bothered to notify Eddie Kaminski that she was going to talk to his witnesses. It was a lapse in protocol, but she thought it was worth the ethical misstep. No one could understand Tori O’Neal like those who knew her. To know her was to distrust her. She’d told Josh that she was running an errand. He didn’t seem to understand her preoccupation with Tori, either, and it was just as well. Steven, however, was another matter. He deserved to know what she was thinking. But she wasn’t ready for that. It was around 1:00 P.M. and the cafeteria was busy. Kendall shuffled her tray along the steel shelf to the cash register. A young man with heavy-lidded eyes and a soul patch that was so overgrown it might have required a hairnet if he’d been on the food-serving side of the operation took her money and told her that refills were free.

“Hopefully, you aren’t an iced tea drinker,” he said.

“That spigot’s dry.” Kendall took a seat next to the window. It had rained most of the day and the parking lot glistened. If there was anyplace she hated more than a hospital cafeteria, it was probably the visiting room at a mortuary. Slumber room, as the mortuary staff had called it, in the euphemistic vernacular of an industry that sought to make death seem transitory, rather than permanent. Corazon White and Diana Lowell caught her attention from across the cafeteria as they ambled over with their trays of assorted lunch items.

“Salmon’s good,” Corazon said.

“Good for you, I guess. But not so good here,” Diana said.

“I’m glad that you could see me,” Kendall said. She waited for them to sit before she gave her spiel that the Connelly murder investigation was ongoing and that she’d need them to sign statements later if she thought what they had to say was important to the investigation.

“Administrator says we can cooperate,” Diana said.

“They like to help the police—”

“—when the death isn’t on our watch,” Corazon said, interrupting her. Diana gave the younger woman a cool look.

“You didn’t hear that from me.” Kendall drank her mocha, a regular, not the Tuxedo from Starbucks that she favored. It gave her one more reason to hate hospitals. As if she needed one.

“Of course not. What I did hear from you,” she said, looking at Diana, “is that you and Corazon observed a few things that bothered you a little during Ms. Connelly’s brief stay here.” Corazon pierced a limp lettuce leaf with her fork before dipping it in a small container of low-cal Thousand Island dressing.

“That’s right. She was arguing with someone on the phone. Telling someone that she didn’t want him to call the hospital.”

“A he?” Corazon shook her head.

“No. She said it was her sister. But she talked to the person like he was a man, maybe a boyfriend. I don’t know. Thought you’d want to know.” Kendall was interested, but she kept her affect flat.

“What specifically did she say?”

“ ‘Don’t call here.’ That kind of thing.”

“How about you,” she said, this time to Diana, the older of the pair of nurses.

“About the same thing. I distinctly remember her saying, ‘Don’t ever call me here again.’ She told me it was her sister from Seattle or Portland and that she was coming. She was all sweetness when talking to me. But she was full-bitch when she was talking to her ‘sister’ or whoever it was.”

“You going to eat that?” Corazon pointed to Kendall’s Dutch apple pie.

“Nah. You can have it.” Corazon smiled broadly.

“Thanks.” Diana lowered her glasses to get a better look at her barely toasted BLT. She didn’t say a word. And for a woman like Diana Lowell that was not an easy thing to do. On her way back across the Narrows Bridge to the office, Kendall wondered about the tenacity of a caller such as the one who’d been dialing Tori Connelly’s room. Someone she didn’t want to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t take no for answer, she thought. Once behind her desk, she rifled the furthest reaches of her desk drawer for an antacid. Her stomach was a sour mess and she needed something to calm it. It had to be the salmon she had for lunch. Josh Anderson flopped himself down in her visitor’s chair.

“Where’d you go for lunch? Amy’s?” She shook her head.

“I wish I did.” She patted her stomach.

“I grabbed a bite at a drive-through and now I’m paying for it.”

“Biting you back, huh?”

“You could say that.” Kendall paused for a moment, weighing her options.