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“Yeah, no need to explain, sis. I felt gut punched when you told me last night.” He smiled with sadness. “But that’s what alcohol is for, right?”
“Not at six in the morning,” she said, raising her coffee mug and meeting his in the air as if they were both drinking wine. “Cheers.”
They drank in silence for a moment or two, sipping the hot, bitter liquid slowly, savoring it. Then she set the mug on the table and picked up the putty knife. She had to clean it again.
Turning her attention to the repair Jacob had done, she tore several lengths of adhesive mesh from the roll and started to apply the paste. Soon all the bruises and bloodstains would be gone. “I wonder why Mom didn’t report it as self-defense,” she said, thinking out loud. She didn’t expect an answer to the question that had been at the center of her thoughts for years, every time she had to sweat during a polygraph test. Thankfully, when she’d been polygraphed during her tenure with the FBI, she wasn’t asked questions where she would’ve had to lie; not even the polygraph people had thought of asking her if she’d killed her father. But she’d held her breath every single time she’d been tested. “It was legitimate, you know.” Back then, the thirteen-year-old girl had been terrified of what she’d done while at the same time knowing she’d had no choice. Remembering it, though, still sent shivers down her spine.
“I can tell you because I asked Mom,” Jacob replied. Kay looked at him and almost didn’t recognize him. He’d turned into a responsible adult overnight. Overthatnight, eighteen years ago. He was no longer her little brother, whom she had to rock back and forth in her arms when he scraped a knee; he hadn’t been that in a while. He was a strong man, a protector. “She didn’t want our names dragged through the media, the internet. And she was afraid you’d be arrested, taken to stand through a trial we didn’t have money for.” He swallowed and looked away for a moment, his eyes moistened. “She was protecting you, me… us. She wanted us to be free of him.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “What do you say we make her wish come true, sis?”
She nodded while a tear found its way down her cheek. She wiped it off and smiled just as the noise of pebbles ground under moving tires got their attention.
“Oh, crap,” Kay said, recognizing Elliot’s Interceptor. It wasn’t even seven. What the heck heldhimup all night?
She ran into the bathroom and hopped into the shower. While she patted herself dry, she overheard Elliot and Jacob talking casually, laughing as if nothing was wrong. She had to give it to Jacob; he was a better liar than she’d thought.
Emerging fully dressed a few minutes later, she met Elliot’s concerned gaze with a reassuring smile. “Good morning. Did Jacob offer you any coffee?” Not a trace of her earlier tears showed up under her fresh makeup.
“Yes, he did. Served it with a side story of your adventures.”
“Oh?” She shot her brother a quick glance, but he was relaxed. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you decide to eat from the vending machine again.”
“Ah, I see.” The vending machine, even if it deserved the bad rap it got with the people it fed with stale sandwiches and overpriced junk food, had come in handy as an excuse. The only downside would be Elliot’s raised eyebrow if she ever decided to eat from it again.
She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her car keys. “Come on, partner, we have a killer to catch.”
His smile vanished. “That’s why I’m here so early. There’s another girl missing. I thought you got the message from dispatch.”
TWENTY-ONE
BREAKFAST
Alexandria sneezed, then reached for the box of tissues without looking. Her eyes watered, squinting in anticipation of a second sneeze. She pulled three tissues from the box quickly, then clumped them under her nose.
The second sneeze brought tears to her eyes. She hated being sick. She had plans for every moment of every day, and none of those plans included feeling like crap with a stuffy nose and a fever, watching endless soaps on TV, and sweating under a blanket.
Determined to fight it tooth and nail, she gargled some apple cider vinegar, her face scrunching from the sourness after spitting it out, then put some drops in her nose. With her head tilted back, she didn’t see Alana coming into the kitchen.
“Gesundheit,” Alana said, “well, a belated one anyways. I heard you sneezing from the shower. Hope you didn’t bring home some nasty shit.”
Alexandria was about to thank her daughter; it rarely happened that she said something nice, even if she packed it with sarcasm, impertinence, and foul language. Her smile died on her lips, and the “Thank you” she said was barely a whisper.
“Where are you going?” Alexandria asked, a light frown creasing her brow. “It’s a school day.”
“And that’s exactly where I’m going,” Alana replied, pulling a chair out and taking a seat at the breakfast table without bothering to bring anything.
Alexandria checked the time with a quick move of her eyes from her daughter’s face to the digital wall clock and back. It was seven in the morning on a Friday. She had twenty minutes to get her daughter to comply with the school’s dress code. “Not dressed like this, you’re not.”
Alana sprung to her feet with her hands on her hips. The chair, pushed backward violently, fell and hit the wall leaving a dent before landing on the tiled floor with a rattle. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice tense, low, menacing.
Alexandria weighed her options. Maybe Alana was PMS-ing or something; she was in a foul mood, although minutes earlier, she’d seemed fine. But she was wearing a black fishnet top over a white sports bra, along with frayed and illegally short Daisy Dukes and a studded black belt. She’d adorned herself with numerous bangles, long earrings, and several chains and pendants that clinked and jingled with every move. Gray eyeshadow and thick eyeliner completed her makeup, hardly appropriate even for a Friday night party.
“I see you’re going for the trashy biker look this morning,” Alexandria said calmly, pacing herself. It was going to be a long battle. “It suits you,” she added with an angelic smile.
Alana’s brow furrowed. A look of suspicion made her stare at her mother for a moment before speaking. “Thank you… I guess.”
“Are you doing a fundraiser for Jenna’s memorial service?”
