by Lisa Jackson
“If it’s any consolation,” Lucas said, “I’m sorry.”
“I just bet you are.” Her eyes flared behind her glasses. “You’re the cause of it all. It started with you. All of Elle’s troubles. Her leaving. And Darryl. He never was the same after all of the trouble. It killed him, y’know. I lay the blame at your feet, Lucas Dalton, and I pray every night that when Judgment Day comes, God reminds you just what you did to my family, that you’ll pay for your sins.” Her face was turning red with her words and she, nearly shaking, reached for a pack of Salem cigarettes on the coffee table.
In the years he’d known her, Jeanette hadn’t smoked or drank, or even worn the slightest bit of makeup. Now lip gloss was visible on her lips and through the open pocket door to the kitchen, he spied a bottle of wine on the counter, a half-full glass, and a corkscrew next to the bottle of red. Things had changed in the Brady house. Where once there had been faith and happiness, there was now only sadness and anger. Somehow despair and grief had morphed into a seething fury that the mere sight of him seemed to have ignited.
“Now,” she said, shaking a cigarette from her pack with trembling fingers. “Was there anything else?”
“Nothing concrete.” He wasn’t going to mention the bit of stained fabric, as it wasn’t, as yet, connected to anything.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, sticking the filter tip between her lips. Her hands were still quivering as she reached for her lighter, flicked it, and when the flame appeared, drew hard on the cigarette.
“That we have nothing more to report. We don’t even know the cause of death or anything, but I wanted to let you know this is probably going to roil things up again. Elle’s name and her disappearance will probably come up. You said you saw the press conference on TV?”
“So?” Smoke drifted from her nose and mouth.
“News people are going to be interested in everything associated with the camp, including Elle.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she spat. “I’ve already had several calls from some woman from Astoria. A reporter. Kinley something or other. She wants to talk to me and I said, ‘Nuh-uh. No way. You just leave me out of it,’ but she didn’t seem the kind to let it drop, y’know?” She was calmer now, either from the nicotine racing through her bloodstream or because she’d had her say, been able to blame him for her family’s woes.
Lucas was nodding and, as he did, he thought he heard something, a footstep on the stairs? He glanced to the darkened staircase but saw no one, heard no more footfalls. “Is someone else here?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly. “Not that it’s any of your darned business. I could be having a party and it wouldn’t be any concern of yours.”
But she was lying, taking another puff as if her life depended upon it. The dog had lifted his head and was looking toward the bottom steps that protruded into the hallway.
“It’s just that I thought I heard something.” He started for the steps. “ If you think you’re alone—”
“Hold on right there!” she said, and was on her feet in a shot, almost blocking the path upstairs. As if she were hiding something.
And then he got it. The lipstick, the wineglasses, her furtiveness and anxiety. Jeanette had a lover. Well, hot damn. Lucas was never one to judge anyone for a relationship; in fact, he thought it was a good thing, especially in Jeanette’s case, after losing her only daughter and then her husband. But she was a woman of faith, and he didn’t doubt that people of the church she attended out of town might not approve of her new love interest.
“If there’s nothing else, Lucas, I think you should leave. You’re not welcome here, you know that, so maybe next time, if anyone from the department wants to talk to me, they can phone or send someone else.”
Message received. “Okay.” He hadn’t come in an official capacity, but she didn’t need to know that. “Then I’ll be on my way.”
He almost expected to hear “Good riddance” as he left, but she had the grace not to say the words even though they were evident in the set of her jaw. Instead, she stubbed out her cigarette angrily in a clean glass ashtray and then, as he let himself through the door and screen, she locked each behind him. He heard the dead bolt click loudly as he made his way down off the porch and got into his Jeep.
She’d been anxious to get rid of him, worried that he might figure out she was entertaining.
As he backed up in the small parking area, he noted no car parked in the lane, no sign of a visitor. The garage was a single and Jeanette’s Buick wasn’t visible, so he assumed it was parked behind the closed garage door. There were no other outbuildings large enough to hold a car, so he decided she must’ve picked up the boyfriend . . . or he was living in? But there had been no signs of a man in the living room. No slippers, no newspaper opened to the sports page, the television a small, bubble-faced, portable model most men wouldn’t adjust to, no male jacket on the hall tree, or baseball caps or anything that suggested Jeanette wasn’t living by herself.
As he slid the gearshift into drive, he took a final look at the house. Though the two dormers poking out of the sloped roof were darkened, a bit of light filtered into the one on the right, as if a door had been left ajar and slight illumination from the hallway was seeping into the space. Elle’s room, he remembered.
Then there was movement. Shadow on shadow. Narrowing his gaze, he thought he could make out a person standing in the window, backlit just slightly.
The lover? No. Wait. Not a man, he thought, more likely by the size and shape, a woman. A slim, petite woman . . . In that split second his heart froze. Elle? Holy crap! Was the woman in the window Elle? Hadn’t he seen a hint of white-blond hair? What the devil?
And then she was gone.
As quickly as she’d appeared.
His heart was hammering as he turned his attention to the lower floor and living room, where the television flickered and lights glowed. Behind the pulled curtains, a shadow drifted, the figure of a larger woman. Jeanette.
But upstairs? He swung his gaze upward again, his eyes narrowing, trying to pierce the darkness. The silhouette had shrunk away, whatever light that had backlit her no longer existing. Either a door had been closed or the light snapped off. If the woman was standing behind the glass and staring down at him, he couldn’t see her.
He threw the Jeep into park and cut the engine, intending to barrel up to the front door and demand answers. But he held back. He couldn’t go bursting into Jeanette’s home. She’d throw him out, the dog would raise a ruckus, and if the woman who was hiding upstairs intended to remain hidden, she damned well would. No way could he force his way up the stairs and confront whoever had been watching him.
No. He had to tread carefully. He’d thought Jeanette’s reaction to him had been all wrong. She’d been angry and almost panicked at first. Now, he was certain the anger and blame were all masks to hide her anxiety. Something was definitely going on.
Rather than arouse suspicion, he started his Jeep again and headed away from the house. In the rearview he caught Jeanette opening the curtains just a bit to ensure he was really leaving. Fine. He’d be back. On the sly by setting up his own private stakeout.
* * *
In her hotel room Sosi asked God for strength. She needed His guidance now more than ever. After the meeting with the other counselors, she had walked two blocks to a deli she’d spied earlier in the day, ordered a Sprite and a sandwich made with fresh chicken, then returned to her room. She had called Joshua and talked to each of the kids, grounding herself again as they had happily babbled about their day and fought for the chance to talk to her. Joshua had been forced to remind each of them about taking turns.
Sosi had started to tear up at the sound of their little voices and had blamed her emotional state on the stress she was under and her raging pregnancy hormones. She had tried to convince herself that she wasn’t emotional because she’d seen Nell today. No way.
“So they’re doing ok
ay without me?” she’d asked her husband after little Grace had finally surrendered the phone back to him.
“They miss you. Bad. Like me. But they’re tough,” he’d said, and she’d heard the pride in his voice. She’d dashed her tears away with her free hand and admitted where she was and why.
“You’re at the camp?” he’d said. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“No.” He’d paused and she’d waited breathlessly. “You have to do what you have to do. Just know that we’re waiting for you.”
In that moment she’d remembered why she’d fallen in love with him.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, just as soon as I get through the interview with the police.”
“I’ve been following the story,” he’d admitted. “And I heard they found out who the body belonged to. I heard it on the news.”
“What?” she’d said, glancing to the windows. “I . . . I haven’t had the TV on or seen a recent paper.”
“I just saw it a few minutes ago. The skull and some of the bones belong to that Monica girl. Monica O’Brien.”
“O’Neal,” she’d whispered, and dropped to the bed.
“Man, that’s rough.” He hadn’t sounded all that concerned, but then, he’d never met Monica, hadn’t been around the camp. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sosi had tried to pull herself together.
“I hope this doesn’t make the interviews take longer.”
“Me neither.”
“Miss you, babe.”
“Me too,” she’d said distractedly as she’d reached for the television remote and heard, through the phone, one of her children crying in the background.
“Oops. Better go, before World War Three breaks out,” he’d said, then had added a quick “Love you” and had cut her off before she could tell him she loved him as well.
Sosi had turned the channel to the local news, found a station that was reporting about the case, and watched in stunned horror as someone from the Neahkahnie Sheriff’s Department had explained about the identification. There hadn’t been any more information than what Joshua had told her.
It was enough to kill her appetite.
And so she’d dropped to her knees and braced her elbows on the blue-patterned quilt that covered her bed. She’d prayed for Monica’s soul and family and for herself and her kids, all the while wondering what in the world had she been caught up in?
No sooner did she climb to her feet than her cell phone started to go crazy, the phone chirping crazily as text after text came in. All of them about Monica O’Neal.
OMG—just heard that body on beach ID’ed: Monica O’Neal. Awful! from Annette.
Prayers for her, for everyone was Jayla’s response, and she included an emoticon of praying hands.
Bernadette wrote: Can’t believe it. So sad.
Vigil? Jayla asked.
Reva: Any family?
Bernadette: Mother?
Jayla: Only Mom I think. No siblings. Dad passed. She added three cross emoticons and five prayerful hands. Prayer vigil! More emoticons, this time kitten angels, complete with wings, halos, and heart eyes.
Rap. Rap. Rap!
Sosi glanced up from her phone and headed for the door. Standing on her tiptoes she peered through the fish-eye hole; she expected to find Jayla, candles in hand, ready to start a vigil.
Instead she saw Nell in the hallway.
No. Her heart leapt to her throat. No. No.
She tried to get a grip on herself, one hand poised over the lever to open the door. Maybe she should just ignore the knocking and if Nell asked about it later, she could explain that she was sleeping and wearing ear plugs and—
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Nell wasn’t giving up.
Great. The last thing Sosi wanted was anyone else from the old camp to see Nell hanging around in the hallway by her hotel room. Before the pounding started again, she threw the bolt and swung the door open to find Nell looking absolutely miserable. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her face was red. “Did you hear?” she asked.
Sosi nodded. “Yeah. Joshua called, told me, and I was just watching the news.”
Without another word Nell stepped over the threshold and threw her arms around Sosi’s waist. “It’s so terrible,” she whispered, her breath hot against Sosi’s neck. “So, so terrible. I can’t help but wonder what happened to her. Who killed her.”
“But we don’t know that she was murdered.” Sosi’s pulse went into overdrive.
“What then, an accident?” Nell was still holding her, but lifted her head and stared straight into Sosi’s eyes. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know . . . I think the police will sort it out.”
“After all this time?” Her breath, smelling slightly of some kind of alcohol, was warm against Sosi’s face.
“They have to. We’ll help,” she said, and tried to extract herself from Nell’s embrace, but the other woman held on tightly and damn it, Sosi’s heart was knocking wildly, the smell and feel of this girl she’d loved in her youth surrounding her.
“God, Sosi, I’ve missed you,” Nell admitted, before taking a step back and visibly pulling herself together. “You know, I think about you often and now . . . this brought it all up again.”
“What?”
“Us for one thing,” Nell admitted, walking into the room and taking a seat on the foot of the bed where Sosi had so recently lain. Nell had grown to be beautiful, naturally so, her features even, her dark curls still a little wild, her eyes large and intelligent, her body trim and fit. She looked as if she ran marathons in her sleep while Sosi, pregnant with her fourth child, felt dumpy in comparison. “And the fact that you all lied to me. Even you.” She held her gaze and Sosi drifted onto the single chair by the window. “You all met at the cavern and came up with this bullshit story about being together so that you wouldn’t get caught out. I know. I followed you.” She glanced away. “So I lied, too. I didn’t let anyone know I was there; didn’t call you all out. I should have, but . . .” She clasped her hands over her knees. “I didn’t want to get you into trouble.”
“You never told anyone.”
“Of course I did, but not the police.”
“You lied for me?” Sosi said.
“Essentially, yeah. I know, dumb, huh?” She cleared her throat. “I just hope that it wasn’t because of what we did, or didn’t do, that Monica ended up dead.”
“Oh! No, that can’t be.” Sosi was shaking her head, but she, herself, had wondered the same thing. Had they inadvertently caused Monica’s death? No . . . that didn’t make sense.
“Think about it,” Nell said soberly. She’d always been smart.
“I . . . I don’t want to.”
“We have to make it right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m telling everything I know tomorrow. I’m not sticking to Jo-Beth’s bullshit story, not for a second. If you ask me, she might have had something to do with it. I mean, don’t you think? Why’s she so frantic to stay in control and make everyone say some kind of rehearsed piece like we’re all robots who can’t think for ourselves?” She was shaking her head.
“I just hope we find out what happened. And to Elle.”
“Yeah.”
Nell was staring at her and the silence between them stretched. Sosi felt the atmosphere in the room shift a little, and she was all too aware of Nell and how touching her could make her feel. Her throat thickened and images of the past invaded her mind—Nell’s laugh, her lithe body, the water sliding over their skin as they swam naked in the pond.
Their gazes held and Nell slowly got up from the bed and walked to the chair, where she knelt down and pressed her head into the crook of Sosi’s neck. Her tongue slid over Sosi’s bare skin and Sosi had to fight to keep from moaning. Images continued to flash through her mind and she was tempted to let go. Oh, so tempted. Nell’s lips were so warm and pliant, her breath a whis
per.
“I . . . I don’t think . . .” she whispered.
“Don’t.” Nell’s face moved closer, her mouth brushing over Sosi’s.
Oh, dear Lord, why was she thrumming inside? Throbbing? Her blood running hot. “I . . . I just can’t.” She saw a sadness in Nell’s eyes. Sosi grabbed Nell’s hand and placed it over the bump of her abdomen where her sweater stretched tight. “I’m having another baby,” she said, her throat clogged, “and I have three other little ones at home. With a husband who loves me. I can’t . . . I won’t cheat on him.” At that moment the baby kicked. Twice.
“Oh. Wow.” Nell didn’t move for a second, her fingers splayed over Sosi’s baby bump. A smile teased the corners of her mouth and for an instant Sosi was sure Nell intended to kiss her. Instead, she rocked back on her heels and let out her breath. “I have a fiancée,” she admitted, her voice husky as she dashed away a wayward tear. “Tasha. We’re business partners. Going to get married.”
“You love her?”
“Very much.” Nell nodded, no doubt visible in her eyes.
“Then?”
“I don’t know. I won’t lie. I wanted to see you again,” Nell admitted. “I felt like we left things unsaid, not finished, and I was curious. No, it was more than that.” Her gaze was troubled. “Sosi, I love you.”
“But . . . Tasha?”
“I love her, too. It’s different, you know?” She actually rolled her eyes as she cleared her throat. “She’s my future, I know that, and it’s not that I want to sneak around behind her back . . . Well, that’s a lie. Never with anyone else. Uh-uh. But . . . maybe with you for tonight . . .” Oh, God. She stood suddenly. Blinked rapidly, fighting tears again. “You’re right. This is wrong. I was just upset about Monica and . . . and I wanted to see you and I don’t know, comfort you, have you comfort me. Dumb, huh?”
Sosi couldn’t agree. “Not dumb. Just wrong.”
She was backing up. “I’d better go.” She’d reached the door. “You’re going to be okay, with this Monica thing?”
“No.” Sosi shook her head. “But yeah. I have to be. We all have to be. Trust in God.”