The report was old news now. The Lost Girl’s identity had been made and a woman, Loyola Briggs, was suspected to be her mother. She’d been brought in for questioning last night. There’d not been enough evidence to hold her, so she’d been released. However, those in the know said this gal was on borrowed time. Weeks separated her from hard time in prison.
“Got to feel kinda helpless.” A raised glass got the bartender’s attention. When the glass arrived, Madness slid it toward Loyola. “Looks like you could use this more than me.”
“What do you want for it?”
“Nothing. Just thought I’d be nice.”
Her gaze settled on a crack in the bar as she shook her head. “No one is nice unless they want something.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” The fishing line dangled in front of her, the whiskey was the bait. She’d not be able to resist the glass, and soon she’d not be able to resist what came next.
“I can help.”
She downed the glass. “How?”
“I know the woman who got you into trouble. The one that drew the sketch of that girl.”
The woman raised her gaze, filled with anger and confusion. Ah, here was another kindred soul whose reason battled with madness. By the looks, her madness won regularly. “That picture ain’t of my kid. My kid is living a happy life in California.”
“Of course she is. Shame though someone would tell such horrible lies about you.”
“She’s a bitch.” Another glass of whiskey was ordered and quickly tossed back.
“Want to get even?” Madness could have a sweet and kind voice when it suited. “I can help.”
Loyola stared into the empty depths of her glass as if lost. “I don’t know where she lives.”
“I do.”
“Why would you care?”
“Maybe I don’t like her either.”
She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “What did she do to you?” She had the eyes of a dead woman.
“Doesn’t matter. You in or not?”
Loyola held up her empty glass and smiled as he refilled it. “I’m in.”
“Excellent.”
Twenty minutes later they stood in front of Jenna’s house. Loyola swayed, so drunk she could barely stand.
“What’re we doing here?”
“This is the house of the woman who drew that picture of the Lost Girl. She’s the one that started all your trouble.”
Squinting, Loyola glared up at the cabin. “She lives here?”
“She does. I hear she’s the type of woman who likes to stir up trouble for the sake of it.”
“Some secrets need to stay buried,” Loyola said.
“They surely do. No good comes from dredging up the past.”
“No good.”
Loyola shifted her stance and flexed her fingers. “Bitch.”
In a voice low and sharp, Madness asked, “How about we give her a little payback for all the trouble she’s caused?”
“I don’t need no more trouble.”
“You wouldn’t get into trouble if you were careful.”
“I ain’t careful. I mess up everything I touch.”
“I know how to be careful. Very, very careful.”
She shook her head and rubbed her eyes as if swatting away a memory. “I screw up everything. Everything. My father kicked me out when I was seventeen and my husband was pissed when I got pregnant and kept saying I was no good for him. I tried and tried, but it never seemed to matter. I always screwed up.”
If not for her sins, one might almost feel sorry for her. She was like everyone else, rich or poor, famous or unknown. She wanted to be loved. “Would you like to do something right? I can show you how.”
“I can’t.”
What had Sister said once? You could sell ice to Eskimos. “You can. With my help.”
She looked up into eyes filled with worry, fear, and loss. “Why would you help me? We just met.”
“I see a lot of myself in you. Someone who is lost and wants to connect but just can’t seem to say or do the right thing. If I’d had a mentor my life would have been different.”
“What’s a mentor?”
“Someone who guides you. Helps you. A friend.”
She raised two clenched fists to her temples and pressed them hard against her skin. “What does all that mean?”
“It means, I show you how to get a little revenge. It means, we could do something fun. Like burn down Jenna’s house.”
She moistened her lips as if she savored a delicious flavor. “Why?”
“Why not?”
She stared at the house, her gaze burning with a white-hot desire. “If she’d not drawn that picture everything would be fine.”
“That’s right. If not for her, it would all be fine.” He settled his hands gently on her shoulders.
“Is she in the house?”
“Yes.”
Tension rippled through her shoulders. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He held her steady. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The cops are coming after you.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. They’re going to make sure you rot in jail. At least know that Jenna isn’t laughing when they take you to jail.”
“She laughs at me?”
“All the time.”
Loyola grit her teeth. “Is it hard to burn a house down?”
“No, it’s fairly easy.”
Normal people slept at night. They closed their eyes and let the day’s events sort themselves out. They decompressed. Shut down.
For Jenna, nights could be painfully long if she didn’t sleep. She rolled on her side and punched her pillow. When she’d been in Baltimore there’d been friends she could call at night. Always someplace open that would welcome her; she could pretend it was a case bothering her and not some insane quirk she couldn’t shed.
She rolled on her back and stared at the play of shadows on the ceiling. Counting the now too familiar cracks in the ceiling, her thoughts turned to Sara. Her sister was arguing. Her voice had crackled with anger as she’d stood toe-to-toe with their father. I hate you!
The echoes of slamming doors rattled in her memory. Her father was yelling. Her mother crying. She huddled under her blanket, crying, wishing someone would take her away.
Her wish had been granted. The shouting had stopped. And she’d been taken away.