Cause of Death Laura Dembowski (best selling autobiographies txt) 📖

we fucked up. So now we’ll pay. Just like Lana wanted.

Finally, after several minutes—what feels like hours of crying loudly, writhing in emotional pain on Lana’s bed, channeling the drama queen she was—Dave finally comes in. He lies next to me on the bed, the teddy bear between us, a physical separation just like Lana would have wanted.

Once I have calmed down enough to see things a little more clearly, I realize Dave is still, his breathing steady, his eyes completely clear. He’s not so pale, and he doesn’t seem like a hunched-over old man.

“So the letter gave you the closure you needed?” I ask, knowing there could be no other explanation for the marked change in his demeanor.

“I just needed to hear from her one last time, and I did. I didn’t think this would be your reaction.”

“I guess I couldn’t hold it together any longer,” I say.

“You don’t have to hold it together at all. It’s okay; let it out.”

“She blames us.”

“I know,” Dave says.

Why is he so calm? This should be tearing him apart.

“But I don’t,” he says, looking at me. “I blame you,” he says, with a hint of smile.

Chapter 9

Ryan

I knock on Beth Cambridge’s door. Officially I’m here to ask some follow-up questions. Unofficially, I felt some kind of spark between us, and I want to see if she felt the same way. I’m not going to come out and ask her if she’d like to fuck me on her kitchen counter, even if I can’t stop thinking about it. Asking her would certainly lead to her reporting me and another investigation, and I don’t need that right now.

Beth answers the door, one of her children standing behind her, hiding from me. I kind of forgot about the kids, but maybe she can occupy them with a movie or something.

“Detective, what can I do for you?” she asks with a smile, her voice soft, smooth, and comforting.

“I just have a few more questions for you,” I say, realizing I don’t actually have any questions prepared.

“Anything I can do to help,” she says, moving away from the door so I can come in.

She looks at the little girl, hiding behind her back. “Daisy, go watch the movie with your sister. I’ll be there shortly.”

Daisy runs off without a word.

I am relieved to be alone with Beth.

“Have a seat,” Beth says, leading me into a formal sitting area that seems far away from where the kids are entertaining themselves.

“Thank you.” And, after a pause: “Did your sister talk to you much about Lana?”

I’m unable to come up with anything better to say. It’s a pretty good question, though, and one that could tell me a lot about the mother–daughter relationship at the center of this case.

“She mostly just complained about her, which I never understood.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“I’d talk to Maggie and she’d tell me how lost Lana was. How she had no life, no friends. How she wanted to kill herself. And then I’d talk to Lana and she’d say she had to sneak out of her house to meet her friends and her boyfriend. I asked her once if she wanted to kill herself, and she laughed at me. She actually joked that she wanted to kill her mom.”

She pauses.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” she says. “Obviously she didn’t want to kill her mother. I think Maggie may have been the needy one, but it’s hard to figure out what’s true when two people you love and trust have completely different stories. You know?”

“Yeah, that must be tough. How are you holding up?” I ask, trying to exit the professional mode I’m supposed to maintain at all times.

“My niece is dead and my sister and brother-in-law are apparently persons of interest in the case. I don’t know who to trust.”

“You can trust me,” I say, and then immediately regret it. It sounds like a cheesy pickup line, which, in essence, is what it is.

“Thank you,” she says, looking away from me, smiling, perhaps a little embarrassed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really. Figure out how Lana died once and for all, I guess.”

“Yes. Of course. I meant, is there anything I can do to help you.”

She looks at me. Our eyes lock. I know now that we both want each other. I stand. She does the same. I take a risk and put my hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t push it away. I lean in to kiss her, stopping just short of her lips. If she meets mine, I know I haven’t taken things too far. She does. We kiss. It’s not sloppy or even that passionate, but it is enough for me. It satisfies me, yet makes me want more.

Her lips are so soft. Softer than Tracy’s. And she doesn’t try to stick her tongue down my throat. She’s a classy lady, and I wish she was mine instead of Tracy.

“Mooooooom!” we hear from the other room.

We pull away from each other, but my hand remains on her shoulder.

“I . . . I . . . I have to go,” she says, and starts walking toward the front door.

“Can I come back sometime?”

“Sure,” she says. “Give me your phone.” I do as she asks and watch as she puts her number into my address book. “Call me.”

She opens the door and ushers me out. I watch through the window as she walks farther into the house to wherever the kids are watching their movie, jumping back into mom mode without flinching. I will call her—mostly because I want to, but because she wants me to as well. Unless it’s a fake number. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

“Harder, harder,” Beth is screaming.

Ordinarily I don’t like women screaming at me when I’m fucking them, but she’s such a sexy animal compared to Tracy that I don’t mind at all. I wasn’t expecting her to be so raunchy.

Apparently everyone in this family has secrets.

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