She held the media partially responsible for her daughters’ deaths. Had she not feared them, feared how they would report what happened to Piper and Poppy, her daughters might be alive today. She knew their identities would have been protected because of their age, but she had also known that that wouldn’t have stopped some nosy reporter from digging deep.
Without Sam under her feet, she decided that now was a good time to go to the girls’ rooms. Before Jill came over, she needed to do this. She drained the last of her coffee, rinsed the cup, and set it beside the Keurig. If she were convicted again, she would hate going back to prison coffee.
She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Coffee was not important. This was simply her way of coping with stress. Thinking of things that are meaningless. Coffee. The too-large jeans she wore. Ankle monitors, which she did not like the weight of, but it was a small distraction compared to what she was about to do.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped once she was standing outside their rooms. She had to do this, get it over with, as postponing it again would most likely make it worse. A dozen images flashed before her. Before she allowed them to completely take over, she pushed the door to Piper’s room aside.
Her body stiffened in shock, the blood drained from her face. She began to shake as she stood in the center of the room.
It was exactly as it had been the day she had left for San Maribel. Her memory of this room was exactly as she remembered it from that last day. Nothing had changed. It was as though she had stepped back in time.
Shaking, she went over to Piper’s bed and saw that the lavender sheets were the same. As she had packed their clothes that fateful day, she had been surprised when Piper left the sheets all twisted at the foot of the bed. Carefully, she eased herself down onto the twin-size bed, running her hand across the silky purple comforter. Purple had been Piper’s favorite color.
Tessa smoothed the wrinkles from the comforter, then looked at the pillow, and swore it still bore indentations from Piper’s head. Tears filled her eyes, and she picked up the pillow, brought it close to her face, and inhaled. She inhaled again and swore she could smell the strawberry shampoo the girls loved.
It was impossible, she knew, given the passage of time. She must be imagining this because it’s what her mind wanted her to smell, and scent was a true memory provoker. A trick, she knew, but it didn’t matter; any small connection to her daughters mattered, whether real or imagined.
Tessa returned the pillow to the bed, then crossed the room, where she entered the bathroom that separated the girls’ rooms. Again, she was taken aback when she saw that it remained precisely as it had been all those years ago. The same red and purple rugs, the red-and-purple-striped shower curtain. She recalled shopping for the girls when they’d decided they wanted their signature colors in the bathroom. Unbelievable, she thought, as it, too, was the same.
She opened the drawers and was surprised to find they were empty. Opening the medicine cabinet, she expected to see extra tubes of toothpaste, a few stray hair barrettes—all the supplies she had put there herself, but it was also empty.
Saddened, but knowing she had to continue with what she had begun, she entered Poppy’s room.
Struck by the normalcy of the bedroom as she stood in the doorway, she had trouble connecting her little girls’ bedrooms to the images she had seen in the pool. Poppy’s favorite color was red. She had always told Tessa it was because her name was a red flower, and they matched. More tears, but had she not cried, she would have questioned herself.
The room was as she remembered. Poppy’s bed was made, her red-and-white-striped comforter was exactly as it had been the day Tessa had left for San Maribel, the last day she had seen her daughters alive.
Tessa had so many memories of her daughters in these two rooms. She had always spent a few minutes alone with each of them before they went to bed at night. Twins, but separate individuals, each with a unique identity, she and Joel did their best to encourage each of them to be true to herself. Just because they were twins did not mean they had to wear matching clothes or like and dislike the same things; but there were many things they had in common, and they said it made them feel connected. She had always heard twins were psychically in tune with one another, and she saw this in the girls.
Tessa walked around the room, touching the pillow, and again, she put the pillow up to her face, inhaling, but she didn’t smell strawberry shampoo. All she smelled was fabric softener. Odd, as she had not smelled this in Piper’s room. Had Sam or Darlene washed the pillowcase? And if so, why not wash Piper’s, too?
She pulled the comforter aside and sat on the bed, running her hands back and forth across the sheets. She leaned down to smell them, but they didn’t smell like Downy or Snuggle, the two fabric softeners she had always used. This struck her as odd, but everything about her life was odd, from the time of her arrest until now.
She was about to remake the bed when she saw the corner of a sheet of paper sticking out from beneath the mattress. Carefully, she eased the paper out and saw that it was a sheet of the drawing paper the girls used. One side was blank. Odd. She turned the paper onto the opposite side and saw that something had been drawn on it.
She dropped down onto the bed to look at the picture more carefully. It was Poppy’s.
There were four sketches of people. After a closer look, Tessa saw that it was their family, but this particular drawing was in charcoal. She remembered when they’d learned to use charcoal in their weekly art classes. Poppy had been quite the artist. Tessa examined the drawing and was able to make out the faces.
One was clearly a picture of Tessa, and the resemblance was impressive. Poppy had drawn herself and Piper, depicting their long hair, which she knew was strawberry blond, and their bright blue eyes. They were identical, yet each had her own unique features. Poppy’s nose was slightly more upturned, Piper was over an inch taller. The drawing reflected these slight differences.
At first glance, the man’s features were hard to bring into focus as an X had been slashed across his face. She took the picture over to the window to get a clearer look since the sun’s rays were lighting up that half of the room.
She scrunched her eyes, as her farsightedness had gotten worse with age. The details were indisputable. The face in the picture definitely belonged to her husband, Joel.
She felt light-headed, and, fearing she might faint, she had to sit on the bed.
Dear God, what does this mean?
Chapter 13
Tessa tried to calm herself. She inhaled, then exhaled. Her hands shook like windblown palm fronds during a hurricane.
She stared at the drawing again, thinking that surely she was mistaken. Poppy would never do something like this. Joel was her father. She had loved him. She had looked up to him, as had Piper. While they weren’t Daddy’s girls, they’d always shared a good father-daughter relationship.
With shaking hands, she took the paper back over to the window, where the sunlight gave her a clearer view. The eyes were Joel’s, their unique almond shape apparent. The hair was different, slightly shorter than his. He’d always let it grow a bit longer, mostly because he was just too busy to schedule the time for a haircut. The nose and mouth could have belonged to any man. She used her fingernail to try and scrape the red away, thinking that perhaps it was a crayon, but when she scraped her nail across the page, the red remained solid. Most likely it was made by a Sharpie.
This could mean anything. Poppy liked to do what she had always called “shock drawing,” a concept she had made up about a year before.... It was still difficult to use the words, and even more so now that she was in her daughters’ rooms.
She would have to show this to Jill. It might mean nothing, but it was worth having it checked. Also, it was odd. Why would this be here so many years after the fact? Yes, the rooms were intact, mostly, but hadn’t the police searched their rooms? Were they not considered a part of the crime scene? She had been in such a state of
shock afterward, she had never had an opportunity to revisit their rooms. She could ask Sam, or Lee, but she needed Jill to see this first.
Careful not to fold the drawing but at the same time not wanting Sam to see her find, she rolled it into a tube shape and tucked it beneath the gray sweatshirt she was wearing.
Downstairs, there was still no sign of Sam. Good. She did not want to see him now. He had an uncanny way of seeing right through her. Sure that Joel was never this much in tune with her, she didn’t know if she should be suspicious or flattered.
A knock on the door startled her.
Jill. She had entered around the back of the house to the pool area so that she could avoid entering in full view of the mass of reporters gathered at the entrance to the so-called private gated community.
Tessa hurried to open the sliding glass doors. Her face brightened just seeing her old friend there. “You haven’t changed one bit in the last ten years,” she said, embracing her friend. Jill’s dark brown hair sparkled, and her brown eyes were as kind as Tessa remembered. Wearing a pair of black slacks and a teal-colored blouse, with matching teal flats, Jill looked professional but not so much that it would intimidate. Casual professional, Tessa thought.
“And don’t say I haven’t because I know better,” Tessa instructed, her eyes filling with new tears.
“Given what you have been through for the past decade, you look better than I’d expected.” Jill hugged her back, and Tessa knew that calling her had been the right decision.
They looked at each other for a few seconds before Tessa spoke. “You want to have coffee in the kitchen? Sam got this newfangled coffeemaker—it’s a Keurig—pretty neat.”
“That sounds perfect. Tessa, everyone has a Keurig now.” Catching her mistake, she said, “Shit, I didn’t mean that. It’s like the Mr. Coffee of the nineties, remember?” She smiled.
“Don’t bother walking on eggshells. I’m tough. Prison does that to a person. It’s okay, I’m not made of glass.”
Tessa brewed two cups of coffee. “Cream, no sugar?”
“You remembered,” Jill said, taking the cup from her.
“I had a lot of time on my hands. I probably remember more than most,” Tessa explained.
Once they were settled at the bar in the kitchen, she made sure that Sam, as well as Harry’s forensic team, were still out of earshot. She took a deep breath and prepared to ask the question that just might blow her away.
“Jill, that day when you examined the girls, you have never repeated what they told you, have you?”
“Heavens no! I’m not allowed to break patient confidentiality. Why are you asking me this now? I didn’t even tell Joel. Remember, you swore me to silence? I would never break your trust. And certainly that of the girls. What’s happened? I know you wouldn’t ask me this if you didn’t have a good reason. We have always trusted one another, right?”
“Yes, we have. That’s why I called.” She removed the rolled-up paper from beneath her shirt. “Tell me your first impression of this.” She handed Jill the sketch, doing her best to keep a neutral expression on her face. She didn’t want to influence Jill’s first reaction.
Tessa watched while Jill examined the drawing very carefully. Though she was sure that she was making too much of this, she still couldn’t help herself. She had to know if there was a hidden meaning that her untrained eye had not seen.
“Where did this come from?” Jill asked in the voice reserved for her patients.
“I found it in Poppy’s room under the mattress,” Tessa told her. “I don’t know if it’s . . . I’m not sure what to make of it. It certainly appears to be Poppy’s style.”
“Today? You’re telling me you found this just now?” Jill asked, surprise sending her voice up a notch. “This wasn’t something packed away?”
Tessa shook her head. “No. I haven’t been in the girls’ rooms since . . . that awful day. I would swear they have not been touched. Piper’s bed is still unmade; it’s exactly as it was the day I left. It’s like going back in time.”
“Before I say anything, can I look in their rooms?”
“Of course. Let’s go,” Tessa said.
“No, you wait here. Do you mind if I take the picture with me?” Jill asked.
“Sure. Why can’t I come with you?”
“It’s a professional thing. I want to see their rooms with no outside influence, and you have already told me more than I need to know. I’ll just be a few minutes. Why don’t you make us another cup of coffee? I run on caffeine.”
“Sounds like you’re dismissing me, but I get it. Go on, but don’t let Sam or any of those”—Tessa nodded toward the front door—“nosy-ass reporters get a glimpse of you. The window coverings are gone, and those long-range lenses they have now can see the hair in your nose.”
Jill nodded, then carefully tucked the piece of paper inside her bag. “No one would dare look inside this,” she said, holding up one of the largest tote bags Tessa had ever seen. “It’s practically a weapon in itself.”
“Hurry,” Tessa said. “You know the way.”
“Why don’t you sit down in the living room? I’ll just be a few minutes,” Jill said as she headed toward the staircase.
Tessa made another cup of coffee for herself, then went into the living room and sat down on one of the leather chairs. Her thoughts returned to the past. Joel adored their daughters though he didn’t spend as much time with them as she had due to his hectic work schedule, but their time spent together was happy and fun. Tessa was the disciplinarian when discipline was needed, which wasn’t too often because the girls were well behaved. Not perfect, but they understood what their role in the family was. They weren’t spoiled rotten as some of the children attending Saint Cecelia’s had been; they had chores and obligations to the family.
Yes, Rosa had taken care of their home, but both girls were required to make their beds daily, keep their bedrooms tidy, and at dinnertime, they helped with the dishes. They were smart and funny, and Tessa had never experienced anything even close to the love that she felt for them. Even Joel. She had loved him, but her feelings toward him were simply not as pure and intense as her love for her girls. Joel rarely, if ever, had reprimanded them. His time with them was mostly without incident.
“Tessa,” Jill said, “we need to talk.”
Those were the words she had dreaded since calling Jill.
She nodded. “I suppose I can’t get out of this?”
“No, you can’t,” Jill replied, her tone serious.
Chapter 14
“So?” Tessa said, when Jill sat down at the bar.
“I didn’t find anything unusual. The rooms are the same, but their personal items are gone. Someone had to pack them away. Do you know who, and if so, where they are?” “I’m not sure,” she replied. Had Sam packed their things himself?
“I’d like to find out,” Jill said. “Basically, except for the linens, the rooms are empty. I didn’t see anything unusual there.”
Tessa breathed a sigh of relief. “What about the sketch?”
“It’s been ripped from a sketchbook, no doubts there. I’d like to see if we can locate it. One drawing, while it might indicate Poppy was angry at Joel, or a man—and that’s a far overreaching educated guess—I wouldn’t want to make a judgment without thoroughly searching through Poppy’s sketchbooks.”
Why didn’t I think of that?
“I’m not sure, but I can ask,” Tessa said. Jill was right. The rooms were empty other than bedclothes, and that wasn’t so unusual. She had remembered the rooms as they’d been when the girls were still alive. Gone were all the knickknacks, posters, all the paraphernalia that made up a ten-year-old’s bedroom. Why didn’t I see that?
“I thought they were exactly as they looked the day I left,” she explained.
“A trick of the mind, Tessa. It’s what you wanted to see. The mind is a miraculous machine.”
Did this explain the strawberry scent? The indenta
tion on the pillow? Had her mind been playing tricks on her? Her refusal to accept the obvious, even though it had been a decade ago?
“I’ll find Sam and ask him,” she said. “I know that he packed up what was in Joel’s office, but I’m not sure who packed up the stuff from the house.” She had just assumed Sam had. Now, in reality, it seemed rather juvenile for her to have thought so. As CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, when would he have had the time to pack up their possessions?
“I’ll wait here,” Jill said.
“I’ll go find Sam,” Tessa said, walking into the kitchen.
Since he was most likely outside with Harry’s forensic team, and she did not want to leave the protection of the house, as the media remained at the entrance to the gated community, just waiting like a pack of hungry wolves ready to snatch the first bite of her if she emerged, she dialed his cell-phone number, which he had scribbled on a pad next to the telephone, and stood by the glass doors. He answered on the second ring.
“Sam, it’s me. I need to see you inside. It’s important,” she said, then saw Sam as he walked toward the house.
“Two seconds,” he said, then hung up.
When he opened the door, he placed an arm around her. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll never be okay, Sam; you of all people should know that. However, I have someone here who wants to speak to you.” She turned toward the living room.
Jill was sitting where she had left her, with the drawing spread out in front of her. When she saw Sam, she flipped the sketch so that only a blank piece of paper showed.
“It’s okay, Jill,” Tessa said when she saw her flip the paper over.
Tessa introduced them, surprised that their paths had not crossed during the investigation.
“Jill wants to see some of Poppy’s sketchbooks. Do you know who packed them and where can we find them? It’s important,” Tessa said. “Show him the drawing,” she said to Jill.
Jill turned the paper over and handed it to Sam. Sam held it toward the window, studied it, then returned it to Jill. “What does this mean?”
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