Page 98 of The Right to Remain

It sounded like a joke, but Helena was starting to think the gatekeeper was just stupid. “Not that kind of ‘five minutes.’ I need to talk—”

Helena stopped midsentence, as she spotted CJ coming up the stairs. He had a young woman on each arm, and it was a tossup as to who looked the most stoned.

“CJ!” Helena shouted.

He stopped, smiled, and said something to his girlfriends du jour. They seemed disappointed to be given the “buzz off,” until CJ handed them a packet of something—fentanyl-free, Helena hoped—and they were happy again. They headed back downstairs to the party, and CJ went to Helena.

“Finally, you accepted my standing invitation,” he said with a grin. “Come inside. Join the party. Would you like to go for a swim?”

Helena noted that he didn’t ask if she’d brought a bathing suit. “I’m good,” she said.

CJ took her by the elbow and tried to lead her toward the staircase, but she shook free and stopped.

“I’m not here to party, CJ.”

“Everybody comes here to party.”

Helena gazed through the glass wall to the bacchanalia on the lawn. Two more naked bodies splashed into the swimming pool. The dance floor, too, had suddenly become “clothing optional.” The night was starting to look less like a “party” and more like a brothel scene fromGame of Thrones,but Helena kept her focus.

“I came to talk about the gun my dog dug up in the yard this morning.”

CJ fell silent. He seemed to appreciate the seriousness of the matter. “Let’s talk in there,” he said, pointing with a glance toward the door at the end of the hallway.

Helena went with him. CJ opened the door. Helena froze, but the oiled-up threesome on the mattress kept at it, unfazed by the audience.

“Out!” CJ shouted.

A woman and two men ran naked across the room, out the door, and into the hallway. CJ closed the door.

“Remind me to burn those bedsheets,” he said.

“Can you please be serious for thirty seconds?”

“Yes, of course. Go ahead.”

Helena took a breath. “Boo found my Beretta in the yard.”

“Interesting,” he said dryly.

“The police say it has no serial number.”

“Very interesting.”

“Is that all you can say, CJ?Interesting?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain why the gun you gave me has no serial number on it.”

His expression turned very serious. He almost looked sober. “Here’s the thing, Helena: I never gave you a gun.”

Her mouth fell open. “What do you mean you never gave me a gun? You gave me that Beretta when—”

Helena stopped herself. Her blood was about to boil, as the realization set in. “I’ve been set up,” she said in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“You bastard,” she said sharply. “Youset this up to make it look like Owen’s death was my fault.”