The Homewreckers(89)

“Dear God,” Hattie whispered.

“I wouldn’t let him do everything he wanted, only because I was terrified I’d get pregnant,” Cass said bitterly. “Afterwards, he told me I was beautiful and special … all the usual bullshit. The next morning, I felt so dirty, so ashamed. I would rather have died than let on to you. But then, a couple weeks later, he called me. I hadn’t even given him my phone number, but he said he got it from Sarabeth. He wanted to take me to a movie. Me!”

“You weren’t allowed to date when we were sophomores,” Hattie said.

“Oh hell no, Zenobia wouldn’t have let me go out on a date. Especially with a white boy like Holland Creedmore.” She shrugged. “I told her I was going to Sophie’s house to study. He picked me up there. And he had the bottle of J?germeister again … we went to McDonald’s, but there was no movie involved.” She sighed. “Fifteen-year-old me was too dumb to know he didn’t want to be seen with a Black girl. He just wanted to get with a Black girl. You know?”

“How long did this go on?” Hattie asked. “I swear, I had no idea.”

“Maybe a month? Two more times for sure. I thought I was so damn smart. So damn cool. This one Friday night, it was after a football game, and Cardinal Mooney beat Country Day. You were with me that night, but I made up some excuse about going to a sleepover at Sophie’s. Instead, I waited around, and when everyone was gone, I walked out to his car. It was parked way in the back of the stadium. I was gonna surprise him, you know? But the surprise was on me. He wasn’t alone.”

“Are you telling me he was with Lanier?”

Cass sniffed and nodded. “I hid behind another car and waited. I had to find out who he was with. After five minutes or so, she got out of his car and into her car, which was parked right beside his. I was so shocked, I almost died.”

“You sure they were…?”

“Definitely,” Cass said. “His windows were all steamed up, and she was giggling and sort of pulling her clothes together. I knew exactly what that looked like.”

“Oh honey,” Hattie said, leaning her head on Cass’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you never felt like you could confide in me.”

“I couldn’t. I was so mortified. If anyone had found out? My folks? Zenobia would have killed me. And what would you have thought of your slutty best friend?”

“I would have thought that shithead Holland needed killing,” Hattie said fiercely. “I would have keyed his car.… No. I would have slashed his tires.

“Wait,” Hattie said, her eyes widening. “Were you the one? The anonymous caller who told Molly Fowlkes that Lanier was sleeping with your high school boyfriend?”

“‘Boyfriend’ was a wild exaggeration,” Cass said. “But I was drunk and I was mad, because I’d just read that tenth-anniversary story of hers. I kinda went a little postal.”

Cass wiped her nose again, then held her hand over her heart. “But I swear, Hattie. I swear on the Blessed Virgin Mother, I never thought Lanier was dead. People were saying she ran off with a guy. I never thought he had anything to do with her disappearing. I just thought … I guess, I wouldn’t let myself think, I mean … what does it say about me that I never told anyone? Not even my best friend, about what I did?”

“What you did? You were a fifteen-year-old little girl. He got you drunk and then he did what he wanted to you. It was statutory rape.”

Despite the heat, Cass was shivering, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “I should have said something when we found her wallet. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.…” She looked over her shoulder at the house. “I should have said something.”

“Maybe,” Hattie conceded. “But what difference would it have made? Makarowicz said her body has been there for years. Probably since the night she disappeared. Holland probably killed her and hid her body down there. Who else would know about that old septic tank? We walked over the manhole cover dozens of times, and didn’t know.”

“What do we do now?” Cass asked.

Hattie stood and reached out a hand to her best friend. “We call Makarowicz and tell him what you just told me. And we make sure Holland Creedmore pays for what he did to you. And to Lanier.”





48

The Plot Sickens




The detective answered after two rings. “This is Detective Makarowicz,” he said. “What’s up, Hattie?”

Hattie glanced over at Cass, who nodded.

“Mak, I’m over here at the house with Cass Pelletier, who you’ve met. She just told me something about Lanier Ragan and Holland Creedmore that I think you need to hear.”

“I’m listening,” Makarowicz said. “In fact, I’m on my way over to pay the Creedmores a visit right now.”

Hattie put the phone on loudspeaker and Cass leaned forward to recount the story she’d just shared. Her face was tense, her voice crackling with emotion.

“Fucker,” Mak said, when Cass’s humiliating ordeal was complete. “Motherfucker.”

“Yeah.” Cass’s voice was toneless.

“I’m sorry, Cass, but I need to ask you a couple questions.”

“Go ahead.”