Suspicion of Innocence Read Online Free PDF Page A

a palm had been placed over the mouthpiece.
    Gail pressed the receiver closer to her ear. A faint buzz came over the line, then the hand must have been removed.
    "Honey?" It was her mother's voice now, nearly a whisper. "Can you come? Please."
    "What is it? What's wrong?" The sounds of the courthouse lobby echoed dimly in the background. "Mother, what happened?"
    "She's killed herself. ... Oh, Gail ... my baby's gone."
     
    Gail would later remember the emotions that raced through her mind, one close upon another, in those seconds after she learned her sister was dead. There was an instant of disbelief in which she closed her eyes and replayed her mother's words. Killed herself. Gone.
    Then came a strange burst of anger. Renee had actually done this thing, selfishly not caring about the pain she would inflict.  
    Then a flash of spite: Renee had gotten exactly what she deserved. And then Gail was aware of her mother's grief.
    She heard her sobbing into the phone, and she knew that the tears wouldn't stop easily, because they were for Renee, as they had always been for Renee. Gail would try to comfort her, but there would be more tears. More than if Gail had been the one. . . .
    Irene couldn't relate more than the barest details: a park near the Everglades; they found her this morning. Her wrists. A sergeant from the Metro-Dade Police came by the house, a nice man, very kind.
    After a glance at her watch, Gail assured her mother that she would be home as soon as she could, please not to worry. Yes, yes, she would come. She would take care of everything.
    All this while another part of her mind was frantically trying to figure out who would cover her appointment at three; how in hell she could reschedule every blessed court appearance for the rest of the week; how to pick up Karen from the sitter.
    Then she hung up and turned around, leaning unsteadily against the edge of the phone booth, catching her breath. Someone across the lobby laughed. A soda clunked out of the machine near the revolving door.
    Finally Gail felt the shame of knowing that her first reaction had not been sorrow.
    She had felt all this, but never surprise. Not that. Renee had been heading toward self-destruction for years, and now, she had arrived.
     
     
     

 
    Two
     
     
    "Poor thing. Such a shock."
    The woman glanced past Gail's shoulder across the visitation room. Irene Connor sat on one of the long sofas, a small figure in black. Her sister Patsy was beside her; more people gathered in groups around the room.
    "She's lucky to have you, Gail," the woman whispered. "Someone has to be strong. My brother Kenny died last year, you know. Cancer. A blessing, really, but our father fell apart. Just devastated. I was the only one who could manage."
    Gail had no idea who this person was. She forced herself to smile. "We're so glad you could come." Pretending to see someone else in the crowd, she excused herself and slipped away. They had been here since five, in this dimly lit visitation room with its cold, sweet florist's-shop smell. Gail supposed some of the flowers were from Renee's friends, but she wouldn't have recognized the names. There were the expected arrangements from family friends and out-of-town relations. But she knew most of the flowers weren't for Renee at all. They were for her mother. Irene Strickland Connor, a piece of local history, granddaughter of one of Miami's pioneer families. Even the mayor had sent a wreath.
    It had been years since Gail had seen some of the people who had shown up. They had taken Irene's hand, dredging their memories or imaginations for something nice to say about Renee. Then they had walked between the rows of chairs to the recessed niche where the casket lay, gleaming wood and brass. More flowers. A crucifix on a mahogany stand had been placed behind it, and at each end candles flickered in tall, red glass holders. Gail had seen the puzzlement on their faces. They had probably expected to see Renee herself,