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

a lot of sleep wondering if she killed herself because of it. She grabbed me and scratched me.”

“Well, we all know she didn’t kill herself now, Ms. Moore.”

“Yes, well, now I lose sleep wondering who killed her.”

“And if she scratched you, how did her DNA end up under your nails?”

Oh no.

“I . . . umm . . . well . . .” I glance at Stanley and tug at the high neck on my dress. “I . . . I hate to admit this, but I wanted to do the same to her. I wanted her to know how it felt.”

“She was your daughter, not a dog, Ms. Moore.”

“Objection!” Stanley shouts.

“Overruled!”

“Do you have any proof of the fight? Did you take any photos of your scratches?”

I am just about to give some smart answer when I remember Stanley drilling into my brain that sarcasm doesn’t play well with juries, so I give a straight answer instead.

“No, I don’t routinely take photos of minor injuries, especially when not soon after I was preoccupied with my daughter’s death.”

“Not too preoccupied to go on a vacation, were you?”

“Dave and I decided together that we needed to get away. It’s very difficult to stay in a house where a loved one has committed suicide.”

“Are you still in that house now?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you move?” he asks.

I often wonder the same thing. I didn’t know what to do. It would have been nice to move, get away from that toxic house, even more so now that that’s where I killed Dave. I wanted to put the house up for sale the moment I was released on bond after being charged with Lana’s murder, but I thought people would find it odd. Then again, maybe they find it odder that I stayed there. Can’t please everyone. It was a double-edged sword, so I, like people all across the world, chose to do the easiest thing: stay where I was. I spend a lot of time at Beth’s house, too, so that helps.

After the case is over and a verdict is issued, maybe I’ll move to make everything final. Start a new chapter in my life. First I have to get through this.

“It’s hard to say good-bye,” I say. “Close that door forever. You know?”

“Especially when you killed her,” he says, calmly as if he’d just told me to have a nice day.

“Objection!” Stanley practically knocks the table over.

“Sustained. Watch yourself,” the judge says.

The prosecutor asks a couple more softball questions that I handle with ease, I think, and then it’s Stanley’s turn.

“If you didn’t kill your daughter, Ms. Moore, who did?” he asks, bounding out of his chair.

I sniffle and look right at him and then at the jury, my eyes welling with tears.

“Dave. That’s what we were arguing about. It just . . . it breaks my heart to say that, but it’s the truth.”

I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Dave isn’t here to call me on it, so it is what it is.

Stanley leads me through how dissatisfied Dave was with Lana running—and ruining—our lives. It’s an award-worthy performance. If I had to guess what the jury would decide, I’d say things would go in my favor, but I’m still nervous. I can barely catch my breath, wondering what the jury is talking about, thinking about; wondering if they related to me and felt bad for me, or if they just think I’m a pariah.

It’s no longer up to me; it’s in the hands of those lousy jury members. I’m not sure they are the people I want in control of my future, but Stanley says they are. And I believe him. It could be an hour, or days, so until then, I will keep my phone by my side and stay at Beth’s house. All this talk about moving has me wishing I had done just that.

Chapter 22

Kate

I nearly explode listening to Margaret’s testimony, particularly when her TV lawyer puts on a flashy, “woe-is-her” show that’s supposed to make us all feel sorry for her. Well, it’s not going to work on me, and I can’t believe it would work on the jury, even though that damn attorney did his best to be certain he chose people who would fall right into the palm of his hand.

I manage to keep my lunch down, but I can’t keep from rolling my eyes throughout her long, rehearsed answers that make me hurt physically. I direct several of the eye rolls right at Margaret when I know she’s looking at me. You know what she does in return? She gives me a sly smile, no sign of a single genuine emotion on her face. I hope the jury notices.

I listen carefully as the judge issues the jury instructions. As strongly as I feel that Margaret is guilty, I feel nearly as strongly that she’ll be acquitted. I mentally prepare to take this to another level, to get justice one way or another.

After the jury is dismissed, I have no choice but to leave and try to get back to work. I’ve instructed the prosecutor to let me know the moment he hears the jury has returned with a verdict. I will be there come hell or high water. I will see this case through. For Lana. For Ryan. For the future husband I have a feeling Margaret is already thinking about.

She is technically out on bail, but I couldn’t let her wander free, so some officers are keeping an eye on her. Sure, we’re dedicating precious department resources to this, but it’s worth it. The legality is also slightly questionable, but don’t think we’re the only police officers to participate in questionable activity. We’re not. And we’re only doing it to put a murderer behind bars and protect the innocent.

She’s led a pretty mundane life since being released. Maybe her attorney told her to keep a low profile. Most of the time she’s at home. If she’s not, she’s at