Page 13 of Random in Death

“Not really. She’s gone out now and then, to the vids, that sort of thing. For the most part in groups. She’s interested in boys. She’s sixteen. But Jenna’s all about music. She wants to be a songwriter, a performer. It’s one of the reasons we let her go tonight. She worships Avenue A. They’re doing what she dreams of, and they started when they were her age. They’re role models. Especially Jake Kincade.”

She smiled a little. “What teenage boy can compete with a rock star?”

“Has she ever met him?”

“Another dream, though I think she might pass out cold if she ever did. She actually made a demo—and it’s good. I say that as her mom, but she’s got talent. She imagined herself finding a way to give it to him tonight. Then, of course, he’d listen to it, and help make her a star. I couldn’t discourage her. Dreams matter.”

She pressed her hand to her lips, rocked herself.

“Dr. Harbough.” Roarke spoke gently. “Can I get you something? Some water? Is there anyone I can contact for you?”

“No, no, thank you.” She took a breath. “Thank you. I know how strange this sounds, but I almost feel I know you. Charles and Louise—you must know they live next door—they speak so highly of both of you. And then the vid—the Icove vid. We watched it, the whole family. Will you really work that diligently to find out what happened to my little girl?”

“I’ll answer that.” Roarke laid a hand over Eve’s. “She will. She won’t stop until she finds the answer.”

“We need to know,” Julia said again. “But even when you give us those answers, you can’t bring Jenna back.”

“No, I can’t bring her back. But I can bring her justice.”

When they left, Roarke waited until they’d reached the car. Then he turned, wrapped his arms around Eve.

“Give me a minute.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “I need it. Of all you do, of all I’ve seen or been part of, this duty, this horrendous weight, is the one I don’t know how you carry.”

“You just have to keep lifting it up. But I swear to Christ, Roarke, every time you do, it’s just a little heavier.

“The lights are still on next door. I’d like to do a quick run-by with Charles and Louise on Jenna Harbough, get their take on her.”

“All right. I’d have to say the parents’ rang true. To my ear as an expert consultant, civilian.”

“Yeah, but they’re still her parents. I’d like to see if Charles and Louise agree. Then I can more or less shut off the self-inflicted angle.”

He took her hand, started to walk with her down the sidewalk. “Which you don’t believe.”

“Belief isn’t fact. This won’t be, either, but it’ll add to it. And give me an impression of the Harboughs from opinions I respect.”

They went through the gate, down the walkway in the tiny courtyard where she’d once seen Dr. Louise Dimatto planting flowers in the spring.

They sure as hell bloomed now.

When they rang the bell, Charles, former licensed companion, now sex therapist, answered.

“Well, look at this. Good to see you, Roarke. Lieutenant Sugar. Come on in. Louise just went to open another bottle of wine.”

He stepped back, tall, slickly handsome in silky black lounge pants and a loose shirt the color of blueberries.

“Have to rain check the wine,” Eve told him. “On duty.”

“Oh. This isn’t an impulsive drop-by.”

“No, sorry.”

“I went for the sauvignon blanc, and if we take this upstairs, I’ll…”

Louise, elegantly sexy in white silk pants and skinny-strapped white top, stopped, a bottle in one hand.

“Oh. Oh,” she repeated, and sighed. “Who’s dead?”

“Jenna Harbough.”

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