Desperate to the Max (23 page)

Prunella didn’t get a chance to answer.

“You know you hated her.” That from the first arrival, Number One.

“You’re probably glad she’s dead.” Number Three.

“Of course I’m not glad,” Jada snapped. “But I’m not going to pretend I’ll miss her.”

The doctor took control. “Would you like to share your feelings with us, Jada? Maybe we could help. Dealing with death is tough, perhaps worse when it’s murder.”

“Murder?” That from all three at once, reaction in triplicate, awe, fascination, curiosity.

Jada’s lips remained in that thin, set line, ignoring the other members of the group. “I don’t have any feelings about it.”

Max remembered the pained screams when Jada discovered her sister’s body.

Number Two laughed. “Yeah, right, you hated her guts.” She raised her tone, did quite a good imitation of Jada, her bony shoulders moving in time with the tilt of her head. “She gets all the attention. It’s Bethany this and Bethany that. What about Jada? No one thinks about Jada.” She stopped, narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you even killed her.”

Spitting mad, Jada leaned into her. “I didn’t care enough to bother killing her.”

Number One. “You’re such a liar, Jada. You’ve always been pissed at her. She’s all you ever talk about in here. I think you could have done it.”

“You’re a bunch of fucking bitches.”

Prunella let them go on biting and snarling at each other. Was this part of constructive therapy?

“How’d she die?” That from Number Three, but they all leaned forward en masse, like walls closing in on Jada.

Jada’s glaring arrogance faltered. Her anger and apathy was nothing more than a mask.

Max, knowing exactly what she’d seen in that house, felt sorry for her. She, too, leaned forward, but with compassion in the hand she held out. “Do you want me to tell them?”

For a moment, a spark of relief and gratitude lit the girl’s eyes. Only a moment’s worth, then she shut down again. “It’s no big deal.” Again her tone lacked a ring of truth, but she pushed on. “Someone bashed her head in.”

“With what?”

Max didn’t even turn to see which of the three had asked. She watched Bethany’s sister.

Jada’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

There were only three possibilities surrounding that answer. She was an extremely good actress. She didn’t remember. Or she’d had nothing to do with her sister’s death.

“Good answer with just the right inflection,” Number One quipped. “You’ll be perfect when they call you in for questioning.

“I didn’t kill her.” Jada reverted to a snarl.

Max glanced at Prunella, whose face remained serene yet alert. Why didn’t she stop it? This hounding couldn’t possibly qualify as therapy. It was cruel.

Max couldn’t stand for it. “I don’t think you did it, Jada.” She threw a frosty glance around the room. “From what Witt says, I don’t think the cops do either.”

“Ooh, see how she calls him
Witt
,” Number two crooned. “I thought he was interested in
you
, Jada. Someone’s always beating you out, aren’t they? First your sister, now her.”

Max had never seen nor felt such anger, a palpable cloud in the room. She could almost reach out and touch its haze. With each breath, she sucked it in, felt it permeate her blood vessels, her nerves endings, her hair follicles.

Still Dr. Prunella Shale didn’t put an end to it.

Jada clutched her pillow closer, her fingernails digging like talons into the material. “The bastard can go fuck himself, for all I care. I never liked him. He was the one that came on to me.”

“You’re such a liar.” It could have been any of the three, as one, their thoughts, feelings, and words bombarded the room. “Just like you’re lying about how you felt about your sister.”

The whites of Jada’s eyes turned blood red. “All right. You want the truth, I’ll tell you. She got all the attention when she was alive. Now she’s got it when she’s dead. She’s probably looking up from hell and laughing at me.”

Bethany was looking all right, but she wasn’t laughing. Inside Max, Bethany cried, a pale, keening sound that forced Max to clamp her mouth shut. She could
not
let that horrible sound out.

“She was a pig. She was fat and she was ugly and I hated her. I always hated her. I made sure she didn’t have any friends. I made sure my mother saw how fat she was getting. I made sure I stayed skinny so everyone would see how extra fat she was.” Jada was not a demonstrative person. She sat in her chair, the pink pillow clutched against her breasts, her legs pulled up against the cushion. Only her lips and face moved, only her eyes showed how close she was to complete manic meltdown.

“But they loved her better anyway, didn’t they?” Someone whispered the words, it might have been Prunella, it might have been Max herself.

“Yeah. Always. No matter what I did. She was their darling, their pet. Mother always made her favorite desserts, always hugged her when she cried, always told her nothing was her fault. I wanted them to look at me, just once. But they never even noticed. Never.” Her head gave a sharp little jerk as she said the word, the ligaments of her throat stretched. “They always said she was the prettiest and the sweetest. If she would just lose a little weight. I never even gained, not an ounce, not a pound, but did they ever see that?”

Jesus, Max felt sick. Was that why the girl starved herself—she looked around the room—why they all starved themselves?

Jada went on, gestureless, throwing all her feelings out in words and mobile facial muscles. “She was always the special one. They never cared about me. Now she’s dead. And she’s going to be a fucking saint, a goddamn martyr forever. I can’t do anything about it.”

They, they, they. Who the hell were they? Mother? Father?

Uncle Bud?

“Is that why you killed her?”

Jada stared at Max with wild eyes, specks of white foam in the corners of her mouth like a rabid dog.

Voice so low the words barely carried on the air currents, Jada answered from the heart. “I thought about it. A lot.” She puffed out a breath. “But then her dying really didn’t do any good. Now they’ll always think about her first, won’t they?”

Finally, Jada burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Can I speak with you a moment, Max?” As the other four filed out the door, Jada first, head down, Dr. Shale held Max back with the question.

Max headed her off at the pass. “Maybe this wasn’t the best time for me to join the group.”

The doctor closed the door, turned and leaned against it with her hand still on the knob behind her. “Why? Because Jada had a breakthrough?”

Max knew her jaw dropped. “You call that a breakthrough?”

“She’s never said how her feelings have been ignored by her family. She’s certainly never cried before.”

Jada had cried for the remainder of the hour. “Maybe that had something to do with the way you allowed the Sisters Grimm to treat her.”

Prunella smiled softly. “Therapy is brutal. We’re not here to be nice to each other. We’re here to vent. Then once we’ve vented, to come to terms with our own guilt.” She tipped her head. “Maybe you’re not ready for that, Max.”

Since she wasn’t truly in need of therapy, Max agreed totally. “It was still cruel.”

“Yes. But Jada has been equally as cruel. She learned what it’s like to be on the receiving end, and she didn’t like it.”

With Prunella blocking the door, the room had gotten decidedly chilly. Max straightened her jacket. “I don’t think I like your methods, Doctor.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Her hand left the doorknob. Still propped against the door, she crossed her arms. “
Are
you playing games, Max, as Jada accused?”

Max gave her a level look. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“I sense another agenda here. Why did you ask her if she’d killed her sister?”

“I wasn’t the only one who suggested it,” Max defended.

“No. But you were the only who said it with such ...” Prunella waved her hand in the air, searching for the word. “With such ... empathy ... as if you wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d said yes.”

“She didn’t say she
didn’t
do it, Dr. Shale.”

Again, that gentle smile passed across Prunella’s lips, as if she had to explain to a small child. “That wasn’t a confession, Max. If you run to your cop friend with it, I won’t confirm a word.”

“I have no intention—”

Prunella raised her hand. “Please don’t. I forgive your intrusion only because it precipitated Jada’s reaction. She has a lot of guilt to process.”

Max almost snorted. “That sounded a little more like jealousy than guilt.”

“Jealousy and guilt are bred from fear. I believe after today, she can begin her real work. I suppose I should be indignant about what you did, but instead, I have to thank you for the help. Still, I think it’s better if you don’t come back to the group.”

Max admitted nothing, simply agreed. “I won’t.”

“However, when you’re ready to discuss yourself on a one-to-one basis ...”

She risked the truth now, lest Prunella get the wrong idea. “You were right, Doctor, that was a ruse. I’m sorry I used you that way.”

“Your story sounded so good, Max. I believed every word.” She tipped her head, a slightly challenging smile creasing her lips. “Why do you think that’s so?”

“I’m a good actress.”

“I think you aren’t ready to even consider the real answer.”

* * * * *

Jesus, Max was glad to get out of there and into the sunshine. Her fingers were so cold, they’d shriveled.

She’d left in such haste, her thoughts whirling, that she’d missed a perfect opportunity to ask Prunella about Bud Traynor. After all, Dr. Shale had been his daughter’s psychiatrist. Maybe she had some insight into the man’s influence on the women in his life. Damn, damn and double damn.

It wasn’t like Cameron not to be there to remind her either.

“I
was
there, my love.”

She pulled her purse around to her middle and dug in the pocket for her keys. “So don’t you think that would have been a pertinent question?”

“You need to start trusting yourself. If that was the place to ask, you would have remembered on your own.”

“God, you’re so mystical, I hate it.” After only a few seconds of searching, she pulled out the car keys triumphantly. “A missed opportunity is a missed opportunity.”

“Ah, but there’s always a second chance.” His voice faded away on the breeze as she turned down the aisle where she’d parked her car.

Her second chance leaned against the trunk of Max’s car.

Jada’s baggy, camel-colored sweatshirt hung like burlap on her tiny frame, her black leggings appeared painted on, and her knee caps stuck out like knobs on a door. Her figure fascinated Max, like a bloody accident you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

Max stopped three feet from her bumper, pushed her bag securely onto her shoulder, and crossed her arms over her chest.

Neither spoke for several long seconds. Max, anticipating another vitriolic outpouring, fully intended to wait Jada out.

The girl’s stormy eyes had calmed, her face now devoid of expression, much the same as her body had been earlier. “Thanks for sticking up for me in there.”

They were certainly the least expected words. Like the others, Max had accused her of killing her sister.

“I know you didn’t mean it about my killing Bethany.”

Well, actually, Max had, but she let that go for the moment.

“I’m sorry I thought my mom sicced you on me.”

Max waited a little longer, wondering what other gems Jada might come out with.

“You don’t look anorexic.” Jada’s gaze once again swept her from head to toe. Cameron snorted in her ear.

“Not from your vantage point,” Max agreed, then thought about the guilt Prunella Shale was sure consumed Jada Spring. “Did you really hate your sister?”

Jada chewed on the flesh just inside her lower lip, working it. Finally, “I hated that
they
loved her.”

Max didn’t ask who, she didn’t want to lead. “Are you sure that wasn’t your imagination?”

Unoffended, Jada laughed outright, a hollow sound, her cheeks sinking. “You’ve seen them, my mother, Uncle Bud.” Max’s hackles rose at the mention; Jada didn’t have a clue. “I’m like a non-entity in that house. Unless of course there’s company and maid services are required. No, it’s not my imagination.” She looked off to her right, squinting into the lowering sun. “Why don’t you come for dinner and see for yourself?”

Max’s blood rushed in her ears. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate a guest on such short notice. Especially not when she’s in ...” Max purposely let the sentence trail off.

“In mourning?” Jada rotated her head, stretching her neck, the cartilage popping. “Tomorrow then. Will you come?”

“What about your sister’s funeral?” Why was she fighting this? She should have jumped at the offer to see them all together, to witness all the nuances, to gather information, storing it for later use. Instead she could barely hear over the panic drumming inside her head.

“Funeral’s on Sunday.” Two days away.

Max racked her brain for a plausible excuse. Just saying no wasn’t good enough. She needed proper justification for shutting down yet another opportunity dropped in her lap. A perfect opportunity. An opportunity from heaven.

Jada looked Max straight in the eye. “Uncle Bud loves pretty women. He won’t mind at all. Plus, my mother needs a new obsession.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Of course I said yes. I’ve got to figure what Jada’s game is, don’t I?”

“Maybe she needs a friend.” Cameron’s voice didn’t soothe Max’s frazzled nerve endings.

She snorted. “Jada was always the one with the friends. It was Bethany who needed someone.” Distrust gnawed at Max’s gut. Or was that Bethany’s suspicion?

It didn’t matter. There had never really been a question of refusing. She went where she was led, and she was being led to the Spring house like a lamb to the slaughter.