“No, thanks.”
Aimee got up and then looked down at Serena. “You can’t drink, can you? You have a problem with it.”
Serena shook her head in puzzlement. “How do you know these things?”
“I wish I knew, Serena. I dated a scientist in college who said I picked up on things without consciously spotting the clues. You weren’t drinking at the party when I first met you. And there was something in your tone of voice just now.”
“I guess I can believe that,” Serena replied.
Aimee went to the refrigerator and uncorked an open bottle of Pinot Grigio. She poured herself half a glass and returned to the sofa and sat down. “It’s not just you. My thing scares a lot of people.”
“I’m not scared. Just skeptical.”
“Have you ever used a psychic on any of your cases? It happens more than you think. The CIA had a whole program for it.”
“I’d like to see Jonny’s face if I suggested that,” Serena said, smiling.
“Well, most are charlatans, but if even a handful produce results that are impossible to explain, doesn’t that make you wonder?”
“I don’t really think about it.”
Aimee sipped her wine. She hesitated, as if she had things to say and didn’t want to say them. “You probably don’t want me to tell you this. I think your husband is wrong about the Art Leipold case.”
Serena stared at her. “What?”
“Someone else put those women in the box.”
“What are you talking about? The evidence against Art Leipold was overwhelming. Fingerprints, DNA, soil samples, connections to the victims. The jury took less than an hour to convict him. It was an open-and-shut case, and there aren’t many of those.”
“I know. I read all about the case when I was preparing for the role.”
“I’m sorry, Aimee. Jonny doesn’t make mistakes about that kind of thing.”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Not like that. What do you base this on other than intuition?”
“It’s not intuition,” Aimee said.
“Then what is it?”
“I told you, I don’t know. But it’s real. Look, you don’t have to listen to me and you don’t have to believe it. All I’m telling you is what I feel.”
Serena didn’t say anything for a while. She remembered what Aimee had told her the first time they’d met. Don’t trust anyone.
“Forgive me for saying so, but I hope this isn’t some kind of weird game to drive publicity for the movie. That would be a horrible thing to do to the families of the victims.”
Aimee put her wineglass down and brushed her hair from her face. “I’m hurt that you would even think that.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve lied to me before,” Serena said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Aimee studied the fire and pushed her lips together into a frown. “You don’t understand my situation, Serena.”
“Yes, I do. You’re protecting yourself and your career. The trouble is, you’re protecting him, too.”
“I have no choice. You may think I’m a star, but in this industry I’m a nobody. Nobodies don’t go up against Dean Casperson, not if they ever want to work again. Don’t believe the hype that Hollywood has changed. If you think that, you’re kidding yourself.”
“If you talk, others will, too.”
“Or I’ll be hung out to dry,” Aimee said. “Either way, my career will be over. In public, people may talk about how brave you are, but behind the scenes, they’ll label you a troublemaker and a bitch. Those women don’t get parts.”
Serena held her stare in the firelight. “Tell me the truth. Did you take the Xanax yourself?”
Tears filled Aimee’s eyes. “No. Of course I didn’t.”
“Did he assault you once before? When you did the first movie together?”
She nodded silently. “It was awful.”
“Then why go to his house? Why be alone with him again?”
“When Dean Casperson calls, you don’t say no,” Aimee replied.
“Will you come in and make a statement?”
“No. If you repeat what I’ve said to anyone, I’ll deny it. This is between you and me and no one else.”
“There has to be a first domino,” Serena said. “Someone has to talk.”
“Not me.” Aimee wiped her face. “You should probably go. I have an early call for makeup on the set.”
Serena stood up. The fire was hot on her back. Knowing the truth and not being able to do anything about it was more frustrating than the lie. “Okay. Fine.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“I wish you could, too.” She headed for the front door. “I’ll have an officer do a drive-by overnight. Just to make sure the area is secure. If you have any kind of problem, call me.”
Serena left the house and pulled the door shut behind her. She stood on the porch under the dark sky, anticipating the snow. She studied the yard again, making sure there were no fresh footprints around the house. She was about to leave when she heard a voice in the house behind her. It was Aimee, talking to someone. Serena immediately turned back and shoved the front door open again.
“Aimee? Are you okay?”
The actress was standing in the living room with her wineglass in her hand. She pointed at the mantle over the fireplace. “I’m fine. I have a little visitor. I don’t know where he came from.”
Serena stared across the shadows and saw a tiny flutter of movement in black and white.
It was a chickadee.
*
Cat was already in bed at midevening, but she couldn’t sleep.
She’d been playing Words With Friends with a boy in Idaho, but when she got 112 points for “quiz,” he became irritated with her and signed off. She checked Facebook, but it was late and none of her friends was streaming live. She pulled the Rubik’s Cube from Curt off her nightstand, but she’d solved it a dozen times and was bored with it.
Her phone had a Netflix app. She opened it up and ran a search with the words “Dean Casperson.” Dozens of movies came up, going back years. She’d seen most of them. She picked a romantic comedy and then fast-forwarded through the movie until she reached Dean’s first scene. She froze the image with his face on the screen.
The movie was only a few years old. He looked exactly as he had at the party on the North Shore when she’d met him in person. She was ashamed of what a fool she’d been for him that night. You are so amazing. I just love you.
And then to hear him flirting back, knowing full well that she was melting for him. Cat, as in meow?
Now she knew the truth about him. It made her sick.
She got out of bed and pushed her tiny feet into boots and retrieved her heavy coat from the closet. She went over to the bedroom window and did what she always did when she couldn’t sleep. She climbed out onto the cottage’s front porch. She pulled one of the Adirondack chairs close to the white railing and sat down and propped her feet.
Minnesota Avenue was hushed. She heard nothing but a low murmur as the snow started. A tiny advance guard fell through the streetlight ahead of the army behind it. The windshield of her Civic already had turned white. She thought about driving to the end of the Point to hang out on the green bench by the harbor. It was like an oasis. Stride went there to deal with crossroads in his life, and she’d picked up the same habit. But she didn’t want Stride to worry if he looked in on her bedroom and she was gone. She knew he checked on her sometimes.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Curt was inviting her to a video chat. She accepted the call and saw a shadowy close-up of Curt’s face and his happy, cocky smile. He was in his car, driving one-handed. His long black hair was loose. Snow made sticky streaks on the side window behind him.
“Kitty cat!”
“Hey, Curt. Where are you?”
“I’m on 35. I just left the casino at Black Bear. I think the sky’s falling.”
“Looks that way.”
“You want me to come over there? We could hang.”
“Nah, Stride would freak,” Cat said.
“Come on, Stride loves me. I’m the hero. I rescued you. That should count for something.”
“I know, but I think he’s pissed at both of us. I’m just sitting out here by myself for a couple minutes. I’m heading to bed soon.”