“Yes, she was. And so were you.”
She wiped her eyes again at the agent’s words. She’d always be sad about Kelsey, even as she was grateful about being rescued. “Thanks again for finding me.”
Janie Willard
November 21
9:30 a.m.
“Janie?” When the dark-haired man paused next to her table in the coffee shop, Alyvia and Cole got up from their chairs across from her and beelined for a nearby booth. She stifled a feeling of abandonment and sized up the agent addressing her. Recognized him from a couple of glimpses she’d gotten when he’d been in her home.
“Yes.”
Agent Mark Foster pulled out one of the chairs at the table. Sank into it. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“How’d you get my number?” She hadn’t recognized the caller on the screen of her cell last night, so she hadn’t answered it. When she’d listened to the voice mail he’d left, she’d been shocked. But intrigued, too. He hadn’t given a reason for wanting to speak to her. He hadn’t needed to. Because she needed to talk to him as well and see if she could get some answers no one else seemed willing to give.
“I got it from Sergeant Rossi at the sheriff’s office.”
That figured. She’d had to put all her contact information on the statement she’d written out for them. Janie clutched her large plastic coffee cup and raised it to her lips, requiring fortification before she could even formulate the questions she had. But he spoke first.
“I wanted to apologize to you personally.”
It was the last thing she’d been expecting. “For arresting my dad?” She wasn’t sure it was in her to forgive the man for that. They’d still been reeling from the discovery of Kelsey’s body. To watch her dad taken away in handcuffs for her murder had been devastating, even though he’d been held only a short time.
The agent nodded soberly. “We’ve offered an official apology to him, of course. There was evidence planted that made him look guilty. I’d like to speak to your mother, too.”
“Don’t. She’s . . . not well.” Janie wasn’t certain how much more her mom could take. “I’ll tell her for you.” As shitty as things had been at home after Kelsey’s body was discovered, they’d deteriorated even further. The last couple of mornings when she’d gone downstairs, she’d found her dad sleeping on the couch in the family room. It was like a huge black cloud had parked itself over their house. And it hadn’t finished storming yet. “Dad said you found the real TMK. And that Whitney DeVries was still alive. You saved her.”
Mark gave a slow nod. “I wish we’d been able to save Kelsey.”
She ducked her head. Shot a sideways glance at Alyvia and Cole, who were studiedly pretending not to be interested in their conversation. Mark followed her gaze with his own. “Friends of yours?”
“Yeah.” She drank again. “Did Herb Newman have anything to do with Kelsey’s kidnapping?”
“No.” Janie’s shoulders slumped. Foster went on. “But what he was doing is illegal, and he needed to be stopped. He’s facing prison time. We have you and your friend to thank for turning that information over to the sheriff’s office. It was a gutsy move.”
Not so gutsy, she could have told him. More desperate. Determined. She would never have forgiven herself for not pursuing what could have represented a lead to Kelsey’s killer.
“I want you to remember, though, if it hadn’t been for your meeting with Newman, the lake house would never have been thoroughly searched. Kelsey’s body would never have been found if not for you and your friend.”
Janie rubbed her thumbs over the cup she held, her gaze fixed on its plastic top. His words brought mixed feelings. So she was responsible for bringing closure to her family. Finally. But based on her experience the last few days, closure was overrated. It meant snapping that last tenuous thread of hope and living forever with a brutal reality. Being certain of Kelsey’s fate reframed everything. And she wasn’t any too sure her family would survive it intact.
“I can’t even imagine how bad it is for you and your parents right now.” It was one of those things people said at a time like this, but there was a note of sincerity in the agent’s voice that drew Janie’s gaze. “I’m not going to pretend that I can. But I wanted to give you a few details about Kelsey’s case that might . . .” He seemed to search for the words. “It might give you a tiny piece of your sister back. She discovered a way to write some messages and hid them away.”
With a flash of insight, Janie said, “And Whitney DeVries found them?” Foster nodded.
She sipped from her cup again. Every time she heard the other girl’s name, it was like someone carved away another sliver of her heart. She could be glad the girl was safe and still mourn the fact that it had been too late for her sister. She doubted that would ever change.
“I wanted you to know that Kelsey was smart. Shrewd, even. And she never stopped planning a way to come back to you and your family.”
Her eyes welled, but the tears didn’t fall. Maybe someday she’d want to see everything Kelsey had written. Learn every detail of her sister’s captivity and death. But Janie knew she didn’t have it in her now.
“And I wanted to give you this.” Foster smiled a little. “It’s not strictly by the book, but sometimes the book is missing a few pages.” He reached into the inside pocket of his coat. Took out a folded slip of paper. “It’s a copy of what she wrote about you. To you.”
He slid the paper across the table toward her. Janie stared at the note, panic fluttering in her chest. She wanted to reach for it. Couldn’t force her fingers to move. There’d been a time long ago when she’d been convinced she’d see her sister again. Talk and laugh and fool around with her the way they used to. The certainty had faded over the years. Had died completely at the discovery of Kelsey’s body. This, then, was what was left of her sister. A few words scribbled on a small creased paper.
“Maybe this isn’t the right time.”
His words shattered her paralysis. Reflexively, she snatched the note from the table. But she had to consciously summon the will to slowly unfold it. My sister is Janie. Kelsey’s voice rang in Janie’s head, narrating the words. She has social anxiety that doesn’t let her do everything she wants to, but she’s crazy smart. Way smarter than I was at that age. She fell out of the swing once when she was little, and I was the only one who could get her to get back on it. I taught her to pump with her feet, and after a while, she’d let me give her underdogs. Fly high, Janie. That’s what I always told her. Fly high, and you’ll find your voice.