The Night Before Read Free Page B

you,”she assured him as she set his bowl on the floor. Tail whipping frantically, he plunged his nose into the dish and ignored the fact that she patted him on his head. He’d been Jamie’s dog, named after her favorite Sesame Street character, Oscar the Grouch, for his rumpled fur. “See . . . we’re okay,” she said, but had trouble believing it herself.
    The smell of the dog food made her stomach quiver. She rocked back on her heels. What the hell had she done last night? Where had all the blood come from? Her bedroom looked as if something or someone had been diced to ribbons there. But she remembered nothing after going to the bar—what was the name of it? The Swamp. Yeah, The Swamp. She’d sat in a booth for a long time waiting for her twin sister, Kelly, to show up.
    She’d noticed the bartender staring at her from time to time. Probably because he thought it odd that she’d ordered two drinks—a Cosmo for her and a dry martini for Kelly, which, if she remembered correctly, she’d swilled down when Kelly had pulled one of her usual disappearing acts.
    But aside from tackling both stemmed glasses and sucking the pimento out of three olives before chewing them, she remembered very little. Too little.
    It had been noisy . . . loud hip-hop music at odds with the conversation and laughter and . . .
    Like a razor slicing through flesh, a quicksilver image passed through her mind. She was in the foyer of the house she’d decorated—the paintings of thoroughbreds adorned the walls, the grandfather clock stood guard at the foot of the stairs. The heels of her shoes tapped across the marble as she crossed to the open door of the den. The sound of classical music lured her to open the door and find her estranged husband looking up at her with sightless eyes, blood pooling beneath his desk chair.
    Caitlyn gasped. Why would she think of Josh now? The image of his white, lifeless face flashed in front of her eyes again. Why would she envision him dead?
    Becaus it was your daughter’s birthday yesterday.
    Because the bastard was divorcing you.
    And because he was going to sue you for wrongful death. Of your child. Your baby. “Stop it!” She’d had a dream. No big deal. No harm done. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, twisted it open and drank half of it down only to feel it coming back up again. Fast. She doubled over the sink.
    She threw up. Over and over. Until the dry heaves took over and she was wringing wet with sweat.
    You should call your shrink. You’re losing it!
    But she couldn’t. Dr. Wade had moved recently. So Caitlyn was fresh out of psychiatric help. Great. She hadn’t bothered trying to find another therapist. Didn’t want one.
    Until now.
    Then the police. Call them.
    Why? Because I had a nosebleed? Because I might have . . . in my drunken state . . . tried to slash my wrists?
    Again. You might have tried again, that nagging voice in her brain reminded her.
    If I call the cops, they’ll haul me away. To the psych ward.
    Maybe that’s where you belong.
    “No!” She glanced down at her arms and frowned. That other incident was a long time ago.
    That “other incident” nearly cost you your life.
    She didn’t want to think of that. Not now.
    First things first. She had to pull herself together. Calm down. Get a major grip. She needed to make sure the house was locked, then clean herself up and tackle the mess upstairs. But first sheed call Kelly. Find out what had happened.
    Maybe the blood upstairs is hers.
    A new fear gripped Caitlyn, and she frantically punched out the numbers to Kelly’s cabin at the river, her “hideaway,” as she called it. The phone rang. Once. Twice. “Come on, come on. Pick up!” The phone jangled a third time. Caitlyn leaned against the counter and willed her twin to answer. A fourth ring and then a distinctive click. “Hi–you reached me, but I’m not here. Leave your number!” She heard a flat beep as the recorder clicked on.
    “Kelly?