Cause of Death by Laura Dembowski (ereader iphone .TXT) 📗

With all of this going on, he doesn’t have time for me, only for his friends who also have kids, so he can have guy time under the guise of a playdate. Veronica, his wife, will probably just about die when she sees me standing at their front door, but I won’t stay or cause a scene. I just don’t have anyone else to trust with my things. I can’t turn to my parents, and it would be wrong to ask Kate or Sarge to do anything for me, other than try to clear my name, so Casey’s my only choice.

Even though it’s hot outside, I roll down all the windows on the way to Casey’s place. I want to feel the breeze and inhale the fresh air. Everything is different now that I’m about to be locked up.

Shit, I didn’t get an attorney. I don’t exactly have a fund earmarked for potential legal fees, but I’ll find someone. Just as long as it’s not one of those court-appointed lawyers. They’re all nice people and they do the best they can, but I’ve seen their caseload, and the quality of their work. I’m even more doomed if one of them represents me.

Too late to worry about that now.

I pull into Casey’s driveway. He’s outside playing with his kids, looks like he just got home from work, still in his dress shirt, the tie around his neck loosened. Veronica’s thankfully nowhere in sight.

He recognizes my car and smiles my way. He must not know what’s going on.

I open the door and get out, leaving the boxes behind for now.

“Hey, Ryan,” he greets me from afar, not missing a beat of playing with his daughter, in her cute little sundress, and his son, in his baseball hat, polo shirt, and shorts. I’m suddenly panicked at the thought that I’ll never have this. No kids of my own to raise and play with, to teach the lessons of life, big and small. No son to follow in my footsteps or daughter to worry about when she goes on her first date.

“Hi, Casey.” I try to sound just as friendly, but I can’t fake it very well. My voice cracks and my hands—my whole body, in fact—shakes.

I walk over to him but keep my distance. I feel uncomfortable, like I shouldn’t be here. Like I’ve made a terrible mistake. A series of them, actually.

“It’s been too long,” he says. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good,” I say. I want to say more, but I don’t know where to start.

“We should get a beer, catch up.”

“Sure,” I say, because the alternative—‘We probably won’t be able to since I’m about to turn myself in for murder’—isn’t a good thing to say right now, in front of his kids, in the middle of his idyllic neighborhood. I’d actually prefer to avoid saying it, ever. Admitting to being the main suspect in a murder is something most people don’t aspire to.

“So what’s going on?” he asks, waiting for me to get to the point of my visit.

I can’t delay any longer, even if I’d rather just stay here all night rather than head to the station.

I spit it out. “I have to go away for a while, and I was wondering if you could keep some of my things for me.”

“What do you mean, you have to go away for a while? What’s going on, Ryan?”

“It’s complicated,” I say. I don’t want to get him involved in my mess.

“Kids, go inside and play for a minute. I’ll be right there.”

He watches in silence as they head into the house. They don’t even look disappointed; it’s clear, even to me, a relative stranger, that they love and trust their father unconditionally. ‘

“Okay, spill it,” he says.

“My life is a mess right now.”

“You need to tell me the whole story,” he says.

I’d prefer not to, so instead I tell him the abbreviated version.

“I’m being accused of something I didn’t do. I don’t really want to go into it. If you’re curious, just go online or watch the news tonight; you’ll hear all about it. I just need you to keep some of my things while I’m away.”

Casey rubs his face. “Of all my friends, I never thought you’d be the one to have things go wrong.”

“Yeah, well things don’t always work out the way you think they will, ’cept maybe for you.”

“I shouldn’t have let life get in the way of our friendship, and I did,” Casey says. “I’m sorry about that, and for whatever is going on for you.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “You’ve got your hands full. You won’t want anything to do with me now.”

“I’ll always be your friend. You’ve helped me out plenty of times. Do you need anything—some money?”

That was true; I had helped him. In college, I took the fall for him when he cheated on a test. When he was still a wild child and I was working my way through the ranks, I’d made a few tickets disappear. It’s nothing cops don’t do every day for their friends. I don’t say any of that now. There’s no comparison.

“Money’s no good where I’m going.”

“Jail? You’re going to jail?”

“Technically it’ll be prison, unless I’m released on bond, which I can’t pay, so yeah, it’ll be prison. I didn’t do it, though,” I say, knowing I sound like a crazy person, a typical common criminal. “I need you to know that I didn’t do it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, buddy. You need an attorney?”

“That would be good,” I say. “And I need you to keep my stuff.”

He agrees, and I go on my way with the promise that he will obtain an attorney for me.

As I’m driving to the station, a place I’ve driven more times than I can count, I realize I don’t really care any longer. I’m facing a losing battle. I know I’m not guilty, but no one else does. While I’m not exactly giving up, I’m not feeling hopeful, either.

At least for now, the desire