by Sharon Potts
“We—I—Brett and I aren’t dating anymore.”
“Really? Since when?”
“Since Sunday.”
“Who broke up with whom?”
“Why are you asking me this? Why does it matter?”
“Did Jeremy know about the party?”
“No. I already told you, we followed a car and found a house with a lot of cars parked outside. We thought there was a remote chance that if we found a party house, it would be the one Kate went to.”
“Remote’s a good word for it. Do you know how many houses there are in Key Largo?”
Robbie felt blood rush to her head. Why was Lieber putting her on the defensive? “But most people don’t throw big parties. And the ones that do usually throw them all the time.”
Lieber didn’t seem to hear her. She was tapping on her laptop. “So tell me what happened when you saw Brett at the party.”
“We were surprised. So was he.” Robbie stopped. How did Lieber know they’d seen Brett there?
“Was Brett angry to see you with Jeremy?”
Brett. Jeremy. Angry. Robbie had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She answered slowly. “I guess.”
“I see. Then what happened?”
There was a brown sticky streak on the Formica tabletop. Spilled coffee? Dried blood?
“Robbie?”
“They left.”
“What do you mean?”
“Brett and Jeremy went outside.”
“Just the two of them?”
Robbie nodded.
“And what about you?”
“I was with Gina Fieldstone and Mike. I went to look for the guys a few minutes later.”
“Where’d you look?”
“Out back, by the bay.”
“And did you see them?”
Robbie shook her head.
“Then what did you do?”
“I went to the car to see if Jeremy was waiting for me there.”
“The car? His dad’s Corvair?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“He was.”
“Was what?”
“Waiting for me.”
“Did he say anything about Brett?”
Robbie shook her head.
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
Robbie thought about the blood on Jeremy’s T-shirt, his bruised face. His remote behavior on the drive back to Miami. But Jeremy and Brett had had a fight, that was all.
“Robbie? Was there anything unusual about Jeremy?”
She felt tears starting up. Not now, she willed herself. Not now. “Detective Lieber,” Robbie said, trying to control the trembling in her voice. “Would you please tell me what this is all about?”
Lieber closed her notebook and stood up. “Brett’s dead, Robbie. And the last person he was seen alive with was Jeremy.”
Chapter 30
As soon as Robbie left the police station, she pressed the speed dial button for Jeremy.
His cell phone rang once, twice. Jeremy, please answer.
He picked up just before it would have gone to voice mail. “Yeah.”
“Jeremy. Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Are you okay? Has Lieber—”
“Yeah. I’ve already been to the station.”
“But you’re home, so they don’t think—”
“Maybe you’d better come over.”
She biked to the SOBE Grande, remembering how this had once been her routine, her home. Now it felt so alien. Jeremy still lived there but he was more a stranger to her than ever. Could he possibly have known about Mike’s party? Had he planned to see Brett there? But no—that was impossible. She knew Jeremy better than that, and she would have picked something up in his behavior. Bumping into Brett last night had been an accident. An unfortunate accident.
And then it hit her.
Brett was dead.
Her bike swerved, nearly hitting a parked car. She pulled to the side, got off her bike, and leaned against the trunk of a palm tree for support. Rays of sunlight broke through the shifting palm fronds, stabbing her eyes with painful brightness.
Brett was dead.
She could see his goofy smile, oversized ears, spiked Dennis-the-Menace hair. He used to make her laugh, picking her up and swinging her around like a rag doll. Then something changed. A tension, a darkness, that hadn’t been there when she’d first met him. What? What had happened? And why was this once-happy young man now dead?
She wanted to cry for him. For the weeks of fun they’d had together. But the tears wouldn’t come. It felt like glue had seeped through her veins and tear ducts, stopping up the flow of blood and tears, almost paralyzing her. Brett was dead. And Jeremy was the last person he’d been seen alive with.
She got up to Jeremy’s apartment on the eighth floor. She knocked. No answer. Jeremy often left the front door unlocked and it used to infuriate Robbie when they lived together. After what happened to his parents, how could he not be worried about the wrong person coming in?
She tried the door. It was open. She stepped inside and looked around the studio apartment. Almost nothing had changed since she’d lived here. Facing the wall of sliding windows was a cordovan-colored sofa that opened into the bed she’d once shared with Jeremy. Only one bike, his, leaned against the wall beneath the arrangement of mirrors she had made when they’d first moved in. The Oriental rug that had belonged to his mother covered the area between the window and the sofa. Jeremy was lying on it, his head resting on a pillow. Asleep?
She sat down on the rug near him, folding her legs beneath her.
“So here we go again,” he said, without picking his head up. “Wherever Jeremy Stroeb goes, dead bodies are sure to follow.”
“Don’t give me that self-pity bullshit. This isn’t just about you. I want you to tell me what happened with Brett last night. And why aren’t you under arrest?”
Jeremy rolled onto his side. One eye was swollen shut. He took a moment to answer. Was he trying to make up something that sounded good? Finally, he sat up. He moved stiffly, as though he was in pain. “I’m sorry.” He took her hand. His knuckles were raw. “I was so angry, I wasn’t thinking. Brett was someone you cared about. I’m really, really sorry.”
She nodded thanks as she pulled her hand out of Jeremy’s. “So tell me what happened.”
His chest sagged beneath his wrinkled T-shirt. “I’ve just been through this with Lieber. She brought me down to the station first thing this morning. Apparently, the party cleanup crew found Brett’s body in the bushes near the bay. When Mike was questioned, he told the police about you and me showing up at the party.”
“You and Brett were seen leaving together. And you were both very angry.”
“I know. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jesus. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“By accident. Could you have hit him and maybe he fell and banged his head or something?”
Jeremy shook his head. “We took a few swings at each other, but he wasn’t badly hurt. I got his nose and there was some blood, but he was standing and screaming at me when I walked away.”
“So you walked away?”
“What are you, double-teaming with Lieber?”
“This is serious, Jeremy. After you spoke to Lieber, she called me in for questioning. That means even if she let you go, you’re still a suspect.”
“I know. I know.”
“What happened when you left? Did he follow you?”
Jeremy brought his hands up to his unshaven cheeks and rubbed them. There were traces of ink on his fingers. “It was weird,” he said. “First, Brett came after me, shouting to stay the fuck out of his life. Then—it was really strange—he just sank down in the grass and started to cry.”
“Cry?”
“Yeah. These really pitiful sobs like he felt his life was coming apart.”
“And did you go back to him?”
“Shit. Are you kidding? I took that as a sign of defeat and got the hell away.”
Robbie ran her finger over the kaleidoscope pattern in the Oriental rug—turquoise, emerald green, magenta. She thought about other colors. Yellow, gold, russet, crimson, burgundy, magenta. Nothing is forever, her mother had said.
“Why didn’t you say something on the ride home last night?”
“I was too upset.”
“About?”
“The fight. It seemed pointless to me. It wasn’t like I hated him or anything. And I don’t think he hated me. It was more like he was just so angry he needed someone to take it out on. And I guess I felt sorry for him.”
“But why didn’t you talk to me about it? I kept asking you and you wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Jesus, Robbie. I was pissed at myself. I should have walked away, but I let my animal instincts take over.” He looked down at the raw knuckles on his scarred hand. “I was hoping I’d gotten past that.”
The sound of muffled voices raised in anger came through the wall of the adjacent apartment. Get the hell out of here, a woman shouted. Just get the hell out.
“What happened with Lieber?” Robbie asked.
“I think this is very tough for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t want to believe I did it, but a lot of things point to me. I’m guessing if Lieber hadn’t known me personally, she would have locked me up.”
The neighbor woman’s voice broke through the silence. How could you? She sounded like she was crying. Then a door slammed.
“But Lieber’s not the only one involved in this,” Jeremy continued. “Once the DA has enough evidence, she’ll have no choice but to arrest me.”
“Then we have to figure out who killed Brett and why.”
“Sure. Detectives from Miami Beach and the Keys are all over this, but a bartender and a personal trainer should have no trouble cracking the case.”
Robbie waved him off. A fresh thought had occurred to her. “Did Lieber say how Brett died?”
“Well, she asked me if I owned a knife.”
A knife. Robbie felt chilled. Was that how Brett had died?
“I’m guessing they haven’t found the murder weapon,” Jeremy said. “Or if they did, it doesn’t have my prints on it, or they would have already locked me up.” He glanced at the trace of ink on his fingers.
A knife. Robbie tried not to think about it. “Well, there were a lot of people there. A lot of cars.”
“But a knife is associated with crimes of passion. And lots of people had seen me and Brett fighting.”
“Right. But we know you didn’t kill him.”
Robbie looked at the arrangement of mirrors on the wall. “Don’t you get the feeling there’s more going on here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Kate and Joanne are down in Key Largo, Mike has a big party at his house, Brett dies. It’s got to be more than a coincidence.”
“And what about the congressman who committed suicide? The one who was at BURN Friday night? That’s like Mike’s major hangout.”
“I don’t know about the congressman, but if we could connect Kate to Mike or his house, I think we’d be onto something.” And then Robbie remembered. She reached for her satchel.
“What?” Jeremy said.
“This.” Robbie pulled out the white sandal. “I found it in the bushes near Mike’s house.”
“So? It could belong to anyone.”
“It could, but most people leave with both their shoes,” she said. “Unless they’re not able to for some reason.”
They stared at the shiny white sandal with its clear Lucite heel. “Also,” Robbie said, “Look at the label. Lela Rose for Payless.”
“And that means what exactly?”
“The women who were at the party don’t shop at Payless. This is the kind of sandal a teenager would wear. Especially one from a small town like Deland.”
Jeremy picked up the sandal and studied it. “It doesn’t look like it’s from last night. There’s soil and water spots on it, like it was sprayed by a water sprinkler. But it doesn’t look very weathered either. I don’t think it’s been outside for more than a week or so.” He frowned. “Do you think your father would know if it’s Kate’s?”
“I don’t know.” Or was she afraid of taking her father along on some wild-goose chase?
“What about her friends?”
“They’re all back in Deland. Besides, I don’t know their names or how to contact them without going through Lieber or my dad.”
Jeremy turned the sandal around in his hand. “Cinderella’s slipper. Looks like it would fit you.”
“Wait a minute.” She dug through her satchel for her cell phone, then took the shoe from Jeremy. She placed it on the rug and snapped a picture. “I’m going to post this on Facebook. Joanne’s friends set up a group to celebrate Joanne’s life. Maybe someone will recognize it. If we can show that Kate was very likely at Mike’s house last Friday, that means—shit. What does it mean? That Mike is somehow connected to Joanne’s and Brett’s deaths and Kate’s disappearance?”
Jeremy had gone over to the breakfast bar and gotten his laptop. He set it down on the carpet and logged on. “Just post it. If someone recognizes the shoe as Kate’s, it gives us a lot more to go on.”
Robbie uploaded the photo to her Facebook account, sent it to the “Remember Joanne Group,” then wrote a message.
Hi. I’m Kate’s sister. Please let me know if you think this sandal belonged to Kate or Joanne. It may help us find Kate and figure out what happened to Joanne.
“Wait,” Jeremy said. “Don’t say sister. They don’t know Kate has a sister. Just say you’re a relative and you’re helping her dad find Kate.”
“Good idea.” Robbie made the change and sent it, then clicked through the other comments sent to Joanne. Since she’d looked the day before, there were dozens and dozens of new entries. She scrolled through them, saddened by the anguish Joanne’s friends expressed over her death.
And then she saw an entry and her breath caught.
“What’s wrong?” Jeremy said.
She could only point. “She, she’s—”
“What?”
“She’s alive.”
“Who? Joanne?”
“No. Look.” She touched the picture on the screen. The picture of an arrowhead tattoo. “My sister. She’s alive.”
Jeremy leaned over and read the entry aloud.
It’s my fault you’re in heaven. But remember, Joanne. You were always better than an angel.
Chapter 31
“Shit,” Jeremy said. “So Kate was involved with Joanne’s death?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Robbie said. “If she was, why would she announce it here, so publicly? And why would she write this and not come out of hiding?”
Jeremy leaned back on the rug, resting on his elbows. His brows were knit, the gaze from his uninjured eye so intense it made up for the closed, swollen one. “We don’t know for sure Kate wrote that.”
“It had to be, unless someone got into her Facebook account using her password.”
“Which means any one of her friends could have written it,” Jeremy said. “Kids all know each other’s passwords.”
“But why would a friend do something so damaging to Kate?”
Jeremy reread the entry. “Someone could have forced the password out of Kate, then posted this to make it look like Kate had something to do with Joanne’s death.” He sat forward and massaged the back of his neck. “Or to make it look like Kate’s still alive.”
“She is alive,” Robbie said.
“Oh yeah?”
“There’s something about the message that doesn’t sound like someone else wrote it. It’s too . . . too specific. You were always better than an angel. It’s like some secret the two of them shared. And we know that Kate’s into cryptic messages. Like her last one to Joanne about leaving broken and
returning fixed.”
“All right, so assuming Kate wrote it, what’s the next step? Calling Lieber? Your father?”
“First, I’m going to send Kate a message. And this time I’m not going to be evasive.”
Jeremy looked over Robbie’s shoulder as she typed.
Dear Kate:
I wrote to you a few days ago, but I didn’t tell you the whole story. I’m your half sister—Robbie Ivy. My mom and I moved away from Deland when I was seven. I’m twenty-five and I live on South Beach. I didn’t know you existed either until our father came here looking for you. We’re both very worried. I saw your picture. I looked a lot like you when I was your age. Please get in touch with me. I want so much to know you.
Love,
Robbie
“It’s good,” Jeremy said.
She sent the message.
Jeremy’s fingers were folded over his bruised knuckles. “I think you should tell Lieber.”
Robbie got up and stood by the sliding window. The bay was choppy. She could see the whitecaps of waves, clouds coalescing above the Miami skyline. On the balcony, the small wicker table and two chairs where she and Jeremy used to sit most evenings were covered with a layer of grit, as though no one went there anymore.
“Robbie. I said you should tell Lieber.”
“Tell her what? That my sister may have admitted to killing her best friend?”
“We don’t know that’s what she meant.”
“But that was our first interpretation. What do you think Lieber will make of it? That not only are you a possible murderer, but so’s my sister. I’d rather wait to hear from Kate. Find out what she meant. Where she is.”
“I don’t agree, Robbie. This may help the investigation.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And your father? Are you going to tell him?”
Robbie didn’t answer. The clouds had darkened and a gauzy curtain of rain blurred the buildings of the downtown skyline. But on either side the sky was a brilliant blue. “My father,” Robbie said. “I guess I’d better.”
Robbie waited for her father at a bench overlooking Government Cut. The rain clouds had drifted south, but had left a residual coolness. Behind her was the newly constructed South Pointe Park with a man-made hill that attracted skateboarders of every age. The sound of wheels rolling over concrete competed with the squawking of seagulls that hovered over the wide inlet that opened to the ocean.
