The Lost Women of Lost Lake (18 page)

“Will you help?”

Finding the truth was as important to Jane as it was to Jill. And also, though she wouldn't have admitted it out loud, she was itching to prove that she wasn't a dilettante. “I'll do everything I can.”

“You're saving my life, Jane. And Tessa's.”

Jane wished she was as sure. The one thing she did know was that, when it came to the need to discover and understand, she was tenacious. If she had a trip wire to her soul, that was it.

21

Emily's rusted Chevy glided to a stop in the woods just off North Gower Road. When she thought of that summer, two years before, the night she and Jonah had first found this spot, she felt an almost crushing sadness roll over her. They'd been looking for a private place close to town, a location that they could walk to quickly. They were so happy back then, so in love that they couldn't bear to be in each other's company and not be touching. And now she'd gone and blown it, wrecked any chance of a future together.

Emily was startled by the eyes staring back at her in the rearview mirror. They looked just like her mother's. All along, she'd been so sure that she was making the right decisions. She wasn't going to live an accidental life, as if she were drifting through the Miller Hill Mall in Duluth, waiting for something to happen. Emily had plans, goals that she was working toward—until late this afternoon, that is, when the wheels of her life had careened off the tracks.

“You're an idiot,” she said, banging on the steering wheel. “A stupid, brainless
idiot
.”

She jumped when Jonah rapped on the passenger side window. Leaning over, she pulled up the lock. He slid in next to her and they reached for each other, holding on so tight it hurt.

“Where were you all day?” he whispered into her ear. “I called and texted but you never answered.”

“We're here now.”

“You're shivering. How can I undress you if you're cold?”

“You'll keep me warm.”

“I am so stoked,” he said, pulling away to play the dashboard like a drum. “So pumped.”

“About what?”

“Everything. Maybe I am a superhero after all.” He wasn't smiling, just squirreling around in his seat.

“How come you were at the theater tonight?”

“I came to see you. I wanted to watch you act.”

“I'm getting better. I really am.” Not that it mattered anymore.

They began their lovemaking on a blanket they'd tossed under a pine near the edge of the shore, all arms and legs, soft skin and hard muscle, rushing too fast but unable to stop until, at last, they lay content in each other's arms.

“I love you so much,” whispered Emily, tears springing to her eyes.

“There are no words for how I feel,” Jonah whispered back. “You're everything to me.”

“Why do you love me?”

“Because you're good and kind, you're fun and funny. And you're beautiful, not just outside, but inside.”

His words only sunk the knife in deeper.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jonah looked down at her in the soft evening light, tracing his fingers from her throat to her stomach. “I have super powers, you know.”

“So you said. You're a goof.”

“You think I'm kidding?”

“Don't joke.”

“Kenny doesn't think I'm good enough for you. He says I'm weak.”

“He's wrong.”

“I know. Are you cold? You're shivering again.”

How could she tell him that it had nothing to do with the temperature? She was frozen inside, couldn't imagine ever feeling warm again. “If I'd done something … really bad, would you still love me?”

“Would you love me if I'd done something bad?”

“Nothing could make me love you less.”

“Then we're a perfect match.”

She felt his hair fall across her face, relaxed into the warmth of his body as it stretched out against hers, and drifted as her world was reduced once again to the single sensation of his lips.

*   *   *

It was after two in the morning when Jonah ducked in through the garage and let himself into the cottage. Instead of going directly to his room, he crept up the steps into the living room. As usual, no matter what was going on in his life, he was hungry. He also needed to run up to the loft to retrieve Tessa's diary.

At this late hour, Jonah assumed that his aunts would be asleep. Tomorrow he'd stick around and let them holler at him. He deserved it. But Emily came first.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, Jonah noticed that the shades were no longer pulled. Weak moonlight streamed in through the open windows. With Feigenbaumer out of the way, there was no one for his aunt to be afraid of anymore. He started for the stairs up to the loft, stopping when he heard a voice say, “The prodigal returns.”

Coming to a full stop, he turned and squinted into the darkness. Tessa was sitting in one of the leather chairs. She had a wineglass in her hand and was toasting him with it.

“Hi,” he said, his voice sounding guilty even to himself. “I, ah, I thought you'd be in bed.”

“Did you.” She motioned him to the chair opposite her.

“I'm kind of tired. Maybe you could yell at me in the morning.”

“Sit.”

He skirted around the couch and eased himself down. Might as well face his interrogator.

“So,” she said after a long pause during which she regarded him icily, “is this how you're going to play it? You use our home as a crash pad, come and go as you like, ignore us or any responsibilities we might choose to inflict?”

“Don't freak, okay. I was just getting used to being back. I wanted to check in with Kenny and Emily—”

“And how
is
the lovely Kenny and the even lovelier Emily?”

“They're okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Emily is fabulous and Kenny's a butthead.”

“Sounds like nothing's changed.” She set the wineglass down and pressed her fingers together to form an arch. “Let's recap, shall we? You want to spend your senior year in Lost Lake. To do so, and not be forced to sleep in the park and eat out of Dumpsters, you want to stay with us. To impress us with your gratitude and devotion, you disappear for two days. To impress us with your maturity, you get behind the wheel of my car after you'd been drinking.”

“Yes, but—”

She held up a hand. “You also forgot to tell us that you were suspended twice from school last term—once for indulging in a little illicit weed, once for losing your temper and attacking a fellow student. Have I misstated any of this?”

“No.”

“If you were me, what would you do?”

“I'd let me stay.”

“Because?”

“Because I love you and Aunt Jill. You're like my moms. And because the last two days haven't been normal.”

“Not normal? What, specifically, does that mean?”

“Look, I'm sorry. You're not going to like this next part either.” He hesitated, not sure he was making the right move. “I heard you talking to Mrs. LaVasser on Monday morning. I was in the kitchen getting myself some cereal.”

She sat up a bit straighter. “And you decided to eavesdrop.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“You listened in on a private conversation. Another charming addition to your list of sins. How much did you hear?”

“Pretty much all of it. But everything's jiggy, right, because the man who was after you is dead? I'm sorry about Mrs. LaVasser. I would have been a lot sorrier if anything had happened to you.” In the darkness it was hard to see her face. When her shoulders started to shake, he could tell that she was crying. It cut him to the bone.

“Tessa, it's okay,” he said, kneeling down next to her. “That man can't hurt you anymore. You're just feeling bad because of Mrs. LaVasser. I get that. But tomorrow, in the daylight, everything will look different, I promise.”

She reached out and touched his hair, ruffling it, then smoothing it, then ruffling it some more. “It's not that simple.”

“Yes it is.”

“You're so young.”

“That doesn't mean I'm stupid.”

She wiped her face. “I've missed you, Jonah. So much.”

“And I've missed you. I never wanted to leave.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “Jane told me you were at the theater tonight.”

“Yeah, for a while. Emily's in the production. That's why I went.”

She stared at him for several seconds. “That's all?”

“Huh?”

She kept staring at him with a strange look on her face.

“Emily and I are back together.”

“I'm happy for you.”

“This next year is going to be the best year of my life.”

More hesitation. “I want that for you.”

“Then you'll let me stay?”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Jill and I talked earlier this evening. For the time being, you're grounded. You don't leave the house without permission. Understood?”

“Yeah.”

“It's late. We should both turn in.”

He got up and started for the spiral stairway up to the loft. He wasn't sure how he could get the notebook down without her seeing it. Maybe he'd wait until she'd gone to bed.

“And no TV,” said Tessa.

“I wasn't going up to watch TV.”

“No more lounging in the loft. I see you up there, you're history.”

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Really.”

She let her head sink back against the chair cushion. “I know you are.”

“Night,” he said, grabbing an apple off the kitchen island.

“Good night.”

As he got to the door that led downstairs, he said, “You okay?”

“Sweet, sweet boy,” she whispered. “Go to bed.”

22

Jane tugged on Cordelia's pajama sleeve. “Wake up.”

“Go away,” said Cordelia, brushing at Jane's hand and pulling the quilt up over her head.

“Come on. No time for malingering.”

“It's the middle of the night.”

“You think ten
A.M.
is the middle of the night.”

Yanking off the quilt, Cordelia pointed to the clock next to the bed. “It's four
A.M.
I'm right. You're wrong. Go away.” Back went the quilt.

“You have to drive me to Duluth.”

“This is a bad dream. You're not really here.”

Jane sat down next to her. “I've been online trying to find out information about this Feigenbaumer guy. The connection is so slow I'm losing my mind. So I made a decision.”

“It's good to be decisive. Just not at four
A.M.
Cease talking to me, Jane, or it's gonna get nasty.”

“You need to drive me to the airport in Duluth. I checked the flights. If we leave right away, I can make the early flight to Minneapolis. From there, I'll go on to Chicago. I should be able to get everything done by tonight. I'll fly back to Minneapolis, and then on to Duluth. I'll need you to pick me up.”

“Cordelia Thorn—”

“Does not haul. Yes, I know.”

“And I don't run a taxi service.”

“This is important. More important than your beauty sleep.”

“You're on thin ice there.”

“It's either that or I take your car and leave it in the lot at the airport.”

Poking her head out from under the quilt, Cordelia shrieked, “Oh, no you don't. Not my cherry red convertible. It could get scratched.”

“Or stolen. So get up. I'll make us some coffee to take in the car.”

“A cup of coffee. What every person wants in the middle of the night.”

“We can buy snacks on the way.”

“What am I supposed to tell Jill and Tessa in the morning?”

“Say that I've got a touch of food poisoning.” Jane headed back through the door to her room. “I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

“I can't get ready in five minutes. Unless I wear my pajamas.”

“If anyone asks, we'll just say it's a fashion statement.”

*   *   *

The United Airbus bumped down in Chicago just after eleven
A.M.
Jane located a phone book in the terminal lobby and checked for the name Feigenbaumer. She found three possibilities. Carla Feigenbaumer on Temple Avenue in Highland Park; Paul S. Feigenbaumer on Cogdill Avenue in Norridge; and Steven P. Feigenbaumer, on Tripp Avenue, just east of the loop. With a last name like that, she figured there was a good chance they were all related. She wrote the phone numbers and addresses in a small black notebook.

The one significant piece of information she'd been able to glean from last night's abortive Internet search was that Feigenbaumer had recently received an award. In the article from the
Chicago Tribune
, she'd learned that he worked robbery for the CPD. She also learned that each of the five official areas in Chicago proper had its own robbery unit. She'd been able to locate a PDF of the Chicago Police Department telephone directory, which took an amazing twenty minutes to download, and from there she'd copied down the phone numbers for robbery in each of the five areas. Sitting down in a Starbucks with a double latte, she tapped in each number. The first two were dead ends. When she hit unit 3, the line connected and a man's voice answered.

“I'm looking for Steve Feigenbaumer,” said Jane.

“He's not here.”

“Is it possible that I could come in and talk to someone else on the unit?”

The man gave her an address on West Belmont. She thanked him and hung up, and then she headed outside to find herself a cab.

Jane had a love/hate relationship with Chicago. She loathed the freeways, the endless cityscape, the icy winds in the winter, and the deadly heat and humidity in the summer. Politics in Chicago gave her a bad case of indigestion. And yet the city itself, the bawdy history, the wealth of historic architecture, and the ease with which a person could find an excellent meal had won her heart the first time she visited. The fact that she wouldn't have time to stop by the Art Institute—and the little Russian restaurant close by that was one of her all-time favorites—caused her more than a little psychic pain. She reminded herself that she wasn't here for fun and games.