“Murder? Isabel?”
He glanced up from the screen. “You’re surprised. You didn’t know about this?”
“No. Of course not. If I’d known I wouldn’t have brought her into my home. I . . .” She covered her mouth with one hand, recalling Anya’s lack of mental stability. “Is there evidence?”
The detective poked at a shrub with the rake. “We’re here searching right now.”
“But Chrissy was sick, and Nick died of a heart condition. He didn’t even live here. I don’t know what you expect to find.”
“Between you and me? I don’t know the answer to that either.” Drum scratched his chin absently. “This search might be unfounded, but it’s not up to me to call it off. Our police chief heard from one of the higher-ups in the Seattle police department, and that got the ball rolling.”
“So I shouldn’t be worried?”
“So far we’ve found dozens of prescription medications but no syringes or poisons. We emptied the fridge and took samples from the garden and all the household cleaners. Lucky for us, they didn’t live here too long. Didn’t accumulate much. Otherwise we’d be vouchering every old can of oil in the garage and soda pop in the pantry.”
Jane stared into the dense screen of bamboo that shaded the front window as the sour tinge of disappointment hit the back of her throat. So much for her idea of sending Isabel north to live with her aunt. “Is Chrissy also pressing charges? Isabel’s mother?”
“She’s not cooperating. Apparently the sisters don’t see eye to eye on everything.”
Jane was glad for that. At least Chrissy was supporting her daughter. Maybe with help from the social workers Jane could circumvent Anya and return Isabel to her mother. “I’d better go in and talk with Anya,” Jane said with a new sense of dread. Clearly, Jane would be perceived as the enemy, harboring a criminal.
Inside, she found Anya Diamant pacing the hall, her arms folded under her ample bosom. Jane recognized Chrissy’s youngest sister from their meeting long ago at the Bainbridge Island house. The woman’s deadpan expression made her seem older than her years, as did her clothing. The dark dress worn over black tights and short boots with practical rubber soles gave Anya a witchy appearance.
“Perhaps we should rip up the carpets,” Anya said, toeing the shag carpeting at a bedroom threshold. “Or the floorboards. She could have hidden something in the floorboards.”
The two cops who were rifling through books in the living room exchanged a look of annoyance. So Jane wasn’t the only one who found Anya a bit paranoid.
“Ma’am,” said one of the cops, a thin woman with her badge hitched to her fat belt buckle. “This is a preliminary investigation. We don’t need to dismantle the house just yet.”
It was a rather impressive search for a speculative case, but then Mirror Lake had a reputation for jumping on things with thoroughness. Their unofficial motto was: “No call too small.”
“And who are you?” Anya barked, having noticed Jane. When Jane introduced herself, Anya frowned. “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to show.”
“I didn’t realize I was walking into a crime scene investigation.”
Anya’s exotic dark eyes sparkled with bitterness. “Then the girl must really have you fooled.” She nodded toward the back door. “Come. We’ll talk outside.”
“How is Chrissy doing?” Jane said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. Overhead clouds skittered across a field of blue, but occasional winds reminded her that it was winter.
“Her body is healing, but the mind, the mind is wounded. Her thoughts are cloudy, and she doesn’t see Isabel clearly. But then, she has always had a sugar glaze over her eyes when it came to that girl. Isabel had her fooled.”
“That’s not a very kind way to talk about your niece. Isabel is a fifteen-year-old girl who needs you.”
“That girl needs an exorcism.” Anya scowled, her eyes glimmering darkly. “She has the devil in her.”
Jane wasn’t sure she believed in Satan, but she deferred to the terror in Anya’s eyes. “What is it about her that makes you say that?”
“It’s not a look or a birthmark. Nothing so simple. It was what she did to my baby boy, my Gregory.”
Was Gregory one of the tragedies Chrissy had mentioned? “What happened to him?”
“He’s gone, God bless his soul.” Anya made the sign of the cross. “Drowned by Isabel.”
Jane saw hands form a circle, a band around the neck. The smallest bit of pressure could cut off respiration, pulling her under. The strange calm beneath the surface, a world of water. And those hands, firmly holding her there.
Frank’s hands.
Isabel’s hands.
Shuddering, Jane tried to bring her focus back to the moment. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “This is the first I’ve heard of any connection between Isabel and your Gregory.”
“Of course, Chrissy never mentioned it. She still doesn’t believe it happened. My sister lives in deep, deep denial.”
“I think your sister loves Isabel, and if there was a question of responsibility, I understand why she defended her daughter.”
“Her daughter? No. Isabel is not blood. She was adopted. My son, my Gregory, he was kin.” She took a framed photo from a shelf. “My Gregory. Did you know that Isabel was supposed to be watching him that day?” Jane stared at the photo in Anya’s hands—a bright-eyed infant.
“She said she turned her head for one minute and he went under. But I never believed her. I could see that she was jealous of Gregory, seething over every bit of attention he got. She had been the only grandchild, and she didn’t want to share. So she killed my baby boy and destroyed my family.” Anya explained that the death of their only child had put stress on her marriage. Her husband had started spending more and more time at work. And then one day he was gone. He couldn’t live in a house of sorrows. Anya had been lost to depression, ready to die and join her child, when she had stumbled on a facility run by Carmelite nuns. She had found hope and comfort there. She had not taken a vow, but she still lived and worked at the rehab facility. “The good sisters saved my life,” Anya said, “and now it is my turn to save Chrissy. That’s why she will never see Isabel again.”
“But Isabel is her daughter.”
“By adoption? That means nothing when the child you have taken in turns against you. I don’t know what Isabel did to my sister, but she was making Chrissy sick. I’m guessing that it was food poisoning, maybe from household chemicals. I just know that when Chrissy was around Isabel, Chrissy was violently ill. But when my sister got away from the girl, she began to recover, just as she is now. Do you know that she has not had a setback since I moved her to Seattle? Not a single one.”
“That’s circumstantial,” Jane argued. “There are other factors involved. Maybe it was stress or something in this house. A mold or lead paint. Something that Chrissy is allergic to.”
Anya put her hands on her hips. “You won’t change my mind. I know Isabel is trying to kill my sister, just as she killed my brother-in-law.”
“I thought Nick died from heart failure.”
“That was the cause of death, but when the doctors examined him, they learned that he had no heart medication in his system. My sister, she checked his prescription bottles, and do you know what was inside? Little candies. Tic Tacs.” Anya lowered her chin and leveled a piercing gaze at Jane. “Who do you think replaced the medication with candy?”
Isabel? Considering Chrissy’s devotion to Nick, Isabel was the likely choice.
“You can’t prove that,” Jane said, though her voice lacked commitment now.
“I don’t have to prove anything.” Anya tapped her chest with two fingers. “In my heart, I know what is true. There is evil in Isabel’s heart. And it is my duty to see that she is stopped.”
“But Anya, what if you’re wrong? You don’t want to make a young girl suffer consequences for something she didn’t do.”
“I know the tr
uth.” Anya beat a fist against her chest. “God in heaven has given me the truth. It is up to me to see that His will is done.”
Chapter 28
Reality check, Jane thought as she drove home. Although Anya had been over the top with exaggerations of the devil in Isabel’s soul, there was a thread of truth in the accusations that made Jane shiver as she waited at a stop light. She turned the heat up and tried to consider the facts.
Isabel had been on the fringes of some terrible tragedies. The death of her baby cousin. Her father’s death and her mother’s chronic illness. But sometimes bad things happened to good people, and just because Isabel was involved with these people did not make her guilty of harming or killing them.
And Isabel is a good kid, Jane reminded herself. She was polite and well-behaved. She worked hard in school, and she went out of her way to help other people. If she was telling the truth, her recent inappropriate behavior had been prompted by her desire to please Harper. She had taken on adult responsibilities in caring for Chrissy. Even now, in Jane’s house, Isabel did more than her share of the cooking and cleaning.
There was also Anya Diamant’s state of mind to consider. The woman had suffered tragedies herself. She’d lost her son and her husband. She’d suffered a breakdown that had transformed her life. And more recently she had buried her brother-in-law and had come close to losing her sister. Jane couldn’t help but feel empathy for Anya; but at the same time, she could not trust the woman. Anya’s fortitude had rallied the police, but even Detective Drum had admitted that it might turn out to be a wild-goose chase.
Was Isabel a murderer? Or was Anya crazy? Although Jane suspected that the truth lay somewhere between those extremes, the muddle in the middle gave her little consolation.
Back at home, the dining room table was covered with purple material with a paper pattern pinned to it. Isabel worked intently, cutting out pieces of the pattern—a bodice, a flared skirt. Jane didn’t mind the project, but the timing seemed odd, right at the beginning of finals week.
“What are you making?”
“It’s going to be a dress for Harper to wear to the Snow Prom. The purple is perfect for her, don’t you think?”
“It’s very nice,” Jane agreed politely. She wasn’t sure how much to share about her meeting with Anya, but she had decided to save the news until both girls were here. “But I’m not sure Harper is planning to go to Snow Prom.”
“She told me she is. With Jesse. She’s planning to wear an old dress, but this will be better. I’m going to surprise her with it.”
“If it’s a surprise, you’d better clear it out of here. Harper will be stopping by after practice in the next half hour.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll clean it up.” Isabel began folding, calmly, methodically.
As she took a tray of lasagna from the freezer, Jane shook off an odd feeling. Why did it feel strange to hear Isabel call her mom? And why did she slip and say that Harper was coming home when she was actually an absentee daughter, stopping by to pick some things up?
You’ve got to fix this, Jane told herself. Put this family back together. She knew it was up to her, but she didn’t know where to begin.
A few minutes later, when Harper tore in like a bull in a china shop, it was about all Jane could do to maintain peace.
“Mom, I’m here for my stuff!” Harper called from the garage entryway. “Do you have it locked in a closet to protect it from the thief?”
“Is she talking about me?” Isabel looked up from her homework with pursed lips.
“Harper!” Jane hurried to the door. “Come in here and don’t be so rude. You don’t have to stay, but I expect you to be civil while you’re here.”
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Harper came in and skulked against the kitchen island. “What do you want me to say? I’m still freaked out about Friday night, and so is Jesse.” For the first time she swung around and faced Isabel. “Now that we know you’re a psycho, we have a secret code with each other. So don’t bother trying that again.”
“Of course not,” Isabel said. “I only did it for you in the first place. I just want to make you happy.”
Harper hunched up and lifted her hands. “Stop that! Just stop. Leave me alone.”
“Okay, enough bickering. We have something more important to discuss. Isabel, you know I’ve been trying to reach out to your mom, and I’ve been talking with the social workers. Today I met with your Aunt Anya, and I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
Isabel’s lips swelled in a pout. “Is Mom sick again?”
“Actually, she’s still recovering. It sounds like she’ll be okay. But your aunt has no intention of bringing you to Seattle anytime soon.”
“Aunt Anya never liked me,” Isabel said sadly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind staying here.”
“While I was talking to your aunt, she mentioned some disturbing things that you were involved with. Her son Gregory . . . She says you’re responsible for his drowning?”
With a silvery calm, Isabel closed her eyes and shook her head. “Aunt Anya is blaming me for her own mistakes. I wasn’t even there when the baby drowned. I was at the store with my dad. It was Aunt Anya’s fault that Gregory fell in the pool, and the guilt drove her crazy. Do you know that she was in a mental hospital?”
“Yes, I know.”
“I feel bad for her. Mom says she lost track of reality.”
There was no animosity in Isabel’s clear blue eyes.
By way of contrast, Harper looked horrified.
Jane was not sure what to believe anymore. “Anya mentioned a few other suspicious circumstances. She thinks your father’s death might have been prevented. He was supposed to be taking medication for his heart, but they found none in his system. Anya thinks you switched his medication for a placebo.”
“That’s just silly. I loved my dad. Everyone knew that.”
“Anya is also blaming you for your mother’s illness. She thinks you were doing something to make her sick.”
“Poor Aunt Anya.” Isabel sighed. “She wants to blame me for everything.”
“Well . . .” Harper folded her arms. “If the shoe fits . . .”
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Isabel said solemnly. “If I did anything wrong, it was because I tried to protect my mom.”
Jane paused a moment, staring down at the counter. “Protect her from whom?”
Isabel let out a heavy breath. “From herself. Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome?”
“Is that your new excuse?” Harper snickered. “It sounds like popcorn treats.”
Jane had come across it in a psychology class. “It’s a psychiatric disorder. People with Munchausen pretend to be sick to draw attention to themselves.”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Isabel pressed her palms to her cheeks. “This is a huge family secret. But . . . you’re both family, too. The thing is, Mom used to make herself sick so that she could get attention and extra-special care. She would eat weird things like soap and cleansers. I don’t even know everything. I just know she made herself really sick.”
Harper winced. She didn’t seem to be buying it.
“And before that, I . . . I didn’t know it at the time, but I think she also suffered from Munchausen by proxy. I think she was making my dad sick so that our family would get special treatment.”
“That’s . . . that would explain a lot of things,” Jane said. The revelation should have provided some relief, but she felt tense, her nerves like taut guitar strings being wrenched tighter. “I had no idea your mother suffered from mental illness.”
Isabel nodded sadly. “No one ever wants to talk about it. There’s such a stigma attached and . . . I don’t want to believe that Mom killed my father. Do you think she would really do that?”
The only thing Jane was sure of at the moment was the cold numbness in her heart. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I may not know about Munchout Disease,” Harper said, “but I know this h
ouse has gone cray cray, and I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“You’re being insensitive,” Jane said.
“I’m being practical. I can’t believe you made me live in the same room with a killer. Mom, why can’t you see what’s so obvious? This one is a psycho killer.”
“Harper!”
“I’m not a killer.” Isabel faced Harper without wrath or anger. “I’m your sister, and I love you. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll see how much I love you. I’m going to make you Snow Queen, sister dear.”
“I don’t want to be a freakin’ prom queen. I just want to survive high school, and with you around, I’ll be lucky to survive sophomore year.” Harper went over to the stairs. “I’m packing,” she called. “Next family meeting, you can count me out.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane told Isabel. She followed Harper up the stairs, thinking that she would make her apologize for being insensitive, but when Jane reached the top of the stairs she realized how ridiculous that would be. It was ridiculous to think she was going to rein Harper in at this point. It had taken Jane fifteen years to realize that you couldn’t really control another person.
She went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed.
Munchausen syndrome. Why hadn’t it occurred to Jane before? To think of the abuses Isabel had suffered, only to land here and receive further abuse from her sister.
Flopping back on the bed, Jane stared at the ceiling and tried to prioritize. She would contact Detective Drum and Sally Pinero to report the accusations about Chrissy Zaretsky. It pained her to think that Isabel was never going to be reunited with her mother. After all, Munchausen by proxy was abuse. It would take a while to determine Chrissy’s competence as a parent . . . months, maybe years. Could she keep Isabel here during the investigation . . . throughout high school?
The question made Jane’s head hurt.
Her job was to raise Harper. She had made that decision fifteen years ago, and she stood by it. But she’d be damned if she’d let Hoppy dictate whom she could and couldn’t help.
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