Jack looked from one woman to the other, both staring at him. “That day, she looked different. That’s how my eleven-year-old mind saw her. Younger. More like a kid.”
“I bet she didn’t have any makeup on,” Kate said.
“I agree.” Sara cracked eggs into a bowl. “Please tell me she didn’t wear her newscaster face to school.”
Jack shrugged. “Don’t know, but she always looked perfect.”
Again Sara and Kate just stared at him, waiting for him to go on.
Jack put down his coffee. “Cheryl never looked like the other girls. She didn’t wear the same clothes as they did. And don’t ask me what she wore. You’ll have to get someone else to explain that. My point is that on that Saturday, Cheryl was cleaning her house.”
“Where was her mother?” Sara asked.
“I have no idea. I never saw her.”
“Not once in the whole summer?” Kate asked.
“She was there, I guess. A couple of times Cheryl said we had to be very quiet because her mother was sleeping. But Cheryl always ran me off when it was time to wake her mother.”
“Sleeping during the day because of her night, uh, job,” Kate said.
“I guess so.” Jack quit smiling. “So back to my original question—who tore the house apart? Who took the toaster that Cheryl had just bought? The pillows off the couch?” He took a drink. “All her clothes were gone. They even took her red makeup case and that was precious to her.”
Sara’s head came up. “What did it look like?”
“A little suitcase.” He motioned with the size.
“Ah, that would be an old-fashioned train case,” Sara said.
“Cheryl loved that case. It had all her makeup in it. She bought it at a garage sale and she called it by some man’s name.”
“Mark Cross,” Sara guessed.
Jack grinned. “That’s it. She’d say, ‘Go get Mark’ and I’d take the case to her and she’d fix her face.”
Sara and Kate looked at each other.
Kate spoke first. “Why would a mother make her teenage daughter dress up like a...a...all the time? Was she preparing her to follow in her, uh, footsteps?”
Sara put eggs in the skillet. “You ever see that early Brooke Shields movie, Pretty Baby? She was a beautiful child and she was literally offered up on a platter to the highest bidder. For her virginity.”
“Maybe that’s why Cheryl never went on dates with guys her own age,” Kate said. “She was being ‘saved.’”
Sara grimaced. “Her mother would have had to keep strict control. With testosterone-laden boys all around and Cheryl’s teenage hormones, she wouldn’t last long.”
Kate nodded. “She’d have to—”
“Stop it!” Jack said in anger. “You two sound like Salem witch hunters. You’re ready to burn mother and daughter at the stake.” He glared at Kate. “Now who’s blaming the victim?” He didn’t wait for an answer because the doorbell rang and he hurried to answer it.
Sara put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Kate and lowered her voice. “We’re going to have to be careful with what we say around Jack. First loves can do no wrong.”
“Cheryl’s mother was supplementing her income with prostitution. That had to have an effect on her daughter. And Verna slept all day. Drugs maybe? Or alcohol?”
“Possibly. But maybe it was just exhaustion.”
“Lucky her,” Kate mumbled and Sara laughed. “I was thinking that whoever killed them probably left town. How would we find them?”
“That won’t be a problem. If our investigation leads to someone who now lives in Montenegro or wherever, then we’ll go there.” She looked at Kate. “Then you and I will go shopping in Venice.”