Ariel didn’t look up but her head jerked up and froze.
“That’s not what I heard,” Cassie said slowly.
“They kept it hidden,” Rachel went on, “probably to avoid trouble with Cooper, but when I saw him leaving here late one night, and I realized they were together, I was thrilled. I wanted to tell you, but Jared made me promise to keep their secret. That’s why I still find it hard to believe that Jared snapped. It’s so hard to believe, so hard to accept. I need to know why.”
As if she were alone in the room, Ariel yawned and lay down on the lip between window and tub. Resting there with her eyes closed, she looked gray and waxen.
“Ariel, I need your help.” Rachel’s nails dug into her palms as she pressed on. “Jared refuses to see me, and he’s not cooperating with his lawyer. He won’t talk to anyone but you.”
Her eyes flew open, and Rachel felt as if she’d just awakened the dead.
“I’ll drive you there,” Rachel offered. “Right now, if you want. If you’ll talk with him, tell him to let us help him . . . It’s the only way that he’ll get through this with his life. The thing is, I think he wants to ask your forgiveness. That’s the first step toward dealing with all of this.”
“You should go.” Cassie spoke up at last, God bless her. “He probably wants to apologize. That might help you, Mom. You should go talk to Jared.”
“No.”
The word came so suddenly, Rachel was sure she had misunderstood. “It doesn’t have to be now. Maybe later today, if that’s better for you. Give yourself some time to come down.”
“No.” Ariel lifted one arm over her eyes and sobbed. “I’ll never do that, so stop begging me. Just stop it right now. He’s the last person I want to see.” She sat up and faced Rachel for the first time. And just like that, her mood flipped. A hollow smile replaced her somber expression. “But you, you’re still my friend. Forever and always.”
The dead stare in her eyes chilled Rachel to the bone.
Chapter 33
Cassie wished that Rachel had stayed.
While she had no patience for Ariel’s depression, Cassie worried about what would happen to Rachel with her trembling hands, red eyes, and sloping shoulders. With KJ at school, Rachel had no one. Cassie longed to hold Rachel in her arms and rub her back and tell her that everything would be okay, which was a total lie, of course. It was strange that Cassie cared about Rachel after what Jared had done. It didn’t make any sense, but you couldn’t help how you felt.
After Rachel lammed out, Cassie was left to mull over what Rachel had said about Jared and Remy being a couple. That was news to Cassie, and it didn’t match the bits of conversation that took place before he killed her. Besides, Remy would have told her if she had a thing for Jared; that would have been big news.
Cassie opened Remy’s computer and continued to sift through the “secrets” folder. Today she focused on photos of Remy with Jared, which were sparse but for some Gleetime photos and a few old shots from when they were kids on family outings. The Jared thing didn’t make sense. If Remy was seeing him, she would have had a bazillion pictures of Jared and her on her phone. Which she didn’t.
Remy’s most recent photos showed her with a football-player type, a dark-skinned guy with broad shoulders and a winning smile. From the school yearbook Cassie had learned that he was Isaiah Denton, a football player and performer in Gleetime. Apparently, they hadn’t come out as a couple, but it made sense for them to keep things quiet with Cooper Dover still smarting. Cassie suspected that Isaiah was the guy who had come over to help her feel safe the night Remy found the smashed vase. Probably. Knowing that Remy was fiercely loyal—she never dated more than one guy at a time—Cassie surmised that Isaiah was the new boyfriend.
Not Jared. Rachel meant well, but she was wrong about Remy and Jared. Cassie would hit Rachel with that news. But first, it was about time that Ariel did something to pull herself out of this funk.
Cassie closed the computer and pushed her way into Ariel’s room without knocking. Ariel was curled up on the unmade bed, twisting a strand of hair around and around her fingers.
“It’s time to get dressed.” Cassie went to the open closet and pulled a black-and-white print dress from its hanger. “I’ll drive you over to the jail.”
Her mother squinted up at her. “For what?”
“To see Jared. Didn’t you hear anything Rachel said?”
Suddenly, it clicked, and Ariel’s eyes went wide, sizzling with alarm. “Oh no. I can’t go there. No, no, no.”
“Come on, Mom. It’ll be good for you. Forgiveness heals the soul.”
“Can’t you understand that I can’t do it?” Ariel snapped, rocking herself rhythmically.
This was not Ariel’s typical stubbornness, but full-blown panic. “Dammit, Mom. You’re such a mess.” Cassie tossed the dress on the bed and stormed out, knowing this was not a battle to be won today.
Realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere with Ariel, Rachel returned home to find two young Hispanic men—Marcos’s crew—painting her garage. She offered them water, reminding them to stay hydrated on this hot day, but they politely declined. Since yesterday she had become resigned to her image as a marked woman in this town. In a way, she understood the condemnation of the person who had painted that graffiti. If that was the worst censure she received, she could take it. In fact, she had embraced it. She was, and always would be, Jared Whalen’s mother, and she would own that title for the rest of her life.
Inside the kitchen she forced down water and yogurt as she tried to think of a way to assist Jared without Ariel’s help. What had the lawyer told her about building a case? Character references. He was going to hire an investigator to compile positive statements about Jared. Maybe she could get that started.
The high school would be a gold mine, but Rachel couldn’t bear to go near it. She’d accidentally taken the route past it on her way back from Ariel’s and had noticed the sign in front saying: CLASSES CANCELED AND CANINE GRIEF THERAPY TODAY. The teachers would be there, as well as teams of dogs that the students could hug and talk to. The prospect brought her to tears, and she let herself cry as she rinsed out the yogurt container.
When the wave of emotion had passed, she opened the kitchen drawer and found the school directory. Her first call was to the counseling office where she reached Tim Hoddevick, Jared’s counselor, a man who played by the rules but showed genuine compassion for students.
“Tim, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m trying to come up with a list of positive character references for Jared, and you came to mind.”
“Oh. Hmm.” His hesitation made her aware of her beating pulse. “Jared was a good student. I could say that. And he worked well with other kids.”
“Thank you, Tim. That will be helpful.”
“But just to be clear, I would also have to disclose the issues Jared had on the football team.”
A ball of fury rose in her throat. “You mean the bullying?”
“That was never documented.”
“Whoa . . . wait. You’re not siding with the victim?”
“It was his word against the other players’,” he said.
“But you know it happened. They vandalized his locker and accused him of being gay, Tim. They threw his cleats into the urinal and nearly drowned him in the toilet.”
Tim sighed. “That was what Jared said, but he didn’t help us pursue the investigation. Understandably. Still, I can’t be sure that any of those things really happened. Sometimes kids exaggerate.”
“Like he would make that sort of thing up. Make himself a target. Create an environment so hostile that he had to quit the team.”
“Rachel, please don’t make this about bullying. You know we interviewed everyone involved. We did our due diligence.”
“It will be up to our lawyer to argue the case.”
Another pause. Tim wasn’t happy about this, but who was?
“There’s something else in my notes,” he said.
“From my conversations with Jared, it was clear that he idolized KJ and felt that he’d let his family down by quitting the team. He seemed depressed. I gave Jared a list of therapists who worked with teens. And then I gave you a call.”
“Right. We spoke a few times.” Rachel remembered. She had offered to make an appointment with a psychologist on the list, but Jared had shut her down, saying that he could never share his problems with a stranger.
“I hope you got him some help,” Tim said.
Jared’s refusal rang in her memory. He didn’t want to see a shrink; he wasn’t crazy. Guilt prodded Rachel, and she wondered if she should have pushed her son back then.
Those damned football players. Sneaky bullies. They had no clue about the pain they inflicted on other kids.
She ended the call with Hoddevick and called the school athletic director, who was also currently the junior varsity football coach.
“Jimmy Wilcox.”
Rachel took a breath, preparing to ream him for managing a herd of reprehensible bullies.
And then she hung up.
Shouting at the football coach would only make Jared’s case worse, and Coach Wilcox would have no information for her, no enlightenment. He had been working at another high school when the hazing had been going on, and since he had joined the Timbergrove staff a zero tolerance policy had been implemented. Many of the previous football coaches had been let go.
The truth about what happened to Jared would never be completely clear, and badgering the school administration would only hurt his case. She had reached another dead end.
Eli and the kids were watching some talent competition on TV while Cassie tinkered on Remy’s computer, scrolling through her archive of photos.
A new discovery was the videos listed by song title in the “secrets” folder. She had found nearly two dozen recordings of “Singin’ in the Rain” and snorted when she saw one titled Singin XRated. Somehow, she doubted that.
It turned out to be a recording of Jared and Remy rehearsing in the studio, with Ariel on the piano. Bracing herself to see something sordid between her sister and Jared, Cassie watched and found that it was not X-rated at all.
The number ended, and Ariel gave then some instruction on the tempo. Then Remy left the studio, but the recording continued. Apparently, she had left her computer behind with the camera going, though it was focused on the empty part of the studio.
Cassie was about to turn it off when Jared said something about being bad, and Ariel laughed. Cassie pulled the laptop closer to her ears and walked it into the kitchen.
“What is it about you bad boys that makes sex so good?” Ariel asked.
“It’s because I’m forbidden fruit,” Jared said, his voice low and sexy. “You can’t get enough of me.”
The empty space that followed was punctuated only by breathing and sighs—or at least that’s what Cassie thought she heard.
Then Ariel said, “Oh, shit.” A blur flashed over the screen and then it went black.
“Oh, shit,” Cassie repeated.
Cleaning had become Rachel’s new therapy.
She moved the mop around the base of a chair and then pushed into a corner under the vanity in that station, stopping to rub repeatedly over a sticky spot. There was satisfaction in making things white and shiny again, and the physical exertion helped her fall into bed at night.
After her canceled client appointments, she had not been too surprised when Kit told her that the husband-and-wife crew that usually came in to clean Holy Snips Monday nights had also bagged out.
“For now, or indefinitely?” Rachel had asked.
“We’ll need to find someone else,” Kit said. “They mentioned something about not wanting to offend their other accounts.”
Edie and Chance cleaned many of the big McMansions in Timbergrove’s Green Hills section. Rachel understood their worries about holding on to those accounts.
She went into the break room to rinse the mop. Almost done. She just needed to clean off the countertops and sink in there, and then she could head home. That empty, sad house. Rachel had so much trouble getting past Jared’s room that she had taken to sleeping downstairs.
She was just spraying down the countertops when a thunderous noise came from the front of the shop. Rushing out, she jolted to a stop at the sight of the floor covered in sparkling shards of glass. A jagged edge of glass was all that remained of the shop’s window.
On the floor lay the brick that had smashed through the front of the store.
Chapter 34
Adrenaline kept Rachel going for the next few hours. Through the police report, the cleanup, the application of a plywood board by the owner of the hardware store, an alien survivor instinct pushed her forward. It helped to have Mike, one of the first responders, there by her side. After his shift ended he stayed, helping her vacuum the fine bits of glass while Rachel’s neighbor, Walt Finley, drilled screws into the plywood window covering.
“Thank God you weren’t hurt,” Walt said as he fished in a can for the right size screws. Rachel hadn’t wanted to wake him so late at night, but he seemed glad to come to her rescue. “But you could have been. You could have been standing right here by the window. I’m telling you, the world has gone to hell in a handbasket. I’ve lived in Timbergrove all my life and never seen anything like this. Not even close. This is a town that works and plays together. Live and let live, I say. I mean, you got some bad people in the world, but things like this don’t happen here. Maybe in Portland or Seattle. Big cities have crime and all. But not Timbergrove.”
Rachel had never known her neighbor to be a chatterbox, but conversation seemed to soothe him. From the way his steady hands placed the screws, she suspected that he had sobered up.
“This window was an antique, right? I can see from those stained glass panels at the top. Why in the world would anyone do this?”
Rachel figured he deserved an answer. “It appears that someone, or a few people, are very angry with me over Remy Alexander’s murder.”
“And that’s just craziness.” Walt drilled one screw in, then paused. “Did you see anything? You know who it was?”
“I ran out the door in time to see a white SUV pull away. That’s all I know.”
“Well, Mike here will find your guy. Right, Mike?”
“We’ll sure try,” Mike said. Then he turned on the vacuum, blotting out conversation for the time being.
That night, Mike insisted that Rachel stay at his house. “Even if it means me sleeping on the sofa so you can have your space,” he told her. “I’m keeping you close.”
“No one is sleeping on the sofa,” she said. “If you’re going to protect me, you’d better stay right by my side.” As she rode home with him, she saw that she had a text message from Cassie. I really need to talk to you. That could mean anything. She texted back: I’ll call you in the morning.
Mike told her to pick any side of the bed she wanted and then went off to brush his teeth. Her body ached as she pulled the summer quilt of Mike’s bed up to her chin and considered the next day. She would call the glass smith first thing. And then get back to Cassie. And then, what? Could the shop stay open during repairs? Not that she had any morning appointments, but the other stylists had their clients. And what about the repairs? The stained glass window was irreplaceable, but maybe it was time to move on. Maybe a more modern look, as Tiffani always said. Maybe safety glass.
But that would cost extra. And no glass was safe enough if someone was out to get her. Someone determined. Someone possessed by fury. Having seen Ariel’s dull state, she knew it wasn’t her former friend. And that left her suspecting half the population of Timbergrove. Everyone had loved Remy, and a few were vindictive enough to believe that you could have an eye for an eye.
“I won’t be able to stay here.” A tear trickled down one cheek as it hit her. “I could have been hurt tonight. One of my customers could have been injured. I’m a walking target around here.”
Mike shook his head, still brushing.
“It’s true. Someone’s trying to punish me, and they could hurt someone else in the process. I can’t let that happen.”
He ducked into the bathroom. When he returned, he sat beside her on the bed. “Give it some time, Rachel. Asher lifted some prints from that brick. That might lead us to the perpetrator. And the furor will die down. People move on and forget.”
She shook her head and pressed her face to the pillow. When Mike got into bed and pulled her close, she wondered if he would go with her, leave Timbergrove and move far, far away. She hoped he would start a new life elsewhere with her. Hope flared like a sparking match, then died in the darkness.
Why did men always leave?
Fathers and lovers, Oliver and Stosh and Jared. They all left her in the end.
Ariel rolled over in bed and felt along the nightstand for her bottle of pills. Her fingers floundered and knocked into something substantial—a glass. The nightstand was suddenly soaked, the tumbler hitting the carpeting with a thunk.
“Cassieeeee!”
That little brat thought she knew what was best for Ariel. Miss Know-it-all. She was just like Darla, always telling her to do this and do that. Never a nice thing to say, never a smile.
Darla was Ariel’s foster mother, the one who took her in after Ariel had been left abandoned in a playpen. They had only found her because the postman kept hearing crying from the front window, day after day, as the mailbox got jammed up with bills and catalogs. Nobody home but baby Ariel, all dehydrated and stinking in a diaper about to explode.
Of course, Ariel didn’t remember any of that, but one of her therapists said that it was the beginning of her abandonment issues. Ariel used to joke that she wished she had been abandoned totally by Darla and her real mother, Jeannie, because being on her own would have been preferable to growing up under the claws of those two psychos.
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