When We Were Bright and Beautiful(43)

My stomach drops as if we’re in a plane that’s suddenly lost altitude. “Eleanor, we were kids. My relationship with Billy has changed.” The air is shallow. I try to breathe. “We’re not as close as we used to be.”

“You’re still his sister.”

“That’s why you drove all the way up here? To tell me to talk to Billy?”

“To impress upon you the difficulty of our situation. Not just with Billy. With his father as well. Lawrence’s stunt with the reporter cost us enormous goodwill. He’s insisting Billy take a plea, which is a terrible mistake.” She shakes her head. “Lawrence told Mr. DeFiore, without my knowledge, to go ahead and make a deal. Thankfully, the lawyer called me. I am, after all, writing the checks. But he’s since threatened to drop the case. Despite my initial reservations, I believe Mr. DeFiore can move us in the right direction, and I’m worried Lawrence will jeopardize our relationship with him.”

“Lawrence went behind your back?” I correct myself. “Of course he did. I’m sorry, Eleanor. I’ll help any way I can, but I don’t know if I can change his mind.”

“Cassie, please.” She must read the fear in my face because she chuckles, though nothing is funny. “The trial is three months away. Nate, as you might imagine, is of limited use—”

“That’s not true, Eleanor. He’s working hard to help Billy. Plus, he agrees with you.”

“For the moment. But Nate would follow Lawrence into a fire. It’s only a matter of time before his father convinces him to change his mind. I’m exhausted trying to fight the man alone. If you’re there, he might behave.” She stops to shake out a napkin. “I’ll be honest with you, Cassandra,” she says, switching subjects. “I was worried when you decided to spend the summer here alone. With no classes, I feared you might get bored. But it turns out my concerns were unfounded—you have been keeping busy! You spoke to a detective, I hear. What’s his name? Gregory Haggerty?” She’s perfectly poised, her breathing is even, but her eyes are glassy, like stones.

Jesus. Haggerty. How does she know?

“I’m a wealthy woman,” she says, replying to a question I didn’t ask. “That’s what my money buys these days. Information. Cassie, your brother has been accused of a crime he did not commit. Do you honestly believe I would sit back and watch his life blow up?” She tilts her head, appraises me. “Sometimes I wonder. For a smart girl, you don’t always think.”

I sip my espresso; it’s the perfect temperature. I love strong, bitter coffee; I wish she’d brought something to go with it, a biscotti, maybe.

After a minute, the room gets too quiet.

“Do you have a question, Eleanor?”

“Did you speak to a detective named Gregory Haggerty?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you’ve been instructed not to speak to anyone without an attorney?”

“I thought I could help.”

“Because you worked so hard in law school? Because you know so much about legal strategy?” When Eleanor speaks, her lips don’t move, like a ventriloquist manipulating a dummy.

“Eleanor, I’m sorry. After you and Lawrence spoke to the police, Haggerty kept calling me. So, I thought it would be okay. I just wanted to help Billy.”

“Cassandra, dear, we have to be a united front. Come home. Talk to Lawrence. Change his mind. That is how you can help your brother.” Pressing her knees together, Eleanor swivels around then gets up. “Oh, another thing. It’s likely you will be asked to testify in Billy’s defense. Lawrence and I differ—”

“He won’t allow me or Nate to testify. He wants—”

“I know what he wants, Cassie. But if Mr. DeFiore thinks your testimony will help, you will get on the stand. Our family is our family. We have nothing to hide. Again, the best way to support Billy is to show up and speak up.”

“I understand, Eleanor.”

“Thank you, Sweetheart. Well, I am off. I would love to spend the day taking in the sights of New Haven. Regrettably, my dance card is full.”

When Eleanor leans forward, I recoil. But she is only reaching for the empty coffee bag. “I loved seeing you, Cassie, as always.” She opens the door, making an elaborate show of folding the bag into four perfect squares and sliding it into her purse. “Buy yourself a trash can, Cassandra, dear. You are not a child anymore.”





25


THE SECOND SHE’S GONE I CALL LAWRENCE.

“Hey, Cass. I’m in the middle—”

“Eleanor was here,” I say flatly. “In New Haven—”

“New Haven? Why?”

“She’s angry at me. You might get angry too. A couple of months ago—well, more like six weeks—I spoke to a detective; a new guy, Haggerty—”

“A new guy? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Lawrence. He’s a cop. His name is Gregory Haggerty; google him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I was just trying to help Billy. But he asked . . . the . . .” I should say more but can’t get the words out.

“What else?”

“Honestly, nothing else—”