Girl Three (2 page)

Bishop crooked a prickly eyebrow, his expression guarded. “You misunderstand the president.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “I don’t know the president. But I know politics. That’s why I’m here in Charlottesville—peaceful, beautiful, middle-of-nowhere Virginia—and not in DC.”

“You can serve on the Commission from here,” Bishop said. “Stay with The Oliver Institute. The other members are highly respected physicians, lawyers, and academics who live—”

“I understand.” Jessie gathered some false confidence and faced him. “But you evaded my question about my father. Should I take that as an answer?”

Bishop blinked erratically.

Franz shot Jessie a watch-yourself look.

“If the president is interested in my perspective,” she said, “then I’m honored. If he’s trying to create a false family image for my father ahead of his likely nomination to the Supreme Court, I can’t accept.” She leveled a determined gaze at Bishop. “I’ve worked too hard to be used as a trophy daughter.”

Bishop’s thin lips twitched. “I assure you, that is not the president’s intent.” His BlackBerry shimmied on the papers in his lap, red light flashing. He squinted at its screen and grimaced. “As I mentioned, we’ve started the vetting process. We’re questioning your family today.”

Jessie regretted that they had to involve her family. Couldn’t her superiors and professional associations vet her? She shook her head. “They don’t know me.”

“What?”

“My father, my sister—they don’t know me. Haven’t for a while.” Awkwardly, she twisted the monogrammed silver ring on her finger, the familiar edges of her mother’s initials pressed beneath her fingertips. “So interviewing them won’t be necessary.”

Bishop’s BlackBerry shuddered again.

“Excuse me,” he said, sounding frustrated. “This must be urgent.” He held it to his ear. “Bishop.” He stood, stepped out of the office, and shut the door.

Jessie risked a glance at Franz.

“You deserve this appointment,” he said. “No matter who or what motivated it. Don’t let pride or speculation cause you to make a reckless decision.”

Lightning pain shot behind Jessie’s temples. The closed door muffled Bishop’s voice, but she could still hear his end of the conversation. “I’m in a meeting,” he said. “Make it quick.” Then, in hushed words that she struggled to make out, “Our Samantha Croft, the lobbyist? Judge Croft’s daughter?”

The tone in his voice put Jessie on full alert, but Franz kept talking. “I’m confident that—”

Bishop opened the door, no longer on the phone, his face sallow. His stunned demeanor stopped Franz mid-sentence. He walked to his chair and sat.

“What is it?” Jessie asked. “I heard you mention my sister.”

Bishop opened his mouth but hesitated before he spoke. “That was my assistant, the one assigned to meet with Samantha in Washington.”

Jessie heard an odd tick in his voice. “Is something wrong?” Apprehension tingled across her scalp.

No change in Bishop’s expression. No answer.

Jessie shifted in her seat. “Mr. Bishop?”

He stared out the picture window behind Franz. Sleet pelted against the glass, drizzling down in melted rivulets, distorting the view of the Blue Ridge Mountains into a surreal, Dali-esque landscape.

Bishop faced Jessie but avoided her eyes. “Have you been in touch with her?”

Jessie stiffened. “Maybe I should clarify what I said a moment ago. My sister lobbies for some of the same issues I deal with, but we don’t associate with each other.”
Even though we still have a bond, and I miss her, and I hope she knows she’s always in my heart.

Jessie’s throat tightened. She hated to talk about Sam and her father, and she hated to think of their separate lives. “What did your assistant say about Sam?”

“It’s a highly unusual situation,” Bishop said. “Inappropriate for me to discuss.”

“Sam’s my sister. Your assistant is interviewing her in a vetting process for me, for what little he might learn from her. What about that is highly unusual and inappropriate to discuss?”

“I’m not the right person—” Bishop’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“What is it, Mr. Bishop?” Jessie forced calm into her voice. “I’ve leveled with you. Please, let’s be honest in this process.”

Bishop nodded once. “There’s no easy way to say this.” He turned to Jessie, looked her in the eyes, then sucked in a breath as if it had to last him a lifetime.

“Your sister is dead.”

Chapter Two

The ice storm had become more severe, downing trees and power lines and paralyzing the Charlottesville area. Jessie had spent the night alone in the dark of her vineyard cottage, trying to make sense of her sister’s death. Lois had offered to stay with her, but as grateful as she was for the support, Jessie preferred treading deep emotional waters alone.

By candlelight, she’d looked at pictures of Sam, becoming more brokenhearted as she realized how few there were. Maybe her father had more of Sam’s childhood pictures and keepsakes, but the trail of mementos probably ended just before their mother died. On a tear-soaked pillow, she’d fallen asleep beneath her comforter and several extra blankets.

The brilliant reflection of sun off ice had seeped through the curtains and woken her. Photos of her and Sam as little girls and preteens lay scattered on the bed—at Halloween wearing fairy princess costumes, at Christmas posing in red velvet dresses trimmed in white fur, at the beach in their swim-team one-pieces standing proudly by a Cinderella-style sandcastle their father had helped them build. And their picture with Mom and Dad at Disney World, before everything had fallen apart. Exhausted by emotion, Jessie needed a friend who could relate, who could understand her grief…and her guilt.

Thankful that the power had been restored while she’d slept, she showered and packed, then risked making the road trip to Washington, DC—the place she had avoided most—to visit the one person who knew her best, and to pay her respects to Sam.

After a four-hour drive that should have taken two, Jessie stood at the door of Nina Daniels’s basement apartment in Capitol Hill. Before she had time to ring the bell, Nina opened the door and pulled her into a tight hug. Again, Jessie gave in to her tears.

“I know,” Nina said.

Jessie and Nina were so familiar with the nightmares of each other’s lives that they felt as if they’d lived them. As if they’d suffered similar emotional wounds, healed together, and now shared the same ugly scars.

Jessie pulled away, took a tissue from the pocket of her jeans, and swiped it across her cheeks. “I always hoped she’d come back.” She shrugged. “I thought we had plenty of time.”

But time had run out for her and Sam. Now Jessie would never understand why Sam had grown distant, then disappeared from her life.

“You were good to her.” Nina clutched Jessie’s shoulders. “You gave her all you could, short of sacrificing your life for hers. She pulled away from you. But she would’ve come back. I know she would have.”

Jessie nodded numbly and took off her coat.

“I’m so sorry.” Nina squeezed her hand, then went to hang the coat in a small, crowded closet. “Did you talk to your father?”

“I tried to call as soon as I heard but couldn’t reach him. Then my cell phone died during the storm. He called back and left a message, but I didn’t get it until this morning after the power came back on.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was due in court, all detached and businesslike. He mentioned the arrangements for Sam and said his scheduler would call if there were any changes.”

Nina bunched her lips in a tight frown. “Classic Ryan Croft.”

Jessie winced. She liked having Nina on her side, yet she still felt a pang of defensiveness for her indefensible father. “Thanks for taking a vacation day. I hate to think about the backlog you’ll have to deal with tomorrow because of me.”

“Don’t worry. There’s always a backlog.” Nina’s expression turned grim. “I’ve got a sick kind of job security.”

Jessie shook her head. “How do you separate all the death from your life?”

Nina’s eyes took on a faraway look that Jessie had seen before. “I don’t. But having Sophie helps.”

“Is she with her babysitter?”

An impish grin brightened Nina’s face. “I kept her here today.” She gestured toward the corner of the small living area, which was cramped, yet sparsely furnished. A white crib was squeezed between the end of the sofa and the brick walls. “She’s down for a nap. Have a peek.”

Jessie stepped past a low table that held a flat-screen television playing the news and leaned over the crib. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of the sleeping one-year-old, nestled under pale pink sheets dotted with little lambs. The innocent scent of baby powder tinged the air. “She’s precious—”

The television program caught her attention. A local report featured a video clip of her father, then cut to a still shot of Sam. The anchor shook her head, a titillating-but-tragic look on her face.

Nina fumbled for the remote and changed the channel to HGTV.

“It’s okay,” Jessie said. “It’s news.” She peered out of the room’s tiny, high-set windows—smudged with dirt from the ground outside and striped with iron bars. “But can’t they just let someone die in peace?”

“Not someone like Sam.”

Someone like Sam.

“The story headlined yesterday,” Jessie said. “Now it’s running in filler space on the local midday news. Hopefully it won’t make the evening edition. By then, the next horrific thing might happen, and they’ll leave Sam alone.” She turned her attention to Sophie. The baby’s little lips puckered, sucking at a pacifier that wasn’t there.

Nina joined Jessie next to the crib and patted Sophie.

“I brought something for her.” Jessie took a small white box with a yellow polka-dotted ribbon out of her purse and handed it to Nina.

“Aww, Jess. You didn’t have to get her anything.”

“Who else am I going to spoil?” Nina opened the box and pulled out a tiny sterling silver cuff bracelet engraved with Sophie’s name. “It’s just like ours.” She smiled brightly, revealing the dimples she often complained about.

As was usually the case, both of them wore a similar bracelet. Jessie had gotten hers from her grandfather when she was in college. Nina had often said how much she loved it, so for graduation, Jessie had given her one.

“Thank you.” Nina hugged Jessie. “We love it. It’s just the perfect size.”

“I hope so. I’m amazed at how fast she’s growing.”

“Imagine what it’s like for Nate.” Her tone turned wistful at the mention of her husband.

Jessie couldn’t imagine what it was like for Nate or Nina. Nate was deployed to Afghanistan, serving his country yet missing his family. Each day without him, Nina watched Sophie grow, experiencing once-in-a-lifetime firsts, wishing he was there, wondering if he would come home alive. He’d left when Sophie was a two-month-old infant. He’d come home to a toddler.

“He’ll be back in April,” Jessie said lightly. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“In sixty-four days.” Nina sighed, set the box on the coffee table, and sank onto the slip-covered couch that had been the centerpiece of the apartment she and Jessie had shared ten years ago at the University of Virginia.

“Something’s wrong.” Jessie sat next to her. “Is it Nate?”

Nina shook her head unconvincingly.

“What, then?”

Nina leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. “I need to tell you some things about Sam’s death.”

Jessie didn’t like Nina’s tone. “What else is there to know?”

Sophie whimpered. The air buzzed with tension and time seemed to stretch out double.

“The M.E. issued her official statement,” Nina said. “That’s what’s been on the news, and that’s why the story’s lost traction.”

“There’s another
and
.”

Nina nodded. “
And
something’s missing from her statement. Several things.”

Jessie’s breaths became shallow. She trusted Nina, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what was coming. “I’m listening.”

“When they brought Sam in, they ruled her death suspicious enough to warrant a rush on her autopsy and labs.”

A clammy cold washed over Jessie.

“No argument from your father.”

“Big of him.” Jessie imagined how perturbed he probably was to have to deal with the inconvenience of a dead daughter.

“The autopsy confirmed the cause of death. Sam’s congenital defect, similar to your mom’s, had weakened her heart muscle. But there were other details that should’ve made the official report and didn’t. Things that would’ve triggered an investigation.”

“Are you saying there was some kind of cover-up?”

“I’m saying that I did the labs.” Nina enunciated her words deliberately. “I submitted the tox report. Red-flagged it. Expected a CSI-style investigation and a media orgy that would last for months. Next thing I hear, case closed.”

“So they just filed away her case with a red-flagged report in it?”

“Not exactly. There’s a scrubbed version of my report in her file—not the one I submitted.”

Adrenaline blurred Jessie’s thoughts. “Please tell me you saved a copy of the original.”

Nina nodded self-consciously. “It’s totally against procedure, but I did.” She leaned toward a small wooden desk that stood next to the couch, opened the top drawer, pulled out the report, and handed the papers to Jessie.

Neither of them had to mention the risk Nina was taking by showing Jessie her report. Such a protocol violation could cost Nina more than her job.

At first glance, the report confused Jessie. Three pages of indecipherable gibberish. Acronyms, numbers, symbols. Her sister, broken down into hieroglyphics.

“Look under Positive Findings,” Nina said.

Jessie shuffled the papers, found the boxed section on the first page, and read.

“Sam had Rohypnol in her system. The date rape drug?”

“Her heart couldn’t handle alcohol and Rohypnol simultaneously.” Nina had switched to her science voice.

“Are you sure?”

“I did the blood analysis myself. The serologist did the semen.”

Jessie’s stomach clenched. “She was raped?”