Chapter Two
Carol pushed open the white washed door and stepped inside, letting her left arm droop dejectedly to her side. It was a well-lit room with Venetian blinds on the windows and pale yellow walls, all centered around a twin-sized bed. The girl moved to it and sat down to watch Jane look about the room. She shrugged, gesturing to the things around her.
"This is where she spent most of her time, at least she did when I was around."
Jane nodded and joined her on the bed. He sat carefully on the edge, unmindfully testing its spring with his right hand before looking around to meet her gaze.
"And when was that?"
"About five years ago when I left for college."
"You were close?"
She shrugged again, eyes flitting about and landing on the walls, the dresser, the cabinets, the beige colored carpet.
"Sure, we were close. I mean, we weren't the kind of sisters who shared everything and anything and knew what the other was thinking all the time; but we got along."
She frowned. Jane waited, peering attentively at her face.
"That makes it sound like we were totally indifferent, but that isn't true."
Jane tilted his head to meet her eyes, still pleasantly smiling.
"How so?"
"It's just we had somewhat different personalities—she was more of the artsy kind, and meanwhile I was working towards my biochemistry major. It was hard to like the same things: each time we went to the movies we could never agree on what to see, and in the city she'd want to go to the little ethnic districts while I'd want to go to museums and souvenir shops. Stuff like that. But we really got along—sometimes we'd even share clothes: we had similar sizes. We just…I loved Vi, but we never got much time together."
"What's your favorite memory together?"
Carol looked a little surprised.
"My favorite memory?"
"Yes."
"Um…well, I've never really thought about that."
"Give it a try."
She was quiet for a few moments, staring at the filtered white light beyond the Venetian blinds. Jane listened to the pattering of the rain above their heads and waited, watchful and pensive. Suddenly Carol smiled. She looked at him, eyes sparkling a little.
"She always loved the tree-fort we played in when we were little."
Jane nodded smilingly, with a silent "ah" on his lips.
"Can I see it?"
"What—now?"
"Sure, why not?"
Carol glanced again at the window, still sounding with the downpour of rain, and grinned.
"Ah…okay!"
---
Jane shut the front door with a furtive click behind them. By some unspoken understanding the two felt like fugitives, creeping downstairs quietly and trying to remain invisible as they stole down the hallway and out into the steady rain. The ground had grown soft, and as they sprinted towards the backyard their shoes sunk submissively into the muddy earth. By the time the two had managed to clamber into the shelter of the tree-fort eight feet above the ground they were both breathless from the exertion and from laughing at their own pitiful state. Jane surveyed the room as he leaned back against a wall, panting as his heart began to slow. Carol was still laughing in spurts, estimating the damage done to her socks and shoes.
It was a homey place, filled with cushions and blankets and decorated with posters, old photos, and clips from magazines. Jane scooted closer to a blue beanbag in the corner and scooped out from its depression a ball of grayish yarn attached to a short scrap of material. Carol, seeing it, regained her solemnity and sighed silently towards the shadows. Jane looked at her.
"This hers?"
Carol shook her head.
"It must be; I haven't been here for…ages. I didn't know she took up knitting, but she's been picking up all sorts of hobbies for a while now: guitar, scrap booking, coin collecting. You name it."
She paused, looking around wistfully.
"She was very talented."
The rain was beginning to thin. The pounding on the wooden roof of the fort grew quiet and left only a soft rhythmic dripping sound as downpour morphed into drizzle. Jane looked out. It was a calming view of the grassy lawn that stretched forward until it touched the walls of the house of mourning, sitting cozily with its yellow-lighted windows.
"It must be hard to be sister to the favorite child," he said.
Carol looked up, startled.
"What do you—what are you talking about?"
"Your father built this for Veronica, didn't he?" Jane questioned gently.
Carol just looked at him.
"You had been dropping hints to him ever since you were little, hoping one day he'd build one for you, but when your sister grew up and she wanted a fort—now then, now he does it. He even painted her room her favorite color. Veronica always got to be first because she was younger, didn't she? Your father loved her playfulness, and your mother loved her bright little smile, and you…you were the other one. Doesn't mean they didn't love you, you knew that, but still it hurt every time when she got to be the one who sat on your father's lap whenever they read bedtime stories. It's natural to feel a little jealous."
"What are you implying?" Carol asked, her voice cold.
Jane leaned back. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, turning his palms outwards as if to reveal all his tricks.
"Nothing. I'm only trying to understand why a perfectly happy teenage girl who was the center of attention in her home would want to commit suicide."
Carol's voice caught in her throat.
"Are you saying—do you mean that you think—that I—
"No," said Jane. "I meant what I said. I'm just trying to piece things together."
She processed this, eyes downcast, fingers picking distractedly at the patches of mud on her bell-bottoms. The dripping of water rang out in the silence.
"Well, what do you want me for?"
Jane smiled.
"Sisters often know more about each other than parents do, even if the sisters weren't very close. I just want you to give me an honest answer so that we can correctly identify the cause of her death."
Her eyes bore into his.
"You mean you think she really was…murdered?"
"It's a little to early to tell," Jane replied. He paused.
"Carol. Based on all your previous knowledge of your sister—any past medical record, any tendencies, small acts—tell me honestly: does Veronica seem like someone who might have committed suicide?"
She shook her head repeatedly, head in hands.
"No, no…I don't know. I don't think so…I—there was a period of time when she was really angry about our mother seeing other people again but aside from that…she's been doing alright."
Carol looked up wearing a pained expression.
"But I told you, we aren't exactly the closest of sisters."
Jane nodded and smiled kindly.
"I got it."
"Jane!"
They both turned. Lisbon was bending over an open window, wearing an exasperated expression. Jane smiled at her and waved.
"We'd better go," he said to his co-fugitive.
---
Lisbon watched Effie's expression from the corner of her eyes as the lady of the house handed Jane and her daughter towels to dry their hair. From the depths of the warm folds of the terrycloth towel Jane snuck a grin at Lisbon. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, side to side.
"Thank you," said Jane, handing back the towel.
"Yes, thank you for your time, Mrs. Lanner." Lisbon nodded.
"Effie," said the lady with a wide smile.
They shook.
"Ah, actually," cut in Jane, "there are a few items in the fort that Van Pelt might like to take a look at and maybe bring back to forensics?"
"What for?" sounded Carol.
"Just for some points of reference."
Lisbon nodded at Van Pelt, who returned the gesture and headed outside.
"Thank you again," said Lisbon, and followed the junior agent.
Jane looked at Carol.
"You'll get them back," he assured her, "it'll help us find the answers."
She looked at him appreciatively but remained silent.
"Take care," he said, and stepped outside to join the others.