“Nothing, Eric. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t—”
“I don’t mean about…that.” He gestured at the bed. “I mean about everything else that’s happened tonight. What we found out about Karl. Breaking into HomeMaker. The cops. You killing that man.”
Casey winced at the icy tone of his voice. “You should do what…what you should’ve done from the beginning. Go home. Let me take the blame. I’ll make it out of town on my own. Leave you be.”
“Leave me to clean up the mess, you mean.”
She looked away.
He paced away from her, and then back, stopping halfway across the room. “Okay. We need to get you out of town. How do we do that?”
Casey thought about her backpack, hanging in the garage close to Eric’s house. Omar’s little hat. Her wedding ring… “I’ll just go. I’m used to running. I’ll be all right. But you? What are you going to tell the cops?”
He shook his head. “That I tried to keep you here, but you wouldn’t stay.” He looked at her from under half- closed eyelids.
“What about Ellen?”
“What about her?”
“You want to know who killed her, don’t you?”
He blinked. “It wasn’t someone from HomeMaker.”
“Probably not.”
“Then who would it be? No one would’ve killed her over anything else. Everyone loved her. Her family, her co-workers, the theater people…”
“You.”
He turned away. “A lot of good that does. She’s dead, and here I am a week later…” He glanced at the bed, his face red.
“Eric, I miss my husband, too—”
“Obviously.”
She stopped. Took a deep breath. “What almost happened…it doesn’t make that pain any less. It doesn’t mean we love them any less.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Casey wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quell the shivers that had begun again. She felt her shoulder and was relieved to discover her injury had not reopened. “Eric, don’t you want to know what happened to her?”
He shuddered. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong. We were all wrong. Maybe it really was too much for her. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He let out a short laugh. “And what do you know? You never even met her.”
“But I know you.”
“For what? Five whole days? And what does that matter, anyway?”
She stepped forward, close enough she could feel his tension. “Because I know you wouldn’t love someone who was shallow. Someone who would leave her kids when the going got rough.” She paused. “You wouldn’t do it. Just like you haven’t left me.”
He looked away, at the shelves of props, before dropping his head toward his chest. “She wouldn’t have,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t have done it.”
Casey stepped around him and looked at his face. “So who would’ve?”
A sound echoed through the theater and into their room, like the scrape of a door opening. Eric reached up and pulled the string on the light, plunging them into darkness.
Casey winced. If whoever it was hadn’t known they were there, they would now, seeing the light go off. And Casey couldn’t see as well to defend them.
Eric stepped forward, hand out as if to close the door, but Casey held him back, a finger on her lips. She pointed to the wall on the hinge side of the door, and he went to stand there, out of the line of vision, and out of her way. Casey quietly and slowly closed the door, pushed the lock, and stepped further back into the room, where she would be able to see the door if it opened, but the person might not see her in the shadow. She balanced herself on the balls of her feet, body at the ready.
They waited for several minutes, the only sound Eric’s ragged breathing. Casey questioned the wisdom of shutting them in the room. She should’ve scooted out, leaving Eric protected behind the door, herself on the outside. Her judgment, as well as her physical strength, had definitely been compromised by the events of the night.
The doorknob jiggled, and the sound of a key scraping the lock preceded the click of the lock popping. Casey scooted further back behind the shelf of props. The door swung open, hiding Eric from view. The silhouette of a woman stood in the doorway, before she stepped forward and pulled the overhead string. Light filled the room, casting jagged shadows between the shelves, clearly illuminating the cot, the blanket, and the distinct impression that the bed had been used.
Holly stepped forward, her hand reaching toward the blanket. She stopped and pulled back, scanning the room. Casey squinted, making the whites of her eyes smaller, should the light reflect off of them.
“Hello?” Holly’s voice was loud in the small room.
Casey prayed Eric would stay silent.
Receiving no response, Holly pulled the blanket off the bed and shook it, as if expecting something to fall out. When nothing did, she dumped it onto the floor and leaned over, smelling the cot. Eyes narrowing, she focused on a section toward the middle of the mattress.
Casey burned with shame and anger at her lack of self-control. She and Eric hadn’t completed their lovemaking, but it was certainly possible they’d left incriminating evidence of their encounter.
Holly stood, her face thoughtful. She turned toward the door, toward Eric’s hiding place.
“Holly.”
Holly spun around, a hand on her chest. “Holy… Casey?”
Casey stepped out of the shadow.
Holly studied Casey’s face, her swollen lip. “You know everyone’s after you. They’re saying you killed somebody.”
Casey didn’t respond.
“You really did, didn’t you?”
Casey swallowed. “Yes.”
Holly laughed quietly. “Poor Eric thought you were so good. So perfect for this town. For our play.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Yeah,” Holly said, obviously not convinced. “Yeah, I’m sure it was.”
Casey took another step forward. “What are you doing here, Holly? It’s the middle of the night.”
She gave a tight smile. “I heard the sirens, and turned on the radio to see what was happening. It didn’t seem like there was any chance of you getting away, with all the cops out. I looked all over for you, and finally thought of looking here. I should have looked here first. I mean, where else would you go? You can’t stay at Eric’s. Even though it seems like you might want to.” She tipped her head toward the bed. “Eric, why don’t you come out from hiding? I know you’re here.”
When he didn’t respond she pivoted and grabbed the door, revealing him. “Hello, stepson.”
“Holly,” Casey said. “What do you want?”
Holly smiled, still looking at Eric. “What do I want? What do you think I want? I want life to go back to how it was last year. How it was supposed to be when I married the most important man in town.”
Eric’s face had turned greenish, and Casey hoped he wasn’t about to be sick.
She cleared her throat. “Holly, Karl is—”
“—an ass. I know. But he’s a rich ass. At least for now. If you two will keep what you’ve learned to yourselves.”
“What we’ve—”
“I know all about the boy.”
Casey gritted her teeth. Of course. Of all people, Karl would certainly tell his wife.
