Take Another Look (29 page)

Chapter 30

T
he two teens stood on either side of the hospital bed, bookends carved from the same wood but with a few variations in grain that made them distinctive. At the foot of the bed, Luke rested a hand on the white-sheeted ridge of her leg. A quiet reverence filled the room, broken by the beep and click of the monitors and machinery.

Distant and closed off, Harper kept her hands tucked into her hoodie. “What happened to her?”

“They say it was food poisoning.” Luke seemed deflated; he hunkered over Jane, his head bowed.

“Mom, can you hear me?” Isabel's face puckered, a sob suppressed. “Come on now, Mom.” Fervently she stroked Jane's hand, the part that wasn't encumbered by tape or tubing.

“How did she get food poisoning this bad, this fast?” Harper shook her head. “What did she eat?”

“There was poison in a cookie she ingested,” Luke said. “From a box of homemade cookies beside her in the car. The poison is called aconite. It's a chemical found in a plant that can be easily grown here in the Northwest. Wolfsbane is the common name. Some people call it monkshood.”

“Who made the cookies?” Harper asked.

Luke adjusted his glasses as he looked up at Isabel. “Didn't you bake them?”

“I baked them but . . . I didn't poison her. I didn't!”

“Here's the thing. The police also found wolfsbane in the greenhouse on Arbor Lane. Quite a few healthy blooms. How did it get there, Isabel?”

“My adoptive mother was growing it. Chrissy. She would dose herself with it to get attention.”

Harper winced. “That's sick.”

“She
was
sick,” Isabel said sadly. “Once she put it in our food, and I got sick. After that, I did all the cooking. I had to.”

“But Chrissy wasn't here to poison Jane.” Luke rubbed the hairs on his chin, trying to piece it all together. “How did Jane come to ingest it?”

“I don't know,” Isabel whispered. “She must have added it to the cookies when I wasn't looking. I can't believe it. She . . . she must have Munchausen too. It's so unfair! Why can't I have a mother who takes care of herself and me? A normal mother who loves me.” She sniffed back tears.

“Can I wake her up?” Harper asked. “Is it okay, or does she need to sleep?”

Luke shook his head, moving next to Harper at the head of the bed, where he took Jane's hand. “I'm sorry, but the poison was too much for her system. A machine is keeping her alive right now. The doctors say that, technically, she's already gone.”

“Oh, no!” Harper buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“I can't believe it.” Isabel spoke slowly. “Mama-dish . . .”

The curtain moved aside and a man stepped in. Detective Drum nodded respectfully at Luke and folded his arms, a quiet observer.

Wincing, Luke rubbed the knuckles of one hand over his jaw and then bent down so that his face was just inches from Jane's. “I guess this is our chance to say good-bye.”

“No!” Isabel cried. “This can't be happening. I can't lose my only real mother. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.”

“Because the cookies weren't intended for Jane?” Luke asked. “You baked them for the team, right? The chocolate ones were for Harper.”

“How do you—?” Isabel squinted at him. “Stop talking about the cookies! My mother is dying here.”

“From a poison you gave her.” The detective's voice, low and calm, seemed to rumble through the room. “You made those cookies with the chocolate frosting for Harper. They were the only ones that were tainted.”

“Isabel?” Harper blinked. “You tried to kill me?”

“No, I didn't,” Isabel snapped. “That's crazy.”

“Not so crazy.” Eldon Drum stepped forward, a tired frown tilting his lips. “You wanted Harper out of the picture—dead or sick or incapacitated. That way, you could stay with Jane Ryan. You could be her daughter forever. That was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“I loved my mother, but I would never hurt anyone.”

“I beg to differ.” Detective Drum sunk his hands in his pockets. “You know we've been investigating those charges against your other mother, Christine Zaretsky. I just came from the Ryan house, where we did a thorough search of your belongings, Isabel, and I've got to say, you have an odd collection of keepsakes that are rather incriminating. Among them was a Ziploc bag of dried purple flowers. Wolfsbane.”

“So you did kill my mom!” Harper's eyes were lit with fury.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Isabel said. “Jane must have put it there.”

“My guess is that you were growing wolfsbane in the greenhouse, so that you'd have plenty on hand to poison Christine Zaretsky's meals. It's a wonder she survived. And that's not all. We found a prescription bottle with your father's name on it. Heart pills. Some of the medication you stole from Nick Zaretsky and replaced with a placebo.”

Isabel crossed her arms. “I never did that.”

“Mmm.” Drum's mouth twisted in a grim expression. “And the other killing souvenir—and this breaks my heart—a child's pacifier. I'm guessing you pocketed it after you drowned your cousin Gregory. Do I have that right?”

“Go away. Can't you see I'm grieving here? I'm losing my mother.”

“You've already lost me.” Jane's voice evoked a gasp from Isabel, who stared at the bed in amazement and horror.

“Mom?” The color drained from Isabel's face. “It's a miracle! They said you wouldn't make it.”

“Yeah. For a while there I felt like I wanted to die.” Jane removed the oxygen mask and reached out to take Harper's hand. “But I knew I had to get through it. I had to be around for my girl.”

Humor sparkled in Harper's eyes as she looked down at her mother. “How was my acting? Should I audition for the next school show?”

“Absolutely.” Jane smiled at her daughter, the light of her life. “A Tony-winning performance.”

“Wait.” Isabel's features grew sharp as she stared from Harper to Jane. “You knew? You were all tricking me?”

“I knew you poisoned me. I was hoping to coax a confession from you, but we were unsuccessful.”

“But Mama-dish, I didn't do anything wrong. Tell the detective. I'm the best daughter you ever had. Well-behaved and polite. No problem at all.”

Harper rolled her eyes, but Jane kept her gaze steady on Isabel. “You are polite and so smart,” Jane said sadly. “So much potential, Isabel. But you're lacking a moral center.”

“She's the one who's lacking.” Isabel scowled at Harper. “I did everything for you. I got rid of that oaf of a softball player, and were you grateful? No.”

“
You
attacked Olivia?” Harper edged closer to the bed. “I barely knew you then.”

“No one did. But I knew you. I know all about you and your mom.
My
mom, who passed me off at birth like a piece of trash.” She wheeled toward Jane. “I would have done anything to make you love me. Anything. I always knew my real mother would be better than the fat, boring Zaretskys, and I was right.” Isabel took Jane's hand and held it gently to her heart. “You're wonderful.”

Jane shook her head slowly, staring at the girl who was unraveling before her eyes.

“All the things I did for you, and still you loved Harper better. She was going to move back home, while I was going to be sent off. After I helped get her grades up. I got her elected Snow Queen. I—”

“What?” Harper interrupted. “What are you talking about? I wasn't in the royal court.”

“But you're going to be queen. They're going to announce it on Monday.”

“She stuffed the ballot box,” Jane said. “That's why you were spending so much time at school. Not just sewing the dress, but figuring out a way to tamper with the ballots.”

Harper winced. “This is really cray cray.”

“I cooked and cleaned for both of you,” Isabel went on. “And what kind of thanks do you show me? To send me off to live with strangers?”

Jane suddenly realized why Isabel's tirade looked and sounded familiar.

Frank. He'd always had a way of manipulating the truth.

Isabel was her father's daughter.

Chapter 31

I
n the weeks after Isabel's arrest, Jane learned that forgiveness was a two-way street. While it was a blessing to be forgiven by someone you'd wronged, the process was not complete until you embraced your past choices and let the burden ease from your heart. And while Harper had been quick to forgive, Jane found it hard to stop kicking herself for all her past mistakes. Countless times, she hugged her daughter close and told her how sorry she was for doubting her.

“Mom, stop apologizing already,” Harper insisted one day as they were driving home from a shopping trip at the discount outlets. Harper had a new boyfriend and a new sense of style that involved short dresses and leggings and strappy sandals—a refreshing change that Jane was happy to encourage.

“It's going to take some time for me to forgive myself,” Jane admitted.

“You'll get over it eventually,” Harper said as Jane steered onto one of the low bridges crossing a canal. Off to the right, diamonds of light gleamed on the surface of Mirror Lake. “Until then, I'm happy to have you showering me with attention . . . and new clothes.”

“Oh, that's how that works?” Jane teased, wishing she could let go of the past as easily as Harper had. She couldn't completely shake the feeling that she had let Harper down.
I'm supposed to be your protector, but instead I put you in harm's way.

Guilt still stung her tongue, bitter as the poison that Isabel had added to the cookie frosting. That damned toxic cookie haunted Jane, probably because it had been intended as a direct attack on Harper. Over and over again, Jane wondered what would have happened if she had passed the treat on to Harper, a special “gift” from her sister. Knowing Harper's habit of gobbling things up, Jane assumed Harper would have eaten the cookie quickly, the poison working its way through her slender body, a lethal dosage for such a small body. The tragic scenario spun through Jane's mind like a video loop until she shut it down with a tool from her therapist.

It did not happen that way.
Her therapist's words resounded in her head.
Dwelling on the hypotheticals of the past will keep you stuck there. Accept responsibility for the here and now, and move forward.

“I still can't believe you would side with a psycho like Isabel,” Harper said as they waited at a red light. Although Harper's directness was surprising at times, Jane had learned to admire her daughter's earnestness. “Couldn't you tell she was fakey fake?” Harper asked, her nose wrinkled in disdain.

“She had me fooled.” Jane sighed, recalling the real tears she had seen in Isabel's eyes, more than once. The sweet bursts of affection. The twisted facts that pointed blame at others. The pouty lips and endless excuses crafted to portray Isabel as the victim.

“I guess she fooled me a little, too. At least in the beginning. She was so helpful and noble. I thought she was different from other girls, with a little bit of angel in her.” Harper popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “I was way wrong. She's a devil girl.”

Jane wasn't sure if she believed in the existence of angels and demons, but she now knew evil to exist. She had seen it with her own eyes, touched it, fallen prey to its piercing claws. “Isabel is evil, all right.”
Just like your father,
Jane thought, though she didn't want to go there with Harper now; the girl was still digesting the bombshell of a few days ago, when Jane had shared the distressing details of Frank Dixon's mental illness and criminal past.

“She needs to know,”
the therapist had told Jane, prompting Jane to spill the truth. Jane had chosen her words carefully, trying to portray Frank as a troubled man without enumerating the details of his crimes. Harper's response had been a rush of empathy for Jane. “Mom, that's so scary for you. I didn't know you were protecting me from him and . . . I can't believe you wanted to keep even one kid after the way he treated you.”

Blinking back tears, Jane had answered that she had always wanted a family, and when her babies had been born, she couldn't blame them for their father's poor choices in life. In response, Harper had flung her arms around Jane and squeezed her tight.

This young woman had not inherited the evil of Frank Dixon. Sure, she suffered adolescent angst and the occasional outbreak of bad temper, but that was normal for a fifteen-year-old girl.
How could I not see that?
Jane kept asking herself. She had been overreacting when it came to Harper, seeing ghosts where there were none. She'd made Harper out to be a monster, just like her father, when Isabel had been the one to manifest a proclivity for evil. Isabel had followed in her father's footsteps, killing without conscience. The trials were pending, but Jane knew in her heart that Isabel had killed her adoptive father and young cousin—an innocent baby. The thought of Isabel's putting her hands around the child's neck sent a shiver down Jane's spine. Two dead, and at least three others on Isabel's hit list, with Olivia Ferguson bludgeoned at the lake, Chrissy Zaretsky poisoned, and Harper—Isabel's own twin—in her killing sights.

As final proof of her moral depravity, Isabel had bragged about killing Clover. In one of the depositions, she had coolly explained how she'd smashed the guinea pig's head with a hammer that early morning and set up the scene to make it look like the dog had done it. “It was all so easy,” Isabel had claimed, “but when you're smarter than everyone else in your family, you can get away with murder.”

It scared Jane to think that Isabel had almost gotten away with her crimes . . . almost. There was some relief in knowing that the girl was locked up in a high-security detention center, awaiting trial and, most likely, a lifetime of incarceration. Jane would have to face her in a courtroom, but there would be no family visits, no letters, no money for treats in the center's commissary. No love lost over the fledgling who had grown up to be a killer.

Jane would be chipping away at guilt for years to come, but in the meantime, Harper had forgiven her, and Luke, God love him, considered her blameless, having watched her navigate the treacherous situation.

“Do you think Isabel is getting bullied in jail?” Harper asked. “I've seen how that works on television. You get bullied and beat up until you assert your territory.”

“If I had to guess, I'd say Isabel is probably the one doing the bullying.”

“With that sickeningly sweet smile,” Harper said. “The way she puckered her lips—”

“Her lips formed a beak,” Jane said. “Like a smug parrot.”

“Eew!” Harper winced, jiggling her hands. “I used to hate that.”

“Me too,” Jane said as she pulled into the garage. Mouthwatering scents of lemon and garlic led them to the kitchen, where Luke was making chicken piccata and garlic mashed potatoes. Jane leaned over the kitchen counter to kiss him. “Smells great.”

“And I'm starving.” Harper dropped her shopping bags by the bar stools. “Shopping makes me hungry. Plus, I played an eleven-inning game this morning with no break.”

“You had two cheese dogs at the mall,” Jane pointed out.

“I know, but I'm still hungry. When's dinner?”

“This'll be ready by the time you take that stuff upstairs, wash your hands, and put together a salad.” Luke smiled at Harper as he turned a chicken fillet in the sizzling oil. In the two weeks since he'd moved in, he had begun to engage Harper in chores, using his charisma and fairness to sell the program.

“Okay.” Harper gathered up the shopping bags and dashed toward the stairs. “I'll be right back.”

Jane washed her hands at the sink, then nuzzled up to Luke. “What's my dinner assignment, Mr. Bandini?”

“Why don't you open that bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge and pour some for the chef?”

“Will do.” She poured wine into a stem glass for herself, and a juice glass—“the old Italian way”—for Luke, then sat down at the counter facing her fiancé. With Harper's blessing, they would be married next week on a dock overlooking the lake. Jane had expected to marry Luke in a simple ceremony—something at the town hall with hired witnesses—but Harper wouldn't allow it. “Mom.” Harper had set stern eyes on Jane. “This is one of the most important decisions of your life. I'm not going to let you run off to town hall with Luke like you're going to pay a parking ticket or something.”

Jane had squinted at her daughter, wondering when Harper had become the responsible one. The girl was eager to have Jane's relationship with Luke made official, insisting that everyone knew about it anyway. When Luke had talked about his commitment to taking care of Harper as well as Jane, Harper had been the one to suggest that he adopt her.

“That would be my honor,” Luke had said quietly, almost reverently, bringing tears to Jane's eyes. The days of hiding and lying were over, and she welcomed her new life as Jane Bandini. She reached down to rough up Phoenix's scruff, imagining the mythological broad-winged bird rising from the ashes, reborn from the destruction of a previous life. Renewal and regeneration. A metamorphosis.

Luke cut off a corner of a chicken breast and extended the fork across the counter. “Taste test?”

Jane leaned forward and closed her mouth over the succulent meat, knowing that it would be nothing less than delicious. She was not disappointed.

 

Although Jane had been joking that the April wedding might take place under a cluster of umbrellas, the afternoon sky had opened to a crisp blue punctuated by cherubic clouds of cottony white. Before the ceremony Jane had to talk herself through a web of anxiety that had nothing to do with marrying Luke and everything to do with inviting people into her life. After years of playing it cool and low-key, living a relatively solitary life with her daughter, she was now inviting the community to share a private moment. The public spectacle made nervousness flutter in her chest like a trapped bird, but Jane knew that this was the right thing to do. The ordeal that had begun with Frank Dixon was winding to a close, and it was time to move on to the next phase of her life.

Time to rise from the ashes.

Before the ceremony began, Jane cast a nervous look out at the assembling group and was greeted by smiles and sparkling eyes. Harper's boyfriend, Quincy, was escorting ladies to seats. At over six feet, the junior basketball star towered over most of the women, who seemed charmed by his broad smile. Harper's friends Emma and Sydney had brought their parents and siblings. Russell Templer, one of the music teachers, played a bright classical piece on the electric piano, which had prompted the younger Schiavone girls to break into dance behind the rows of chairs. More than a dozen teachers were there with their spouses—a mishmash of the science and English departments. In the front row, Mary Ellen gave a little wave and then leaned down to pick up a pacifier dropped by baby Taylor, who was bouncing on Ben's lap. Jane's neighbors had made it, including Nancy's son Evan, one of Harper's first basketball coaches. Marnie sat off to the side, dabbing at her eyes with her husband's handkerchief as Jason slung an arm around her reassuringly. Tears of joy, Jane suspected; if she let her gaze linger on her old friend, soon she would be misting over too.

When the music changed and Luke took her hands, saying, “You ready to do this, kid?” Jane's nerves melted away.

Gray Tarkington officiated, having gotten an online license from the state of Oregon. His six-foot-five frame seemed like a masthead against the silvery blue waters behind him. Harper was the maid of honor, and Luke's son Matt had traveled from college in Seattle to be Luke's best man, providing a nice sense of family symmetry on the dock.

Their short vows moved as fast as the breeze on the lake, and soon the formality dissipated, giving way to music, dancing, and oven-baked pizzas from the waterfront restaurant. As Jane made her way to the bar with Luke, she marveled over the leagues of tulips that lined the paved walkway. A sea of yellow was framed by red tulip soldiers, and in the distance sumptuous purple flowers reached toward the sun.

“I'd forgotten how early the tulips bloom,” Jane said, squeezing his arm. “One of the first blasts of spring.”

Luke paused, rubbing his knuckles against his chin. “I'd like to say that I planned it this way, so that we'd think of our wedding day every year when the tulips are in bloom. But the truth is, when you and Hoppy gave the green light to get married, I jumped on the first available date.”

She smiled. “How did I ever find you?”

“In this random universe? I'd say we both got lucky.”

Taking a sip of champagne, Jane considered how a garden was a metaphor for life. A field of beauty that could make the heart swell with joy, and yet, if you looked closely there were falling petals and some browning stems. Mistakes were made. People were magnificently flawed, imperfect. And yet, last year's fallen leaves served as fertilizer for this year's blossoms. From the ashes, new life arose. Perhaps the tale of the phoenix was more than mythology. One of these days, she would ask Luke about the science of regeneration. One of these days.