Truth was, she had a pretty good idea what the truth was. Alice was infatuated with the man. She had flirted with him; he’d rebuffed her. She was either labeling him gay to assuage her hurt feelings, or to discourage other women’s interest in him.
“Because I don’t care.”
She saw by the teenager’s expression that she didn’t like her answer. “I know about your sister,” she said. “About that boater who almost killed her.”
“And?”
She was silent a moment. “Nothing. I just know, that’s all.”
“Would you like to ask me about it?”
She wanted to say “No,” Stacy could tell. But curiosity got the better of her.
“Okay.”
“We skipped school. Or I should say, Jane skipped school with me and some of my friends. It was March, and still pretty cold. We dared her to swim.”
“And a boater hit her?” Alice said, her eyes wide.
“Yes. He deliberately ran her down. Or so it seemed. He was never caught.” Stacy drew a deep breath. “She nearly died. It was…awful.”
The teenager leaned forward. “Her face was really messed up, huh?”
“That’s an understatement, actually.”
“I saw a picture of her. She looks normal.”
“Now. Because of many, many surgeries.”
Alice sucked on her straw. “She blamed you, didn’t she?”
Stacy shook her head. “No, Alice. I blamed myself.”
They sipped their coffees in silence. After a moment, Alice frowned. “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”
She said the words almost grudgingly. As if she knew upfront they would tell Stacy more about her than she wanted her to know. But even so, she couldn’t help herself.
In that moment, Stacy realized just how lonely Alice Noble was.
“It’s pretty great,” Stacy offered. “Now. Though we weren’t always close. In fact, for years we hardly spoke.”
Alice looked fascinated. “How come?”
“Lots of misunderstandings and hurt feelings.”
“Because of what happened to her?”
“There were other things that contributed as well, but yes. I’ll tell you about them sometime.”
Alice sucked on the straw, expression eager. “But you’re close now?”
“She’s my best friend. She had a baby in October. Her first. Apple Annie,” Stacy smiled. “That’s my pet name for her. She has the roundest, pinkest cheeks.”
“A baby,” Alice repeated, tone wistful. “Sweet.”
Stacy glanced away, afraid the girl would see sympathy in her eyes. As often as she had wished to be an only child while growing up, she wouldn’t trade her sister for anything in the world.
Alice would never know that joy.
“Do you miss them?” the teen asked.
“More than anything.”
“Then why did you move here?”
Stacy was silent a moment, deciding how vague she should be. “I needed a fresh start,” she said finally. “Too many bad memories.”
The younger woman looked perplexed. “But your sister, her baby, they’re not bad memories.”
“No, they’re not.” Stacy shifted the conversation to Alice.
“Do you have any cousins close to your age?”
She shook her head. “But I have an aunt who’s really cool. My dad’s sister, Aunt Grace.”
“Where does she live?”
“In California. She’s an anthropology professor at University of California, Irvine. We go places together.”
Apparently, brains ran in the family. As did coolness.
The teenager glanced at her watch. “I better go. Clark wanted me back in an hour.”
“Wait. I think you knew a friend of mine.”
She narrowed her eyes, expression doubtful. “Who?”
“She was into RPGs. Came here a lot. Her name was Cassie.”
Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Curly blond hair?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I haven’t seen her lately.”
Stacy’s chest tightened. “Me either.”
The teenager frowned. “Is she okay?”
Stacy ignored her question, asking one of her own. “She ever talk to you about White Rabbit?”
Alice shook her head and sipped some of the frozen coffee through the straw. “Did she play it?”
“No. But she mentioned having met someone who played. I thought maybe it was you?”
“Uh-uh. Why don’t you just ask her?”
The teenager’s words hit Stacy hard. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. “Maybe I’ll do that,” she managed when she found her voice. She stood. “Maybe we should get back?”
Alice glanced at her watch, agreed and stood. She met Stacy’s eyes, expression slightly sheepish. “You don’t have to walk behind me.”
“You’re sure?” Stacy teased. “I wouldn’t want to humiliate you or anything.”
“I guess I was kind of a jerk earlier. Sorry.”
She didn’t sound all that sorry, but Stacy gave her major points for relenting at all. She remembered what it was like to be a teenager caught in extraordinary circumstances.
When they reached the mansion, Alice went in search of Clark and Stacy returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Maitlin was unpacking groceries.
She glanced at Stacy. “Do I sense the beginning of a truce?”
“A small one, I think. Although don’t get too used to it, it may be temporary.”
The woman laughed. “Mr. Noble was looking for you. He’s in his office, I believe.”
“Thanks. I’ll go see him now.”
“Could you bring him his mail?” She retrieved the stack from the counter. “It’ll save me a trip.”
“Sure, Valerie.” Stacy took the mail and headed to Leo’s office. She found the door partially open. She tapped on it. It swung further open, and she stuck her head in. “Leo?”
He wasn’t there. The NOPD had cleared the room for cleaning; a crew had been in two days ago. The blood had left a slight shadow on the hardwood flooring. Stacy stepped over it as she crossed to the desk with the mail and laid the stack on the top of his closed Apple laptop. She gazed at it a moment, reminded of Cassie who’d also used an Apple, though a different model. She blinked, suddenly realizing what she was looking at: a postcard from Gallery 124. Announcing an art exhibit.
Pogo’s gallery.
She frowned and picked it up. The postcard had been mailed to Leo, by name. Which meant he was on their mailing list. He had visited the gallery, perhaps bought something from it.
A coincidence?
She hated coincidences. They always smelled like fish.
“Hey, Stacy. Can I help you?”
She spun around, guilty heat stinging her cheeks. “Leo. Valerie asked me to bring your mail.”
“Valerie?”
“Mrs. Maitlin. You wanted to see me?”
“I did?”
“Didn’t you?”
He smiled and closed the door behind him. “I suppose I did. Though I can’t remember why. What’s that?”
He motioned at the postcard, still in her hands. “An advertisement,” she said, holding it up.
He crossed to her. Took the card. She watched him as he studied it, looking for unease, surprise or the moment he made the connection.
It didn’t come. Had she ever told him the name of Pogo’s gallery?
“I’m not so crazy about nonobjective art. It just doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“The gallery’s name caught my attention. Not the art.” At his blank expression, she added, “Gallery 124. That’s where Pogo exhibited.”
“Small world.”
That small?
Was he a consummate actor? Or really in the dark?
“You’re on their mailing list. Did you buy something there?”
“Not that I remember.” He tossed the postcard on the desk. “Did you sleep well?”
“Pardon?”
He smiled, the curving of his lips boyish. And naughty. “It was your first night with us. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”
“Fine.” She took a small step backward, suddenly uncomfortable. “Everything was fine.”
He caught her hands. “Don’t run away.”
“I’m not running. Just-”
He kissed her.
She made a sound of surprise and pushed him away. “Leo, don’t.”
“Sorry.” He looked almost comically disappointed. “And here I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
“Have you?”