“Very little.” A glance toward the kitchen at the end of the hall quickened her heart rate. That was where the police had found her slain family. Father at the back door, likely first shot. Mother by the stove and Sara just inside the kitchen from this hall. Police theorized he’d killed her parents and waited for Sara.
She grazed her fingertips along the polished dark wood of the banister. She drew in a breath knowing smell was a key trigger but her memories, huddled in the shadows, would not be coaxed out. “My room was the third on the right, upstairs. It was next to my sister’s.”
“Let’s go look.”
Jenna glanced up the stairs, feeling the interloper and intruder. But this was the chance she’d driven so far to grab. Slowly, she moved up the stairs, hoping each step took her closer to memories that could not be articulated. She peered in the first bedroom. Four-poster bed, neatly made with a blue comforter as smooth as still waters, a gilded mirror above the headboard, and a dresser with brushes neatly cleaned and lined up in a row. She moved down the hallway to the next room. A teen girl’s room decorated with posters of rock stars and dominated by a bed made up in purple and covered with dozens of different pillows. Bead strands hung over the windows. In a different decade it could have been Sara’s room.
She drew in a breath and stepped toward the room that had been hers. Her mouth grew dry and her hands clammy. She pushed open the door to find the room of a little girl. Pinks and whites dressed a brass daybed. Dolls lined up on the bed’s pillow, sheer curtains covered the windows that looked out over the front lawn, and a large teddy bear sat slumped in a corner.
“It’s not decorated like it was, but the room layouts are the same.”
“Stands to reason, largest to smallest.”
She touched the soft coverlet. “Yes.”
“Do you remember that night at all?”
“Not much. I fell asleep and when I awoke, Ronnie’s dirty hand was on my mouth.” “Shh, be very, very quiet. There are bad guys outside that want to kill you.” She touched her lips with her fingertips. “My next memory is the closet.”
Susan shifted her stance, gripping the leather strap of her purse so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “There’s no easy way to say it but to just say it.”
Jenna frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
“I knew your father.”
Jenna sat straighter. “Excuse me?”
“He and I knew each other. I met him while I was covering the courthouse.”
“Okay.”
She dropped her voice and adjusted a gold watch on her wrist. “I cared for him.”
Jenna stepped back from the bed. Memories of her mother standing in the window, crying, flashed. “You had an affair with him?”
A frown stained the edges of an otherwise smooth forehead. “You make it sound cheap.”
“No. But let’s call it what it was.”
“I loved your father. And I know he loved me. I met you once when you were about four.”
“Really?” She should have been shocked or angered by this revelation, but the curiosity for her past overwhelmed all other emotions. “Where?”
“You were at the high school football game. Your older sister was cheering and your father took you to the game.”
“My mother wasn’t there.”
“I never saw her.” She shifted and managed a smile. “You were a cute little thing. Looked like a mini version of your sister.”
“My aunt said that once.”
“You’ve not seen pictures?”
“I just have one. It was taken of the four of us. My aunt said they were all destroyed.”
Susan reached in her designer leather purse and pulled out a picture. “I’ve been thinking about giving this to you since I first saw you.”
“You didn’t dig into my past. You recognized me.”
“I saw your sister and your father in you. And I knew your name was Jennifer, of course. Jenna, Jennifer, not a huge leap.”
Jenna struggled to assimilate what she was hearing. “Why didn’t you say anything to me before the interview? Why tell the world who I was?”
“I’m desperate for a story so I can keep my job. I didn’t stop to think until later. I should have talked to you first.”
“Why not expose your own connection?”
“I’m a coward.”
Jenna studied her a beat. Her father’s affair explained why her own mother had been crying. Maybe even why Sara had been fighting with her father.
Susan held out the picture. “Take it. It’s the least I can give you.”
She accepted the picture and stared down at the face of a man, her father, standing with two girls. The older girl, Sara, appeared to be about fifteen and the younger one, Jennifer, four. Sara wore a cheering outfit and she did as well.
As if in explanation, Susan said, “You loved the idea of cheering like your sister. I believe it was your mother who made the outfit for you.”
Staring into these faces triggered a surge of sadness and joy and longing. “You took the picture?”
“Yes. That day at the game.”
Jenna traced the face of her sister. Her parents’ marriage, the affair, even their connection should have been on top of her list of questions. Instead, all she could ask was, “Why did he do it? Why did Ronnie kill my family and take me?”
Susan raised a manicured finger and brushed a single strand of hair back in place. “I don’t know. I wish to hell I did, but I don’t know. Have you read the police records?”
“Not yet.”
“Ronnie worked at the high school around the time your sister arrived there as a freshman. By all accounts, no one ever saw the two together. No one understood the depth of his obsession with your sister. She was out of his league and he knew it.”
“He did all this to punish her?”
“That was the theory.”
Jenna’s emotions swirled around her and she had to struggle to keep them silent. She had no idea if Susan was telling her the truth or lying to get her story. The picture she held in her hand might be precious but it could have been taken by anyone. Her defenses rose.
“Can I keep this?” Jenna asked.
“Of course. I brought it for you.”
“Thanks.” She glanced down again at the picture. More emotions of loss and longing swirled.