"No," I said quietly, "she did gymnastics."
I heard his quick intake of breath. He rested his hand on mine. "Why did you come here?" he asked. "It has got to be miserable for you."
"I told her I'd come. I promised Liza I'd visit her. I just"-my voice caught in my throat-"arrived a little late."
He lifted his hand and touched my cheek gently. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about what happened."
I nodded, pressing my lips together, hoping he wouldn't hear the sob building in my throat. He leaned closer and brushed my hair back from my face.
"There is something else I want to know, but I'll ask when you're feeling better."
"Ask now," I said.
He waited a minute, until I was breathing more regularly. "Does anyone here know who you are?"
I shook my head.
"You're sure?"
"There would be no reason for them to know. I don't look like Liza or act like her, and most people, like you, wouldn't expect me to come here after what happened. I love Liza with all my heart, but, as you probably noticed, she was a person who spent a lot of time thinking and talking about herself. I'm sure she bragged about Dad, but truthfully, I'm surprised you ever heard she had a sister."
"It came up once, in a conversation about the pros and cons of being involved with theater when your parents are. That's something Liza and I shared.
But, Jenny, don't you see, if I heard your name and finally made the connection, somebody else might." I suppose.
"Does Mike know?"
"I'm sure he doesn't." If Mike had figured it out, he wouldn't have lied to me about his relationship to Liza.
"It worries me," Brian continued. "Because if Mike knows, Paul knows-they're close. And Paul was totally obsessed with Liza, still is. If he finds out you're her sister, he might…" His voice trailed off.
"What?" I asked.
I thought he was going to answer, then he changed his mind. "I don't know. My imagination's working overtime."
"Brian, have you ever thought that Liza might have been killed by someone other than the serial murderer?"
"I guess everyone here looked at everyone else when we first heard about her death. But then we learned that the murder had the trademark of the serial killer who was working his way up the East Coast."
"Which doesn't mean anything," I replied. "Imitating the style of others is something theater people do very well."
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you suspect someone?"
"I'm mulling over the possibility."
Brian's face grew worried. "Jenny, I think you should leave."
"Not yet."
"Before anyone else figures out who you are."
"I can't. Not until the dreams stop."
"What dreams?" he asked.
I knew better than to say I was having psychic visions. "I keep dreaming of Liza. It's as if she is trying to tell me something."
His eyebrows drew together. His mouth got the same determined look as his mother's. "I'm trying to tell you something, with no as if. You need to get out of here."
I shook my head stubbornly.
"Listen to me, Jenny. Paul's room is like a shrine to your sister. Sometimes I'm not sure he knows she is dead. It's as if a switch suddenly flips inside his brain, and he can't tell real from unreal."
Brian detached a set of keys from his belt. "This is my master key," he said, pulling it off the ring. "It opens all the doors in the frat. This afternoon, when you're not rehearsing and everyone else is occupied, I'll send you on a fake errand. I want you to go to Paul's room and see for yourself. Second floor. His name's on the door."
I gazed at the brass key Brian dropped in my hand.
"No, it isn't ethical," he added as if he'd read my thoughts, "and I don't care. All I care about is you seeing what you're dealing with." He took my face in his hands. "Believe me, Jenny, I don't want you to go. New York is a long way from here. But I think you're taking big chances."
"I'm not ready to leave yet."
"This afternoon ought to make you ready." He let go and glanced around. "We'd better eat."
We gulped down our food and Maggie called everyone in. Brian returned my tray and his to the cafeteria, sending me ahead to the theater. I joined Tomas and Shawna at the back of a crowd filing into Stoddard. Too late I noticed that Mike was in front of them. I fussed with my backpack and pretended not to see him.
"Hello," Mike said cheerfully.
I hoped he was speaking to someone else.
"Hello, Jenny. Is anyone home?"
Shawna and Tomas laughed at his question.
I glanced up. "Hi."
"Did you have a nice lunch?" he asked.
Had he been watching? I wondered.
"We were going to join you," Shawna said, her eyes bright with teasing, "but Tomas said it looked like a tree-for-two, so we didn't."
Tomas gave a little shrug and smile, then followed Shawna into the building. Mike stayed behind and caught me with a light hand before I could enter.
He stood close, his neck and shoulders blocking out the light, making me acutely aware of his size and strength. When I glanced up at his face, I saw his eyes following a trickle of sweat down my neck.
"For a moment during lunch," he said, "I was afraid you were going to have another accident."
My cheeks got hot. "Must have been a pretty boring lunch," I replied. "I hope your dinner is better."
Soon after we came back from our three o'clock break, Brian handed me a diagram of the play's revised set and sent me off to "make copies." I circled Stoddard then headed toward the fraternity.
The house's design was almost identical to that of Drama House, but the peeling gray paint on the outside and its dilapidated condition inside made it seem like a very different place. The foyer was painted dark purple, its only light a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. The stairway's banister, also purple, had deep gashes in it, and several of its balusters were missing.
I set the folder Brian had given me on the steps, then continued upstairs and found the door to Paul's room. Only then did I hesitate. I was invading his privacy, and I wasn't sure the private part of Paul's life was something I wanted to know. But I had to do this, for Liza's sake and my own. I slipped the key in the hole.
As soon as I opened the door, I smelled the perfume, Liza's perfume. Then I saw the pictures. She was everywhere, on the bureau and desk, hanging inside the mirror frame, taped to all four walls, her face large as life in some of the photos. I felt as if I'd walked inside a house of mirrors with my sister.
Her image and perfume overwhelmed me, and I reached for a desk chair to sit down.
Turning slowly in the chair, I studied the photos one by one. Many I had never seen before and must have been taken at camp. Since Paul didn't occupy this room during the college year, he had brought them back with him. Why did he surround himself with these pictures? Perhaps for the same reason that Brian believed he played the pranks: to keep Liza "alive." But was it obsessive love which made him try to keep her alive, or the need to deny that something terrible had occurred?
My eyes scanned the surface of the battered desk, then stopped. I picked up two pens and scribbled with them on my palm, leaving bright green and pink marks. Guys didn't usually write with those colors, but Liza had loved to. I opened the desk drawer and spotted a pink address book. I checked the entries, but I already knew it was Liza's. Then I saw her turquoise hair clip. It was as if my sister were living here!
I pushed back from the desk and walked around the room. The bookshelves had photos of Liza, but nothing else belonging to her. I stopped at the bureau. Liza's watch. I held it gently, then closed my hand around it. We had found Liza's other watch at home, which meant my vision was accurate: a third watch, one that didn't belong to her, had been fastened to her wrist.