The experience altered the trajectory of their lives. Angie became friendly with a private investigator hired by Sarah’s mother. Angie searched relentlessly for Sarah. Her alertness and situational awareness impressed the investigator so much he offered her a job with his well-established firm, The Kessler Group, right out of college. “You have a mind for this work,” he’d told her, “and you don’t slack off. Stamina and a sharp eye, that’s what you need to be a PI.”
She worked five years for the firm, earning her masters degree in criminal justice at night. Her time with The Kessler Group gave her the confidence she could run an agency of her own. Her mentor not only agreed and supported her transition, but had made his own firm part of Angie’s & Associates network.
Madeline, who was pre-med at the time of Sarah’s disappearance, gave up medicine to become a sex crimes prosecutor in Washington, DC. She always believed Sarah had fallen into drugs and somehow got swept up in the sex trade, a theory that was never proven. Her research into human trafficking, however, opened her eyes to the prevalence of predators and she’d found her calling putting the bad guys behind bars.
“One of these days, I’m going to get the guy who took Sarah from us,” Madeline had said. Angie had vowed to be the one to bring her that prize.
“Madeline, you remember my Uncle Walt.”
“Of course.” Madeline hugged the man she didn’t really know. Funerals made for fast friends. “I’m sorry about your loss. I know you thought of Kathleen as a sister.”
“I did,” Walter said, his eyes misting. “The DeRoses are like family to me.”
Madeline, who was tall, thin, and naturally blond, looked nothing like Angie, but called her friend a sister from another mister. She understood Walter’s point completely.
“I was wondering if any of your mom’s family might have come to pay their respects,” Madeline said. “Now seems like a good time to put that feud to rest.”
Angie had been thinking the same, but she recognized everyone who was there by face if not name. She had asked her father if he planned to include her mother’s family in the services, and the answer had been a definite no. Despite that, she held out hope some of her mother’s relatives whom she did not know, whom she had never met, might come across the obituary and show up unannounced.
Her father was never going to have any of his family there. He’d spent his childhood in an orphanage and when that closed, moved to a series of foster care homes. Like a lot of kids who entered the system at a more advanced age, Angie’s dad did not get adopted. All she knew of her father’s mother, her paternal grandmother, was that she was a drug addict who didn’t know who’d gotten her pregnant. Despite the extraordinary obstacles presented to him, Gabriel persevered, avoided the temptations of the streets, and made something of his life.
While attending University of California, Berkley on a full academic scholarship, Gabriel met and fell in love with Angie’s mother. She was Kathleen Tyler back then, young, pretty, and fiercely intelligent. Gabriel and Kathleen had an instant and undeniable chemistry. They knew after two dates they wanted to get married and announced their plans the day after graduation. Not everyone was thrilled by the news. The way Angie had heard it, her mother’s family had serious reservations about her father. They didn’t want the couple marrying so young, nor did they approve of Gabriel’s sketchy background.
Harsh words were spoken, words that escalated and sowed the seeds of acrimony. When Kathleen, unmarried, discovered that she was pregnant with Angie, the anger came to a boiling point. Kathleen and Gabriel decided to cut off all communication with her family and go at it on their own. At some point, Angie’s grandparents had died. She had never once met them.
The reception continued, the hours passing, brief conversations expressing the same sentiments. We’re so sorry for your loss. Such a tragedy. So young. Too soon. Your mother loved you very much. She was so proud of you.
Every one of them rang true to Angie, and the words of sympathy provided a degree of comfort. The hard part, she suspected, would come later, after everyone went home, after the sympathy cards and Facebook posts stopped coming, when she and her dad had quiet time to contemplate the enormity of their loss.
Madeline stayed to the end. Along with Louise and Walter, she helped with the cleanup. Angie checked in with her father. She didn’t like seeing him in this new way: frail, old, and sad. Her heart ached for him, for them both.
Tears came to her father’s eyes, but he managed a strained smile. “Well, that was hard.”
“We’ll get through this together, Dad.” Angie gave her father a big embrace.
Nearby, Louise and Walter joined the huddle for a group hug, with Walter calling the play.
“As long as we stick together, we’ll be all right. Anything you need, Angie, Gabe, anything at all, you don’t hesitate to ask.”
Walter and Louise lived down the street from the DeRoses. They had been in that house since Angie was a baby. She had fond memories of rolling down the hill in their front yard—Odette Hill, she called it—and exploring the variety of flowers that Louise grew in a small greenhouse out back. Walter was retired law enforcement and Louise was a homemaker who had raised two children, both of whom were off on their own.
Louise was a master cook as well as a gardener. “Angie, don’t worry about your dad. I’m going to make sure his fridge is fully stocked.”
But Angie did worry. She worried about him being alone and lonely. Kathleen was her father’s life. They had many friends, but most of those friends were tethered to Angie’s mom. Her dad had his work, his daughter, and his wife. Now it would be easier for him to devote even more time to crunching numbers. Perhaps Angie could get her father to try fly fishing, a hobby Walter enjoyed, or some other pursuit to keep him from vanishing into the protective shell of his work.
That would come later.
They needed to grieve and keep busy, so Angie helped with cleanup. She had washed all the extra tablecloths and put them back in the plastic bins where they were stored. She turned to her father, who was washing some platters. “Dad, I’ll take this up to the attic.”
“I’ll come with you.” Madeline had stayed longer than Walt and Louise and the catering staff. She followed Angie to the second floor, and then up the staircase in the master bedroom to the attic.
It was organized up there. Kathleen had been fastidious about boxes and labels and things of that nature. It was also easy to maneuver about. The walls were sloped, but the space was wide and the flooring completely hid the insulation. Angie’s father had talked about converting that attic into an office, but it would mean moving all the boxes of things Kathleen had accrued over the years.
Angie put the carton in its appropriate place while Madeline went exploring.
She opened a cardboard box labeled ANGIE ART and pulled out a headband adorned with beads and colored feathers. “Museum quality,” she said, holding up the object for Angie to see.
Angie returned a laugh. “Second grade, I think. Mrs. Ferguson. I remember I used to sit next to a kid who ate crayons.”
Madeline made a face. “Sounds like pica.”
“Whatever it was, he was a cute kid with a blue smile.”
Angie opened a nearby box and found a photo album she had not looked at in ages. There were pictures of family vacations, time spent at the lake house with Walter and Louise, other photos of other trips with friends who had kids Angie’s age. A pang hit her as she thought about how complete and happy her small family looked.
Angie and Madeline took their time rummaging through boxes, looking through clothes, books, crafts, letters, various bric-a-brac. Kathleen DeRose, fastidiously organized, did not easily part with anything so there was much to explore. One box held an odd assortment of old magazines, another a carousel filled with slides. Without a good light source, it was hard for Angie to see what was on those slides.
“Maybe there’s a projector in one of these,” Madeline said as she went looki
ng.
Dozens of boxes and plastic containers were neatly arranged and stacked in varying heights. From one cardboard box Madeline removed a small wooden music box made of burl maple with a burnished finish. A violin and horn carved from mother of pearl were inlaid into the wood and accented by a very subtle, light-colored border.
“Wow, look at this,” she said, admiring the box. She lifted the cover and then stroked the red velvet interior of the top compartment, which was divided into two sections. The right section contained the mechanism for playing music; the section to the left was empty. Underneath the main compartment was a drawer for storing valuables.
Madeline handed the box to Angie, who turned the wind-up mechanism. The chimes, like metallic raindrops, plinked out the recognizable melody of “The Blue Danube.”
“I’ve never seen this before.” Angie turned the box over in her hands, admiring it from all angles. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Was it your mother’s?” Madeline asked.
“I don’t know.”
It was a bit stuffy in the attic. Angie wished she had changed out of her dress into something more comfortable. When the song finished, she wound the mechanism once more. Again those notes chimed out, sad to her ears.
“I love the song,” Madeline said.
“I wonder why my mom never had this out?” Angie pulled open the bottom drawer, tugging just hard enough so the drawer came out entirely. She was about to put it back in when she noticed a slight gap in the bottom panel. Removing the panel revealed yet another compartment.
Something was inside.
Angie’s long fingers removed a colored photograph of a young girl—four years old, five at the most—wearing a pink short sleeve dress decorated with white polka dots, shirred detail at the waist. The brown-haired girl had doleful eyes but a sweet albeit sad smile, and a strangely deformed right ear that was almost non-existent.
Angie tried to the place the girl, but she was certain she’d never seen her before. The picture was taken outside, in some cityscape that Angie didn’t recognize.
Turning the photograph over in her hands, Angie gasped aloud. On the back, in her mother’s impeccably neat and distinctive handwriting, were words and a code that made no sense.
May God forgive me
IC12843488
Angie studied the message, then handed Madeline the photograph with the message facing up.
Madeline turned the picture over and studied it for some time. “What the hell is this all about?”
Angie couldn’t answer. She didn’t know.
CHAPTER 9
Exhibit D: Excerpts from the journal of Nadine Jessup, pages 13-22
I did the photo shoot today! Oh, wait, before I go into that I should re-introduce myself. I’m Jessica Barlow. Whadda ya think? Pretty sexy, huh? It’s got that Jennifer Lawrence ring to it I think. I mean, it’s the same number of syllables and everything. So no more Nadine Jessup. Ricardo now calls me Jessie and I think that’s super cute. Jessie Barlow. I like that.
Oh, and here’s the update on my phone and wallet. They’re gone. Like gone for good gone. Ricardo and I walked up and down the street and he asked a bunch of people but nobody had them. And they would have given it to him, too, if they did because he’s really respected out here. People looked at me different just because I’m with him. One gross guy actually tried to grab me and said something like how much for this fresh meat, something disgusting like that and Ricardo went off on him. I thought he was gonna rip the guy’s head off. But the bad news is my phone and wallet are gone and I’m not getting them back. I don’t have my license yet, but I did have a credit card, a student ID, all my money and now I don’t have any of it. FU*K YKWIM?
Ricardo took my jewelry (well, my mom’s jewelry) and he’s gonna sell it for me so I’ll have some money again. And then I should make money once I get an acting job, or something. And Ricardo says I’m DEFINITELY going to get hired.
And about Ricardo . . . here’s the big news on that. We kissed last night!!! It was incredible. He’s the best kisser, I swear. It wasn’t like I was expecting it or anything. It just happened. We were on the futon in my bedroom (yes, it’s my bedroom now), just talking. He’s so sweet the way he talks to me, how he looks me in the eyes. I was telling him something about my mom, I think. About how much she drinks and how I think she’s really messed up. Ricardo’s dad drank too much, too and he really got what I was trying to say. Then all of a sudden we were kissing. At first I was totally freaking out because he’s like way older than me, but my mom was like five years younger than my dad and I’m only seven years younger than Ricardo so that’s not such a big difference.
Anyway, the kiss was awesome and I know he wanted to go further but he held back, I could tell. And I’m glad he did, too. Not that I wouldn’t, you know, do more, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m ready but I’m not ready. HELP I’M SO SCHIZO!
So the photo shoot, right? I think it went really well. Stephen Macan wasn’t there. I dunno know where he was and I haven’t seen him since that first day. But that’s ok. I’m staying in the apartment (wherever this is, somewhere near Baltimore, remember? Crazy, right?!) Sometime last week I was sleeping in my bedroom and now I’m crashing at this studio. But it’s nice here and I don’t have to go out for anything. Ricardo brings me takeout and there’s a TV and I write in my journal (which I hide btw) so I’m not bored or anything. But I miss my phone. Ricardo says he’s gonna get me a new one and I can’t wait.
Anyway the stupid photo shoot. I keep rambling! It was just me, Ricardo, and some guy named Buggy there. Yeah, you read that right. Buggy. He hardly said a word. Kinda creeped me out. He was this really thin guy who wore one of those hipster hats, sunglasses and a plaid short sleeve shirt with a white undershirt underneath and ripped jeans and he smoked lots of cigarettes which I think is gross. But Ricardo says he’s cool, so I guess he’s cool.
Ricardo took the pictures and Buggy watched and that was fine. All I had to do was sit on the stool and smile. My eyes started to hurt from flash stuff but after it was over, we looked at the pictures and they were nice. I actually have a good smile. Even Buggy agreed.
Today Ricardo and I just hung out on the futon kissing and drinking vodka straight. We talked for hours about things I can’t even remember. Bands, TV shows—just stuff. The TV in the room isn’t as big as my TV at home, but it’s big enough. Ricardo had a Netflix subscription so we binged on a bunch of shows. We did a whole season of Lost, which I had never seen. It was so awesome because I was snuggled up with Ricardo the whole time. I could have been there with him for hours like that. We kissed a lot and we did a bit more, ya know? I don’t need to write it, but it happened. Not IT, but stuff, things.
Is he my boyfriend? I don’t know. I like that he’s taking care of me. He treats me like I’m his girlfriend. He feeds me pretty well, too. There’s a pizza place nearby and a KFC and other places to eat. I made a salad with him one night in the kitchen. It was incredible to just do something so normal like cut vegetables. Go figure! It felt to me like we were a couple. Kinda weird, I know, but I liked it. We just got along. He never calls me Nadine. He calls me Jessica. Jessica Barlow. That’s who I am now.
I still don’t have any money, or my wallet, or my phone. Ricardo went to sell my jewelry, but he said his guy was trying to rip him off so he’s going to wait. That’s fine with me. I don’t want to get taken. Ricardo looks out for me. Last night we hung out together. We drank and I got high for the first time. Now THAT was awesome. I felt so free. It was just weed (I think LMAO) but I was free of all the bullshit. Ya know? Free of everyone judging me. I’ve been missing my home, my room, my stuff, but all that went away. I felt light. Does that make sense?
Ricardo and I made out for who knows . . . hours. It got pretty intense. I had my shirt off and he did too. (AH-Mazing bod!) I’m almost there. Almost ready. I want to do it with him, but I’m scared. I don’t know how it will feel, but I trust Ricardo. He’s looki
ng out for me. He says he loves me.
I got high again. High high high and I liked it. When I’m stoned I don’t miss any of my friends. I don’t miss Sophia, or Hannah, Madison, or Brianna. I don’t think they really get me. At least that’s what Ricardo says. He takes his time to really listen to me. People don’t listen anymore. Ricardo says that, too. They just want things. It’s all about them. I told him about the time Sophia called me a complaining bitch on Facebook. She hurt my feelings but later said it was a joke, and I was cool with it. Ricardo didn’t agree. He said people write online what they really believe. It’s like weed. You’re free to be yourself. You have to think about what you’re going to say before you write it, and that’s true, you do. So Sophia had to think long and hard before she called me a bitch.
Ricardo has a phone so he looked up my Facebook page. He read a lot of my posts, the comments and stuff. And I see it now. In one of them Brianna called me fat. Well, she said, “what did you eat before you took this picture?” That’s saying someone is fat. And another post where I talked about my mom being drunk again and my dad not giving a shit about me, Madison wrote that I should jump off a bridge. That would show them. Ha-ha-ha, she wrote. I thought she was being funny but Ricardo saw it differently. That’s what she really wanted me to do. Jump. Off. A. Bridge. A real friend would never say something like that. I never thought about it until Ricardo opened my eyes. I asked if I could use his phone to send a message to Sophia and Brianna. I wanted to find out if they missed me at all. Ricardo said no way. They didn’t give a shit about me. Nobody did. Except for Ricardo, of course. He’s watching out for me. He’s the only one I trust.
CHAPTER 10
Gabriel DeRose sat at the kitchen table and studied the photograph with intensity. Angie sat across from him, while Madeline heated water in the freestanding kettle for tea. The mood was tense.
Forgive Me Page 6
