Lies We Bury(12)

“Wow. I’m assuming you said no?”

“Are you kidding?” Her nose wrinkles. “Reporters and bloggers have been chasing me for years. More so than you or Lily. Something about rehab making me the most interesting sister,” she grumbles. “The very last thing I’d want is to give those bastards more ammunition.”

I tuck my legs underneath me. “This is all so crazy. Why me? Why now?”

Jenessa pushes a thick curtain of wavy hair behind an ear. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asks in a small voice. “It says so right there. Twenty years. The author wants to capitalize on the anniversary. Drum up more publicity by getting you involved. It’s probably that writer.”

“Mm.”

A thousand dollars. Would I have accepted it had I been approached? The idea of exposing myself, my family, more than we already are feels awful, but my empty wallet would be tempted. Even though a small voice within me is wondering why Jenessa was approached and not me, I’m glad I didn’t have to make the decision she did. Sibling rivalry be damned.

I tear my eyes from a book entitled My Sister, My Friend and turn back to Jenessa. “You think the note has nothing to do with the killer? It’s just someone trying to manufacture an association between our case and this new crime?”

“I mean, yeah. Doesn’t that make more sense? If it is the writer who contacted me, and he wrote you this note to grab your attention, I can see how your involvement would benefit him. Help sell more books. Why would this killer share information with you otherwise?”

I glance down at the page, wanting to believe. But the police didn’t learn about the body until the next day. “I don’t know. I just want this to go away. Maybe it will.”

She laughs, then runs a hand down her face. “God, it’s so like you to assume things will just go your way. Everything will work out because it always has for you. Been that way since we were kids.”

I stiffen. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. That time when we were eight and you were watching the class guinea pig and it just died overnight? Rosemary made sure to tell everyone it choked on a pellet.”

“It did. Why are you bringing that up?”

“Marissa—”

“Claire. I go by Claire now.”

“Whatever. It was found with pellet mush coming out of its mouth. You fed it to death, like that scene in the movie Seven.”

My cheeks flush, embarrassment tightening my chest. “He was hungry, and I didn’t know their stomachs were so tiny or that the pellets expanded once they were eaten. It was an accident.”

Jenessa rolls her eyes. “Whatever the intention, Rosemary cleaned up your mess like always.”

“Whoa, do you really think I killed my pet?”

“I think it annoyed you with how often its cage had to be cleaned.”

We’re both silent a moment. The words we just exchanged hang between us like noxious fumes. To say I’m disappointed would be an understatement, but I guess I didn’t think our first visit in two years would spiral so quickly. Or that she thinks I would hurt an innocent animal.

I love my sister. However, as adults, we’ve always disagreed about the past.

Jenessa offers up a tight smile. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up.” She gestures toward the table. “About the note? I think anyone can type and lead you down a wild-goose chase. The world has shown itself to be hard. Self-serving. And it treated us like circus freaks. This”—she holds up the paper—“is another example of that. If there really is another body, it will get found with or without you. Right now, it’s none of your business, and I would try and keep it that way.”

Due to her rehab stints—both of them—for drug addiction, the world hasn’t let its grip on her loosen. I’ve visited the websites dedicated to her progress or regression and seen the annual updates on her sobriety, given by “caregivers in the know.” Vultures, all of them.

“I feel like we’ve barely had a chance to connect again, and I’ve already brought this brick into our lives,” I say. I fold up the paper and tuck it into my jeans pocket. “What are your plans today?”

She straightens, fixing me with serious brown eyes. Of the three of us, Jenessa inherited Chet’s stern jawline and sharp cheekbones—but her coloring is all Nora. Thick, wavy hair; tawny skin tone; full lips; and lengthy eyelashes make her the beauty of our trio of outcasts. More than once, as a teenager, I wondered whether I would have gotten into equal trouble with drugs and the wrong boys, were I deemed as attractive.

“I’m off from the doughnut shop today. I had planned to get some work done in the garden, actually.”

“That’s great. Are you still staging the shop front? I imagine it’s a nice way to be creative.” I peer past her at a framed watercolor of Mount Hood that Lily painted for me. “Hey, you still have it.”

Jenessa follows my gaze. “It’s the only real piece of art I own.”

The peak of the inactive volcano sits dead center in a cerulean blue sky, with pine trees cascading down its slopes, fresh snow decorating the branches. Our youngest sister is surprisingly talented—surprising when one considers that I can barely color within the lines. While I acted out in my own private ways and Jenessa engaged in more public forms of self-harm, Lily exercised her angst in earth-friendly, artistic behaviors: painting, sculpting, writing poetry, and protesting industrial practices with hunger strikes. Moving around the last few years, I didn’t feel like I could care for Lily’s artwork the way I should, and Jenessa agreed to hold on to it. Irony of ironies: the addict sister is the most stable of us all.