by Sheila Lowe
Zach swung around at the slam of a door downstairs. Abby stopped him. “It’s my mom. She doesn’t like me being alone, so she’s spending the night. We’d better go downstairs. Just don’t tell her what we’re doing. She’d have a hissy.”
“Abby, are you upstairs?” the voice grew louder as Abby’s mother plodded up the staircase. “Those darned reporters, they—oh.” She reached the landing, preceded by a cloud of cigarette smoke. Seeing the three of them, she halted, her chubby face puffy and strained. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting company, Ab.”
This was the woman who had stood beside Abby during the press conference. She still wore the same sweatshirt and jeans, along with a trace of annoyance.
“Hi, Mom. Zach stopped by with his friend, Jessica. I was showing her Ethan’s room.”
“Did the reporters bother you on your way in, Mrs. Truman?” Zach asked.
Elaine Truman surveyed them all from the top step, her gaze resting on Zach. Her eyes narrowed, not buying her daughter’s explanation for their presence.
“Every darn time I try to come here they keep yelling their dumb questions at me like they think it’ll make me answer,” she said.
“Keep ignoring them,” Zach said. “They might not stop trying, but you’ll have the satisfaction of not giving them anything.”
“That’s what I am doing. I brought a tuna casserole, Ab, but I don’t think there’s enough for—”
Abby and Zach spoke simultaneously.
“They’re not staying.”
“We were just leaving, Mrs. T. Don’t let us disturb your supper.”
Mrs. Truman’s eyes landed on Jessica. “Have we met before?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“You look very familiar. What’s your name again?”
“Jessica.” She held out her hand.
The woman held onto it a moment too long. “I have a very good memory for faces.”
“It’s true,” Abby confirmed. “She’s phenomenal. I always say she’d make a great witness in a criminal case.”
“Maybe I just have one of those faces,” Jessica said, wanting to look elsewhere. The scrutiny of Elaine Truman’s mental microscope was making her uncomfortable.
“You said Jessica, right? Jessica what?”
“We really gotta be going, Mrs. T.,” Zach interrupted, moving toward her in a blatant attempt to encourage her to move out of their path.
Refusing to take the hint, Elaine Truman stayed where she was, peering at Jessica with brows creased into a frown. She held up her hand. “Wait. Just wait a second; it’s coming back to me. What’s your surname, Jessica?” she asked again.
Jessica gave a sigh of resignation. “Mack.”
The other woman’s face lit up. “That’s it! Not all that common. I remember now. There’s a twin sister, isn’t there? Another ‘J’ name?”
“Y-yes, Jenna. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember meeting you.”
“No, we haven’t met. But I remember when you were in the news—oh, I’m not sure how long ago it was; quite a while back. It was a very big story—front page. About that senator and the drug company. The reason I remember it now is the connection. I recognized Zach the first moment I saw him, too. Of course, with this horrible nightmare of Ethan being gone, I didn’t bother with it. But seeing you now, it’s all coming back to me. Zach was part of the same news story with you and your sister.” She turned to Zach as if he was to blame for her memory. “Weren’t you, Zach?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I remember. He got shot and you—”
“I’d prefer not to talk about it, Mrs. Truman,” Jessica said, meaning it. Those terrifying days of not remembering who she was or that she had an identical twin sister; both victims in a plot carried out by a corrupt politician, and the experiment that nearly killed her and Jenna—she would rather leave all of it buried in the past.
“All right, hon, I understand. I wanted to be sure I got it right. You know how it is—you get an itch and it needs scratching. Well. So it was you. And Zach. Now I can put it to rest.”
“Thank you,” said Jessica, relieved.
With that, Elaine Truman turned around and they followed her downstairs, where the aroma of the tuna casserole lingered.
“Is there anything new I should know about?” Elaine asked as Abby moved into the lead, taking the visitors to the door. “Is that why you’re here? I should have asked before. Do you have some news?”
Zach rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mrs. T., there’s nothing to report right now. We just stopped by to see how your daughter was doing.”
The sigh that gusted from Ethan’s grandmother spoke volumes about how fed up she was with the situation. “I keep praying, I really do. I go to church every single day and ask God to bring our little Ethan back home safe. My priest tells me that God will watch over him wherever he is, but it’s not good enough, Special Agent Smith.” She turned her gaze skyward as if looking for reassurance from the Supreme Being. “I wonder whether he’s even listening to me.”
“Of course he is,” assured Zach, although Jessica knew him as an avowed atheist. He gave Abby’s mother a very un-FBI-like squeeze. “And I promise you, Mrs. T., we are doing everything we possibly can to bring Ethan home safe.”
Jessica leaned up against the door in Zach Smith’s car. “I don’t think I can do this. It’s too hard.”
“Because of the episodes?”
“Not just that—though I have to say, this was a strange one. It’s just—it’s all the emotion. Abby, her mother. Ethan. It’s hard to explain but, when I connected with him, it was like he was me and I was him. I felt what he felt.”
Zach’s head swung her way. “You mean, you were possessed?”
“No, dammit. You sound like Jenna. I was still me. But I was him, too.”
“Okay, that’s more than a little weird. So, what was he was thinking?”
“He was asking for his papa. And Henry the dinosaur—omigod, that was so freaky that it started walking on its own—and I did not touch it.”
His skeptical glance told her he did not believe her. “Something set it off.”
“It wasn’t me. Anyway, I felt his emotions like they were my own. The poor little guy is scared shitless. I can’t say where he is, but he doesn’t want to be there.”
“But all you saw was a pond and cattails? That’s kinda vague, Jess. Where do you think could it be? A golf course?”
“I doubt it. The terrain wasn’t manicured like a golf course. It was more—I dunno, wild. Marshy.”
“Okay. I’ll do some research, see if there’s anything around here that fits the description.”
“He’s so scared, Zach. And it sounded like he was alone. I wanted to get him to tell me where he is, but then I started getting this weird sensation and popped back. I wonder where Trey is.”
“He was alone? I hate to ask, but do you think he’s dead?”
“How do I know?”
“Well, if he’s not, how could you—connect—with him? Did you find a way to do it?”
“Look, Zach, all this psychic connecting stuff is pretty new to me and I don’t know how to control it, or even whether it’s possible to. I guess maybe I’m a medium or something because I sort of “plug in” to spirit, but—” Jessica paused to gather her thoughts. “From what I’ve read so far, all mediums are psychic, but it doesn’t automatically work both ways. Not all psychics are mediums. So, I think I’m both. I just wish I knew whether he was here, or there, but I can’t tell.”
“Here alive, or—dead, you mean?”
“I’d rather think of it as being on the other side. Life after earth.”
“That’s still dead.”
“Okay, alive or dead.” Jessica glared at him. “It sounds worse to say it like that.”
SIXTEEN
Sage called again the next morning. Again, Jessica let the call go to voicemail.
“Did I mess up?” his message bega
n. “Am I being too pushy? Did I read you wrong?” He sounded so let down. The silence drew out as if he wanted to say more. “Okay, then, I’m not gonna bug you anymore. Call me if you want to talk…I hope you do.”
What could she say if she called him? The episode at Abby Starkey’s house had left her wiped out, emotionally flattened. A night of tossing and turning had done nothing to improve her energy or mood. The fact was, right now she had nothing left to give Sage Boles or anyone else.
Even work was not helping. After a few abortive attempts at sketching out the miniature she had in mind to make for Bella Bingham, it became clear that she was in no shape to produce anything decent. She crumpled up the paper and pitched it into the trash.
Sometimes you just had to step back and do something different.
The rain had ended in the night. Early morning fog drifted like a bank of smoke over the town, dampening the air and muting the traffic sounds. Driving out of her neighborhood, Jessica turned left at Harbor Boulevard and drove across the small bridge that led to Oxnard Harbor. Past the upscale homes that lined the Mandalay Beach canals to her right. Past miles of sand dunes that stretched to Silver Strand Beach.
Ventura Beach was as deserted as it had been on her previous visit. A watery sun wrangled its way through hazy clouds but the waves were too small for surfers today. The iron-gray skies and low temperatures would discourage anyone seeking a tan.
It was eight-thirty a.m. when Jessica parked the Mini under the freeway bridge that crossed San Jon Road. She caught a green light and jogged back across Harbor to the bike path that ran alongside the sand, cold hands jammed in the pockets of her quilted jacket.
Keeping to the right, out of the way of the handful of stalwart cyclists and joggers, she strode into the invigorating wind with dogged determination and a strong dose of masochism. She was counting on the brisk air blowing in her face to clear her mind of Sage and Ethan, and that was that.
By the time she climbed the long wooden staircase up to the pier, the tension that had accumulated in her neck and shoulders was starting to let go.
The pier had suffered many insults in its hundred-year history and carried the scars of its adventures. Jessica liked to think of it as a grand old lady who had aged gracefully. She fast-walked the rough wooden boards that stretched a third of a mile from one end of the pier to the other and touched the wooden barrier for luck, hoping that she might age with as much grace.
There was something hypnotic in the agitated waves smashing against the pylons below.
Ethan. Can you hear me?
Nothing. No tingle, no images, no words.
She traced her way back along the pier and descended the steps back to the promenade, passing the empty playground on the sand. Still closed from the high surf brought on by the recent storms, it looked bleak without children playing on the swings. Justin would have loved the blue shell-shaped slide. Jessica summoned a picture in her mind of his little legs climbing the sandy stairs and—
“On your left,” a deep voice called out from behind.
Turning her head, she was surprised to meet the gaze of the man with the Einstein hair, as she thought of him. He passed her and braked a few yards ahead, waiting for her to catch up.
“Hey there. Jessica, right?” he said.
“Yep. We meet again. Jay?”
“You got it. Two J’s. You’re looking healthier than the last time we met.”
“Thank you. You were very nice to help a stranger.”
He grinned. “Anytime, young lady, now that we’re no longer strangers.”
Jessica smiled. “I guess we’re not. Well, nice to see you again. Don’t let me keep you from your ride.”
“That’s okay. I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.” Jay stood there straddling his bike, regarding her with one eyebrow raised as if pondering an important question. Then, he said, “It’s no coincidence we’re meeting right now for the second time.”
“Is that right? So, what’s the reason for our meeting this time?”
“Good question. Give it time. It’ll come to me. How far are you walking?”
“To the railroad bridge past Surfer’s Point.”
Jay nodded. “Good. That’s the way I’m riding. We can meet up on the turnaround and find a bench, take a load off and see if we can figure it out.”
As a rule, Jessica did not strike up conversations with strange men she met on the street, let alone one like Jay, with his wacky, wild man hair. But she liked him and they were out in public and she doubted he was a psychotic rapist. Of course, Ted Bundy the serial killer hadn’t looked like one, either. She had read about him in her college psych class.
She heard herself agree. “See you then.”
Twenty minutes later, Jessica reached the trestle train bridge that crossed the mouth of the Ventura River. She made the turnaround and had started back toward the pier when she heard her name called.
Jay rode up beside her and climbed off his bike. “I hope I don’t smell all sweaty,” he said, motioning her to a bench facing a small lagoon. “Riding my bike is one of my favorite things, but I’d hate to be socially offensive, especially to a pretty lady.”
Jessica chuckled. She could feel waves of heat coming off him from exertion, but no bad smell. “You’re fine.”
“Am I glad to hear that!”
“What are your other favorite things?” Jessica asked, watching the sandpipers and gulls hopping around on sandbars, looking for food.
“I like traveling the world, been a few places. And driving a hard bargain at garage sales—I’m proud to admit it, I’m cheap. How about you? What do you like to you do?”
“I make miniatures, do some sculpting, painting.”
He leaned away, his heavy-lidded eyes giving her a look of appraisal and, apparently, approval. “An artist, eh? Do you show your work?”
She told him about Ariel Anderson Arts and The Little Mermaid in Ojai. He was familiar with both galleries and spoke as though he knew quite a lot about art. It did not surprise her to learn that he had once owned an antiques shop.
The conversation began to wind down and Jessica was starting to get restless. She was ready to start again on the fairy garden for Bella Bingham. “Have you figured out why we were supposed to meet today?” she asked.
Jay shook his head. “Not yet. Keep talking.”
His warm voice, his laugh, his unhurried way of speaking, put her at ease. Despite the unruly hair and a stubbly chin that had not met a sharp razor in a while, he was quite handsome in an older-guy, “rough diamond” way. Around her father’s age, she thought.
Comparing this disheveled but palpably kinder newcomer to her life with her father—the distant banker in his finely tailored suit—was laughable. Even if they still had contact, which they did not, her father was the last person on earth Jessica would speak to about things of a personal nature.
Would it be dumb to confide in this stranger? She needed to talk to someone and there was no one else. Not even Claudia understood her the way Jenna did and Jenna was out of the picture. She made up her mind.
“Jay, since we’re now such old friends, do you mind if I ask your opinion?”
“Fire away. I’m full of opinions.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grinned. “They may be bullshit, but they’re free.”
“Okay, I’ll take one.” Jessica hesitated. “So…I just met this guy—”
Jay gave a knowing nod. “There’s always a new guy for a gal as cute as you. I’m not coming on to you, I promise. But it’s true.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyway. I’m super attracted to him and I can tell he feels the same. We don’t know each other yet, but you know how you just know when there’s ‘something’ there?”
“I sure do. I’ve felt that way more than a few times myself.”
“The thing is, someone told me something about him that’s bugging me. I can’t decide what to do. I don’t want him to know that I know, but it’s a big de
al—an elephant in the room kind of thing.”
Jay nodded as she spoke, paying close attention. “Okay. “someone told you something.” Just how did this someone come to tell you the something?”
“A friend he introduced me to mentioned that there was this, uh, problem. So, I Googled him, and a couple of newspaper articles came up.”
“And? What did they say?”
Jessica cleared her throat, hesitating to say the words that would make it more real. She was considering withdrawing the request for Jay’s input, then went for broke and blurted it out. “His mother died…and he was a suspect in her death.”
The bushy salt and pepper eyebrows went up. “That’s pretty big news all right. I can see why you’d be concerned.”
“The article said he was arrested, but the judge said there wasn’t enough evidence to go to trial. His friend was totally on his side when she mentioned it to me. The thing is, he had a juvenile record, so—”
Jay interrupted, “How did his mother die?”
“She fell off a ladder and broke her neck. But the problem was, someone had heard them arguing and—why are you looking at me like that?”
“Miss Jessica, I now know why we met and why we’re sitting here on this bench right next to me.”
“You do? Well, please let me in on the secret.”
“Would I be correct in assuming that your new boyfriend is Sage Boles?”
Jessica had been staring at the sandpipers. She jerked around to look at Jay. “How do you know his name?” Then she relaxed. “Oh, you must have read about it when it happened.”
“Yes, I do remember the case very well, but not for the reason you think. Sage and I go back a long way.”
Now she was openly gaping. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as a heart attack. This was before I took early retirement. I was working at the California Youth Authority—juvie to most people.”
His announcement left Jessica bowled over with shock. She couldn’t stop staring. “I have to say, Jay, you don’t look like a cop.”
