“I think,” her mother said carefully, “that we’ve both suspected Piper had...unusual sensitivities...even when she was a child.Remember how she always knew when someone was upset, even if they were hiding it?”
Jenna nodded, a memory surfacing: Piper insisting they take a different route to school one morning, only to learn later that a serious car accident had occurred on their usual path.
“If these abilities are somehow what drove her away,” her mother continued, “if they frightened her so badly that she felt she needed to protect us from them...”She didn’t finish the thought, but Jenna understood the implication.
“Then they might frighten her again now,” Jenna concluded softly.“Drive her away again.”
“Exactly.”Her mother’s voice was barely above a whisper.“We’ve only just got her back, Jenna.I can’t lose her again.”
“I think,” Jenna finally said, “that we should keep the information about this murder from Piper for now.Not forever, but at least until she’s more settled.More secure in who she is and where she belongs.”
Her mother nodded, relief visible in the easing of tension around her eyes.“I agree.She’s making progress, but it’s fragile.Delicate.The doctors said routine and stability are what she needs most right now.”
“And maybe,” Jenna added, “maybe it was just a coincidence.Random words that happened to match a detail of the crime.It’s happened before in cases—apparent connections that turn out to be nothing.”
“Do you really believe that?”her mother asked, her gaze piercing.
Jenna sighed.“No.Not really.But I’d like to.”
Her mother’s smile was sad but understanding.“We all would.”
Jenna glanced at her watch—nearly midnight.“I should go.Let you get some rest.”She stood, her joints protesting after the long day.
“You’ll keep me informed?About the case?”her mother asked, rising as well.
“I promise,” Jenna said, embracing her.“No more secrets.At least not between us.”
Her mother held her tight for a moment.“Be careful, Jenna.Whatever this is—whatever connection exists between Piper and this murder—it frightens me.”
“I know, Mom.”Jenna pulled back, meeting her mother’s concerned gaze.“It worries me too.”
They walked together to the door, where Jenna paused.“Call me if anything happens with Piper.Anything at all, no matter how small it seems.”
Her mother nodded.“I will.Frank’s coming by again tomorrow to check on us, so that’s something.”
“Good.He’ll be a comfort to both of you.”Jenna stepped onto the porch, the night air cool against her skin.“Try to get some sleep.”
“You too,” her mother replied, though they both knew it was an unlikely prospect.
As Jenna walked back to her car, the weight of the day settled more firmly on her shoulders.She’d finally found Piper after twenty years, but instead of the joyful reunion she’d imagined, she found herself entwined in a mystery that threatened to disrupt her sister’s fragile recovery.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amanda Hartford’s feet throbbed with each step up the narrow staircase to her apartment, the cheap rubber soles of her uniform shoes offering little cushion against the hard surface.Ten hours standing at register number four, fake-smiling at customers who once browsed her boutique, had left her ankles swollen and her lower back a knot of dull pain.The fluorescent lighting of the discount store still burned behind her eyelids when she blinked, like afterimages of the life she’d lost.
Her key stuck in the lock as it always did, requiring a particular jiggle and upward thrust she’d perfected over the months since moving to this place.The apartment door swung open with a wheeze of hinges that needed oiling—another task she never found the energy to complete after her shifts.
Inside, the contrast with her former home was a daily slap in the face.Where she once had hardwood floors and crown molding, now vinyl tiles curled at the corners and water stains mapped the ceiling.Her furniture—the few pieces she’d salvaged after the bankruptcy—looked forlorn in the cramped space, like thoroughbreds corralled in a chicken coop.
Amanda kicked off her shoes and padded to the kitchen in her stockings.The linoleum was cool against her aching feet.She opened the refrigerator, its ancient motor humming a persistent complaint, and retrieved a half-empty bottle of white wine.Not the crisp Sancerre she used to serve at her boutique’s special shopping events, but a screw-top Pinot Grigio that had been on sale, two for twelve dollars.
She poured generously into a water glass—her stemware had been among the first casualties of her downfall—and took a long swallow.The wine was too sweet, almost cloying, but it dulled the edges of her day.The faces of customers blurred in her mind: the woman who’d complained about a three-dollar price difference, the teenager who’d snickered when Amanda couldn’t immediately figure out how to process his return, the former client who’d pretended not to recognize her as she scanned the woman’s purchases of discount leggings and mass-produced costume jewelry.
Amanda carried her glass to the small desk in the corner of her living room and opened her laptop.The machine was five years old, another relic from better days, and it groaned to life very slowly.While waiting, she took another sip and glanced at the single framed photo on her desk—Hartford’s Closet on its opening day, Amanda standing proudly in front of the freshly painted storefront, wearing a crisp black dress that had cost more than she’d make in a week at her current job.
Her business had been her identity, her triumph.The physical manifestation of everything she’d worked for since escaping the shadow of her high school reputation as the awkward, trying-too-hard girl from the wrong side of the tracks.
The laptop finally loaded, and Amanda clicked directly to TownCircle.No need to check email—nothing waited there but past-due notices and promotional offers she couldn’t afford to take advantage of.TownCircle, at least, offered the bitter satisfaction of knowing she wasn’t alone in her misery, that Trentville contained plenty of malcontents and failures alongside its success stories.
