“Will you be working the whole time?”
I turned to Avery. “Will I?”
Claire chortled. “JJ would be lost without Avery.”
“I can see why,” Nicki said.
Avery blushed.
Claire noticed.
My brain spun.
***
In the car on the way back to my parents’ place, where we were staying for the night, Claire said, “Nicki’s intriguing. What’s your take?”
“Intriguing is a good assessment.”
Claire placed her hand on my knee. “You don’t like her, do you?”
I sighed. “Was it that obvious?”
“I think your con skills are falling to the wayside now that you don’t have to keep up the Miracle Girl mystique.”
Considering my situation, that wasn’t a good thing. “Is ILUTMG93 really your password?”
She stared out the passenger side window. “Not for much longer.”
I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house. It was after eleven, but the lights were still on. “Moms, they never stop mothering, do they?”
Claire leaned back into the car seat. “I’m ready for that kiss now.”
“Ha! After you kissed everyone else tonight, including the chef who was making the rounds?”
“I like it when you’re jealous. Adds some color to your face. You really should work on a base tan before the honeymoon.”
I patted her cheek. “You really should work on your seduction technique.”
The porch lights flickered.
“Come on, before she sends Pops out into the cold.”
Inside, Ian and Pops were sawing logs, bundled up on the couch under a light yellow afghan with black flowery star shapes that Mom had knitted when I was Ian’s age.
“Ian wanted to say goodnight,” Mom explained with a sheepish shrug.
I snapped a photo of the two with my iPhone.
Claire slipped off her heels, hefted Ian into her arms, and carried him to the room he was sharing with Mia. Ian’s bed was a couch that pulled out, and Mia was in a crib in the corner. I gave both kids a kiss on their foreheads before Claire and I went back to the front room, where Mom had finally roused Pops.
“Why did you wake me?” His white hair was mussed, and his eyes were blurry.
“Because you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week if you slept all night on the couch. Scoot.” She pointed for him to make haste.
Claire turned to me and whispered, “I think you take after your father.”
“I don’t whine.”
Claire and Mom laughed.
“Ian’s knitting is progressing,” Mom said.
“I’m amazed you’ve been able to get him to stick with it. We’ve struck out on so many fronts,” Claire said.
Mom grinned. “The power of grandmothers.”
Claire and I made eye contact. She held back tiny tears. All the pieces of our lives were coming together. Marriage. Kids. Both of our parents being grandparents.
Not noticing the thoughts Claire and I were silently communicating, Mom continued. “He’s not a quitter like someone I know. You gave up after only three lessons.” Mom’s stare bore a hole into my forehead.
“I can’t stand the feel of yarn and never understood what you meant about dropping stitches,” I defended weakly. Leaning close, I whispered in her ear, “How are you really getting him to sit down to knit?”
She laughed, “You have such a suspicious mind.”
Feigning Who me? with a hand on my chest, I asked, “Would anyone like some coffee?”
Mom declined, gave each of us a hug, and followed her husband to bed.
“Your parents are so cute together.” Claire leaned against the slate Formica countertop. “Will we be that cute thirty years from now?”
“I prefer sexy over cute.” I scooped generic coffee into the filter.
“Sexy in our seventies?”
“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” I mimed scorching hot by touching her arm and yanking my hand away.
“Come here,” she beckoned with a finger. “I saved the best kiss for last.”
She wasn’t lying.
“Would it be wrong to have sex in your parents’ house?”
I switched off the coffee pot. “First time for everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was time to roll out the red carpet for my talk show centered on confessions. Avery and I had flown to the Big Apple Wednesday morning. Darrell joined us, claiming he had meetings, but I suspected he wanted to tag along not to miss out. Claire and the kids arrived Thursday night.
On Friday morning, Welcome the New Day was my last media obligation before I could kick off my business mode persona and transform into JJ the family woman.
“JJ, how are the wedding plans going?” Tish Reynolds grinned foolishly.
I shifted in the studio chair, sitting behind the desk. “They’re coming along.”
“Have you picked out your dress? Are you wearing one?” Her open face implied inquiring minds wanted to know, as if the audience couldn’t go to work until they heard.
“That information won’t be released.” I tried to smile. The wedding was on the horizon, but Claire and I were still battling about my outfit, which had been narrowed down to two options.
“Ever?” she pressed.
If I had it my way, it wouldn’t be. However, keeping photographers away from the big day would be difficult considering Claire had hired two, and everyone on the planet had cell phones. Maybe I could insist guests cough up theirs for safekeeping.
“I saw Darrell Miller in the green room. Do you always travel with your fiancée’s ex?”
“Uh,” was my brilliant comeback.
“It would be something if he walked you down the aisle. What a way to show how you two have truly mended fences after you fired him from Mile High News and are now marrying the mother of his son.”
I stared at her, slack-jawed. What was her point? I was here to discuss my new show, not my wedding guest list.
“American families are evolving, it seems. What about Janie?” Tish’s eyes twinkled, putting me on high alert. “But then again, that might be impossible, considering the news that broke moments before.”
My spine stiffened. Had the Alphabet Killer story surfaced while I was in the makeup chair? I hadn’t heard of a new lead. And if so, why would Cora publish it at seven in the morning? Of course, she knew about my appearance and might have wanted more exposure for the story.
“I’m sorry. What news?”
Tish perched ramrod straight in her chair with her rodent eyes leveled on me, channeling a hardboiled detective. “Janie Evans’s family has filed an official missing persons report.”
“M-missing?” I stuttered. That wasn’t the news I had hoped for.
“Missing,” Tish repeated, staring directly into the camera. “The last time we spoke, I mentioned she hadn’t been seen. She still hasn’t, and her family has been trying to locate her for months now. They’ve hired private investigators, but have now looped in the authorities. They’re holding a press conference in three hours.”
I wondered how that would pan out. The American public wasn’t overly fond of Janie, not since my memoir had hit the stands, outing her role in my decision to come clean. The media had hounded her for weeks. But interest had faded when she stopped doing interviews. Probably around the time she decided to dedicate herself to unmasking Mean Heather.
Of course, if Mean Heather was on Janie’s scent, having her go missing would be convenient. Was that why the rumors were circulating now? The timing stank of Cora intervening.
“This is the first I’m hearing of it, Tish.” I instantly regretted saying her name, coming across as sarcastic, not concerned about Janie’s whereabouts. It was hard to fake it since I was certain she wasn’t missing. In a computer bunker, yes. Missing, not bloody likely.
“
I’m sure it is.” Tish oozed confidence.
What the hell did she mean by that?
“Have you heard from her?”
“From Janie?” My voice cracked, and I was kicking myself again. It made me look like I was hiding something. I was, of course, but I didn’t want Tish or the viewers to pick up on that. So much for the seasoned Miracle Girl, liar extraordinaire when put in the hot seat by the likes of Tish. Was this the product of settling down with Claire and our kids? If it was, I liked it, even if at the moment I could practically feel a noose tightening around my throat. “Uh, no. I haven’t.” I folded my hands on the table.
“Her sister blames you.”
I blinked several times, trying to process the information. Surely, I was dreaming. I wasn’t in New York City being interviewed by Tish Reynolds. Instead, I was in my bed in Colorado, sleeping next to Claire. There was no way this was actually happening.
“Me?” My voice cracked again. For the love of God, JJ, pull your shit together. “Why does she blame me?”
“You really don’t know?” Tish leaned closer, as if trying to convince me to confide in her.
“I have absolutely no idea.” For once the truth spilled out of my mouth.
“Revenge. If it wasn’t for Janie, you wouldn’t have had to come forward and out all of your sins.”
Sins.
I remembered Janie once mentioning her family was religious. The type who roamed the streets shouting about the second coming and all that. It was my understanding Janie had distanced herself years ago. Not that I could state that now under the studio lights.
“Have the police questioned you?”
I was going to murder whoever was responsible for this situation. Wait. Would people think I murdered Janie?
Janie was missing.
There would be a police investigation.
And my wedding was in weeks.
“Of course not,” I protested too vehemently. Come on, JJ. What would the Miracle Girl do? “But I’m more than willing to talk to them.”
“To confess?” Tish stage-whispered the question.
I tried not to laugh in her face, and ended up smiling like a fool. “To help with their investigation.”
How was I going to find time to traipse to Idaho and pretend to look for my source, whom MDD had locked away from the public?
I glanced off camera and saw confusion on Cora’s face.
Avery looked like she’d been sucker punched and was seeing stars.
Not a good sign.
“If need be, I’ll travel wherever I need to go to help locate Janie,” I rambled, trying to decipher how to appease the authorities and keep the investigation going. “I feel no malice toward her.”
“None?” Tish crinkled her face in disbelief.
“None. I owe her, actually. If it wasn’t for her, I would still be living a lie—tormented by it. Now, my life is wonderful. She did me a favor.” Finally, I was sounding sincere.
“Have you spoken to her about this?”
Relieved she phrased the question in such a way that didn’t necessitate another fib, I said with ease, “No, I haven’t. But I mean to.”
“Let’s hope you get the chance.”
Tish cut away to the main host, who stood in the mock kitchen with a Rachel Ray type, ready to make wheat germ pancakes or some other type of breakfast food abomination. They both wore expressions that said, What the fuck was that? I was right there with them. From the prep I had done with the show’s producer, I’d expected to chat about my upcoming confessions show rather than being accused of harming Janie and being strong-armed into pleading guilty on camera for a crime I didn’t commit.
Not saying another word, I dashed off the set as soon as a staff member freed me from the hot mike. Cora, also speechless, walked Avery and me to the elevator. When the doors opened, I almost expected police officers with handcuffs.
It was empty.
Outside, Cora’s bulky assistant, who also filled the roles of driver and bodyguard, and, much to my surprise, Avery shielded me from the gathering tourists who’d witnessed the interview on ginormous screens in Times Square. I imagined hundreds of photos were posted on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook during the mere seconds it took us to walk to the car. It was as if these people had been tipped off that something big would happen on the show.
Inside the limo, I said, “I need to call Claire.”
Cora nodded, thunderstruck.
“You had no idea I was walking into an ambush this morning?” I watched her every move and could practically hear the blood rushing through her veins.
“None.”
“You?” I barked at Avery.
She shook her head.
“How long until people start thinking I’m a murderer?”
“It’s safe to assume many already do. I know the truth, and I didn’t believe your performance. You looked guiltier than Richard Nixon flashing the victory sign after resigning.” Cora, sitting behind the driver, stared out the back window of the limo.
“I was completely blindsided.”
“It showed.”
At a red light, people swarmed around the limo. I scrunched down in the seat. “This is going to be hell.”
“And we can’t produce Janie. Not when she’s so close to cracking the case wide open.” Avery’s usually steadfast voice wobbled.
I palmed the top of my head with both hands, rocking in my seat, thinking this wasn’t happening.
I was having a bad dream.
Soon, I’d wake up.
I didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Each of the ten televisions in Cora’s office showed a different broadcast about the hunt for Janie. Every one showed a photo from her high school days, where she looked so young, sweet, and innocent. To play off this, my bumbling interview played on a continuous news loop.
CNN was interviewing a body language expert, who categorically claimed I was hiding something. TMZ read clips from my memoir, quoting the rage I’d experienced when I had first learned the truth about Janie. The blogosphere took the accusations to a whole new level. One claimed I had Janie tied up in my basement. She may have been in a basement, but it wasn’t mine. Once the narrative was out there, it took on a life of its own.
“The bright side is the media is obsessed with the rumor that Janie is dead. That’s good.” Cora planted on the edge of her desk and tried to appear calm, even though her hands gripping the edges were white.
“People think I murdered her!”
Cora waved a hand for me to keep it down, even though her office was the only one on this floor. Was she worried that someone had bugged the place? When was the last time it had been swept?
“There isn’t a body.”
I goggled at Cora, unable to organize my thoughts.
“No one has come to question you. Not yet, at least.”
My mouth fell open.
Darrell had managed to find his way back to the office. “Who do you think is doing this?” he asked.
“There are a few names on the list, including Janie and Mean Heather.”
Avery blinked at me in a way that suggested she knew I was including Nicki, but did she suspect I also counted her name along with Cora’s on the list?
“Mean Heather. Jesus H. Christ, you get yourself into fucking ridiculous situations. Just when I was starting to like you and respect you.” He raked his salt and pepper hair, pacing Cora’s office, not looking at me but clearly lecturing me. “Who in the hell is Mean Heather?”
“A serial killer, we think.”
He whipped his head to confront me. “Are you serious? You’re tracking down a serial killer named Mean Heather?”
“We don’t know the actual name. She uses different letters of the alphabet.” I shrugged. “That’s the working theory.”
Darrell snorted. We had no choice but to fill him in about the search.
Now that he wa
s up to speed, as much as anyone could be given the absurdity of the situation, Cora said, “The bad thing is now everyone in America is looking for Janie. We didn’t want that. Having her dead is useful. A manhunt, not so much.”
“That’s the only bad thing?” Why couldn’t Cora wrap her head around the magnitude of the situation?
“You know what I mean. We wanted to keep her off the grid. Now there are websites popping up with her photo asking, ‘Have you seen Janie?’ like the old days when photos of kids appeared on milk cartons. This is not what we wanted. It’s a complication to work around.”
“If I remember correctly, I wanted none of this.” I waved to the television screens. “This is all you and Janie, who by the way, people think I’ve murdered. You seem to keep forgetting that tiny detail.”
“How can I forget with you reminding me every five minutes?” Cora’s attention zeroed in on Tish Reynolds’s face on one of the televisions. She had the same look she did six hours ago when interviewing me. Cora groaned, and my heart stopped.
“Now what?” Darrell grumbled in the most authoritative voice he could muster, and truthfully, it wouldn’t have scared a child let alone the mastermind behind this plan.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I braced for the absolute worst, but couldn’t imagine what that would be.
Darrell breathed heavily through his nostrils, irritating my already frazzled nerves.
Tish, standing on the sidewalk outside our office building, gripped a microphone in one hand and covered an ear with her other hand to hear whomever was speaking. “This just in.” She paused, while the screen cut to photos of me speaking to a group at a book event during the Miracle Girl tour and then another photo of me at a different stopover.
Cora and I exchanged a What gives? look.
Tish continued, “More proof that JJ Cavendish lied this morning when I confronted her.” The photo on the screen showed me from behind, and the camera zoomed in on an individual in the back row. Even before the image became clear I knew who it was. “It’s becoming clear Janie and JJ never stopped seeing each other. Our investigators have learned Janie was in the audience at every stop during JJ’s book tour.” Tish cupped her ear again. “In fact, Janie stayed in the hotel room right next door to JJ in several of the cities.”
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