Free Still Life by Joy Fielding Page A

spectators to the Schuylkill River every year. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss. And there’s Philadanco! which sounds like another STD but is actually a dance troupe from West Philly, who’ll be performing at the Kimmel Center for one week only, good seats still available. I’ll be sure to call for tickets. And last but not least, May is the month that Philadelphia opens up its historic old homes for public viewing. Your house is pretty historic, wouldn’t you say? Ever consider opening it up for the public to trample through? No, I guess not. Although I think you’d draw quite a crowd. All those people wanting to see exactly where and how Ronald Lerner lived. Although the truth is never as exciting as one’s imagination, is it?”
    Believe me, Janine. You have no idea.
    “Anyway, I spoke to that police detective again yesterday.”
    What?
    “How come the policemen on TV all look like Chris Noth, and in real life they look like Detective Spinetti?”
    He’s real? I didn’t dream him?
    “Anyway, he told me he questioned Richard Mooney after I told him about our encounter, and that Mooney claims he was visiting his mother at the time of your accident. Although Spinetti clearly doesn’t think it was an accident.”
    Okay, it’s time for a new dream. This one’s turning into something of a nightmare.
    “Apparently Mooney’s mother backs him up, although Spinetti says the police don’t exactly trust mothers when it comes to providing alibis.”
    Can’t say I trust mothers when it comes to much of anything.
    “Anyway, they still haven’t eliminated him as a suspect, especially since—get this—the guy owns a silver SUV. Although frankly, who doesn’t? Besides, you’d think if he was going to try to kill anyone, it would have been me. I’m the one he had the fight with that morning. But then, you always were the chosen one, weren’t you?”
    Casey pictured the dazzling smile that accompanied Janine’s question.
    “Anyway, it would appear Mooney’s not the only suspect. Spinetti asked a million questions about Drew. Apparently he’s left at least a dozen messages on her voice mail, but she hasn’t answered any of them. I said welcome to the club, Drew’s notorious for not returning calls. He asked how well I knew her, if I thought she was capable of trying to kill you. I told him I honestly didn’t know. I mean, who knows anything with Drew? And, of course, he asked a shitload of questions about Warren.”
    “Are you talking about that police detective?” Gail asked from the doorway.
    “Oh, hi,” Janine said, her voice receding as she swiveled around in her chair. “How long have you been standing there?”
    “Just a few seconds. How’s Casey doing today?”
    “Not much change.”
    The sound of footsteps approaching, the air growing heavy above Casey’s head, a gentle laugh, like a soft breeze, wafting toward her face.
    “Her color’s good.”
    “If you like the color of skim milk,” Janine said dryly. “Has he been talking to you, too?”
    “Who?”
    “That police detective. Spinetti.”
    “I assume he’s talking to everyone close to Casey.”
    “He ask you about Warren?”
    “I told him he was way off base,” Gail insisted. “I said Warren adored Casey, that there was no way on earth he had anything to do with this.”
    “Do you really believe that?”
    “Don’t you?”
    “I guess.”
    What do you mean, you guess?
    “What do you mean, you guess?” Gail said in Casey’s stead.
    “Well, isn’t it always the husband in cases like this?”
    “Not in this case,” Gail said adamantly.
    “He could have hired someone.”
    “You’ve been watching too much TV.”
    “You’re right,” Janine said.
    “Warren’s a wonderful man.”
    “Yes, he is.”
    “He adores Casey.”
    “Yes, he does.”
    “Then why would you say something like that?”
    “I don’t know. Blame it on that detective and his stupid questions.”
    “He asked quite a few questions