Girl Three

by Tracy March

  Jessie reached into her purse, pulled out a plastic baggie, and held it between her and Elizabeth. Inside the bag, a single jeweled button glinted in the light—a vintage flower of pink cabochons set in silver.

  “What’s that?” Elizabeth asked. Her tone said she knew exactly what it was.

  “The button that’s missing from the blouse you wore yesterday. More specifically, last night. It’s lovely, and unique.”

  Elizabeth gave Jessie an incredulous look, her face paler than it had been a moment ago. “I have no idea where you’re going with this. I don’t have a blouse with buttons like that.”

  Jessie put the baggie in her lap and took the glossy sheet of pictures from her purse. She unfolded the page and handed it to Elizabeth, who returned to her seat on the couch.

  “Have a look at the third picture,” Jessie said.

  Elizabeth’s gaze shifted from Jessie to the page of photos. A barely noticeable raise of her eyebrows told Jessie that she’d seen the picture of herself wearing the blouse in question. She stared at the page for a long moment. “I don’t know where you got these pictures or why you have them. But the date-stamps show that they’re nearly two years old.” She folded the page, placed it on the cushion between them, and jutted her chin. “I gave that blouse to Sam last year.”

  Elizabeth’s strategic move blindsided Jessie. Quick and cunning and completely Machiavellian. How naïve of Jessie to think that Elizabeth would admit the truth without a nasty fight. The woman had beaten an incumbent senator in a celebrity-death-match election and come out polling like Snow White. Jessie must look like a flyweight to her.

  “Your constituents might swallow your twisted stories and lies,” Jessie said, “so save them for your reelection campaign.”

  Elizabeth tried the silent treatment, forcing Jessie’s next move.

  Jessie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She felt a little sick over having to go all in and maybe lie a little herself. “I was there,” she said calmly. “I saw you with Ian, heard it all. My beautiful Elizabeth, my sexy senator.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but her composure didn’t crack.

  “I considered calling several reporters who might be interested in the story,” Jessie said, her tone flat and serious. “But I thought I’d check with you first.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw tensed and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “What do you want from me?”

  “Two things,” Jessie said. “First, tell me about Liam.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the picture of her son, then closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they blazed with defiance. “I carried that child and gave birth to him. He’s our son.”

  “Yours and Philippe’s?”

  She shook her head. “I’m infertile.” Almost a whisper. She picked at a chip in her pale pink nail polish. “Premature ovarian failure confirmed by test after test after test. When Ian told me, I was devastated.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jessie said.

  Elizabeth studied her, seemingly suspicious of Jessie’s goodwill. “He recommended trying in-vitro fertilization, but I was totally against the idea.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Ian told me about Sam’s eggs. He knew how highly Philippe and I thought of her.”

  Jessie wondered if Elizabeth realized her own hypocrisy. “How did Sam feel about being your egg donor?”

  Elizabeth bowed her head. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “But I want to hear you say it.”

  She cleared her throat, buying time. “Sam didn’t know.”

  Jessie clenched her teeth. She’d assumed that Sam had been unaware, but hearing Elizabeth confirm it rekindled her anger.

  “So Ian used Philippe’s sperm to fertilize Sam’s eggs?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Jessie cut her eyes at Elizabeth. “Either he did or he didn’t. What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

  “Philippe is infertile, too.”

  Jessie noted how she’d given a reason for her infertility, but stopped short of doing the same for Philippe. “How did he react when he found out?”

  Elizabeth almost smiled, a strange and soft upturn at the corners of her lips. “We didn’t tell him.”

  Jessie winced. “How could you keep something like that from your husband?”

  Elizabeth lifted her shoulders and lowered them quickly. “Philippe sees himself as virile and passionate, dedicated to art and science and creation.” She waved her hand dismissively. “All those fantastic ideals.” Her expression tightened. “I worried how that kind of news would affect him.”

  “How considerate of you.”

  Elizabeth glared at her. “It was. Philippe believes he fathered Liam. He’s dedicated to him. He sees him as an extension of himself. ”

  “So Philippe thinks Liam was conceived with his sperm and Sam’s eggs?”

  “No. I told him the eggs were mine.”

  This just kept getting worse. “Let me guess who donated the sperm,” Jessie said, disgusted. “Ian.”

  Elizabeth waited a moment before she replied. “He was the best candidate. He’d successfully fertilized the eggs that Sam donated to Geneticell. They got healthy embryos for their research. I wanted healthy embryos, too.”

  Another tale spun in her favor. Jessie didn’t buy it. “You wanted to have your lover’s child.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Elizabeth’s words sounded as empty as a campaign promise. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “You’re right. I can’t begin to imagine how you could deceive people like that and live with yourself. Sam, whom you claim you thought so much of, your husband, and even Helena, who’s supposedly your friend. And that poor baby. There’s no telling how this will affect his life.” Jessie shook her head. “Think of how Philippe will feel when the truth comes out.”

  Elizabeth gave Jessie a measured look. “The truth doesn’t have to come out. Do you want to be responsible for all that pain?”

  Jessie smiled wryly. “Reverse-the-blame might be useful in politics, but not with me.”

  She could almost hear Elizabeth’s thoughts shuffling to form a new strategy.

  “If Sam’s death had been investigated,” Jessie said, “all of this would’ve been revealed.”

  “Not necessarily. What happened with Sam’s eggs almost two years ago has nothing to do with her death.”

  “You really believe that?”

  Elizabeth looked her in the eyes. “Yes, I do. I don’t know what evidence you have that Sam was murdered or that the crime was covered up. If it’s true and you’re trying to prove it, I wish you well. But you’re putting yourself in danger by pointing fingers and slinging accusations without proof.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Jessie said, the nagging pain in her shoulder a constant reminder. “Regardless, I’d like to leave here satisfied that you’ve been honest with me. I don’t want to cause trouble or pain, but I do want to know what really happened to my sister.”

  “I’ve told you the truth,” Elizabeth said. “Some deeply personal things about myself and Philippe, Ian, and Liam. I could say I’m sorry that I involved Sam, but I’m not. I regret the deceit, but I don’t regret having my son. Yes, he is your nephew. And if you’d like to get to know him, we can work that out.

  “As for calling the reporters you mentioned earlier, I hope you won’t. I try to keep my personal life, whatever you may think of it, separate from my political life. The scandal that would erupt if that story broke would ruin both for me, and irreparably damage lots of others. And it won’t get you any closer to figuring out what happened to Sam.”

  Jessie appreciated Elizabeth’s argument but couldn’t bring herself to reassure her. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “What’s the second thing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I asked you what you want from me, you said two things.”

  Jessie had gotten so inv
olved in their discussion, she had almost forgotten. “Call off Ian.”

  “What?”

  “Call off Ian. I heard the conversation between you two last night. He said he was going to take care of me, whatever that means. You told him not to do anything rash.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and gave Jessie a pointed look. “You don’t have to worry about Ian. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  With Nina in the passenger seat, Jessie parked her car along the narrow, worn road in a remote section of Congressional Cemetery. She kept the car running as they stared through the fogged windshield at the bleak landscape and the frozen squares of sod that covered Sam’s inurnment site. The car was warm inside, but she shivered anyway. She’d brought four roses tied with a ribbon to lay on Sam’s grave—two white ones to represent Sam and their mother, a pink one for Jessie, and a red one for their father. Sam might not have wanted him represented, but Jessie thought it was the right thing to do. Each of them had thorns, after all.

  Jessie and Nina got out of the car and walked the short distance to the gravesite. Emotion swelled in Jessie’s throat and brought tears to her eyes. She placed the roses in a shallow crevice between two squares of sod, and the ribbon shimmered in the wind.

  “I’m sorry, Jess.” Nina gave her a hug.

  Jessie swallowed tears and pulled away from Nina, nodding. “It’s freezing out here.”

  They returned to the car and Jessie turned the defroster up a notch. Nina clutched the brown paper bag of deli sandwiches and chips Jessie had bought for lunch before she’d picked her up from the medical examiner’s office.

  On the way over, Jessie had told Nina about her connection with Michael and the date they had planned this afternoon. Nina had seemed pleased and eager to meet him. Jessie remembered feeling the same way several years ago when Nina had started talking about Nate.

  She also briefed Nina on the information she’d gathered and the meetings she’d had with Ian and Elizabeth, but decided not to tell her that she’d been hit by the SUV. She would only get another lecture about being in danger and being careful. She understood, but she’d heard enough of those.

  “Hungry?” Jessie asked.

  Nina nodded, opened the bag with a rustle, reached in, and pulled out a sandwich. She read the scribbled writing on its white paper wrapping. “Aww,” she said. “You got me a turkey and Swiss.” She stuck her hand back in the bag. “This will be an Italian.” She pulled out the second sandwich and read the scrawl. A smile lit up her face. “Some things never change.”

  “And they never will.” Jessie clutched Nina’s arm. “You will always be my best friend. Thank you for being there for me…for coming here with me today.”

  The smile still lingered on Nina’s face. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to come alone.”

  “Speaking of things never changing—this cemetery looks like it’s been the same godforsaken place for years.”

  “I’ve passed it so many times, but I’ve never been in here.” Nina shook her head and tore open a bag of chips. “I give them credit for the restoration work they’re doing, but it’s still kind of creepy.”

  Jessie scanned the desolate area for other fresh burial sites, but saw none except Sam’s. “I couldn’t understand why my father put Sam here, but then I dug up a news report on YouTube that clued me in.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “As if the reporter didn’t already know, my father reminded her that this was the country’s first national cemetery.”

  Nina shook her head. “Like that’s news.”

  “And that people from all walks of life are buried here. War heroes, presidents, senators, and…wait for it…a Supreme Court justice.”

  “Ugh,” Nina muttered through a mouthful.

  “It gets better. He said that because of the high infant mortality rates of the nineteenth century, there are more children buried here than adults.”

  “Now that’s just sad.”

  “It really is,” Jessie said. “So he gave the history lesson and the set-up, then played on people’s emotions. Imagine what he did for his finale.”

  Nina grimaced. “Must I?”

  “He said that as a statesman and a lifetime civil servant, he was honored and heartbroken to lay his daughter to rest among the most powerful and the weakest among us.”

  “For real?”

  “I should’ve sent you the link.” The tears Jessie had fought minutes ago welled in her eyes again. “I keep hoping he’s going to change,” she said quietly. “But no matter what happens—no matter who dies—it’s always about him.” She blinked back the tears and took a deep breath. “He put Sam here for political leverage. When he gets his nomination, you’ll see that video clip over and over again, anywhere his supporters can get it in front of people.”

  “Followed by a clip of you that highlights your appointment to the Presidential Commission.”

  “You’re jumping ahead. I haven’t been appointed.”

  “You will.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not so sure.” Jessie thought about the influence of the high-powered people she’d pitted herself against.

  “Your father will make sure you get the appointment,” Nina said, “whether he wants you to have it or not.”

  Jessie remembered his remark at Sam’s funeral. My daughter, the president’s darling du jour.

  “I want him to get his appointment, too,” Jessie said, emotionally conflicted. “I just wish he would do it with grace.”

  “I do, too,” Nina said. “But be prepared. It’s probably going to be more of the same. He’ll have one dead daughter, buried in Congressional Cemetery with the most powerful and weakest among us, and another on a Presidential Commission. That’ll discourage a lot of questions about his family life.”

  Jessie took a bite of her sandwich and chewed, enjoying the salty pepperoni and crusty bread more than anything she’d eaten in the last week. “If I were wired like Sam was, I’d withdraw my name from consideration just to spite him.”

  “You’d only be spiting yourself.” Nina blotted her mouth with a napkin.

  “I think I already have. I’ve squandered years of hard work and sacrifice in a matter of days. If the vetting team ever finds out what I’ve done to find Sam’s killer…”

  “Would you change anything?” Nina asked. “Given the choice, would you walk away knowing that Sam was murdered and not pursue the truth about her death?”

  Jessie shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t change anything. I’m going to find out the truth. Either I’ll get the appointment or I won’t, but I won’t walk away from Sam again.”

  “That’s my Jess.” Nina’s words sounded encouraging, but there was trepidation in her eyes.

  Jessie stopped chewing. “What is it?”

  “I saw the semen analysis from Sam’s serology screening. There was some interesting information in it, but there’s bad news.”

  Jessie braced herself.

  “We won’t be able to use DNA analysis to identify the man Sam had sex with the night she died,” Nina said. “Evidently they’ve disposed of the semen sample that was submitted in Sam’s case and we’d need it to compare the DNA. We don’t have it, and it probably doesn’t exist anymore. There was no reason to retain it, since there’s no criminal investigation going on. And even if there was a reason to keep it, whoever orchestrated the cover-up could’ve easily made sure incriminating evidence like that disappeared.”

  Jessie envisioned Sam’s urn on the table in the chapel. “That’s probably why my father had her cremated. I wondered why, because my mother was embalmed and laid out in a casket to look like Sleeping Beauty taking a forever nap.” She closed her eyes, still able to visualize her mother like that, still hoping she would wake up, even after all these years.

  “There’s still a way to ID the killer,” Nina said, “but it’s not as reliable. Turns out that the man Sam had sex with before she died
is a Type B secretor. Proteins from his blood type were found in his seminal fluid.”

  Jessie nodded, recalling her serology studies. “Sam and I are both Type O.” She mentally tripped on the tense that she’d used. “Sam was Type O. Remember the time I visited her at Georgetown and we donated blood at the drive her sorority sponsored?”

  Nina nodded, crunching potato chips. She swallowed hard, seeming eager to say something. “Type O people are nonsecretors. They don’t have antigens in their body fluids. So the man Sam was with has a B blood type.”

  Jessie’s pulse picked up speed. “But B is a rare blood type, right? Only about twelve percent of people have it. Separate that fifty/fifty for gender, and that’s six percent of men.”

  Nina looked less excited. “That’s the good news. But knowing that man’s blood type isn’t going to help us unless we can get a blood sample from your suspects.”

  “Or DNA,” Jessie said, still hopeful.

  Nina lifted her shoulders and frowned. “We could back into it that way, and get a blood type from the DNA. But DNA testing would take a while, especially considering I’d have to sneak it through. Flagging a test like that as ‘priority’ would raise a lot of questions.”

  “I understand.” Jessie propped her elbow on the console and rested her head in her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Nina said. “I hate that this is so hard for you. But you’re getting closer to the truth about Sam’s life. Some of the things you’re finding out might be better understood over time.”

  “Or not,” Jessie said. “I’m filling in the years that might’ve been better left blank. And I still can’t figure out which person killed her.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I have this unsettled feeling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like I’ve looked that person in the eyes, and didn’t see a murderer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jessie took Nina back to work and headed toward Sam’s place to meet Michael. She smiled, wondering what he had planned for them, then realized it didn’t matter. The idea of spending time with him was exciting enough.