by V. K. Powell
When they parked outside Susan’s townhouse, Leigh felt as unprepared as she had the first day of recruit school—unsure if she’d measure up, afraid of the challenges. They had to find another way to help this boy that didn’t involve constantly encountering her mother. She summoned her courage and met Nate on the doorstep. “Let me talk to Jack alone. I think he’ll be more likely to open up one-on-one.”
Nate nodded. “Great. I’ll see if Susan made breakfast. That spaghetti the other day was to die for.”
She gave him an evil glare and knocked on the door. When Susan answered, she acknowledged her with a slight nod. “Is Jack awake?”
“Good morning, Detectives,” Susan said. “He’s upstairs getting dressed, but you probably shouldn’t go up yet.”
Leigh stopped halfway up the stairs. “And why not?”
“He’s a young man who needs his privacy.”
“Yeah,” Nate said, “you definitely don’t want to barge in on a guy when he’s getting dressed, especially not first thing in the morning.”
“Like you have a clue,” Leigh said as she sat down on the last step.
“I was young once.” He beamed at Susan. “Is that bacon I smell?”
“Sure is. Can I offer you both some breakfast?”
“No.”
“Yes, I’d love some. Thank you, Susan.”
Nate sounded like he was auditioning for the world’s most cordial male, and Leigh was about to be sick. Sucking up to Susan Bryce wouldn’t win him any points in her book. But he had charm. The man could score a free meal anywhere with his dimpled grin and slick compliments. No wonder women flocked to him like techies to a new smartphone giveaway.
“Leigh, would you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
“No, I’m good. I’ll just wait here for Jack.” As they disappeared into the kitchen, she thought how accommodating and polite Susan was. But polite and accommodating had never been Susan’s problems; loyalty and compassion had. Hedy and Macy had suggested she listen to Susan, give her a chance to explain. It couldn’t make things any worse.
“Hey, Detective Monroe, what’re you doing here so early?” Jack bounded down the stairs two at a time and plopped onto the step beside her. “Good news?”
“Afraid not. Let’s go outside.” They stood at the railing overlooking the backyard, and neither spoke for several minutes. This young man would make a good FBI agent someday. He had patience, intelligence, and self-confidence that most kids his age hadn’t yet mastered. “Jack, you have to give me more to go on. We’ve run into a roadblock, and without your help, we won’t be able to find your dad’s family.”
“What kind of roadblock?”
Tell him the truth or lie? “The feds have ordered us off.” If she expected honesty, she had to give it. “Do you have any idea why they’d be interested in your dad or his family?”
Jack’s gray eyes were wide, his bottom lip trembling. “Do you think he was a criminal?”
“I honestly don’t know. He could’ve been a suspect, a material witness, or just a person of interest in a case. But it doesn’t make sense they’d want us to back off now that he’s…passed.”
“My dad wouldn’t do anything illegal, wasn’t his style. He’d work late so a coworker could go to his kid’s basketball game. He gave an elderly lady in the neighborhood a ride to the grocery store once a week. Guys like that aren’t crooks, are they?”
He looked at her with all the innocence and insecurity of his young years, and she wanted to help preserve the spotless image of his father. “Not usually, Jack. He sounds like a good man. Tell me again why you think his family is in this area.” She watched the mental struggle play out on his smooth face as his eyes squinted in the morning sun and his lips straightened into a thin line of consternation.
“When I was younger, I heard him and my mom talk about a lake. I don’t remember the name of it, but she said Greensboro, North Carolina. They didn’t know I was listening, but I’ve never forgotten how sad their voices sounded, like that place was special.”
“Greensboro has three lakes: Lake Brandt, Higgins, and Townsend, though some count Lake Jeannette as well. Guilford County has five additional lakes, so that doesn’t really narrow it down much. What about your mother?”
“She’s not a part of this.”
“Do you mean she died, you never knew her, you lost faith in her, or something else?”
“Yeah.”
If she weren’t a patient woman, her hackles would be bristling. Dealing with children and teenagers was like waiting for the next eclipse. “Yeah what? Help me out here, Jack.”
“She’s just not part of the equation.”
Jack wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and that made her nervous. He was hiding more than the obvious, but she couldn’t figure out what. A trickle of familiarity rolled down her spine. Her dad walked on water, partly because he was dead, and mother never quite made up for the loss. Is that what Jack was going through?
“Is your mother still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to contact her and let her know you’re okay? Even if we don’t get along with our parents, they always want to know we’re alive and healthy.” She tried not to think too deeply about what she’d just said. She didn’t like the bitter taste of hypocrisy.
“Would you? Talk to your mother…if things weren’t right between you anymore?”
Now Jack’s gaze met hers and she couldn’t look away or lie. Susan was just inside, and she couldn’t be bothered to let her know anything about her life. “Things get more complicated as you get older. That’s why it’s best to stay on good terms when you’re young, so they don’t ever get complicated. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah. You don’t talk to your mother either.”
Too smart for his own good. At least she knew now that his mother was still alive. “Look, Jack, if you don’t help me, I can’t help you.”
“Then we’re at a stalemate, Detective. I’m content to stay here, go to school, eat your mother’s excellent meals, and wait until you find my relatives.”
“How did you know Susan’s my mother?”
“I listen to what’s said and to what isn’t. Pretty good skill for a detective, right?” He smiled at her and walked back into the house.
She stood on the deck and stared out across the lawn toward the park. Susan had chosen a townhouse located in an historic area of town, close to walking trails and easy access to the downtown business district. She’d paid cash when she bought the unit a year ago. Leigh had checked out everything about Susan Bryce when she found out she’d moved back to Greensboro. None of it made sense based on her memory of life with her mother—where she got the money, why she came back, how she became a foster parent, and why she wanted contact with her children after all these years. She used to be so certain about her feelings for her mother, but things were starting to blur and she didn’t like it.
When she walked back into the kitchen, Nate and Jack were scarfing down the remnants of breakfast. “Nate, why don’t you give Jack a ride to school.” She leaned down and whispered, “And see if he’ll talk to you. I tanked.”
He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth and herded Jack toward the front. “Let’s go, kid.”
A ticking clock, like a time bomb, was the only sound in the kitchen when the guys left. She sat down at the table, determined to make Susan open any conversation. Yes, she was being petty, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out first. She’d tried too many times as a child and been put off or relegated to the end of the priority list.
“Coffee?” Susan asked. She set a mug and the pot in front of Leigh and then sat across from her at the table. “It’s true, what you told Jack about parents wanting to know their children are all right.”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Her pulse accelerated. Not a good start.
Susan pointed toward the open kitchen window. “I like the fresh morning air before I have to turn on the air-conditioni
ng.”
“Oh.” She felt like an overreactive child. “I was trying to get him to talk to me. Has he said anything to you about where he’s from?”
“Not a word. He’s very bright but also very guarded at the moment. Sort of like you.”
“We’re not talking about me. I’m trying to find this kid’s family so he can go back home. I’m sure his mother’s worried crazy.”
“I know I would be, but he hasn’t dropped any clues. He goes to school, comes home, has dinner, does his homework, and then we play Scrabble or some game-station thingy he has until bedtime. He hasn’t had contact with anyone except me and the kids at school, that I’m aware of.”
Leigh tried to imagine her mother playing Scrabble or gaming and drew a blank. She’d tied a length of braided packing twine to a bike rack so she and Hedy could jump rope because her mother was too busy to be bothered. Who was this woman?
“I wish I could be more helpful, Leigh, but he doesn’t talk about his life or family.”
“Just let me know if he does. I hate to think about the pain his mother is going through.” The irony of her statement didn’t escape Leigh. She couldn’t look at Susan. “How about Hedy being pregnant? Can you believe it?” She had no idea where that came from. Was she actually offering an olive branch to her mother?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hedy so happy. I’m looking forward to spending more time with my grandchildren than I did with you girls.”
Was Susan saying she realized she’d been basically an absentee mother and wanted to redeem herself with a grandchild? What had happened to make her miss out on watching her girls grow up? Did she seriously want to make amends? Leigh had never cared enough to even ask the question. Why was she interested all of a sudden? Maybe her talk with Hedy, maybe the baby, or perhaps Macy had something to do with her change of heart. “Susan, I think we—” Her cell phone rang and she pulled it off her belt. “Sorry. Hello?”
“Took our little charge to school, got nothing. He’s more tight-lipped than the CIA. You still at Susan’s?”
“Leaving now. Thanks for trying, Nate. See you.” She took her last sip of coffee and stared into her mother’s eyes for the first time in years. Eyes the same emerald color as hers but deeply troubled stared back. “I have to go. By the way, have you seen Jack with a cell phone?”
“No, come to think of it I haven’t. That seems strange for a kid his age.”
“Really strange. Watch your cell- and house-phone bills for any calls you didn’t make. He might try to contact somebody and that could lead us to his family.”
“Sure.” Leigh started toward the front door. “Leigh, do you think we can have a talk sometime soon, a real talk?”
“Maybe.” As she left, Leigh realized she was actually considering it.
*
Macy donned her old lab coat as soon as Leigh left and headed for the studio. Her body teemed with energy, and she was anxious to start the artistic phase of the reconstruction. She hadn’t been this focused since—three days ago, the last time Leigh touched her. No, she’d worked hard to regain some enthusiasm, and it had nothing to do with Leigh Monroe. Her work was finally beginning to feel like art again instead of a chore because she’d decided to move forward regardless of the results.
The emotional connection that usually accompanied her work emerged, and she sensed the irresistible pull of the creative force that drove her paintings. She sketched the contours of the skull, using the underlying photographs and tissue markers as guides. Slowly, she filled in the soft lines and shadows of the face that belonged to her current and final forensic task. This phase of the process was particularly challenging. She had to keep her ego in check and remain objective, careful not to project any of her wishes, hopes, or memories of Jesse onto the work.
An hour later, she was ready to work on the eyes, but the struggle between creating just an anatomically correct eye and one that actually conveyed substance was daunting, especially with the image of Jesse’s always in the back of her mind. As she picked up her pencil and ruler to measure the location of the eye, she heard a knock at her door.
She considered ignoring it because she was making great progress and she wanted to finish the eyes before stopping. But the knocking persisted. Damn. Ruler and pencil in hand, she opened the front door to a smiling Leigh Monroe. She flushed with pleasure and embarrassment as she realized she was actually happy to see her. “Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m obviously interrupting. I’ll go.”
“No, no, please come in.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that. Her mind was still on the sketch, and she was torn between her old familiar passion and a newer, equally stimulating one. “You can sit with me, while I finish one thing…if you don’t mind.”
Leigh’s smile blossomed across her freckled face, and her eyes sparkled. “I’d love to, if I won’t be distracting.”
She turned back toward the studio with Leigh so close she imagined she could feel the heat of her body. The emotions she’d tamped down to work flashed, and her nerves jangled. Distracting indeed.
“So, this is your studio. It’s different from the rest of the cottage.”
“This is the one place I’m not totally anal about order. My art seems to defy structure and any attempts to contain it.”
“That’s probably a good thing, right? I imagine trying to control or suppress creative energy would be like trying to manage the natural elements.” She glanced at the drawing and back at Macy. “Wow, that looks like something out of a sci-fi movie with all those little bits sticking out of the skull. How long does it take to do a total rebuild, or whatever you call it?”
“Depends. If the skull is intact and I concentrate, I can finish the sketch in a day and the clay reconstruction in a couple of days. But I haven’t been particularly focused lately.” Leigh was standing so near she imagined the hairs on their arms were touching, and her entire body ached. “Let me find you a place to sit.” She pulled a rolling work chair from the corner and a brown plastic box slid off, scattering its contents across the floor.
Leigh knelt and scooped up a handful of the items. “What are these things?” She held one of the rectangular transparencies to the light. “Is that a nose?”
Leigh’s expression was like that of a kid who’d picked up something icky, and she laughed. “Yes, it’s a nose, and these are a mouth, chin, hair, and eyes.” She pointed to some of the other slides. “It’s an old Identi-Kit system of facial characteristics. They’re superimposed on one another to create a description of a person.”
“I’ve never seen one before. Some of the older guys talk about using these to make composites before computers. I had no idea they were actual transparencies you place on top of each other to make a whole. Interesting.” Leigh sat down on the floor and began picking up the acetate pieces. “Don’t let me interrupt your work. I’ll amuse myself with these.”
Macy looked from her drawing to Leigh camped out on the floor and felt a twinge of anxiety. She wasn’t used to anyone besides a model being in the studio when she was working. She’d never trusted anyone enough to share her artistic process, and besides, people distracted her when she was in the zone. So why was Leigh in her studio, playing with her Identi-Kit? Maybe it was just one of those split-second decisions that happened and needed no explanation. She smiled at doing anything on the spur of the moment and returned to her drawing.
She measured each orbital cavity and drew the eyeballs, centering them within the openings. Conforming the lids to the contour of the eye, she drew them lightly onto the thin paper and angled the corners slightly higher. Next, she sketched the brows, careful not to place them too high and create a deer-in-the-headlights expression. She’d almost forgotten how satisfying this type of work could be. Hopefully, someone would be comforted by her efforts.
She glanced at Leigh sprawled across the floor like a kid with a box of Tinker Toys. She liked having her close, so comfortable in her space. Julia had aske
d numerous times to watch her work, but she couldn’t allow her to share a process that touched her soul. Julia’s materialistic values had too closely resembled her parents’ for them to ever truly connect. She’d taken two years to figure that out, along with the fact she had no real passion for Julia.
Passion would never be a problem with Leigh Monroe. Though they were several feet apart, the chemistry between them sparked like lightning in the air. Easy-going, responsive, compassionate Leigh, who’d been so concerned she’d tried to take responsibility for their first kiss. As much as she’d wanted to deny her culpability at the time, Macy couldn’t imagine letting Leigh think she hadn’t wanted that kiss just as much as she had. And she wanted to kiss her again, right now, in this very spot.
“Why are you staring at me?” Leigh asked.
“Sorry. I was admiring how cozy you look decorating my studio floor.” She glanced at the transparencies Leigh had compiled, desperate for a distraction from her physical desires. “You’ve created a composite of yourself. Cute.”
Leigh’s brows furrowed. “No, I didn’t.”
“Sure looks like you. Uh-oh…mother?”
“Yeah. Nate thinks we look alike. I don’t.” She scrambled the slides, stuffed them back in the box, and snapped the lid shut.
“If that composite is even remotely similar, you do—which is quite attractive, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Leigh stood and stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets. Macy envisioned Leigh as a child doing the same thing when she was upset or confused. She’d probably had another run-in with her mother, and by the looks of her scrunched-up face, it hadn’t gone well.
“Let’s get out of here. The sunsets are spectacular from the dock. What do you say?”
“Perfect,” Leigh replied.
“I’ll be right down. Grab a couple of chairs out of the boathouse, and I’ll bring a bottle of wine. You do like wine, don’t you?”
“As long as it doesn’t come in a box.”