Page 37 of Love and Lies

“Yes?”

“Hello?” I heard a woman’s voice. “Is yours the black pickup parked outside the Thai takeout? One of your neighbors told me it belonged to you.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Is there something wrong?”

“That depends. Maybe it’d be best if you could come take a quick look.”

“I’m on my way.” I glanced at Helena, who was sitting at the counter looking quizzical. “I have to go downstairs for a sec; something’s up with my truck. Help yourself to more pasta if you want. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I slipped on my shoes and left the apartment. But as I made my way downstairs, I wasn’t thinking about what could be wrong with my car—I was thinking about Helena. About how it suddenly seemed as though the vibe had shifted between us. And about how much I wanted that to continue.

Even though I knew, without a doubt, that it was a terrible idea.

16 Helena

After Jessiah left the apartment, I stayed where I was for a moment, as if bound to my seat by ropes made of my own scruples. It suddenly seemed wrong to do what I’d come here to do. After he’d invited me to eat with him, and we’d talked… and especially since there’d been a moment—more than one—when I’d felt something I couldn’t just brush aside. Maybe I should just ask him outright if he would give me the book? And what are you going to tell him—that you’re investigating your sister’s death? He’s still Trish Coldwell’s son; she can’t hear about any of this. You’re doing this for Valerie, have you forgotten?

The voice in my head convinced me to take this one chance, so I pulled myself together and slid off my barstool. As resolutely as I could, I went to the sideboard next to the large couch, opening drawers and looking for a notebook with a gold ribbon. It did feel a little seedy to be going through Jessiah’s private things, but I told myself that if I was fast enough, he wouldn’t even notice.

There was nothing in the drawers except DVDs, candles, and other knickknacks. I shut them again and was about to turn away when a couple of framed photos on the dresser caught my eye. Although I didn’t have a minute to spare, I stopped to look.

One of them showed Jessiah—a lot younger than he was now, perhaps twelve or thirteen—sitting next to an older man at what was clearly a restaurant table with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. Both were beaming from ear to ear, which was no surprise, considering the enormous pizza in front of them. It must have been his father. I remembered that Adam hadn’t had much of a relationship with him; clearly, it had been different for Jessiah.

Another photo, taken at the beach, showed a guy with black hair and a blond girl in a bikini, arm in arm with Jessiah. His hair was much longer than it was now, tied back in a bun, and all three of them were laughing, in high spirits. Next to that was a photo of a little brown-haired boy, presumably Eli, and then another with Adam. I picked that one up.

The picture must have been a few years old, since Adam seemed younger than he’d been when I’d known him. The brothers were wearing workout clothes; they were somewhere out in nature—I could see native trees, but it was more wild than Central Park. I looked at the two boys in the photo, deep in thought. They were similar, yet at the same time different—Adam looked like a more sensible version of Jessiah. Both were tall and blond, but Adam gave off a relaxed vibe, a softness in his gaze that was completely absent from his brother’s. Even in this picture, where they both looked happy, Jessiah had that fiery, defiant look—the one that did something to me I’d never asked for. I put the photo back quickly.

Come on, get a move on.

I made quickly for the doors near the mezzanine stairs. One led to the bathroom, I knew from before, and behind the other was a storage closet. I opened it, turned on the light, and went inside.

Shelves and clothes racks had been built on both sides, but not even half of them were full. Instead, the floor was covered in cardboard boxes. My stomach did an excited flip. Could those be Adam’s things? I bent over the boxes and opened one. Inside were clothes, mostly shirts and sweaters, and a few T-shirts that I thought really might have belonged to Adam. Hastily, I opened the next box—magazines and a watch display case—then the next. When I noticed a slightly smaller box sitting on the floor a little apart from the others, I followed my intuition and opened the lid.

My heart began to pound like crazy when I saw what was inside—a large, double-fastened plastic baggie, with something written on it in thick marker: Adam’s name and date of death. These were the items he’d had on him when he died. Maybe the universe was smiling on me after all.

My hands shook as I opened the bag, pushing aside a few bills, a credit card, and several receipts. And then there it was—the notebook, bound in black leather with a gold ribbon, just like Simon had said. I’d found what I was looking for. I’d actually found it.

I stood up quickly, pocketed the notebook and closed the bag again carefully, along with the cardboard box. It didn’t seem like Jessiah had been through these boxes much lately, but better safe than sorry. Okay, now get out of there. I couldn’t hear a thing out in the living area—clearly Malia had managed to keep Jessiah busy for long enough. Now I just had to make sure everything looked as it did before and get back to my seat at the kitchen counter.

Just as I was putting the box back in its place, something hanging out of one of the other cartons caught my eye. A sleeve, navy blue, with ribbed cuffs at the end, like any old hoodie. Still, my hands began to shake again as I reached for it and pulled it out of the half-open box. As soon as I felt the material in my hand my throat tightened, and as I unfolded the sweater and held it up to the light, my eyes welled with tears.

It was a Columbia hoodie, emblazoned with the university’s name and coat of arms, both a little washed-out. But that wasn’t what had me so choked up. It was the fact that it had belonged to my sister. Valerie must have left it at Adam’s, since she mostly wore it on cozy evenings, snuggled on the couch watching Netflix. I resisted the urge to bury my nose in it—if it had even a hint of Valerie’s smell after all this time, I’d have a full-on breakdown right here in Jessiah’s storage closet. Could I take it home with me? Would he notice if it went missing?

I was still debating, rooted to the spot, when I heard footsteps and the sound of the apartment door closing.

“Helena?” Jessiah called in surprise, when he didn’t find me in the kitchen where he’d left me.

“Fuck,” I said sharply. Panic rose in me, my fingers clawing at the material of Valerie’s hoodie, my thoughts racing.

What was I going to do now?

17 Jessiah

The woman waiting for me on the street said something about having seen my pickup being hit, so I hurried over with her to where it was parked. But the damage she’d seen was from a couple months back, when I’d stupidly parked on a corner outside a client’s venue in Harlem and a taxi had bumped me. The repair had fallen so far down on my long to-do list that I’d forgotten about it. I thanked the woman anyway for her trouble and went back to my building.

The door to the apartment was still open, but I walked in and found Helena’s seat at the counter empty, as well as the pasta dishes. Helena was nowhere to be found. Had she left already? I couldn’t imagine she would, not after the conversation we’d had. Maybe she was in the bathroom?

“Helena?” I called.