Chapter 1 Innocent Souls

Chapter 1

Artesia stared at two keys. Her shoulders drooped.

“Go ahead,” Brietta said. “Take them.”

Artesia hesitated. The moment had come. “You’re leaving me.”

Brietta giggled. “As if two days of packing wasn’t enough of a clue.”
On the floor, aligned along the front wall, several cardboard boxes were taped shut.

“It didn’t sink in.” Artesia gestured toward the lineup. “Who’s taking them down?”

“Ken and his friends will be by later.” Brietta handed her sister the keys. “One’s for the apartment, and the other is for my car. With Ken and me working together, I won’t need it.”

Artesia accepted them. “It’s gonna be quiet in here with you gone.” She plopped her lithe form onto the couch and lay sideways. Twenty-nine, tall, shapely and buxom. Her skin was lightly and evenly tanned. Light brown hair hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Her eyes were a blend of sky blue and soft gray. “I’m gonna be bored.”

“You can always go back home,” Brietta called from another room.

This was Artesia’s third visit to Mississippi. The first was when Brietta met the District Attorney for a job interview, approximately a year earlier. Artesia returned a few months later to help her sister move from Jackson to Westport. The latest trip was to celebrate Brietta’s first courtroom victory, a murder case. What was intended to be a few days had become a week.

Artesia stared at the stucco ceiling, smiling wistfully. “I do miss the beaches, the concerts, new movies all the time. Dodgers games.” The smile faded. “I guess I’ve been dragging my feet because Mom and Dad gave me a deadline. I have to go back to the firm in three weeks, or they’ll kick me out.” Her expression sank. “I can’t get another job that pays enough. The rent would be higher than my take-home.” After a pause, she said, “I’d eat up my savings in a year. Besides, why go home now when I’d be back in two weeks for you and Ken’s big dinner?”

From another room, the sounds of drawers and doors opening and closing.

“You should look for a job while you’re here,” Brietta said.

“Did you miss the part where I said it’s boring? A city girl from the West Coast and a small town in the Deep South are not good bedfellows.”

Brietta appeared in the hallway, wearing a white blouse, gray jacket and matching skirt, and flat shoes. Though professional, the suit did little to downplay her features. She was twenty-five, above average height, with a medium build and sturdy legs. Shiny black hair hung almost to her waist. She, too, was lightly tanned.

Artesia sat up. “Where are you going?”

“My supervisor’s taking me to watch closings on a rape trial in Sparks County.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Trials sometimes spill over into the weekend. And depending on how long the jury deliberates, it might continue tomorrow.”

Artesia joined her in the hallway. “I’d hate to have your job.”

“You were a lawyer once,” Brietta said.

Artesia rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

Brietta entered the bathroom. “You know Mom and Dad are going to badger you to work for them again.”

Artesia backed against the wall and folded her arms. “It looks like I don’t have a choice.”

The sound of running water and splashing. “Stay here. You can put your mass communications minor to use.”

“How?”

“The TV station is advertising for a multimedia journalist.”

Artesia raised an eyebrow. The only job she’d ever wanted was to be an attorney. The minor was the result of an eighteen-year-old’s whimsy. She supposed that if her lawyer career proved as lucrative as it had for her parents, she fancied someday hosting a television program, perhaps giving generic legal advice. Or maybe an interview show, where she and an array of guests would talk about high-profile cases. “I never thought about being a reporter.”

“Sis, will you check the hall closet for something? My hands are wet.”

“Sure.” Artesia moved to the end of the hall and opened the door. Inside were a few blouses, skirts and jackets on hangers. “What am I looking for?”

“A butterfly barrette. It’s in a shoe box on the floor.”

Artesia knelt and opened the box. “Are you leaving all this stuff here?”

“For now. I ran out of boxes.”

Artesia found the desired item. While reaching for it, she noticed another box in a rear corner of the closet. Metal, about the size of a briefcase. She stared at it for a moment. At last, she stood and took the barrette to her sister. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” Brietta shut off the water and applied the butterfly to the back of her head, making a long ponytail.

“What’s in that other box?”

Brietta started for the living room. “Some stuff from when I used to be a pack rat. Go ahead and look.”

Artesia got the metal box and returned to the couch. Four rotating discs were next to the hasp. “What’s the combination?”

“Zero-eight-two-three.”

Artesia wheeled the numbers into position and stared at them. They formed a date: 08/23. She chuckled. “B.J., you are so corny, using my birthday.”

Brietta sat on the couch’s arm. “Just honoring my favorite person in the world.”

Artesia opened the box.

Most of the contents were trinkets. Small items of memorabilia Brietta had collected between childhood and her first year of college. There was a small booklet of photos, mostly images of the sisters posing alone or with each other. A few were of Artesia in her high school track uniform, and Brietta in tennis gear.

Artesia opened a binder. It contained about a dozen pages. Some had yellowed over the years. At the top of each, a title.

Artesia smiled. “I can’t believe you saved these.”

“Told you I used to be a pack rat.”

The sisters wrote the papers as teenagers and young adults. Memories they thought they might revisit someday. They’d only shared them with each other.

Artesia looked at the first title: My first boyfriend was my sister’s. “I remember this one.” She skimmed it. “You wrote this when I let you borrow my guy for the prom.”

Brietta giggled. “Yeah. And then the three of us started going to movies and concerts.”

Artesia set that one aside and picked up My first time. She looked at her sister. “I was such a buffoon. I thought I was gonna write what we did, but ended up just going on about how he was so romantic, and how I almost got caught sneaking back into the house.”

Brietta groaned. “You withheld information. I should have sued your ass, depriving me of vital instructions.”

Both laughed.

“Oh,” Artesia said, gazing at the next paper. The night B.J. got us kicked out of a male strip show. “Mom and Dad would kill us if they ever found out.”

Brietta reached for it. “We don’t need that. Let me throw it out.”

“Nah-uh!” Artesia used the length of her arm to keep it away. “You’re the dummy who kept it.” Once her sister gave up on trying to reach the page, Artesia folded it and tucked it into the waistband of her shorts.

Brietta held up the next page. “Do you remember this one?”

Artesia looked at it. Can a straight girl date another girl and still be straight? A chill swept through her. She felt a lump in her throat. She started to speak.

A car’s horn outside broke the thought.

“That’s my ride.” Brietta returned the paper to the box and stood. “I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow to get the rest. And thank you so much for taking care of the rent.”

Artesia walked with her to the door. “It’s the least I can do.”

“The place is yours for as long as you want to stay.” Brietta opened the door. “Promise me you’ll at least think about applying for the TV job.”

“I promise.”

A hug, a smooch, and Brietta was gone.

Artesia shut the door and returned to the couch. She put the papers back into the binder and relocked the box. Lying on her back, she sighed.

“Alone again.”