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CHAPTER TWENTY
Jessie pulled out her gun.
As the sound of footsteps got closer, she stood next to the door of Lizzie’s room with her back pressed against the wall. Anyone who stepped in would be in point-blank range of her weapon.
She exhaled slowly and as quietly as she could. The footsteps, heavy and clunky, were now right outside the bedroom. They stopped briefly, then continued down the hall. Jessie waited until they had gone several steps past her before poking her head out.
It was too dark to identify the intruder but it was definitely a male. He was trudging loudly toward the back room. Jessie briefly considered sneaking out the front door, confident she wouldn’t be noticed.
But what if this was the killer, returning to clean up some evidence that might implicate him or merely to bask in his crime? She couldn’t turn her back on that. Before she could stop herself she was moving toward the man with her gun raised. When she was only three feet away, she finally spoke.
“Hey!” she shouted.
The man spun around right into the butt of her gun, which she slammed hard against his forehead. As he fell backward, Jessie flicked on the hall light with one hand while pointing her weapon at him. He hit the ground with a thud, let out a loud moan, and looked up. It was Keith Penn, Michaela’s father.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Owwww,” he whimpered.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Penn?” she demanded again. “I better get a good answer in the next five seconds.”
He looked up, squinting into the light to see her. After a second, he seemed to recognize who was standing over him.
“I’m Michaela’s dad,” he said weakly.
“I know who you are. We spoke earlier today in jail. Why aren’t you still there?”
He reached up and rubbed his head, as if that would somehow dull the ache.
“They released me when I posted bail,” he said. “I’m just here to find something…anything to remember her by. I don’t even have a picture.”
Jessie lowered her weapon slightly. Penn at least seemed to have sobered up. He wasn’t slurring like earlier that day and his eyes were clear.
“Why didn’t you ask an officer to bring you by?” she asked with less intensity than before.
“Are you kidding? I just wanted to get out of there. Besides, I didn’t think they’d let me enter a crime scene, even if I am her father, at least in name.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
He looked down at the carpet and sighed heavily before answering her.
“It’s pretty clear I wasn’t much of a dad. Ever since Michaela’s mom died, I’ve been in a downward spiral. That was tenyears ago and I just never pulled myself out, even for her.”
Jessie could feel her animosity ebbing as her curiosity grew.
“Why not?” she asked.
He looked at her closely, debating whether it was worth trying to explain. He seemed oblivious to the trickle of blood running down his forehead.
“I was always a pretty big drinker,” he said quietly. “But once Marnie died, it got out of control. Lots of nights I passed out and Michaela had to put herself to bed. Sometimes she had to make her own dinner, usually dry cereal. I don’t even know how she managed to get to school, much less get good enough grades to get into that Catholic school.”
“It sounds like she was tough cookie,” Jessie offered.
“Yeah. Maybe too tough. After a while, on days when I was half-sober, I noticed that she had become…what’s the word, distant?”
“That surprised you?” Jessie asked, stunned that he’d expect anything else.
“No, that’s not the right word; more like detached, as if she wouldn’t allow herself to have any emotions. She never cried, even if I yelled at her or did worse, which sometimes happened. She seemed to shut off, not just with me, but with everyone. To this day, I still remember a comment from one of her teachers on her report card. She got straight A’s but the teacher said she was ‘disconnected from the school community and seemed unable to form meaningful bonds.’ They sent her to the school counselor but it didn’t seem to do much good. I can’t help but think I did that to her.”
