where she tested the water. The way to appreciate a good vintage was to open your pores with hot water, and sip the wine slowly, savoring the fragrance, the richness, the variety of flavors.
She poured herself a glass and took a test sip. She rested the glass on the side of the tub, and scooted the bottle to the floor so she wouldn’t knock it over accidentally. You didn’t waste wine this good. Not this special a Burgundy.
Lowering her pants and sitting on the toilet, she sighed as relief swept through her like a warm wave. After she finished, Grace stepped out of her slacks and underpants and removed her blouse and bra. Standing naked before the door mirror, she admired her body for several long seconds, turning first one way and then the other, trying to see her buttocks. She could stand to lose a few ounces, perhaps pounds, and inches here and there.
She put in her blue contacts, removed her wig, took out the hairpins, and shook out her bleached blond hair, which reached almost to her shoulders. Using her fingernails, she scraped the gold studs from her ear. Using cotton and polish remover, she rubbed the glue residue that held them on, and slipped on a pair of dark-framed eyeglasses. You are not Grace Smythe anymore. After tonight, Grace Smythe is no longer.
She turned again to look at herself in the mirror, and smiled. She looked, if not just like Casey, like her actual sister. They had always been sisters. Thinking about Casey made her feel giddy, and she blushed. She hugged herself, closed her eyes, and imagined she was in Casey’s embrace, feeling Casey’s beautiful body against hers, their tongues entwined.
Soon it would all be over, and Casey would be hers alone. Grace understood, far better than Casey, that Gary had never belonged in their world. He said he loved Casey, but he could never love her like Grace did. He said he loved Deana, but, despite what he said, Deana was more Grace’s daughter than his. The fact that he had given his sperm didn’t mean anything. There were laboratories that did that without the complications a man brought to a situation. And the lily-hearted asshole had been going to give twenty-five million of Casey’s money to a bunch of Africans for drugs and food, and who gives a shit if they die like they’re supposed to anyway.
Grace had taken care of Gary-taken the bull by the horns. Now, after tonight, Gary would be no more. Casey would understand once and for all that it was Grace alone who loved her-only Grace who cared about the real Casey LePointe. Darling Casey, the girl whom Grace had been with until she was a woman-a woman who had given her heart to Grace as children, who had shared all of her pain, insecurities, and her sadness with Grace alone.
Gary West didn’t know the real Casey, the child who had cried on Grace’s shoulder a thousand times, and who had professed her undying forever love for Grace when they were both mere children. Casey hadn’t said it since, but Grace knew it was still true. No matter what Casey told Gary, she had never loved him. She had only ever loved Grace.
She wet her index finger and massaged herself slowly, imagining it was Casey’s wet tongue. Soon it would be more than an imaginary Casey who was making love to her. Soon they would be lying together in Casey’s large bed, exploring each other’s bodies while listening for Deana’s waking cries. It would be Grace who made Casey forget she’d ever slept with any man, and Deana that she had ever had a father.
She had enough money, both to get to Spain to wait for the firestorm to go away and for her to become another person. She would have reconstructive surgery to give her a new and sculpted face worthy of Casey LePointe, have those additional ounces removed, her buttocks lifted, and wait patiently in Madrid for Casey’s grieving period to end. Then she would be-in a far more acceptable and worthy form-the woman Casey deserved.
After the bath was drawn, Grace closed the door and eased slowly, inch by inch, into the hot water. She reached out and lifted the wine bottle to pour more into the glass, leaning back so she could see the picture of Casey and herself as teenagers that hung on the wall over the toilet.
The past weeks had been difficult. Watching Gary, knowing he was thinking he was about to be a very wealthy man. Whether he admitted it or not, the money would have changed him. And it wasn’t his money, it was Casey’s and hers. Yes, it had been hard, but, as her father always said, nothing worthwhile was easy.
Grace held her glass up to Casey’s beautiful face, toasted the future, and the death of Gary West.
48
“The bloody print from the cigar box was too smudged to be worth much, but there are three points that could be used to compare for a match if we have a set to compare to. Not enough to hold up in court, but evidence is cumulative. The blood type is RH negative, which is a match to our nurse,” Manseur said.
“Any personal papers?” Alexa said.
“All we found were household bills. No Christmas cards, no letters from friends or family. No computer for e-mails. Just the pictures you saw. Looks like she didn’t have much of a life outside her work.”
“She took her work home. I think her house was sanitized,” Alexa added. “Somebody went through and removed things that would lead us somewhere.”
“Maybe the perps? I imagine there is more than one person involved.”
“Makes sense. Or maybe it wasn’t Sibby at the house today. Maybe one of them returned today to make sure the place was really clean-that they hadn’t left anything to tie them to the house. They weren’t expecting me to show up. When I called just before I went inside, the answering machine picked up, and they knew time was short, and they were already at work. The machine was taping when I called, so the message tape was in the machine then. When I was in the kitchen, the tapes had been removed.”
“Doesn’t seem like something Sibby would do,” Manseur said.
“She might have taken the pill bottles on the bed, but I don’t think so.”
“Those only tied LePointe to Fugate. You think he did it?”
“I’m sure LePointe knew I had been to Fugate’s before I told him. He knew we’d been at the hospital. Maybe Malouf told Decell after she thought it over.”
“She could have decided to play both sides against the middle,” Manseur said.
Alexa put her hand to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Manseur asked.
“I just assumed Sibby was in Fugate’s house. Whoever was in Fugate’s house went out the front door. I need to go back there,” Alexa said. “The house across the street. Someone was looking out at me when I drove up. Maybe they saw who went out.”
Manseur picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Manseur,” he said. “Who interviewed the residents in the houses across the street?”
He listened. “Let me speak to him.
“Jimmy Alexander did the canvass,” he told Alexa. “Jimmy, who lives across the street from there?” Pause. “Did she see anything?” Pause. “Okay. Thanks.”
Manseur hung up. “Elderly woman named Cline. She didn’t see anything. She was watching her TV soaps.”
“I have to go talk to her,” Alexa said.
“Why?”
“She’s lying,” Alexa said. “But she won’t admit it to your detective.”
“How you know that?” Manseur asked.
“Because soaps run on weekdays. Plus I’m a woman, and so is she,” she answered, scooping up her purse.
“Let me tie up a couple of things. Take me fifteen minutes-”
“Stay. Get those prints off my mags and the cigarette case going. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Alexa,” Manseur said. “You carry a forty, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
He reached into his pocket and tossed her a full Glock magazine. “Take a spare, just in case. You never know.”
“I usually don’t accept personal gifts from married men,” she said, winking.
