A Clean Kill

Twenty-one

At nine o'clock Alison's two girls were in bed. Larry King Live to worry about Roxie sleeping on her jacket. Alison talked back to the TV as she patted the dogs, furious because her husband was late, Derek wouldn't return her calls, and Larry King had yet to call her. She picked up the phone to give Derek one last chance to show some caring, and this time he answered.

"What do you want, Alison?" His voice was weary and sad.

of my life. Why didn't you call me?" she demanded.

"This is the worst day of my life, too," he replied.

"Why? She wasn't your best friend. I'm your best friend."

"Alison, I can't go into this with you tonight. I lost a friend, too, okay? Let's leave it at that."

"Oh, my God, it's true. You were fucking her!" she erupted.

There was a long pause. "Please don't hurt me with accusations like that now," he said finally.

"Derek. You told me I was the only one," she cried.

He didn't say anything.

"You told me I was the only one! Answer me!"

"I heard you. It doesn't matter anymore."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? I told the police you couldn't even put out poison or mousetraps in your studio. You couldn't kiU a cockroach. I told them that's the kind of guy you are. When they asked where I got the coke, I told them you don't deal drugs, okay? I stood up for you, so it matters." Then, "Are you a supplier, or what? I'm really upset."

"Oh, give it a rest, Alison," he groaned.

"I thought it was for me, just for me." Her voice rose. "For Christ's sake, tell me the truth. Are you a drug dealer, a murderer?"

He made a choking sound. "Well, thanks, Alison. You're a brick. All your blabbing to the police just ruined my life for nothing. You got me in trouble."

"Well, it looks like you're a big, fat, lying jerk. You never loved me, did you?" As soon as the

words were out of Alison's mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue or rip her face off. That was self-destructive. She knew it was crazy to say it. He was a trainer, a two-timing bodybuilder.

"Of course I love you. You're a very important person to me," he said slowly. "And 1 would never hurt a precious child of God. Why would I hurt Maddy?" he whined.

"Well, you fucked my best friend, and now she's dead. I hate you." She turned her head and caught her reflection in a decorative mirror across the room. Despite everything she'd gone through that day, she still looked good enough for "TV. "Why didn't Larry King call me?" she whimpered.

"I can't talk to you anymore," Derek said.

"Why not?"

"I'm disgusted. You've been drinking. You're all strung out. You're mixing, and you know what that does to you. You've put me at risk."

"Don't be angry. I'm not drinking to excess," Alison protested. "You know 1 don't do anything to excess." She took a sip of wine.

"Let's not argue about it," he said softly.

"I'm not arguing. Not to excess! 1 had a glass or two. Nothing else. She was my best friend, and you were fucking her!" Alison started screaming again. "Doesn't anybody care about what's happening to me?"

"Of course, everybody cares about you," Derek said softly.

"Then come over. I need a massage. I need some relief from all this pain."

"You know 1 can't come over."

"My husband isn't here. Please!"

"No, Alison. I'm not coming over. I don't want to see you."

"Don't say that. I don't do too much," she whimpered, certain that she was totally sober.

"You're out of control. Get a grip."

"But I'm so unhappy. Andrew never comes home. He's such a prick. And you won't take care of me like you promised. Today was supposed to be my day, Derek," she said accusingly.

"I'm very sorry, Alison, and very sad. Maddy was a gentle soul. Heaven is lucky to have her."

"That does it." Alison bolted up from the sofa. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to have you killed."

"Oh, Jesus." The phone clicked.

"Wait a minute. Derek, don't go. There's a murderer in the neighborhood," Alison yelled, but he had already hung up.

"Shit." She threw the phone on the floor. It jumped off the area rug and skittered across the travertine, bouncing twice before it hit the wall.

On TV Nancy Grace was still talking. The woman always had a lot to say. Alison bent to retrieve the phone and dialed Derek. She hung up before it could ring, then hit redial. She couldn't make up her mind what to say. Again she hung up before it started ringing. She hit redial a second time and waited impatiently for seven rings until his voice mail came on, then hung up.

"I don't fucking believe this." Infuriated at the insult, she dialed her husband on his cell, but he didn't pick up, either.

Just then Lynn came into the room with Leah tagging along behind her. Alison narrowed her eyes

at them. Lynn was another one of those sweet-looking blondes. With her sweatshirt and jeans, she almost looked like a clone of Remy, the girl who might have murdered Alison's best friend. The resemblance used to amuse the two mothers—now it was horrifying.

"What do you want?" Alison demanded.

"Leah and I were just going to get a couple of sodas—we're all out. Do you want something?"

"No, 1 don't want anything. And 1 don't want you to leave the house," she said angrily.

"Why not?"

"Andrew is on his way. We're going out for dinner.' '

"We'll only be a minute," Lynn said pleasantly.

"What if Andrew comes while you're gone?"

"It's just around the corner."

"You never come back when you say you're going to. You'll be an hour, and Andrew will be sitting here twiddling his thumbs." Alison did not want her to go. Whenever she sent the girl on one tiny errand, Lynn wouldn't be back three hours later, and half the time she'd return with that girl Leah in tow. She frowned at Leah, another blue-jeaned creature who worked in the neighborhood.

"What's she doing here at this hour?"

"She was just helping me put the kids to bed. Look, we'll walk the dogs for you, okay?" Lynn offered.

"Wait a minute. 1 want to talk." Alison wobbled to the sofa and fell on it, disturbing the poodle.

"Are you okay? How about some coffee?" Lynn asked.

"I don't want any coffee. 1 want to know what

Remy told you about Maddy. Was she sleeping with Derek?"

"I don't know," Lynn'said uneasily.

"What about you? Did she tell you?" Alison leveled her gaze on her new target.

"Me?" Leah said.

"You're always together. Didn't she say anything? Is Remy fucking Wayne? Come on, you know you know."

The two girls looked at each other, then slowly shook their heads. "She doesn't talk," Lynn said.

"Well, what do you know about her?" Alison poured herself some more wine.

"Just what you do—her father's an alcoholic, her mother is some kind of hippie artist."

Alison patted the sofa. "Come on, girls. Sit down. What else?"

"She wants to be Wayne's executive chef," Lynn said, sitting on the far edge. Leah curled up on the floor. Roxie jumped off the sofa and sat on her lap.

Alison made a face. "I'm sure she killed her. I'm absolutely sure of it."

Neither girl said anything. There was an awkward moment. Then the phone rang. Alison reached over to answer it. It was a reporter asking for an interview.

"Well, I don't really know anything," she said, and began to elaborate.

The two girls got up and went into the kitchen.