FLASHBACK by Gary Braver Read Free Book Online Page A

Greek and Shakespearean plays.
    On the small fireplace mantel were framed photos of children, perhaps grandchildren. One was a formal portrait of Cassie and a man, perhaps her husband. Also one of Cassie and, she guessed, Clara, from the resemblance, taken when they were much younger—probably in their twenties. Cassie was dressed in a high-fashion dress and hat and Clara in a skirt and polo shirt; Clara was holding a golf club. They were both strikingly handsome, Clara a bit shorter and less willowy than her sister, but with a round, elfin face that
could barely disguise high spirits. She was caught midlaugh, as if somebody had just told a joke.
    “She had just won a club tournament,” Cassie said, entering the room with a tray. “She was quite the sportswoman in her day.” She set the tray down and handed René a tall glass of ice water with a slice of lemon.
    “That’s Walt, my third husband. Clara never married, but I made up for that. Buried three of them. Walt died six years ago, and that’s when the word got out I was a high-risk bride.” She smiled and sat opposite René. “Shortly after that my sister moved in. And now she’s up for murder.” She took a sip of coffee. “On second thought, maybe my parents had foresight when they named me.”
    René smiled. The woman’s directness was refreshing. “So the police were here.”
    “No, they called with the details. I’m sure they’ll be dropping by with a lot of questions. They tell me she’s being evaluated at McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts. But I can’t visit her for a while.”
    Cassie was remarkably sharp of mind and still attractive for a woman of eighty—tall and broad-shouldered, although now rounded and padded by time. She had a regal face with wide cheekbones and arching, slightly supercilious dark brows that were enhanced by round, dark wire-framed glasses. Her brown eyes were large and heavily lidded and the skin around them was papery, but they held a person with a fierce intensity. Her hair was gray and pulled back in a bun. She wore no makeup. She was dressed in a red pullover, jeans, and white tennis shoes. Perhaps she was getting ready for a morning walk.
    “On the phone you said you had some questions about what might have led up to her assault on that unfortunate young man.”
    René handed her a photocopy of the murder story from the Manchester Union-Leader . “I take it you’ve not seen this?”
    Cassie read the article, at one point wincing at something. When she finished, she laid the article on the table and looked at René without a word. René was sure the police had spelled out the details of the killing, but something in the woman’s manner set off uneasiness in her, as if the written words had confirmed the enormity of her sister’s act. “You no doubt know your sister better than anyone else. And I know you visited her at Broadview. I’m just wondering if you saw anything that might explain her behavior.”
    “My sister was a high-energy woman—a fighter, as you can see,” and she nodded to a cabinet full of golfing trophies. “She had a temper and would
lash out if she felt wronged. But my sister was not a violent woman or capable of murder.”
    “And as far as you know Edward Zuchowsky was a perfect stranger to her.”
    “Yes, besides, how could she know him, being stuck in the nursing home?”
    “What’s baffling is that she wasn’t on any medications that would have led to such psychotic behavior.”
    Cassie took a sip of her coffee. “But she was demented.”
    “True, and demented people do have fits of violence, but there are always signs of that, and from her records Clara never harmed another patient or staff member.”

    Cassie raised her cup to her face again, her eyes locked on René’s so intently that for a second René felt their heat. Then the woman looked down and the moment passed.
    “Did you notice any changes in Clara while in the home—any alterations in her behavior from