Clary smiled a little. “They were alike in some of the strangest ways.”
“One night, at Linda’s, she told me about Jesse, and it wasn’t good.”
“What do you mean?”
Leefe took a big breath. “She and Jesse were fighting, and she showed me some terrible marks.”
Clary frowned. “What kind of marks? Did you tell the police this part?”
“No, I didn’t. There were bruises and scratches, like she’d been roughed up. She didn’t say Jesse had done it, but she implied it.” Leefe looked back at her house. “I need some water, or something. Are you thirsty?”
They walked back, arms around each other, and Leefe kept talking. “There was another thing. Sometimes, while I was at work at night, Sharon would use my room at the women’s shelter. One morning I came home, and she was there, sort of disoriented. There was blood from a long, shallow cut on her arm, her stomach was scraped up and bleeding, and she had a bad bruise on her cheek.”
Clary stared at Leefe. “Did she say that Jesse did that?”
“No, she didn’t and I asked. Sharon wouldn’t tell me.” Leefe reached into the cupboard. “What would you like? Water or coffee? Wait, I have whiskey too. I keep it for Zip.”
“A bit of whiskey,” Clary said. “More ice than whiskey. Go on.”
Leefe continued in a shaky voice. “I got her cleaned up and she called Maureen. I walked to the store with her and waited until Maureen came.”
“Damn.” Clary paced the room. “What time of year was this?”
“It was a Sunday in spring. April, I think. It was so long ago.”
Dumbfounded, Clary realized she hadn’t heard a whisper of this from Maureen, her parents, or anyone else, especially not Jesse.
“And she didn’t exactly vanish. I helped her get to a friend’s place in Arizona, someone I’d grown up with at the home.”
“Christ, does Maureen know?” Clary sank into the chair next to Leefe.
“Yes, and she knew about the injuries. She came to see me at my room and I told her what I said to the police. That’s all.” Leefe’s shoulders slumped. “Sharon kept in touch for a while and then, of course, she was just…gone. I gave the police my friend’s name in Arizona.”
“How did you keep in touch with Sharon?”
“She’d call my friend in Arizona, who’d get word to me. He never told me where she was because he didn’t know either. All of us who lived together at the county home were like that. Close and secretive with each other.” Leefe scrubbed her face. “If you’re angry—”
“This is just new information. Help me here, Leefe.” Leefe looked close to tears, and Clary put her arm around her shoulders.
“Jesse’s read the police reports and asks about Sharon, but I won’t talk with her about it,” Leefe said. “Tonight’s the first time I’ve ever been around Piper, and I think she’s nice.”
“I believe you, but I don’t think Jesse would do that to Sharon.” Clary’s phone rang, and Jesse’s photo popped onto the screen.
“Oh, God,” Leefe said, staring at the phone.
“Bet she’s home, looking for Piper. She’ll go to Maureen’s and then come here next. Let’s go to the bar, Harv’s old place, and check out the kids. I’d like to see what they’ve done with it.” She and Jesse would just fight again if they saw each other tonight, and she wasn’t going to let her attack Leefe again. “You said you can dance, so bring it on.” She stood and put her arms around Leefe, close and tight. “Besides, I get to hold you if we dance.”
Chapter Twenty
Clary adjusted the water directly onto her face, trying to wash away the night’s sketchy sleep. Part of her tossing and turning was unused energy from last night. They’d discovered her new car was not designed for making out. Getting home had been a blur. The other part, of course, was what Leefe had said about Sharon.
Rinsing her hair, she thought she heard her phone, and lunged through the shower curtain, but it was too late. Clary dripped on the bathmat, listened to the message, and called Leefe back.
“That was fast. Did I wake you or…?”
“I was in the shower,” Clary said. She steadied herself against the sink, heart picking up.
“Thanks for last night,” Leefe said with a ragged breath. “I wanted to make sure I haven’t forgotten something today.”
Clary cleared her throat. “I’m giving you and Devi a ride to the meeting at Beverly’s office at two o’clock, and then we have your art class. We talked about a swimming lesson.” She gripped the towel, remembering Leefe’s skin, and the shape of her body.
“It’s really hot. Want to try that swim after the art class?” Leefe said. Children chattered in the background, and Clary heard Leefe take another deep breath.
“Do you have a swimming suit at your place?”
“I’ve never owned one.”
“T-shirt and shorts?”
“That’ll do. Andy’s here, in the attic, checking the electricity. It’s so hot up there that I’m afraid to leave him alone. I’ll see you before two o’clock.”
Drying off, Clary saw Jesse’s message from last night and checked her phone. It was what she’d thought. Jesse had been trying to find Piper. Thank God they’d gone to Harv’s and missed that drama. Harv’s had been crowded but fun. The kids had shown them a few new moves, and that had been fun. The laughter had been great, but the best part had been their arms around each other.
Clary stretched out on the bed with her phone, going over photos. First, she stopped to say good morning to the photo of Hannah, and then the fishing photos of Leefe. The setting sun had softened Leefe’s face and those happy eyes framed by the windblown hair were irresistible. She looked so carefree. Clary took a happy breath, and looked at the child’s joy on Leefe’s face.
Rolling to her side, she looked at the empty space next to her, something she’d stopped noticing. Better yet, the lethargy she’d been dragging around was gone. Suddenly she picked up the phone and looked at the photos again. She doesn’t know she’s beautiful. Clary looked out the window at the blazing blue sky.
Damn, Leefe was right. It was hot. She hauled herself up from the bed, closed the windows, and turned on the central air. She mopped up the bathroom and gathered the wet towels for a wash with the blouse that Leefe had asked her to wear today at the art class.
Anxiety, thin as a paper cut, sliced through her as she stared down at the washing machine. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined what Leefe had said last night. Jesse had left bruises and cuts on Sharon? Or would Sharon have lied to Leefe? Yes, but Leefe wouldn’t have known. It was possible that it had been Sharon, weaving a version of her life to fit the moment. Leefe had said Sharon had ‘implied’ it was Jesse, or just wouldn’t talk about it.
She slathered cream cheese onto toasted bagels, took them to the office, and ate, looking at the boat photo on Maureen’s desk. They’d been close. Almost everything in her childhood involved Sharon, the older kid that shared family birthdays, vacations, and the stumbling teenage years. Sharon had been her guide in so many things. Clary’s younger sister, Ellen, had missed those breathtaking moments.
They were their mothers’ guinea pigs for everything from fashion to hair styles to foods. She smiled, remembering their elaborate system of hiding snacks in their bedrooms. Jesse had been a part of that, more devious, quicker to outwit the parents.
Clary ripped a sheet of paper off a pad in front of her, crumpled it, and tossed it at the waste basket under the desk. “Crap, I missed,” she muttered, and went to the floor, then stopped. There it was again, that faint hint of Sharon’s perfume. She moved the chair back and crawled past the square wooden wastebasket. A FedEx shipping box was crammed against the wall and she tugged it free. Clary scooted backward, sat on the floor, and opened it.
There were two file folders and a manila envelope inside, one labeled “Local Police” and the other “Private Detective.” This must be Maureen and Joe’s information w
hen they’d tried to find Sharon. Clary lifted the folders and took a sudden breath. There were four or five letters, held together with a rubber band. Clary went to her knees, put the box on the desk with a grunt, and pulled herself up. Carefully, she took the top letter and held it up.
The words, “Mom and Dad,” written on each envelope made her frown, and she tried to remember Sharon’s writing. These letters hadn’t been mailed. They’d been enclosed inside a package or something, without a return address. The manilla envelope had newspaper clippings inside, and imprinted “Medical Examiner’s Office,” but she didn’t read it. That was the last thing she wanted to see, and she had an image of Uncle Joe and Aunt Maureen reading the letters.
There was some reason that no one had mentioned this, and she felt about ten years old. This was not her stuff. She distinctly remembered her mother and father catching her snooping through the big desk in the study at home. They didn’t yell. They’d kept it simple. It didn’t belong to her. This box wasn’t hers either.
She held up the box, examining the outside, heard the back door open and quickly shoved it under the desk. She turned and almost ran into Jesse.
“Morning,” Jesse said. “Still mad at me?”
“Yes. No.” She walked past Jesse. “But we need to talk. Want some coffee?”
“Sure.” Jesse followed her into the kitchen. “Where were you last night?”
“We went to Harv’s. Nice job on the place. The kids sure seemed to like it. We even managed a few dances.” She put a clean cup on the table and took a deeper look at Jesse’s razor-sharp uniform, and rested face. “I got your message this morning. Where’d you find Piper?”
“She was in the parking lot above the boats, talking with Zip. They said you’d just left. I followed Piper home, really apologized, then called in and notified them that I’d be late this morning. We slept in and then talked over breakfast.” Jesse stared at her cup, turning it slowly in her hands. “I’m sorry for what I said at the police station.”
Clary took a deep breath. “Thank you, but I swear I’ve never seen this side of you. As I said the night I came home, I want you to be happy. You’re killing Piper.”
“It just won’t leave me alone,” Jesse said quickly.
The words hung in the air between them, and Clary bit her lip. Where did she go from here? “Then tell me what you’ve found out, what happened when I was in England? I know what happened when I got home, and I know what happened to Sharon in San Francisco. She was bartending and got in between a man and his wife, fighting. The man took out a gun and shot her to death, sixteen years ago.” Anxiety rippled through her again, and she took a shaky drink of her coffee. “Let’s stop fighting, and, Jesse, let up on Leefe. I think you know everything there is to know about Leefe and Sharon. You know they were friends, she helped her get out of town, and she told the police everything she knew. You’ve read those reports.”
“It’s simple. I only want to know why Sharon took off. After you left for England, Sharon did things you wouldn’t believe.” Jesse looked away. “So did I.”
“What happened?”
Jesse began to say something but her phone rang. She answered, talked briefly, and grabbed her keys. “That was Howie, and I have to go,” she said to Clary as she left.
“Damn.” Maybe Jesse’s world had fallen apart sixteen years ago, just like her own had last year. She walked past the table and stared at Maureen’s wall of photos. Family. She’d grown up in a family crammed with special birthday dinners, careful listening when she spoke, and all that encouragement.
Clary went across each picture, one by one, until she stopped at the old mid-fifties photo of the grandmother she was named for. That woman had been her hero forever, and like Leefe, a victim of circumstance. Her husband had died when Maureen and her mother were little girls, and left her alone. She’d turned their home into a boarding house and became the town’s librarian. Her father said she was the most courageous woman he’d ever known and swore he’d fallen in love with her before Clary’s mother. Her mother liked to throw mock-anger at him when he’d say that, but Clary had seen the pride and love.
Clary smiled at that memory and then saw a new photograph. It was a framed, small picture of Leefe standing beside Mojo’s. Clary leaned forward and touched it. It was dated last year. This was the family wall, and Maureen had included Leefe? Cool.
Leefe had nothing close to the life on display in these photos, not to mention the personal things. Clary wondered who had bought her the first bra, or told her what to do about her first period, all the inside parts of growing up. Leefe had gotten through it all, like her grandmother. They were heroes.
She turned away to the office, and put Maureen’s box at the back of the desk where she’d found it. She had to pick Leefe and Devi up for the meeting at Beverly’s, and then Leefe’s art class. She went for the laundry.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was so hot in Leefe’s art class that even the big ceiling fans were useless. People shifted around their easels. Leefe counted seventeen people, and all of them were sweating. Her own damp hand smeared the charcoal. Holy hell, another wrong line.
Clary stretched out comfortably on the sofa in front of them, one arm under her head, in the olive green shorts and white shirt. She looks like she’s done this a million times. A big drop of perspiration rolled down Leefe’s face, and she scraped at it, disgusted with her poor effort. This hadn’t exactly gone as she’d planned. Every line she drew felt as if she’d just touched her and the full, wide mouth she loved to kiss had been a challenge.
According to the clock, they had five more minutes. She half-listened to the murmur of voices around her and peeked at Clary one last time, sighing at the sight. Thank God they were going to the jetties next. The water should cool her down, but of course she just might drown.
The man next to her leaned closer. “Wow,” was all he said.
“Have you ever sketched a person before?” Leefe wiped her hands on her jeans.
“Yeah, at school, but he didn’t look anything like her.”
Leefe grinned and tried to finish her sketch, mopping her face again. She announced that time was up, and Clary stood with a little loose, sexy shake. Leefe froze. The light angled off Clary’s tanned face, brightening her green eyes. There’s that gleam again.
Packing her things in the car, Leefe caught Clary’s challenging glance.
“Do I get to see your sketches?” Clary said.
“It’s not my best effort, but I’ll show them to you.”
“Now you’re making excuses. Remember, I’ve seen some of your sketches.”
“I did your hands, head, full body, and feet.”And a lot more in my mind.
“Pretty much covers it all, huh.” Clary laughed as they drove toward the jetties.
“You can see them but only after we’ve been in the water. I don’t want to drown.”
“Are you nervous about swimming? Sorry. I never even thought about it. Trust me. You’ll be safe.”
Leefe looked away. For some reason, she’d trusted Clary from the beginning. Her body was on a rampage after sketching her. She checked the lake. Night was coming on, and shadows stretched across the water. Dark was good. It would cover many things. She’d only waded in the lake, so this full-emersion stuff was going to be different. The thought of water over her face was horrifying.
“I’m afraid to put my head under water,” she admitted.
“Good. You said it out loud. That’s part of the battle. I started competitive swimming to heal my arm, but was so afraid of the races that I threw up a few times.” She looked at Leefe. “Really, I did.” She laid a hand on Leefe’s shoulder. “How do you feel about what Beverly said during that meeting? Are you ready to be a full-time mother, however long it takes?”
“No, not mother, Clary. She wants to get Devi and her brother into counseling, and that’s mostly what the meeting was about. It all depends on what happens to their mother, and right now she�
��s in serious condition. She listed me as the person temporarily in charge. I took time with Devi this morning, trying to prepare her for everything she’s about to run into, and it’s scary.” Leefe thought about the question. “Do I look scared? Albie gave me another night, tonight, because she said I looked stressed. She called a friend of hers, and they’ll keep Devi and Jacob occupied with lots of popcorn and movies.”
“Should you be there with Devi?”
“No. I think she needs distraction more than she needs me right now. I told Beverly I’d be here with you for a swimming lesson.”
Clary parked the car. “I think we’re in the same odd situation. I always felt like Hannah was mine, but she wasn’t. You feel the same about Devi.” Clary’s hand slid down Leefe’s arm, lacing her fingers.
Leefe looked down at their hands. Clary seemed to understand her better than anyone she’d ever been around. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s swim.”
The barest sliver of moon hung right above the blinking green light when they waded into the water, both in T-shirts and shorts.
“It’s cold.” Leefe was surprised. She hadn’t lived here at this time last year.
“Lake Michigan takes a long time to warm and it’s only late June. When we swim in August, it’ll be around seventy degrees, especially here in the shallows by the jetties. How far out have you been?”
“Only to there, by that first group of ducks.” Leefe pointed, shivering despite the warmth.
“Stay here. I’m going to take a quick swim and look around first.” And Clary was gone silently, like the fish they’d put back in the lake yesterday. Leefe searched for her. She started forward, but then remembered Clary had said not to move. Suddenly, Clary came up in front of her, splattering her with cold water.
“That felt good,” Clary said and held out her hand. “Come on. You’re going to enjoy this.” They stopped when the water was just over Leefe’s belly. “Okay,” Clary said, “bend backward over my arms, stretch out.” She held both arms under the water. “Comfortable?”
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