Take Another Look

by Rosalind Noonan

  For now, she needed to keep her girls safe. Harper would continue to stay with Sydney, and Isabel would have safe haven here.

  The air in the car sizzled with tension as Jane drove Harper to the Schiavones’ house. After a few blocks, Jane broke the silence. “I wish you could be more sympathetic to your sister.”

  “I wish I’d never found out I had a sister.”

  Jane sagged back in the seat. “Oh, Harper. Can’t you see that Isabel needs our help, now more than ever? She’s lived a life of torture.”

  “Yeah. So she says.”

  “Why don’t you believe her?”

  “Maybe because she’s a liar and a bully. Did you forget that she set up a whole ploy to make a play for my boyfriend and make me look like a slut?”

  “And you really didn’t have anything to do with that? Tell me the truth. You never talked about switching places, wearing each other’s clothes?”

  “Not like that. God, Mom. Why can’t you ever believe me? You believe Isabel when she comes up with some excuse, but I always get a million questions.”

  “That’s not true,” Jane denied.

  “It is! You’re always on her side, always making me out to be the bad twin. What can I do to . . .” Overwrought, Harper let out a growl. “Okay, I guess it’s safe to tell you now that Isabel almost killed me. Does that make you like me more, Mom?”

  “Harper, you know I love you.” Jane struggled to keep her voice steady. “Tell me what happened.”

  “There was one night over Christmas break, when we were hanging out, watching a movie. I think you were upstairs. We were joking around, nudging each other off the couch, and then it got a little crazy and we were wrestling on the floor. You know how that goes. Just goofing around. But suddenly she had her hands around my neck, and she was squeezing really hard.”

  For the second time that day Jane saw the hands closing in like a vise.

  Relentless. Brutal.

  She pulled over to the side of the road, threw the car into park, and turned to her daughter. “She was choking you?”

  Tears pooled in Harper’s eyes as she nodded. “It hurt really bad, but the scary part was that I couldn’t breathe. And she told me that she could kill me, just like that. She said it didn’t take that much effort if you squeezed the right spot.”

  “Oh, Hoppy.” Jane rubbed her daughter’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  A whimper escaped Harper’s throat, and Jane held her close for a moment. “You should have told me.”

  “She said that if I told you, she’d do it again, and she wouldn’t back off the next time.”

  Jane found it a little hard to believe that Isabel had used those exact words. Maybe a veiled threat. But then again, if Isabel had been abused by Chrissy, it was likely that she would carry on the cycle of torment.

  “I used to be scared to fall asleep at night,” Harper said, her voice rough from emotion. “I was afraid that she would creep over in the dark and smother me while I was sleeping.”

  “Oh, honey. I didn’t know. That was so mean of her. Heartless.”

  “She’s scary, Mom. Aren’t you scared to be alone with her in the house? What if she tries to hurt you?”

  “She won’t. The dynamic is different because I’m her mother. I’m not Isabel’s competition. She needs me.”

  “She needed the Zaretskys, and look what happened to them.”

  Jane understood Harper’s concern, but she knew she was safe. Isabel adored her, but Jane couldn’t say that to Harper, who would feel like less of a daughter because she didn’t idolize her mother. “Don’t you worry about me. You just be sure to listen to Sydney’s mom and focus on the rest of your finals this week.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Harper swiped at her tears and sniffed. Jane shot her a sympathetic look and felt a moment of panic when she got a flash of Isabel.

  You can’t even tell your own daughters apart. Putting the car back into gear, Jane chastised herself as she drove on.

  “You are stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Luke’s voice was a silky whisper. He kept it low to avoid Isabel’s overhearing from upstairs. “You have to report the Munchausen. Isabel might feel betrayed, but it’s for her own good.”

  “I know.” Jane tucked her feet under her and leaned into his shoulder. Telling Luke had eased the weight of the debacle, but now she felt depleted of energy. “I have to tell. I just can’t see beyond that. I’ll be cutting off all chances of Isabel’s going home. Ending her family ties.”

  “And you’re not in a position to offer her your family in return?”

  “I don’t think so. Harper is jealous. She might have manipulated Isabel in the switching scheme; I don’t know for sure. But she’s also scared of Isabel, and rightly so. These girls have been at war with each other behind my back, and I can’t really tell who is pulling a power play. But right now, the bottom line is that Isabel will have to leave. And with no family to take her in, what’s going to happen to her?”

  “No one can say. But you have to take the next step. Call the social worker and the cop, first thing in the morning.”

  “I just hate to point out a problem that I don’t have the solution for.”

  “It’s not up to you to solve every problem. As it is, you’ve done a lot for Isabel.”

  Of course—she’s my daughter. Jane pressed two fingers on the pressure point between her brows and closed her eyes.

  Isabel was questioned the following day, immediately after school. Fortunately, the social worker and the detective arranged to interview Isabel at the same time, saving her from repeating a lengthy process. Detective Drum explained that he would forward the information to the police department in the Seattle jurisdiction where Chrissy Zaretsky currently resided. “It’s not really my case to investigate,” he said.

  Sally Pinero was another story. As Isabel’s advocate, she was going to need to work with psychiatrists and police to investigate the charges and determine the best placement for Isabel in the future. “And since we’re working with agencies in two states, my job is exponentially more difficult,” Sally explained to Jane.

  “But this is a serious business,” Jane pressed the social worker, who tended to lose focus. Sometimes she needed to keep Sally on track. “Munchausen is a form of child abuse.”

  “Of course, and if this turns out to be true, we will do everything necessary to make sure Isabel is protected from her mother.”

  After Sally left on Tuesday night, Isabel confronted Jane. “Sally told me that I can’t stay here much longer, and I understand.” Isabel was settled on the sofa with Jane, sewing tiny beads onto a band of white material—a sash for Harper’s prom dress. “I know there are some issues between Harper and me, and I know she belongs here, too. But you see, I’m trying to win her over.”

  “I see that.” Jane wanted to slide off the sofa and slither up to her own bedroom. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for all of us.”

  “I know you are, Mama-dish. But it’s not over yet. Harper and I have a special connection; I can tell what she’s thinking. Sometimes I think I can even send her little messages.”

  “Really?” Jane smiled. “I’ve read about telepathic connections between twins.”

  “I can definitely feel what she’s thinking, and I think she’s softening now. She’ll come around. Once she sees her beautiful dress and learns that I got her elected Snow Queen, she’ll definitely come around.”

  Although Jane knew that Isabel was setting herself up for an impossible task, she didn’t argue. She had pointed out the obstacles before, and Isabel had downplayed them all.

  That night, when Jane went to bed, her mind went to the image of Isabel’s small, pale hands circling Hoppy’s throat. She wasn’t sure if the incident had really happened, but flipping it over and over in her mind was not going to prove the verity of it. On impulse, she locked her bedroom door and slid under the covers.

  Hours later, the doorknob rattled. “Mom?” Isabel called. “Are you awake?
”

  The door rattled again, but Jane didn’t move. For hours, she remained silent and sleepless. Frozen in place, she stared up at the ceiling and wondered if she had been wrong about her daughters’ genetics from the very beginning. Perhaps Frank’s evil genes had been passed down to not one daughter but two.

  Chapter 29

  That week, Jane felt her heart break over and over again as she watched Isabel spend every spare minute crafting an exquisite gown for Harper. Isabel stayed after school to use the sewing machines in home ec, then brought the garment home, where she spent hours adding the details: sprays and starbursts of beads and sequins, ribbon trim along the bodice, and a band of tiny gems sewn into one of the shoulder straps.

  The gown had become a dress of dreams, a symbol of Isabel’s determination to keep their family together. As Jane watched Isabel push and pull a small needle through the fabric, she found herself sharing in the hope and wondering if Harper would soften, if distance would ease the tension. In fact, Harper seemed in good spirits each day when Jane checked in. She was enjoying hanging out with Sydney, though she craved some privacy. Both mother and daughter looked forward to the weekend tournament in Canby, a short ride from Mirror Lake, though Harper was emphatic about keeping Isabel at bay. Apparently, Harper was not receiving Isabel’s telepathic messages of love and support.

  The students had no school Friday—a grading day for teachers. Jane was glad to know that Isabel was in the same building, working away in the design studio of the school, though it goaded her that Harper’s tournament started at two. Jane would miss the first game. At lunchtime she took Isabel to a nearby sandwich shop, where they chatted and laughed as they ate. A woman at the next table glanced over with a longing look.

  I know what you’re thinking, Jane thought. There’s a model relationship: a mother and daughter who are in sync with each other.

  It was so far from the truth.

  I’m about to abandon my daughter for the second time in her life. Jane put her sandwich down, her appetite gone.

  After lunch, Isabel wanted to be dropped at home. “I’m going to make a big batch of cookies for the team,” she announced. “If I can’t be there to cheer them on, I want to send something nice.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You’ve been working so hard on Harper’s dress.”

  “But I want to,” Isabel assured Jane. “It’s all a labor of love.”

  At three thirty, Jane lammed out of the building on a mission to get to Canby. The essay portion of the exams had taken her longer to grade than she’d expected, but she had finished at last. All her students’ grades were posted, and she was good to go.

  When she stopped at home to change into her jeans and grab a bottle of water, Isabel stood in the kitchen eating chocolate frosting from a pan on the stove.

  “You caught me,” she teased, licking a spoon. “I was just finishing off this chocolate icing that I made for Harper. I know it’s her favorite.” She handed Jane a spoon of her own. “You’ve got to try it. It turned out really chocolaty this time.”

  As Jane took a taste, she skimmed the open box of cookies on the counter. A field of vanilla-iced snowmen and two chocolate stars. “Only two chocolates?” Jane asked.

  “They’re for Harper. I added the cocoa later when I remembered it’s her favorite.”

  “This is delicious,” Jane agreed. “It reminds me of my mother’s fudge.”

  “I hope the team likes them.” As Isabel slid the lid on the box, Jane recalled Anya’s accusation that Isabel had poisoned Chrissy. It seemed ludicrous now, in light of all the meals and treats that Isabel had prepared for them here.

  Quickly Jane washed up, changed her clothes, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “With any luck, I’ll be there before the next game starts.”

  “Tell Harper I’m sending her Michael Jordan brain waves,” Isabel said, handing Jane the box of cookies.

  “She’ll love that,” Jane lied, unwilling to dampen Isabel’s enthusiasm.

  When Jane was stopped at a long traffic light, she checked her cell phone. No new messages. Not even a lame excuse of a text from Sally Pinero. What did that woman do with her time? It was certainly not spent on Isabel’s case. Since the interview on Tuesday Jane had not heard a peep from the social worker, who was not only supposed to be investigating charges that Isabel’s mother had abused her, but was also supposed to be finding a foster home for Isabel.

  Poor Isabel really believed that she was going to change Harper’s mind. Jane knew it was a lost cause. Not her stubborn Hoppy.

  Jane merged onto the interstate and cruised south until traffic slowed to a crawl after a few miles. She groaned. Friday traffic—she should have expected it. Now she would be late, and Harper would perceive that as a slight, especially now that her stay at Sydney’s was losing its charm and Harper was beginning to miss the comforts of home.

  Jane turned the radio on to drown out the sound of her growling stomach, suddenly remembering that she had barely touched her lunch. Well, she was hungry now.

  As she inched along in traffic, the box of cookies beckoned. Flipping open the lid, she realized that Harper would never know that her sister had baked two cookies for her. She bit into one of the brown star cookies, savoring the bittersweet cocoa frosting. Good, but a little spicier than she remembered. A second bite, and her mouth was tingling. The cookie became harder to taste as a numb sensation came over her tongue. It reminded her of the way the center of a pineapple affected her tongue, and she wondered what Isabel had added to the cookie to cause such a reaction.

  What had Isabel added to the cookie?

  Something horrible.

  Frowning down at the remnants, Jane threw them into the box and signaled to pull out of traffic as nausea swept through her, a skittering wildfire. She had to vomit, but please, oh please, not in the car! She opened all the car windows as she signaled again to get over. Someone let her into the next lane, and she managed to edge her car off the roadway as bitter liquid erupted in her throat. The car squirmed onto the gravel, and she threw it into park. Just in time . . . She leaned out of the car and lost it.

  Her throat was still thick with mucus, her airways swollen.

  Suffocating . . . Frank’s hands on her throat, closing in.

  Fumbling on her phone, she punched in 911.

  “Trouble breathing,” she rasped. “On I-5, south of Tualatin. Help me, please.”

  The dispatcher was talking to her, but the woman’s voice, firm and comforting, seemed to come from far away. Her mouth was numb now, the edges of her vision growing dark as if someone were burning them away with a thousand matches.

  As the circle of light narrowed to a pinpoint, she thought of Harper waiting and watching for her in the Canby High School gymnasium. She thought of Isabel working at the stove, sharing the untainted fudge frosting and slathering on a layer of poison to murder her sister.

  Wouldn’t that solve all her problems?

  With Hoppy out of the picture, Jane would welcome Isabel with open arms.

  My mistake saved Hoppy, Jane thought as she faded out. But please, don’t leave her without a mother. I can’t go.

  But the pain, the choking pain was too much.

  Time to let go.

  Chapter 30

  The two teens stood on either side of the hospital bed, bookends carved from the same wood but with a few variations in grain that made them distinctive. At the foot of the bed, Luke rested a hand on the white-sheeted ridge of her leg. A quiet reverence filled the room, broken by the beep and click of the monitors and machinery.

  Distant and closed off, Harper kept her hands tucked into her hoodie. “What happened to her?”

  “They say it was food poisoning.” Luke seemed deflated; he hunkered over Jane, his head bowed.

  “Mom, can you hear me?” Isabel’s face puckered, a sob suppressed. “Come on now, Mom.” Fervently she stroked Jane’s hand, the part that wasn’t encumbered by tape or tubing.


  “How did she get food poisoning this bad, this fast?” Harper shook her head. “What did she eat?”

  “There was poison in a cookie she ingested,” Luke said. “From a box of homemade cookies beside her in the car. The poison is called aconite. It’s a chemical found in a plant that can be easily grown here in the Northwest. Wolfsbane is the common name. Some people call it monkshood.”

  “Who made the cookies?” Harper asked.

  Luke adjusted his glasses as he looked up at Isabel. “Didn’t you bake them?”

  “I baked them but . . . I didn’t poison her. I didn’t!”

  “Here’s the thing. The police also found wolfsbane in the greenhouse on Arbor Lane. Quite a few healthy blooms. How did it get there, Isabel?”

  “My adoptive mother was growing it. Chrissy. She would dose herself with it to get attention.”

  Harper winced. “That’s sick.”

  “She was sick,” Isabel said sadly. “Once she put it in our food, and I got sick. After that, I did all the cooking. I had to.”

  “But Chrissy wasn’t here to poison Jane.” Luke rubbed the hairs on his chin, trying to piece it all together. “How did Jane come to ingest it?”

  “I don’t know,” Isabel whispered. “She must have added it to the cookies when I wasn’t looking. I can’t believe it. She . . . she must have Munchausen too. It’s so unfair! Why can’t I have a mother who takes care of herself and me? A normal mother who loves me.” She sniffed back tears.

  “Can I wake her up?” Harper asked. “Is it okay, or does she need to sleep?”

  Luke shook his head, moving next to Harper at the head of the bed, where he took Jane’s hand. “I’m sorry, but the poison was too much for her system. A machine is keeping her alive right now. The doctors say that, technically, she’s already gone.”

  “Oh, no!” Harper buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “I can’t believe it.” Isabel spoke slowly. “Mama-dish . . .”

  The curtain moved aside and a man stepped in. Detective Drum nodded respectfully at Luke and folded his arms, a quiet observer.