Pretty Girls Dancing(41)

She thought about the pictures of Kelsey. There had been at least half a dozen photos in the envelope she’d found seven years ago. After one shocked glance through them, she’d focused on the money. “I think . . . I mean, I wonder if they’re getting paid to do it.”

Dr. Drake looked skeptical. “It’s possible, of course, but sites like these are usually exploitive in nature. They exist for the gratification of others. It’s doubtful they’d be paid at all or at least no more than a pittance.”

A thousand dollars wasn’t a pittance. A greasy tangle of nerves knotted in her belly, not unlike the feeling she’d gotten when she’d found that envelope under the mattress in her bedroom. She’d known immediately that Kelsey had hidden it there. It hadn’t been the first time her sister had stashed something she wanted to keep from her mother’s eyes in Janie’s room. It had been a joke between them. The way Kelsey kept her bedroom was a guarantee there would always be someone poking around in it. Cleaning or just checking on the condition of the space before nagging Kelsey to pick it up. Janie’s room was pristine by comparison.

“You seem really bothered by this.” She refocused on the therapist. “The police should be alerted. With the girls you’ve already identified, they’d have a place to start by talking to the known victims and their families to see if they can get a lead on how the pictures ended up online. And more important, if any of the girls pictured were victimized in any way.”

Her pulse went to ice. And abruptly, the mental scenarios she’d been working through for the last couple of days clarified. If her mother had been telling the truth about turning that envelope over to the state agents seven years ago, none of this would be new information. It would have all been part of the investigation.

But in the last few years, Janie had become an expert on Claire Willard’s moods. And she knew when her mother was lying.





Claire Willard

November 9

4:40 p.m.

“Honestly,” Barbara said with a sigh. “I think the citywide rummage sale is such a great fund-raiser, but is it my imagination or does the organization and pricing get more complicated every year?”

“It’s not your imagination at all.” Claire smiled at Barbara. “I struggled with how to even group some of the donations. I mean, a cardboard animal head?”

Barbara chuckled as she turned onto the private drive leading to Claire’s neighborhood. “It’s an eye-opener to realize what some will spend their money on.”

“It’ll probably be more so when we see how quickly those items go at the sale.” The two laughed as Claire’s house came into sight. She was feeling more than a bit pleased with herself. For the entire weekend, she’d been unable to shake the thoughts of the Claire who had existed prior to marriage. Everyone changed over the years, so it should be equally possible for her to shift back to that independent woman she’d once been. The one who had deftly juggled so many balls with little help from her overworked mother. This morning, Claire had taken a baby step toward that end when readying for the day. Just one yellow pill and the busyness of the subsequent hours had kept her engaged and focused. As successes went, it was miniscule. But it represented an accomplishment for her. Like developing long unused muscles, rebuilding her inner resolve would take time. The road to change would be paved with tiny steps just like these.

The fact that she was even considering the need to make adjustments was a monumental leap forward.

“I’m thinking of getting a job.” The barely formulated thought somehow melded into words. “Maybe just something part-time at first. Certainly, I have the time.” There’d be even more hours to fill next year. Before foreboding could form, she shoved the thought aside. Visions of how empty the house would be with Janie away could shatter her fledgling strength.

Barbara looked delighted. “That’s an excellent idea. Volunteering can be fulfilling, but a job—especially one you enjoy—can really provide one with a sense of purpose. What do you think you’d be interested in?”

“I haven’t gotten that far.” Her pulse skipped a little just considering it. Maybe—hopefully—from anticipation as much from trepidation. “There’s no rush. I’m just in the reflection stage at the moment.”

“Well, I, for one, am all for . . .” Barbara’s words trailed off as she swung into the drive. “That’s not Janie’s car out front, is it?”

Claire turned to look. “No. Janie would park in the garage, at any rate.” At the thought of her daughter, she dug out her cell phone and checked to see if she’d received a recent text from her. But there was nothing since the one she’d gotten earlier, informing Claire that she’d gone to her appointment with Dr. Drake.

“Maybe just a salesman then. He’s getting out of his car, see?”

As the two women exited the vehicle, Claire saw a dark-haired man rounding the hood of a gray sedan and heading for the drive. Inexplicably, nerves clutched in her belly.

“I’m looking for Claire Willard.”

She could feel Barbara moving closer to her side and felt a moment’s gratitude for her friend’s ever-vigilant protectiveness. “I’m Claire Willard.”

The man’s smile made him look boyishly attractive. “I called a couple of times, but your maid said you were gone. I was on my way out of town and thought I’d swing by to see if you’d returned.” He pulled off one glove and reached inside his coat to hand her something, which she took numbly. An official ID badge. “Special Agent Mark Foster, BCI. Is it okay if we go inside? I have a couple of questions for you.”