The Sleeping Beauty Killer Read online

  “This old mausoleum? This is Dad’s place. Personally, I prefer downtown, but my loft’s being renovated. I probably should have waited it out in East Hampton, but it’s starting to get chilly out there already. Or I guess I could have gone to the house in Palm Springs, or my condo in Austin. Anyway, you don’t need to hear about the Raleigh real estate.”

  Laurie detected a slight southern accent that was unexpected in a member of such a quintessentially New York family, but Andrew’s mention of a condo in Austin reminded her that he had attended the University of Texas. He must have adopted the state as a second—or third or fourth—home.

  Mary Jane had left them at the door of the library. “Ms. Finder said she is your father’s assistant. Has she been with him long?”

  “About twenty years. Just between you and me, the lady scares the dickens out of me. Not sure the blood’s warm if you know what I mean.”

  “I spoke to her on the phone when I tried reaching your father. It’s odd that when we just met she didn’t say anything about the messages I left.”

  “Mary Jane’s as locked as a vault, but Dad keeps her a whole lot busier than I am. He’s consulting political candidates, serving on a dozen boards, working on his memoirs. Me? I like to fish and drink beer. You want a beverage by the way? It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  Laurie declined and Andrew took a seat in the chair across from her. “Your show is seriously thinking about jumping into the story of my brother’s death? I have to tell you, I can’t say I see the point, Laurie.”

  “As you probably noticed from the news coverage over the weekend, your brother’s case is still of great interest to the public. The jury convicted his fiancée of manslaughter, while many courtroom watchers believed the verdict should have been for murder. Meanwhile, Casey has never backed away from her version.”

  “That someone drugged her with pills that just happened to be tucked away in her purse.”

  “She claims that anyone at the gala could have slipped something into her drink that night. Once they were in the house with her soundly asleep, that same person easily could have put some pills in her purse to make her look guilty, even if police tested her blood for the drug.”

  “Or else she’s lying.”

  “Is that what you think, personally?” Laurie asked. “That Casey killed your brother?”

  “Not at first I didn’t. I liked Casey. Heck, if I’d met her before Hunter, I might have made a play for her myself. She was more fun than Hunter’s usual type.”

  “He had a type?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Beautiful but boring. Good for a date or two, a photograph on a red carpet, but all interchangeable. Not Casey, though. That girl was a firecracker.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “Oh, nothing racy or anything. She was a challenge. When they’d been dating about two months, Hunter went down to Kiawah Island for a week without telling her. Didn’t call her once, even though she knew darn well he had a cell phone with him at all times. She found out where he was when she saw a photograph of him at some hometown political fundraiser for a South Carolina senator. When Hunter came home, she wouldn’t take his calls. When he showed up at her door, she slammed it in his face. No woman had ever drawn a line in the sand for him.” Andrew was laughing at the memory. “She sure got his attention. Hunter was a changed man after that. Smitten to no end. He loved that woman.”

  “So why would she kill him?”

  “To answer that, how much do you know about my father?”

  “What I’ve read in his biography. And that he has an assistant who won’t return my calls and might be a vampire,” she added with a smile.

  Andrew flashed her a thumbs-up of approval. “He’s a good man, but he was a three-star general and the son of a senator. He’s old school. In his world, men of a certain station owe the world a certain responsibility. They run foundations and serve the public.”

  Laurie could almost hear his internal voice completing the thought: . . . They don’t devote their lives to fishing and drinking.

  “And that kind of man requires a certain kind of woman at his side,” he continued, “not the kind of woman who tries to wrap a man around her finger—at least as my father saw it. Not to mention the fights.”

  “Are you referring to the arguments that witnesses testified about during Casey’s trial?” The prosecution had marched through a parade of Hunter’s acquaintances to recount impassioned arguments Casey and Hunter had had in public.

  “Those two would debate any and everything. Politics, of course. Casey was an outspoken liberal. She’d get so irritated when Hunter would call her a Woodstock hippie. But you’d barely have started the appetizer course before they’d be on opposite sides of any issue. She liked Michael Moore’s movies. He thought Jackson Pollock’s work looked like a child’s finger paintings. The two of them would grill each other as if it were a Congressional hearing. It was off-putting to many of Hunter’s friends, as they made clear at trial. But what the friends and my father didn’t realize was that they both enjoyed their arguments. For them, it was like playing tennis.”

  “Arguments about movies and art certainly don’t amount to a motive for murder.”

  “I think you’re missing the bigger picture, Laurie. Casey wasn’t fitting in. My point is that my father thought she wasn’t sufficiently reserved.”

  “Pardon me for saying this, but I don’t think most people expect women to stand silently at their husband’s side anymore.”

  “Well, my father’s not most people. A political wife—like my mother, like my grandmother—wouldn’t have dreamt of contradicting her husband. Besides that, Hunter had previously been very serious with a socialite. My father loved her family background, and Casey couldn’t compete with that.”

  “You’ve made it clear that your father didn’t approve of Casey.”

  “Didn’t approve is an understatement. First, he insisted on an ironclad prenup, thinking it would chase Casey away. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Casey said, Tell me where to sign. I’m not marrying Hunter for his background or what comes with it, she said. But that wasn’t enough for our father. He was actively trying to dissuade Hunter from going through with the marriage.”

  “Are you telling me that Hunter was planning to break off the engagement with Casey?” That had always been the prosecution’s theory.

  “I don’t know that for sure, but let’s just say that I was the one willing to disappoint my father. Hunter never did.”

  • • •

  At the risk of getting ahead of herself, Laurie was already picturing Andrew and his big, southern-accented personality on the television screen, and she liked what she saw. This was the kind of show she would love to watch.

  “You mentioned that Casey slammed the door on your brother after he failed to call her during a trip. Was that the only time you saw her get jealous or possessive?”

  “Absolutely not. She was aware of Hunter’s reputation, as well as the fact that his previous girlfriends had all been her polar opposite. I think she was always wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. As a result, she could be intensely jealous and wanted everyone to know she wasn’t just another flirtation. She had no qualms about making cutting comments to him in public, such as Which one of us are you with? One of her favorites was Are you going to wait until we’re married to stop acting like an eligible bachelor?”

  Andrew was describing a side to Casey that Laurie had not seen.

  “Maybe you’re right and Casey is guilty.” Laurie was speaking to herself now as much as to Andrew. “Our show makes a point of being evenhanded. We ask tough questions of every person involved. And it’s important to me that your family be represented in that process. I give you my word that our show always treats the victim’s memory with respect. We want the audience to realize it’s not just evidenc
e in a case folder. We want them to remember the value of the life that was lost.”

  Andrew looked away and coughed. When he spoke again, his southern accent was nearly gone. “My brother was an exceptional human being, Laurie, one of the finest men I ever had the honor to know. He was incredibly bright. I barely got into U of Texas, but Hunter was Princeton and the Wharton business school. With his real estate prowess, he made my family’s previous fortune seem like chump change. But he was entering a new phase of life. He was using his God-given talents for the public good, consulting with the mayor about using free-market principles to expand affordable housing. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was only fifty-two years old. I flew down to the Caribbean and stayed drunk for a year, but Hunter shifted the foundation’s mission in her honor.”

  Once again, Laurie was tempted to start asking the tougher questions. Andrew was full of praise for his brother, but had living in the shadow of such an admired sibling led him to bitterness, as Casey alleged? And what did Andrew know about the possibility of financial irregularities at the foundation? She didn’t want to scare off the only member of the Raleigh family who had bothered to return her call.

  “Was Hunter thinking of running for office himself?”

  “Oh sure, he was talking very seriously about it—perhaps mayor of New York once the current mayor left because of term limits. He would have been the rare politician who woke up every day asking how he could make life better for ordinary people. Hunter was, quite simply, beloved and deservedly so. And if I’d be allowed to tell your audience all that, then I’m happy to participate. Just tell me when and where.”

  “We hope to shoot soon. We want to do a scene with the six ­people who will be on the show sitting at the table where they were that last night. Cipriani has already agreed to make the ballroom available, schedule permitting. And it’s my understanding that you inherited your brother’s country home. I don’t know how you’d feel about making it available—”

  “Consider it done. In fact, as far as the banquet hall goes, our foundation still uses Cipriani for many of our events. We’re having a function there next Sunday for our most important donors. Nothing as lavish as the annual gala, mind you, but if you wanted to get some footage that night, I’m sure we could arrange that.”

  “Really? That would be incredibly helpful.” As of this morning, Cipriani had told Jerry they’d have to film before ten in the morning or wait at least two months to hold the ballroom for a day. She jotted down the date Andrew had given her, wondering if they could possibly be ready to start shooting by then. If it were up to Brett, she’d be filming right now. “I don’t suppose you have any inkling of what your father might decide.”

  He craned his neck to look beyond the library’s exit, and then answered in a whisper. “If I had to guess, Mary Jane didn’t even tell him you called. I’ll have a chat with him. As long as it’s not going to be a hit piece on Hunter—”

  “Of course not.”

  “I can probably even get him to sit down for your cameras. He’s slaving away these days trying to finish his memoirs, but he can probably spare a few minutes.”

  “And what about Mark Templeton? My understanding is that he was one of your brother’s close friends and was also at the gala that night.” She still did not mention Casey’s suspicions about the former financial officer of the family’s foundation.

  “I haven’t spoken to Mark for years, but I’ll see what we can do.”

  “And not to push my luck, but maybe you can work your magic on Mary Jane Finder? My understanding is that she was at your fam­ily’s table at the gala. We like to cast a wide net on potential witnesses, and she might have observed Casey’s demeanor that evening.”

  He feigned a frightened chill running down his spine. “Your cameras may not catch her reflection, but I’ll try.”

  “Thank you, Andrew. Your help is invaluable.”

  • • •

  The black security gate had just slammed behind her when Laurie made a call to Brett.

  “I see you’re calling me from your cell,” he said once Dana connected her to his line. “Out of the office again?” he asked. His tone was sarcastic.

  “This time, I know you’ll approve. I just left the Raleigh family’s townhouse. The brother’s definitely in, and thinks the father will be, too.”

  “Excellent. As long as we have one of them, we should be okay. Start getting releases signed and nailing down the production schedule. I mean it about moving quickly.”

  She was tucking her phone back into her purse when it vibrated. According to the screen, it was Charlotte.

  “Hey there,” she answered. “What’s up?”

  “I’m about to meet Angela for a cocktail. You want to join us?”

  “I actually saw Angela a couple of hours ago in my office. She was with her cousin. Is Casey going, too?” Laurie had just promised Andrew Raleigh that she would keep an open mind about the facts of his brother’s murder. It would be inappropriate to be seen socializing with the woman who was convicted of killing him, not to mention the chance that she might actually be a killer.

  “Definitely not,” Charlotte said. “She walked Angela back to Lady­form after they met with you, so I did get a chance to talk to her. Angela felt so bad about Casey having to go to the mall for clothes that we let her raid the sample closet. She’s got enough sportswear to last for the next fifteen years. I got the impression she’s had enough of the public eye over the last few days. Angela got her a car service so she wouldn’t have to brave the train back up to Connecticut. Meet us at Bar Boulud, right across from Lincoln Center?”

  Laurie liked the idea of having time with Angela away from her cousin. Maybe if she earned her trust, Angela could help get her aunt’s approval, as well. “Sure, what time?”

  “Now!”

  Laurie glanced at her watch. It was 4:15. As Andrew Raleigh had said, it’s five o’clock somewhere, Laurie thought. She deserved to celebrate. She finally had her next show.

  22

  Andrew Raleigh was pouring himself a scotch from the bar cart in what his father, and his father’s father before him, insisted on calling the Kennedy Library. Laurie Moran may not have wanted a drink, but just the smell of this house was enough to drive him to the bottle.

  He was fifty years old and still marveled at the daily pretentiousness that defined his family. The Kennedy Library? It’s not some monument at the national mall, he wanted to yell. It’s a useless room at the top of the stairs filled with books that are more decorative than read. Perhaps the room is not completely useless, he thought, as he felt the comforting burn of alcohol in his throat.

  The sight of his father stepping from the library’s anteroom had him pouring a second round. “How’d I do, Pops?”

  As instructed, Andrew had scheduled his meeting with Laurie here so that his father could monitor the conversation from the next room. “You’re drunk already,” the General snapped, his tone icy.

  “Not yet, but getting there.”

  Andrew resumed his spot in the wing chair, and then immediately regretted it. Even though Andrew was two inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than his eighty-year-old father had ever been, he suddenly felt small with his father standing over him. General James Raleigh was in his most casual attire, which meant a navy sports coat, gray flannel pants, and a heavily starched white shirt. To go without a tie was the equivalent of wearing pajamas in public for the General. Andrew was immediately conscious of his own attire, more fitting for one of the casino resorts he enjoyed so much.

  Looking at his father, Andrew thought, Hunter was always your favorite, and you never stopped telling me about it.

  He remembered when he was ten years old, his mother found him in his room, studying a photograph of him, Hunter, and their father. When she asked why he was staring at it, he began to cry. He fibbed and said that he was cryi
ng because he missed Daddy, who was in Europe on army business. The truth was that he’d been crying because he’d had a dream the night before that he wasn’t really related to his family. Like his father, Hunter was lean and fit with a strong jaw and hair suitable for a news anchor. Andrew had always been softer and rounder.

  You always treated me like your fat little baby, he thought, compared to my brother, the glorious charmer.

  Now his father’s face was formed in a disapproving scowl, as it was so often in Andrew’s presence. “Why did you make it sound like I was the one pressuring Hunter to call off the engagement? Why didn’t you tell her that you knew to a certainty that Hunter planned to drop that woman like a stone the moment they got home from the gala?”

  “Because I know no such thing, Father.” He could hear the derision in his own voice. “And you were pressuring Hunter to break it off, even though he loved Casey. I agreed to go along with this scheme of yours, but I won’t risk getting caught in a lie on national television.”

  Despite what Andrew had told Laurie, he had no interest in helping her with the show. If it had been up to him, he would have turned on his usual charm, heard out her pitch, and then politely declined. It was, in Andrew’s view, what any normal family would do. No point in rehashing bad memories. Protection of privacy. All that jazz. An easy out.

  But the Raleighs were never normal, and James Raleigh never took the easy route. Andrew tried to persuade his father once again. “I really don’t think we should get involved in this show, Dad.”

  “When you’ve done something to earn your last name, you can have an opinion.”

  Andrew felt himself shrink farther into the chair. “Well, I still don’t understand why you didn’t meet with her yourself,” he muttered, taking another sip of scotch.

  He couldn’t believe it when his father snatched the glass from his hand. “Because a television executive would expect someone of my stature to spurn her invitation. I don’t want to seem too eager to help or she might be suspicious of what I have to say. You on the other hand? Finally, your aw-shucks, go-along-to-get-along persona comes in handy.”