He needed to show some initiative. Show his mentor he was a man to be respected. If he grabbed her now, then he could spend hours with her before his mentor arrived. Private time. Away from prying eyes.
He moved his vehicle down the street and parked in a retail parking lot. He reached for a general repairman’s ball cap on his front seat and got out. A few hours alone with her. Yeah. That would be real nice.
Jenna could no longer ignore the urge to see her family’s old home, the spot where her life had been shattered and forever changed. Several times, she’d almost gotten in her Jeep and made the twenty-mile drive but each time, she’d lost her courage. Now, with the greater Nashville area knowing she was back in town, it seemed foolish to fear driving by the old place.
She had found the address a couple of years ago when she’d been closing up her aunt’s apartment. There’d been a very old letter from her mother to her aunt and printed on the top left corner of each envelope had been her old home address.
The letter had been simple and to the point. Aunt Lois, sorry to hear about Uncle Henry’s death. Know that you’re in our thoughts and prayers.
Love, Carol.
Jenna had been uninspired by the letter that had offered little in the way of her old family. If only her mother had taken just a moment to write something about her daughters or her husband. A few scrawled words . . .
But there’d been nothing but the address.
Now, following the GPS directions she turned into the tree-lined neighborhood located in an upscale community outside of Franklin.
The neighborhood was older and filled with brick homes and large oak trees with large, wide canopies of leaves. Curb and gutter trimmed the streets and lined green rolling lawns.
A long way from the small apartment she’d shared with her aunt.
The directions ended in a cul-de-sac and she parked at an angle from the home. She shut off the engine of her car and got out. Slowly, she moved to the edge of the yard and stared at the big home made of brick with large windows flanked by hunter-green shutters. A crepe myrtle drooped full and heavy with pink blossoms beside a graveled driveway lined with square stones.
The house, she’d learned, had turned over ownership several times in the last twenty-five years. It was in a prime location and she supposed buyers were willing to overlook its history. To look at the house it would be easy to assume she’d come from money, but her aunt had said the house was mortgaged, and that by the time the house had finally sold a year after the murders, there’d been no money.
She drew in a breath as she stared at the house. A memory flashed. She was running across the lawn. Laughing. She’d been wearing a blue dress and she’d been holding a balloon. Another girl, older, her sister, had chased her. She was also laughing. She closed her eyes, hoping to draw more from the moment but it faded like smoke in the wind.
Jenna looked up at the second-floor window. Her memory shifted and she was back in time. A woman stood in the window. Her mother. She was weeping.
“Why were you crying, Mom?” Jenna’s own throat now tightened with emotions that threatened to pry the armor from her heart. She didn’t want to feel this. She didn’t want to remember. Hers was a good life, and she didn’t need the past poisoning what she had.
On reflex, she shifted to cop mode. “Then why’re you here? If this was such a happy place and life was perfect, then why’re you here? Why’re you remembering the image of your mother crying?”
Why did perfect feel broken?
Jenna didn’t have an answer.
A dark Lexus pulled up behind Jenna and after a moment, Susan Martinez got out. She walked with purpose up to Jenna. “Thank you for agreeing to the meeting.”
She slid her hands into her pockets not sure what to say. “Sure.”
Susan held up keys. “Want to see the inside of the house?”
“How did you get those keys?”
“The house is for sale.”
“There’s no sign.”
“In this neighborhood, there often aren’t signs. No one likes to see turnover.”
“Who gave you the keys?”
“From my realtor friend. He said the owner wouldn’t be home for a few hours. We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”
She cleared her throat. “Why is he selling?”
“Money trouble from what I hear. He’s been in the house for twelve years but for whatever reason ran into problems. Who knows? Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She followed Susan up the brick sidewalk, concentrating on the click of the reporter’s heels instead of the thump, thump of her own heart. Susan inserted the key into a lockbox by the front door and then removed the house key. A flip of the wrist and the door opened.
For a moment, Jenna hovered on the front porch, bracing as if past ghosts rushed through like an arctic wind.
“You okay?” Susan asked.
She hesitated as she searched for her voice. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Emotions can be overwhelming.”
Memories of laughter elbowed to the front of her mind first as she moved to a large, bull-nosed banister that led to the second-floor landing. She’d remembered running down those stairs, excited and happy. It had been her first day of school. She’d been wearing new shoes and had a bow in her hair.
Jenna moved toward the darkened hallway as Susan flipped on the light. She glanced to her left into a parlor that felt similar to her parents’ front room. A picture on the wall, a landscape, also triggered a moment of déjà vu. “It doesn’t look like it’s changed much.”
“I was never in the house while I was covering the case. The cops had it closed up for almost a year and by the time it reopened, life had moved on to the next story.”
The next story. The Thompsons had been forgotten.
“What do you remember?” Susan asked.