Take Another Look (26 page)

Or was that the truth? Jane sensed that it would take some time to get to the bottom of this.

“Come on. I'm taking you home.”

Isabel had the good grace to remain quiet in the car. Inside the house, she asked if it would be all right to take a bath and go to bed.

“That's fine, but I trust you to be true to your word from now on.”

“I will. I promise. And I'm sorry.” She climbed the stairs, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. The remorse in her demeanor chipped away at Jane's anger, but there was a lot to resolve here, and Jane didn't want to handle Hoppy over the phone.

This would have to wait until Sunday morning.

Jane returned to the high school to finish chaperoning the game. Afterward, she would spill it all out for Luke, her sounding board. Thank God for Luke.

 

Saturday morning passed slowly, reminding Jane of the old days when her life had been controlled by Frank's whims and furies. She called Sally Pinero, hoping for news about Chrissy's return to Seattle. Luke had pointed out that much of the stress would be eased if Isabel was removed from their home. Of course, Jane got the social worker's machine. Sally didn't work weekends.

Hoppy's team played so well that they had to stay in Bend for the final match, which they won. It was Sunday afternoon when Harper emerged from Keiko's car, smiling and patting a medal on her chest.

“First place, Mom!”

“They played very well this weekend,” Keiko said.

“That's wonderful, honey.” Jane hugged Harper, emotion welling inside. Harper could be stubborn and boisterous, wild and petulant, but she lived in the moment. Sparkling and genuine. Jane hated to burst her bubble now. “Isabel's inside studying. We need to talk, the three of us.”

“Hold on.” Harper removed the ribbon from her neck and reached into the car to hand the medal to Emma. “They're keeping it for me. I don't want to take any chances.”

“Good idea.” Jane thanked Keiko for chaperoning her daughter, then followed Harper into the house.

For twenty minutes, Jane and Isabel listened to anecdotes of the tournament and about the close calls in the championship game. Then, as Harper wound down and searched the refrigerator for something to eat, Jane began to recount Friday night's incident at the school.

As Jane delved into the details, Harper lost interest in her apple. “Is this a joke? Because it's not funny at all.”

“It's for real,” Jane said. “I saw the two kids making out, and I thought it was you and Jesse.”

“Wait. Was it definitely Jesse? Are you sure?”

Jane nodded.

“So who was Jesse making out with?”

“Isabel. Isabel was dressed in your clothes, pretending to be you.”

Horrified, Harper let out a little whimper. “You?” She gaped at Isabel. “How could you do that? And to me, your sister!”

“It was your idea. Remember, how you asked me to do the test? To see if Jesse really loved you.”

“I never said that. That's stupid!”

Jane kept herself from intervening, wanting the girls to work this out between them.

Isabel stared down at her pale hands. “I didn't want to do it, but when you begged me, I couldn't say no.” She lifted her chin, her gaze latching onto Harper. “I'd do anything for you. I wanted to prove that.”

“What a load of crap! I never asked you to make out with my boyfriend, Isabel. What kind of weirdo do you think I am?”

“I just wanted to make you happy. I thought . . .” Isabel's voice cracked as the tears began to fall.

“Now you're crying? I'm the one who should be crying here. You just got with my boyfriend!”

“I should have known. You said we were in this together, but it was a lie. You always twist things around, trying to get me in trouble. Why do you do that to me?” Isabel asked innocently.

“I didn't do shit to you.” Harper extended her arms out wide. “I wasn't even here! You can't blame this on me, right, Mom?”

“Isabel needs to take responsibility for her actions with Jesse,” Jane said, choosing her words carefully. “But I'd like to know what prompted it. Are you saying that you didn't plan this with Isabel?”

“Well, duh. How stupid do you think I am? Stupid and creepy. Like I'm going to give my boyfriend away?” Harper stomped through the kitchen and tossed her apple into the sink. “This is so crazy. I can't do this anymore.” Her cheeks were damp as she grabbed her coat and marched to the door.

“Harper . . . please,” Jane called. “Let's talk this out.”

The door slammed in answer.

Jane went outside to follow her, but when she reached the driveway, Harper was sprinting onto the street at the base of the cul-de-sac, a shadow in the January gloom.

 

Over the next few hours, Jane left countless messages on Harper's phone.

No response.

What would she do if she didn't hear from Harper all night? Calling the police would only alienate Harper further. She began calling team parents. Her second call brought relief.

“Harper is here,” Trish Schiavone said. “She said I could tell you as long as I didn't force her to go back home. You won't force her, will you? She's pretty upset.”

Jane let out the breath that had been trapped in her lungs. “She can stay there if it's okay with you.”

“Sure. When you've got ninety kids, what's one more?”

Jane arranged to drop by with Harper's clothes and her school backpack.

“That's right. It's finals week, but you'd never know from the fun and games around here,” Trish said. “That's what happens when you raise athletes instead of scholars.”

“They are what they are,” Jane said quietly.

She packed Harper's things and left them with Trish. When she arrived home, Isabel had made soup, salad, and homemade buttermilk biscuits, which Jane pronounced delicious.

“Those are from the quick recipe,” Isabel said. “One of these days when I have more time, I'll make the layered biscuits.”

Jane nodded, exhausted. Her mind was a jumble of lies and accusations, expectations and disappointments. After dinner, she offered Isabel help with her studies, but the girl had it all under control, which was a relief to Jane. A hot shower was soothing. She took a book to bed and fell asleep before she finished the chapter.

That night, when Hoppy appeared in her doorway, a wave of relief swept over Jane. “I can't sleep,” the girl said.

Jane pulled back the covers and put an arm around her daughter. “Everything's going to be all right,” she said softly, calming her daughter. She was so glad to have her home.

In the morning, Jane went into the girls' room to wake Isabel and saw two empty beds.

That was when it hit her: Hoppy had not come home last night. It was Isabel who had crawled into Jane's bed.

Somehow, that realization haunted her. Although she cared for Isabel, the realization scared Jane, and she didn't know why.

Chapter 27

M
onday morning, over oatmeal, Isabel talked about the upcoming Snow Prom in February. “Wouldn't it be amazing if Harper got chosen as Snow Queen?”

“Absolutely amazing,” Jane agreed, “especially since the princess court has already been announced.” Realizing that this was Isabel's first year at Mirror Lake High, Jane explained how the court was nominated, and then a queen was chosen from the nominees.

“But it could happen,” Isabel said. “There's always write-in ballots.”

Jane scraped the last of the oats from her bowl. “It's not the sort of thing Harper and her friends get behind. Why are you so interested in Snow Queen?”

“I told you. If I could get it for Harper, she wouldn't be able to be mad at me anymore.”

It's so much more complicated than that,
Jane thought. Avoiding the issue, she reached down to pet Phoenix. “It's a nice thought,” Jane said, “just not very practical.”

Isabel shrugged. “You never know.”

Jane changed the subject. “Ready for your first finals?”

Isabel gave a thumbs-up. “All set.”

Jane appreciated Isabel's optimism on this gray, rainy day. A mixture of rain and sleet tapping against the back windows had driven Phee under the table, where her tail now tickled Jane's ankle as it swished. Harper's empty chair gnawed at Jane. If Hoppy were here, she would take her breakfast bowl down to the floor so that she could “love me some dog” while she ate. Jane missed her girl.

 

During her free period Jane called Sally Pinero and got her on the first try. “I need your help,” Jane told her. “This is not going to work with Isabel on a long-term basis.”

“Right. I got your message this weekend. You know that kind of tension is normal. Petty jealousies and arguments among kids in the home. It happens all the time.”

“It's more than that.” Without explaining that her two daughters could not live in the same house, Jane gave the social worker an ultimatum. If there was no word from Chrissy Zaretsky in the next twenty-four hours, they would need to look into alternatives for Isabel's care. Translation: She would need a foster home. “I need to know that Isabel's mother is committed to reuniting with her,” Jane said.

“A fair demand,” Sally admitted, “though tough on me. I share your frustration with Mrs. Zaretsky. She's been difficult to contact. Let me see what I can do.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Jane repeated.

“Got it. I'll call you back.”

Within an hour, Jane had a message to call Sally back.

“No Chrissy Zaretsky, but would you take the next best thing? Turns out her sister is in town to pick up some things from the house. She'll be there most of the afternoon. If you can make it to the Zaretsky place on Arbor Lane by four, Anya Diamant will meet with you.”

“Perfect,” Jane said. At last, she was getting somewhere.

When Harper stopped into Jane's classroom at lunchtime, Jane longed to fold her into her arms and reassure her. Instead, she smiled and asked: “How are your finals going?”

“Okay. Environmental science was multiple choice, so that was good.”

“I'm working on contacting Isabel's mother. Isabel is not staying with us forever; I want you to know that.”

“Okay. But I can't stay if she's there, Mom. I'm going to live at Sydney's until Isabel is gone. Sydney already asked, and her mom says it's okay.”

It seemed like an overreaction—a bit dramatic—but then Jane had been guilty of her own drama in imagining that she and Harper could fold Isabel into their lives without consequence. Jane agreed that Harper's plan was best for now. They made arrangements for Harper to come by the house after basketball practice to pick up the rest of her things. As Harper headed off to class, Jane tried to tamp down the feeling that she was losing her daughter. She tried to ignore the loss yawning deep inside her as she prepared the final for her next class. She tried, without success.

 

When Jane pulled up to the house on Arbor Lane, it had all the makings of a crime scene. Squad cars. Yellow police tape stretched across the porch entry. Uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives chatting or searching the lawn and bushes. Squawking radios and the rumble of cars slowing to take it all in.

Detective Drum was one of the cops poking in the bamboo that screened the front of the house. Zipping her coat against the cold, Jane approached him cautiously. “I'm not sure if you remember me. Jane Ryan? My daughter Harper was interviewed over the school picnic.”

He nodded, leaning on the rake in his hand. “What can I help you with, Ms. Ryan?”

“What happened here? I was supposed to meet Anya Diamant. Is she okay?”

“She's inside.”

“That's a relief. It looks like you've turned this place into a crime scene.”

“We're treating it as a possible crime scene.” He bent over and poked at the garden bed with the rake.

“What do you think happened here?”

“I'm not at liberty to say, but it's not something you should worry about.”

It dawned on her that he didn't understand her connection here. “I'm here about Isabel Zaretsky, Chrissy's fifteen-year-old daughter? She's living with me while her mother recuperates.”

That got his attention. “The young lady is living with you?” He straightened and squinted at her. “So you're involved here, whether you know it or not. I hope you've got a hard shell if you're going to talk with Mrs. Diamant.”

“What's wrong with her?”

“She's no fan of Isabel Zaretsky. Did you know she's asked the police to press charges against the girl?”

“Against Isabel?” Jane was sure this was a misunderstanding. “For what?”

“Homicide, and attempted homicide.” Drum shifted the rake and took an iPad from the inner pocket of his jacket. “She seems to think Isabel killed her father and was trying to kill the mother, Christine Zaretsky.”

“Murder? Isabel?”

He glanced up from the screen. “You're surprised. You didn't know about this?”

“No. Of course not. If I'd known I wouldn't have brought her into my home. I . . .” She covered her mouth with one hand, recalling Anya's lack of mental stability. “Is there evidence?”

The detective poked at a shrub with the rake. “We're here searching right now.”

“But Chrissy was sick, and Nick died of a heart condition. He didn't even live here. I don't know what you expect to find.”

“Between you and me? I don't know the answer to that either.” Drum scratched his chin absently. “This search might be unfounded, but it's not up to me to call it off. Our police chief heard from one of the higher-ups in the Seattle police department, and that got the ball rolling.”

“So I shouldn't be worried?”

“So far we've found dozens of prescription medications but no syringes or poisons. We emptied the fridge and took samples from the garden and all the household cleaners. Lucky for us, they didn't live here too long. Didn't accumulate much. Otherwise we'd be vouchering every old can of oil in the garage and soda pop in the pantry.”

Jane stared into the dense screen of bamboo that shaded the front window as the sour tinge of disappointment hit the back of her throat. So much for her idea of sending Isabel north to live with her aunt. “Is Chrissy also pressing charges? Isabel's mother?”

“She's not cooperating. Apparently the sisters don't see eye to eye on everything.”

Jane was glad for that. At least Chrissy was supporting her daughter. Maybe with help from the social workers Jane could circumvent Anya and return Isabel to her mother. “I'd better go in and talk with Anya,” Jane said with a new sense of dread. Clearly, Jane would be perceived as the enemy, harboring a criminal.

Inside, she found Anya Diamant pacing the hall, her arms folded under her ample bosom. Jane recognized Chrissy's youngest sister from their meeting long ago at the Bainbridge Island house. The woman's deadpan expression made her seem older than her years, as did her clothing. The dark dress worn over black tights and short boots with practical rubber soles gave Anya a witchy appearance.

“Perhaps we should rip up the carpets,” Anya said, toeing the shag carpeting at a bedroom threshold. “Or the floorboards. She could have hidden something in the floorboards.”

The two cops who were rifling through books in the living room exchanged a look of annoyance. So Jane wasn't the only one who found Anya a bit paranoid.

“Ma'am,” said one of the cops, a thin woman with her badge hitched to her fat belt buckle. “This is a preliminary investigation. We don't need to dismantle the house just yet.”

It was a rather impressive search for a speculative case, but then Mirror Lake had a reputation for jumping on things with thoroughness. Their unofficial motto was: “No call too small.”

“And who are you?” Anya barked, having noticed Jane. When Jane introduced herself, Anya frowned. “I didn't think you'd have the nerve to show.”

“I didn't realize I was walking into a crime scene investigation.”

Anya's exotic dark eyes sparkled with bitterness. “Then the girl must really have you fooled.” She nodded toward the back door. “Come. We'll talk outside.”

“How is Chrissy doing?” Jane said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. Overhead clouds skittered across a field of blue, but occasional winds reminded her that it was winter.

“Her body is healing, but the mind, the mind is wounded. Her thoughts are cloudy, and she doesn't see Isabel clearly. But then, she has always had a sugar glaze over her eyes when it came to that girl. Isabel had her fooled.”

“That's not a very kind way to talk about your niece. Isabel is a fifteen-year-old girl who needs you.”

“That girl needs an exorcism.” Anya scowled, her eyes glimmering darkly. “She has the devil in her.”

Jane wasn't sure she believed in Satan, but she deferred to the terror in Anya's eyes. “What is it about her that makes you say that?”

“It's not a look or a birthmark. Nothing so simple. It was what she did to my baby boy, my Gregory.”

Was Gregory one of the tragedies Chrissy had mentioned? “What happened to him?”

“He's gone, God bless his soul.” Anya made the sign of the cross. “Drowned by Isabel.”

Jane saw hands form a circle, a band around the neck. The smallest bit of pressure could cut off respiration, pulling her under. The strange calm beneath the surface, a world of water. And those hands, firmly holding her there.

Frank's hands.

Isabel's hands.

Shuddering, Jane tried to bring her focus back to the moment. “I'm sorry for your loss,” she said. “This is the first I've heard of any connection between Isabel and your Gregory.”

“Of course, Chrissy never mentioned it. She still doesn't believe it happened. My sister lives in deep, deep denial.”

“I think your sister loves Isabel, and if there was a question of responsibility, I understand why she defended her daughter.”

“Her daughter? No. Isabel is not blood. She was adopted. My son, my Gregory, he was kin.” She took a framed photo from a shelf. “My Gregory. Did you know that Isabel was supposed to be watching him that day?” Jane stared at the photo in Anya's hands—a bright-eyed infant.

“She said she turned her head for one minute and he went under. But I never believed her. I could see that she was jealous of Gregory, seething over every bit of attention he got. She had been the only grandchild, and she didn't want to share. So she killed my baby boy and destroyed my family.” Anya explained that the death of their only child had put stress on her marriage. Her husband had started spending more and more time at work. And then one day he was gone. He couldn't live in a house of sorrows. Anya had been lost to depression, ready to die and join her child, when she had stumbled on a facility run by Carmelite nuns. She had found hope and comfort there. She had not taken a vow, but she still lived and worked at the rehab facility. “The good sisters saved my life,” Anya said, “and now it is my turn to save Chrissy. That's why she will never see Isabel again.”

“But Isabel is her daughter.”

“By adoption? That means nothing when the child you have taken in turns against you. I don't know what Isabel did to my sister, but she was making Chrissy sick. I'm guessing that it was food poisoning, maybe from household chemicals. I just know that when Chrissy was around Isabel, Chrissy was violently ill. But when my sister got away from the girl, she began to recover, just as she is now. Do you know that she has not had a setback since I moved her to Seattle? Not a single one.”