“You know what! I’ve never been under surveillance by the police before.” She leaned away, her voice strained. “I know I’m not acting normal, but it’s hard to act normal when you’re being watched.”
“Jenn, what—specifically—do you know?”
Her head reared back on her neck and she blinked at me. “What do you mean? What do you know?”
“Do you know for a fact we’re being watched?”
“Uh, yes. They’ve bugged, or tapped or whatever, my house.”
Really? Just how much money and man power were the police dedicating to this? “How do you know this?”
“Because I found a bug—or whatever. It’s called a bug, right?”
What? “Where?”
“In the kitchen. And a camera in the hall. Lord, it’s hard not to look at it now that I know it’s there.”
Ice entered my veins followed by white-hot rage. Stepping away from Jenn, I took a breath. Then another.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Jenn.” I had to clear my throat of gravel before I could continue. “Jenn, did you let anyone inside the house recently?”
“What? No. No one.”
“Not a—a repair person? Anyone?”
“No. Of course not. Why?”
I endeavored to keep my voice steady, but what THE FUCK good was a state-of-the-art security system if folks could just willy-nilly enter and exit as they saw fit.
Alex and Quinn. That’s who’s going to redo the system. And I’m adding a moat. With alligators.
“Fourth Amendment laws are tricky. But the law can’t place video cameras in your house unless you invite them inside. They can be under cover at the time, pretending to be a repairman or something, but you have to invite them in.”
“Uh . . .”
“So, without a warrant, which are usually rare for video surveillance inside people’s houses, the police are not allowed to put cameras on private property. They might point a camera at a house from the street, like what they’re doing with your momma’s place. But, honey, that’s not a police camera inside your house.”
“What?”
I shook my head, covering my mouth with my hand, working to get a handle on my temper.
“Not the police? Then who?”
“Someone else.” And when I found that person—
“Oh no! So—so the police aren’t—”
“At this point, I honestly don’t know anymore.” I thought about the man in the white Ford. He was probably parked outside. I crossed to the window and peeked out the blinds. I didn’t see him, so I paced away. “I think they’re watching as much as possible, maybe even listening, following. The bug you found might’ve been theirs, but I doubt it. Local police usually don’t dedicate resources like this to a townie murder. This whole thing doesn’t add up.”
Jenn collapsed in the chair, her eyes wide, her lips parted, all the color draining from her face. She stared forward, and I was grateful for the minute her internal deliberations afforded me. I didn’t want to tip off the voyeur, yet there was no way I’d continue to let someone invade Jenn’s—our—privacy. I was so disappointed in myself. How long had it been going on? Hopefully, Quinn and Alex in Chicago could tell me.
“You know, I was trying to be strong. I was trying to follow your lead and pretend like everything was fine.” She huffed a laugh. “And you didn’t even know.”
Her words weren’t an accusation against me, she was upset with herself, and that only made it worse. Protecting Jenn, keeping Jenn safe, that was my job.
Dead ends and missed details. What has happened to me? I used to be sharper than this. I used to be a katana and now I’d become a butter knife. Maybe even a spoon.
Her chin wobbled and she sighed again, this time it sounded watery. “I missed you so much.”
In an instant, I was kneeling in front of her, my hands on her face. “Oh, Jenn. This is my fault.” It was my fault. I wasn’t sure yet how thoroughly I’d failed, and that was also a problem. “I will find out who did this, and I will devise a punishment to suit the crime.”
Maybe a spoon would be involved.
“I don’t want to talk about the—the stupid camera.” She leaned forward, slipping off the chair until we were both kneeling, her hands now on my shoulders. “I was trying to be strong when all I really wanted to do was talk to you. I should’ve found a way, and I’m sure there were so many ways, but I didn’t want to—to—”
“What?”
“Be the weak link.”
“The what?”
“You’re so good at being sneaky. I figured, this whole time, you needed me to sit tight and follow your lead.” I felt her stiffen abruptly, lean back. “Wait a minute. You are trying to figure out who murdered my father, right?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Oh. Good.” She breathed a sigh that sounded relieved. “I assumed you were. I also assumed other things, obviously wrongly, so . . .”
Assuming. That was the problem. We’d both been assuming. I’d assumed she wanted space to work through grief, she’d assumed I had some masterplan. I did have a masterplan of course, but not inclusive of all the details she’d been privy to and I had not. If we’d talked prior to now, then maybe Kip’s murder would be solved, Diane would be back at work—assuming she wasn’t the murderer… another assumption—and we’d be having sex with the lights on.
“I need to be honest with you, Jenn.” I sat back on the floor and encouraged her to straddle me. As she settled, I continued, “I assumed you were going through a tough time and needed space.”
The side of her mouth quirked up. “I am going through a tough time, but I don’t need space. Not from you.”
“Then I shall give you no space.” I kissed her nose, allayed. “Tell me what’s been on your mind. Tell me everything.”
“I guess . . .” Her smile soft, her gaze lost focus and drifted downward. “I’ve been really confused about everything. I meant what I said at the police station, I don’t know what I’m feeling. I love my parents. I still love my father. Isn't that awful? Florence McClure is right. He was a bad man.”
“I don't think it's awful that you love your dad.”
She continued as though I hadn't spoken. “I mean, he treated everyone so terribly. He treated Isaac terribly, my momma terribly, me terribly.”
Or maybe she hadn’t heard me, and that was fine. I took it as a sign to simply listen. I missed her voice, so I was happy to oblige.
“I have good memories of him and the pictures to prove it,” she said, sounding defensive. Jenn bit her thumbnail, her brow stern. A second later, her forehead smoothed, and she said sadly, “Actually, no I don’t. I have a few pictures of us together when I was real little and we’re both smiling. But I was always on my momma’s lap. That’s what I have.”
I rubbed her back, my hands moving under the fabric of her T-shirt.
“But I have to believe, in his own way, in the way he was capable of, he loved me too. Right?” Her eyes came back to mine, searching. When I said nothing, she seemed to deflate. “I know what you’re going to say. Not all love is created equal. And my definition of love never matched his, and vice versa.”