Chapter 32 Cassie
Cassie
Now
“Some coffee would be nice. For our guests?” I give Taylor a stern look, then wait for her to take the hint.
Annoyingly, she doesn’t move, but I still feel like I should give her a pass: that earsplitting scream she let out diverted the attention from my reaction. Or lack thereof. Still, we don’t want to be rude or give a bad first impression.
“Taylor, please?”
“We really don’t mean to be a bother,” the woman says. She introduced herself as Detective Jackson and she’s all smiles now, but I bet that won’t last long. “Maybe we could sit down?”
“Of course,” I say, leading them toward the couch, my mind spinning.
I expected this. I prepared myself for it. Everything will be fine.
As soon as the four of us are seated, I launch into it. “I was just with him. I can’t imagine… That’s… I can’t even think of the words. Oh god, tell me. What happened?”
Detective Jackson and her colleague, Detective Collins, look at each other with a mix of pain and confusion. Am I not doing this right? Fuck. There should be a how-to guide for the perfectly distressed widow.
Detective Collins clears his throat. “The cleaning staff at the hotel found him. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign was on, but they have a policy of checking in with guests if they haven’t cleaned the room in more than forty-eight hours. Fancy hotel, and all that.”
“Hmm,” I say, nodding repeatedly as I press my lips together.
“But of course you’d know that. You were there,” Detective Jackson says.
I force a smile. “Can you tell me what happened? Olivier was fine when I left Paris. We had a really good, peaceful conversation, and we haven’t spoken since. What… How did he—”
I shouldn’t finish that sentence. A distraught wife would react like that. She would be confused. Hurt. Freaking out.
“We’re still waiting for more information, but the cause of death was most likely an overdose of sleeping pills,” Detective Jackson says.
Taylor gasps before I can.
“Your husband also seems to have suffered a concussion on his head,” Detective Jackson adds. “So that’s giving the detectives pause.”
“Aren’t you the detectives?”
Detective Jackson sighs. “The French detectives. Since it happened over there, they’re in charge of finding out exactly what went down. Our job is to assist them in any way we can.”
“That’s so kind of you.”
I glance at Taylor, who’s nodding almost imperceptibly, her fingers twisted together on her lap.
“Really the reason we’re involved is you. A French man dies in France; it’s their case. But a French man who lives in the States with his American wife, who was with him hours before he died… That’s where we come in. Do you know anything about that concussion, Ms. Quinn?”
“Please call me Cassie. Ms. Quinn was my mother. And I’m Ms. Laurent, actually.
” I pause, but she’s clearly waiting for me to continue.
“Yes, Olivier hit his head. A day or two before I left, maybe? I can’t remember.
Between the time difference and the jet lag, I’m not sure.
So, um, he got up in the middle of the night and tripped on the ironing board.
We’d left it out from the night before. Olivier fell and the iron landed on his head.
I slept right through it; I don’t really remember the details. ”
Before I can take in the detectives’ reactions, Taylor turns to me with eyes wide open, her mouth slightly agape. What’s her problem?
“None of that woke you up?” It’s Detective Jackson. Her smile is kind, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Shit, I’m not thinking clearly enough. “I was still jet-lagged. Olivier bought these sleeping pills for the trip, and I guess they worked a little too well.”
“Didn’t you buy the sleeping pills?” Taylor says.
“What does it matter?” I say, too sharply.
“It does matter,” Detective Jackson cuts in, with a half smile. “So you purchased the sleeping pills?”
I look down, stopping myself from shooting daggers at Taylor.
I wish we’d get off this topic already. I didn’t exactly get these pills legally, and I’m in enough trouble as it is, but it looks like I have to answer so I face the detectives again.
“Olivier, my husband, suggested the sleeping pills. He came with me to get them. I paid for them so I guess, technically, I bought them. I never thought Olivier would…” I pause, like I’m about to cry, my chin quivering.
I’m good at this. I used to fool Mom all the time as a teen. I could do the worst things and get away with them. But of course, no dead bodies were involved then.
Detective Collins takes a deep breath. “Ms. Laurent, we’re very sorry for your loss, and we know this must be a lot to take in, but it’s important we help our colleagues in France with their investigation.”
“Investigation?” I say, bringing my hand to my chest.
“That’s generally what happens when someone dies like this.”
I swallow hard. Come on, Cassie. You can do this. You’ll be fine. They can’t prove anything. “I mean, could Olivier have maybe committed suicide?”
I say it like it just occurred to me, like it wasn’t my plan all along.
To be fair, I didn’t mean to hit him with the iron.
He grabbed it first; it was self-defense.
But then he held it over my head and froze, his eyes pooling with anguish.
I took advantage of a split second of hesitation on his part.
It was him or me. When it smashed against his head, it startled me, like I wasn’t the one doing it.
I thought he might be dead for a moment.
I could picture the police rushing into the room and clasping handcuffs around my wrists.
And then I realized: I wanted him gone. That way there would only be one side to the story: mine.
No messy divorce, no risk that he’d come after my money, that he would try to kill me again.
He wouldn’t let me go, so he’d get what he deserved.
He was starting to come to and I was enraged, determined to keep him away forever.
That’s when I saw the bottle of pills. Two could play at this game.
So I gave him a glass of water, but he wouldn’t take it.
He tried to fight me, but he was too dizzy to resist when I straddled him, my knees digging into the crook of his elbows, and poured the liquid down his throat.
Just some water. Some cloudy water. Three sips for the marriage he tricked me into, and three more for getting in my way.
Like I said, it was self-defense. Then the glass was empty, and as I walked out the door, I tried to forget exactly how many pills I’d crushed into it.
“You’re correct that suicide is the most reasonable explanation. But there are a few outstanding elements we need to clear up.”
Detective Jackson glances at her colleague, who takes over. “Ms. Laurent, why did you leave your honeymoon early? And without your husband?”
I let out a deep sigh, then turn to Taylor. She has to be a part of this, whether she likes it or not. “I was just telling Tay about this. It all happened so fast.”
Slowly she turns to me, like I awoke her from a spell. I never call her Tay. It’s something I just made up, but sisters have little nicknames for each other, don’t they?
I continue. “My father died recently. We were estranged and I had no idea he was living this glamorous life in the city. I met Olivier at his funeral, about three months ago.”
The detectives nod encouragingly, and I explain the rest of the story, the one I thought through all the way home.
The official version I feed them is this: I was distraught—dead dad, so hard!
—and met a handsome French man. It was intense and passionate right away, and before I knew it, we were on our way to City Hall.
Yes, it was fast and, well, really spontaneous, but we were having so much fun.
I thought I was in love. Olivier is, was, a great guy.
I had gotten out of a long relationship only days before and got swept off my feet. Shit happens when you want to be happy.
“But your wedding was only recently?” Detective Jackson says. Her right eyebrow rises so high it might touch her hairline.
“Yes, I was getting to that. After we got married, we realized it had gone a little too fast. I don’t have family anymore and Olivier’s is in France—”
The two detectives glance at Taylor in unison. What did I say?
Detective Jackson addresses her now. “We’re deeply sorry for your loss, too. Do you need to take a moment? You look very shocked.”
Shit, so they noticed, too. What the fuck is wrong with her?
Once again, I remember what Olivier said.
I’d pushed the thought to the back of my mind, certain he was only trying to rile me up, but now it’s staring back at me.
Taylor does seem distraught. More than me?
She can never let me have anything, not even this.
“They were close,” I say quickly, reaching for Taylor’s hand. She stares at mine. “When Olivier and I came back here, the three of us started hanging out. I mean, Taylor works hard so she’s not around much. But it was important to me that they get along.”
“And you did?” Detective Collins says to Taylor.
She starts to open her mouth, but I can’t let her talk. “May I have some water? I’m feeling a bit faint. This is all too much.”
Taylor takes a deep breath, and for a few seconds, nobody moves. “Yes, we were close,” she says.
Then, she gets up and walks off to the kitchen. The three of us sit in horrifying silence, the sound of the tap running our only soundtrack. Taylor comes back out carrying four glasses of water on our old wooden tray, but her hands shake so much that it spills all over.
Detective Jackson waits until she’s sitting back down. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
I gulp down my water, noisy gargles drowning everything else for a moment.
“I’m the sister,” she says. “Cassie’s sister. Taylor Quinn.”
“My mother adopted her when she was a teen,” I say. “We’re not, like…blood. Her mom was a distant cousin of my mom.”
“Legally, we’re sisters,” Taylor says plainly.
Detective Collins frowns in my direction. “You said you had no family left. It’s a bit confusing, is all.”
“My husband died.”
“The husband you left during your honeymoon,” Detective Jackson says. “Why’d you leave, Ms. Laurent?”
“Olivier and I both realized we’d rushed into it. It was fun while it lasted, but we weren’t really ready to commit to each other for life. After a few days in Paris, he told me he missed France too much. He wanted to stay there, and we both knew that meant without me.”
“And you were okay with that?”
I nod. “We made a mistake.”
“Hmm…except Mr. Laurent is no longer here to make mistakes.”
Finally, finally, the tears come. Not many, and I have to force them a little, but here I am, the broken wife, the widow.
At last. When I start sobbing, they leave me alone for a couple of minutes.
The three of them sit there, watching me cry.
Then, Detective Jackson asks me to relate my last hours in Paris, step by step.
I tell them about my night of self-care, how relaxing that bath was.
And that wine, yummy. Olivier came home a little drunk—understandable!
—and woke me up. We had a long, calm, and loving discussion.
No harsh words were exchanged. And no, Olivier was never violent with me.
Such a kind, honest man. You know, aside from the fact that he drugged me and tried to murder me.
Twice. How good it felt to smash the iron into his head.
To watch him be completely at my mercy as I poured the water down his throat.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking clearly but it felt so right in the moment. Of course I don’t share that last part.
“After we were done talking, I couldn’t go back to sleep.
So I got up and packed my suitcase. I thought about booking another room but I checked online, and the hotel was full.
It felt like a sign that I should go home.
I took a taxi to the airport and waited there most of the day to get a seat on a flight home. ”
I didn’t actually check if the hotel was full, so I have to hope it was, in the middle of summer.
For the rest, I can only assume they have video footage of me leaving the suite, then the hotel, then getting into a taxi.
I was calm then. So relieved. When I’m done talking, the detectives remain still, their faces blank.
“Mind if we ask you a few questions now?” Detective Jackson says to Taylor.
For the first time since they arrived, I really look at her. She’s even paler now, if that’s even possible. Her eyes are red-rimmed and tears threaten to stream down her face. It’s my husband who died (bless his soul), and she’s out here stealing my thunder. Again.
I have to stop her. “I’m sorry, but this is all such a shock. I think I need to go lie down. We both do.”
“Okay,” Jackson says. “We don’t want to keep you too long for now, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we have more information.”
I smile painfully, then we all get up and I lead them toward the door, where they give me their condolences one more time. I don’t exhale until they’re back in their car, driving away from me.
In the meantime, Taylor has disappeared off into the kitchen. I find her leaning over the sink, her palms pressing on either side of it. At first it looks like she’s throwing up, but in fact she’s sobbing hard, so much that it sounds like she’s choking.
“What?” she barks after a minute without looking up.
It hits me for real this time. Olivier wasn’t lying. Something was going on between them.
“What indeed,” I say coolly. “What was that all about in there? What aren’t you telling me?”
She straightens up and takes a deep breath before turning to me. “You killed him. You two had a fight and—”
“We didn’t fight,” I cut in, crossing my arms against my chest. “We had the best time in Paris. You know that. Everybody knows that.” Twice she opens her mouth to respond.
Both times she closes it again without saying a word.
“What reason could I have to kill my husband? Please, find one. I’ll be waiting. ”
“You—” She lets out a strangled breath and doesn’t finish her sentence.
“I didn’t do anything. And you should be very careful what you tell anyone. You wouldn’t want to accuse your darling sister without proof.”
We stand there for a while, staring at each other. Taylor has always been my downfall. The one who stole love, space, time. I’m not going to let her take my freedom, too.