Take Another Look (16 page)

“Indeed. Protect and serve, that's our first priority.”

“It's nice to know we're safe.” She steeled herself to ask the question that had been bothering her all week. “I don't mean to pry, but can you tell me if you have any suspects? In the Olivia Ferguson attack, I mean.” As if assaults were an everyday occurrence in Mirror Lake.

“We have a few,” he said. “One in particular that I was going to ask you about.” He swiped across the screen of his cell phone and tapped on it. “This photo came in with a note. It said that this photo was taken near the boathouse around the time Olivia was found in the lake.”

The suspect? Jane hungrily scanned the photo.

It was Harper. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing the turquoise tank top that emphasized her sculpted biceps. Had Harper worn that top to the picnic? Jane couldn't remember.

“Is that your daughter?” Drum asked.

“It looks like her, but I don't really see the boathouse in the background, and I'm not sure she was wearing that shirt that day.” She shook her head. “This doesn't prove anything, does it?”

“On its own, no. We have to look at the preponderance of evidence.”

Suddenly, Jane saw the puzzle pieces fitting together.

The method was the bat.

The means? Harper knew the exact route to sneak around the perimeter of the swim park, hiding in the bushes so that no one could see her carrying a bat.

The motive? Everyone at Mirror Lake High School knew the answer to that one.

And the tiny admission Harper had made to Jane when she'd crawled into her bed that night. Admitting that she felt guilty. She'd done something wrong. Something about turning over a new leaf in the future.

The big picture gave Jane a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“It's hard to lend credence to a tip when it's anonymous,” the detective said. “We know that these kids are competitive. There's backstabbing, and there's jealousy. All that high school drama. Still, we check everything out.”

“And you're investigating Harper?”

“As I said, we pursue every lead.”

Expecting disapproval, she steeled herself to meet his thoughtful eyes, but saw only compassion there.

“Take good care of your daughter,” he said. “Even living in the bubble, some of these kids make bad choices.”

She nodded, despite the sick feeling that her daughter's fate was completely out of her hands.

Chapter 17

A
lthough no one was ever charged with the attack on Olivia, the cloud of suspicion over Harper lifted a bit over the next few weeks as Olivia healed at home and the scandal of the attack was displaced by other high school dramas. A student from a high school across the Willamette River was arrested for homicide after his stepfather had been found stabbed to death, allegedly in retaliation for years of abuse. That was grist for the mill through the end of September. Then, in October, Brett Zilka, a sophomore at Mirror Lake High, was rushed off by an ambulance after cutting his head on the back steps of the school. Rumor had it that he'd passed out after smoking salvia with friends, but as that part was unconfirmed, Brett was allowed to return to school a week later with a gnarly red gash on his forehead.

Catching Brett in the hall one morning, Jane reminded the boy to keep the wound covered with an antibiotic ointment. “That'll help the scar heal.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “But it's kind of a badge of honor, you know?”

“Maybe now. But in a few years, it's going to be a little played out.”

“I guess.”

Watching him swagger down the hall, Jane wasn't sure if he'd learned his lesson from the incident. Brett still seemed to hold that teen notion that he was invincible, and he had the scar to prove it. Life in the bubble tended to encourage that false sense of security.

One Tuesday afternoon in the end of October Jane parked in front of the Suzuki home to pick up Harper. Dismissal had been at noon so that teachers could spend the afternoon working on midterm grades, and Keiko had offered to host the girls after school. But as luck would have it, Tuesday was Harper's day to meet with Mrs. Albertson, the math tutor—a new addition to Harper's schedule, but a necessity. The current geometry curriculum was way beyond Jane's math knowledge, and so far Harper seemed to click with Mrs. A's teaching style.

Jane arrived to find Sydney and Harper in the side yard by the water feature, a dripping circular fountain. Nestled in their team hoodies, they sat on the stone bench, sharing a plastic bowl of popcorn.

“I see two ospreys,” Jane called, amused by their matching shirts.

“Hi, Ms. Ryan,” Sydney said politely.

“Mom!” Harper jumped up so abruptly she nearly spilled the popcorn. She handed the bowl to Sydney and raced forward to embrace Jane.

“Wow.” Jane hugged her, surprised but pleased at the sudden show of affection. “Did you miss me that much?”

“I'm just really happy to see you.”

When Harper leaned back, Jane noticed her mouth curled in a sweet smile. What a difference an afternoon off could make. “Where's Emma?” Jane asked.

“She's upstairs with—”

“She's watching a movie,” Harper said, cutting Sydney off. “We already saw it, and we wanted to get some fresh air. It's so beautiful out here, with the leaves bursting in color. The crisp feel of autumn.” Her words sounded lyrical, almost poetic.

“It is a nice day.” Jane stretched her spine and rubbed the back of her neck. “I've been so caught up in getting grades in, I hardly noticed.”

“You do work so hard,” Harper agreed, admiration shining in her eyes.

“Um . . .” Sydney backed toward the door. “We'd better get back inside.”

“I guess it would be too much to hope that you girls got some homework done,” Jane said.

“I finished all of mine.” Harper's voice was bright, with the tone of a delighted child.

“Amazing.”

Jane followed them through the slider to the kitchen, where Keiko was stirring a pot. “Hey, there,” Jane called to Emma's mom as the girls bustled up the stairs. “Thanks for taking the girls this afternoon.” Jane leaned on the cool granite of the kitchen island.

“It was my pleasure.” Keiko tapped the spoon against the edge of the pot, and then looked up at Jane. “They're such good friends. I know we love keeping our girls active in sports, but it's nice to see them having some downtime, too.”

“I'm looking forward to a little downtime, myself,” Jane said. Weekends had been busy with three softball tournaments: west of Portland in Banks, south in Eugene, and east in Bend, where Oregon's ponderosa pine forest transitioned into high desert. Each trip had been like a mini-vacation, social and active and a great change of venue, but Jane longed for a little cozy solitude. “It will be a nice change, sleeping in on weekends now that the season is over.”

“That's true,” Keiko agreed. “But basketball is just around the corner. Tryouts in two weeks.”

Jane gave an exaggerated groan, and they chuckled together.

“One sport at a time,” Jane said. She heard footsteps on the stairs behind her.

“Mom?” The whining tone in Harper's voice was like a splinter under the skin. “Do I really have to go right now? Why don't you just cancel?”

“Because it's geometry, and your frazzled mother can't help you with it anymore.”

“I gave up on Emma's math years ago. Good thing her father can help her. That's his strong suit.”

“I don't wanna go today,” Harper moaned. “We're having fun, and everyone else can stay.”

Jane turned to her daughter, who had changed from her team hoodie to a turquoise sweatshirt that brought out the teal hues in her eyes. “You changed your clothes?” She squinted at Harper. “And apparently your mood, too. What happened to the sweet girl I met outside?”

Harper bit back a smile.

“What?” Jane pressed.

“Never mind. Let's just go.”

They thanked Keiko and headed out. The grumbling persisted as they got into the car, but Jane tuned it out as she focused on the next few steps of her day. She would drop Harper at the tutor's, then return to school to finish up. Then swing by to pick her up. But what for dinner? Frozen veggie lasagna or tacos? Maybe fish sticks . . .

She was about to back out of the Suzukis' driveway when one last look through the windshield brought her gaze to the window. A ghostly Harper stared wistfully down on them as she pressed a hand to the glass in an enigmatic gesture. A farewell or a warning?

Jane pumped the brakes and squinted. Was it a refraction of the glass, a trick of sunlight—or was she dissociating?

“What's wrong?” Harper said it as a criticism, as in,
What the hell is the matter with you?

“The girl in the window. I thought it was you, but . . .”
But it can't be; you're right here beside me.

“Mom, there's no one there.”

“What?” She shot a look back at the window, but there was only a blank space now. “But she was there. A girl with long dark hair. She was wearing an Osprey hoodie. I would have sworn it was you.”

“Let's just go.” Now there was disgust in Harper's voice.

Jane tried to put the vision behind her as she drove away. She had a million things to finish today, and she didn't need some strange apparition of her daughter clamoring in her mind.

“Okay, now I feel bad.” Harper was facing away, but her scowl was reflected in the car window. “It was just a little game. A joke. Everybody says she looks like me, so we figured we'd see how far we could go with it.”

Jane kept her eyes on the road ahead, but her fingers clamped tighter around the steering wheel. “What are you talking about?”

“The girl in the window? That was Isabel, the new girl. And she was the one sitting outside with Sydney when you pulled up. That wasn't me.”

“What?” Alarm jangled over Jane's nerves. “But she looks just like you.”

“I told you. Only we gave her a makeover today so that she would
really
look like me. She usually wears her hair different, and she likes pink and those flouncy skirts and polka dot explosions. She's a girly girl. But she's okay.”

“So you pranked me?” More wounded than angry, Jane struggled to piece the situation together.

“At first we were going to try and fool Emma's mom. We talked about it on the bus ride to Emma's. But Mrs. Suzuki saw Isabel come into the house, and Emma had to introduce her and all, and even without the makeover Mrs. Suzuki commented that we could be sisters.”

Jane kept her eyes on the road, fending off emotion.

“So we knew Mrs. Suzuki would never go for it. But we did the makeover anyway. And then when you texted to say you were on your way, we decided to try to trick you. Isabel said it would be a real challenge to fool a teacher.”

“What is Isabel's last name?” Jane asked.

“I don't know. Do I have to go to the tutor
every
Tuesday? What about when basketball starts?”

“Yes. Every Tuesday.”
Every shitty Tuesday.

“I was just asking. You don't have to yell.”

“I'm not yelling, but I am upset. It's not fun to be the butt of a joke.”

“I'm sorry. We weren't trying to mock you or anything. It was more like a challenge to see if we could pull it off.”

“Well. I guess you did.” Jane's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Are you happy now?” She pulled up in front of Mrs. A's house and punched the gearshift into park with a vengeance. It wasn't a dangerous move, but it revealed the abrasive edge beneath Jane's evaporating composure.

“God, Mom. I said I was sorry.” Harper opened the door and yanked out her backpack. “Just get over it.” She slammed the car door before Jane could respond.

If you only knew . . . It's taken me years, and I'm still not over it.
She'd made a mistake, a huge mistake, and it would overshadow the rest of her life.

With utmost restraint, Jane held to the speed limit on the drive back to school as she kept trying to rule out the one possibility that seemed impossible. Could the new girl, this Isabel, be her daughter?

When she had given Louisa up for adoption, Chrissy and Nick Zaretsky had said they wanted Louisa to keep her name.

“I see it as a gift from her biological mother,” Nick had said.

“And such a beautiful name,” Chrissy had agreed. With strong, high cheekbones, a dimpled smile, and eyes warm as whiskey, Christina Zaretsky had a motherly way about her that had appealed to Jane when she'd been reviewing profiles of parents eager to adopt. Unlike the other potential moms with hard, angular bodies from hours at the gym or running weekend 10K races, Chrissy appeared plump and soft as a favorite bathrobe. And this would not be her first attempt at motherhood; she had been raising two children back in Russia when their lives were cut short in a train accident. Such tragedy, and yet she had moved on, willing to live and love again.

“Family is everything,” Nick Zaretsky had told Jane that day when she'd toured the family's lovely stone and glass house overlooking Puget Sound. “We are lucky to have Chrissy's mother and two sisters nearby, and my mother, she lives in an apartment we built for her out back.”

So much family. Any child would be fortunate to grow up in such a beautiful, loving home,
Jane had thought. She had never been to Bainbridge Island before, and the fabulous view across the blue water to the Seattle cityscape had won her over.

Chrissy had shown her the nursery, decorated with a menagerie of animals parading along . . . elephants and rhinos, giraffes and flamingos.

“My sister said it was presumptuous to decorate the nursery, but we couldn't resist,” Chrissy had said, delicately smoothing a pillow with a pair of round-eyed koalas that had been embroidered by Chrissy's mother. “Not to make any assumptions, of course, but I'm always very positive about the future. My mother used to tell me to write my wishes down and pin them under my mattress. She said that dreams could not become reality unless we pinned them down.”

Charmed by the couple, Jane had accepted an invitation to stay for dinner. Everyone had made a dish for the meal, and over a dinner of lamb kabobs, buttery
pelmeni
meat dumplings, and delicious sugared pancakes called
syrniki,
Jane had made her decision. One of her babies would live in this house, in the embrace of this good-hearted family. She imagined her little girl toddling through the breezes that came off the water, learning to walk in this airy family room that opened to the sky. When she grew older, the little girl would make up stories about the people who lived in the glittering gem boxes across the Sound in Seattle. This lucky girl would have adventures with her aunties: shopping and ferry rides and sailing lessons. There would be baseball games with Nick, a huge Mariners fan. And her grandmothers would give her cooking lessons for special dishes that had been passed down through the generations.

Such a good life her baby girl would have with the Zaretskys. The infant who came to live here would be the lucky one, the privileged daughter. The vision of such a charming life made Jane feel a twinge of guilt that she was not giving both children up for adoption. It seemed that Jane was no match for these parents hoping to adopt: couples with personal wealth, community resources, rich family history, and enthusiasm. In her darkest moments she worried that Frank had robbed her of the tools she needed to be a good mother.

Not true,
a small voice would whisper.
You can do this. You're the mother. Two tiny lives are growing inside you. They will love you. . . . They will both love you, always, for bringing them into this world. But one will come to love other parents, and that's okay. You're just one woman digging out of a terrible situation. You can only handle one child.