Chapter 16
It was only a few blocks back to the bar, but Jesse was coated in a fine layer of sweat by the time she was pushing open the front door and entering the welcome shadows. Her job as a bartender had made her a creature of the night, like a vampire. She wasn’t used to being out in the afternoon heat.
Heading up the stairs, Jesse hopped in the shower, washing off the sweat and grime from the storage unit before she dressed in fresh shorts and a T-shirt. Then, entering the kitchen, she made herself a sandwich and a bowl of fruit before taking a seat at the table.
She opened her laptop, but she didn’t immediately start her search.
Her stomach was rumbling, reminding her that she hadn’t bothered with breakfast. She needed to be better about eating regular meals or she was going to make herself sick.
Besides, she wanted to properly study the picture she’d discovered in Victoria’s car before she did anything else.
Smoothing out the photograph, which hadn’t been improved after being stuffed into her pocket, Jesse nibbled at her sandwich.
The image wasn’t perfect. The background was blurry and it was too far away to make out the exact expressions on the girls’ faces.
But she was able to determine they were standing in front of the silver Gateway, and they had their arms entwined, as if they were clinging to each other.
They even had their heads leaning together in a gesture of intimate friendship.
Jesse finished her lunch, dredging up her memories of Tegan. She didn’t have that many. They were too far apart in age to attend the same school, and Jesse had made it clear she didn’t want Tegan bothering her when they were in the apartment.
Not that the younger girl ever made an effort, Jesse recalled, refusing to take all the blame. Tegan was as cold and standoffish as her mother, preferring to stay in her room or spend time with her friend, Samantha Yost. She hadn’t been physically affectionate with anyone, not even her mother.
It was like she’d built a wall around herself, keeping everyone at a distance.
Did it have something to do with the reason they’d come to Canton?
Only one way to find out.
Shoving aside her empty plate, Jesse wiped her hands on a napkin before pulling the laptop in front of her. Then, sending up a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, she typed in the name Saint Mary Elementary School in St. Louis, Missouri.
A few links popped up, and Jesse clicked on the top one.
The header of the front page was a picture of the solid brick school, surrounded by manicured grounds and a group of girls in uniforms. Jesse zoomed in, her heart thundering.
They were wearing the same uniform as the one that Tegan and the mystery girl was wearing in the picture.
She zoomed in closer, filling the screen with the image of the badge sewn onto their sweaters.
Yep. That was the same.
She’d found the school where Tegan was … what? Sixteen or seventeen years ago? It was exciting, but she wasn’t sure how to translate this knowledge into an actual lead.
She glanced toward the picture, suddenly remembering the scribbled initials on the back.
It was worth a try.
She typed in K-LA, followed by the name of the school and the physical address of the campus. Nothing.
K-LA. Could it be a place? A favorite song?
No. Wait. A nickname.
Once again, Jess typed in the name of the school and the physical address of the campus, along with the name Kayla.
This time a dozen links popped up, and Jesse scrolled down, searching for one that might be helpful.
At last, she clicked on a link to a newsletter from the school to alumni and donors.
At the end of the document was a congratulations to Kayla Lasky for her recent marriage to a Kenneth Murphy II.
They’d included a picture of a smiling dark-haired woman and a large man who had to be twenty years her senior.
Jesse enlarged the picture. It was impossible to know for sure if it was the girl in the photo, but she looked the right age. It was worth a try.
Clicking out of the newsletter, Jesse typed in Kayla Lansky Murphy, her heart jumping when she was taken to a website for a business in Lake Saint Louis.
THE REVOLVING CLOSET
Curated fashion rentals. High-end designer pieces
professionally chosen for the most fastidious shoppers.
Owner Kayla Murphy
Call for an appointment
Anticipation sizzled through her despite the fact that she didn’t know if Kayla Murphy was connected to her stepsister or, even if she was, that she remembered anything about Tegan. It felt like forward progress. And right now, she was ready to grasp any straw.
Jesse grabbed her phone to pull up the address of The Revolving Closet before shutting the laptop and jumping to her feet.
She didn’t consider calling to make sure that Kayla was at the shop, or if she was willing to talk to her.
The drive to Lake Saint Louis was only a couple of hours, and she didn’t want to waste a second.
Not if this woman had information that could help her discover the truth about Tegan and her treacherous mother.
Besides, she could use some time and distance away from Canton, she acknowledged as she headed out of the bar. Maybe the space would allow her to clear her mind and put things into perspective. Right now, she couldn’t distinguish between what was real or what was a figment of her imagination.
If nothing else, perhaps she could escape the sense of impending doom.
It was nearing three o’clock when Jesse pulled into the parking lot next to the elegant row of brick buildings.
There were a dozen shops and restaurants perched along the wide sidewalk with large front windows and striped awnings that catered to the locals, who lived in clusters around the nearby lake.
Parking her old truck near the far side of the lot, Jesse strolled past the hipster barbershop, a tea emporium, and a bistro before she stopped in front of a glass door with the name painted in gold.
The Revolving Closet
by appointment only
With a shrug, Jesse shoved open the door and entered the boutique.
Not that it looked like a boutique. Or any other clothing shop she’d ever been in.
Honestly, she felt as if she was in a fancy bedroom, with several large armoires arranged strategically next to the powder-blue walls.
There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors placed in between them, and overhead, a chandelier glittered with a silver light, reflecting off the polished marble floor.
An older woman appeared from a hidden doorway, her dark hair smoothed into a tight knot and the sharp angles of her face settling into an expression of aversion as she took in Jesse’s casual shorts and the tattoos that covered her bare arms.
“Can I help you?” Her tone suggested that the only assistance she wanted to offer was herding Jesse out of the elegant shop and back into the gutter she’d crawled out of.
A smile curled Jesse’s lips. She’d spent a lot of years dealing with snotty bitches who thought they were better than her.
“I need to speak with Ms. Murphy.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. Next time call the number listed on our website and speak with Ms. Murphy before coming. She doesn’t take walk-in clients.”
“Is she here?”
“She is, but as I said, you have to have an appointment.”
“I don’t want an appointment.”
The woman stepped forward. She was closer to fifty than forty, but she carried herself with the confidence of a pampered woman who knew she looked fantastic in her black sheath dress and designer heels.
“This isn’t a clothing store. Ms. Murphy is a fashion consultant, not a saleslady.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not here for clothes.”
“Then what do you want?”
“It’s personal.”
“Then I suggest you contact Ms. Murphy at home. The boutique closes at five.”
Jesse shrugged. “This can’t wait.”
The woman clicked her tongue. “It will have to wait. She has a client in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” Jesse folded her arms over her chest. “The quicker I talk to her, the quicker I can leave.”
“I’ve told you—”
“I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken to her. So unless you intend to physically drag me out of here kicking and screaming, I suggest you go get her.”
Jesse jutted her chin to a stubborn angle. It wasn’t exactly a threat, but it was a warning she wasn’t afraid to make a scene.
The woman’s lips pinched, something that might be frustration flashing through her dark eyes. She wasn’t used to anyone calling her bluff.
“Fine. I’ll see if she can be disturbed. Your name?”
“Jesse Hudson. Tell her that I have something she’ll be interested to see. A blast from her past.”
With a sniff, the woman turned to disappear through a hidden panel in the wall.
Jesse heaved a sigh. Maybe she should have handled that better.
It was quite possible the condescending witch was right now urging her employer to call the cops.
But Jesse’s bullshit tolerance was at an all-time low and she wasn’t in the mood to play nice.
Thankfully, there was no sound of approaching sirens, and within five minutes, the woman was back to wave Jesse forward with a sour expression.
“You can go in.”
Jesse didn’t bother to gloat as she passed the woman and stepped into a private office. She was here to get information, not bicker with the employees. No matter how condescending they might be.
She managed a quick glance around the narrow space, which was decorated in the same powder blue and silver as the main boutique, before the woman seated at the rolltop desk rose to her feet.
Like her employee, she was wearing a simple sheath dress and high heels, although her curves added an extra layer of sensuality, and she was at least twenty-five years younger.
“Jesse?” She smiled, a pair of dimples appearing next to her full lips.