Chapter Twelve

”Are you still butt hurt?”

”Shut up, Frankie.”

”Come on.”

”I will, in fact, tag your entire face in neon green with this can in my hand if you come near me.”

”I swear to God, Jags, if you fuck up my corset—”

”You”ve been warned—”

”Shut up! The two of you. All day,” Tatiana shouted at us from the front room of the tattoo parlor. ”Jagger, talk to Frankie. Frankie, stop being a fucking cockwaffle, and everyone shut up today. Fucking Christ.”

”Cockwaffle.” Frankie snort-laughed as I met her gaze.

The smirk that met my face cooled me off a little and my visions of painting her green calmed down. I set the spray can down on the top of the ladder and leaned my hip against the step.

”Are you avoiding work?” Frankie asked, her tone cooler as well.

”A bit. Why?”

”Your phone is on the desk out front, and Zay called you about four times.”

”Think I”m going to ask to go back on the beat.”

”Why?” Her brow furrowed suddenly, and she took a step closer to me.

”I was better at it. I”m good in the streets. I belong there. It”s…where I fit in.” I lifted my shoulders in a heavy shrug. ”Wandering through the FBI, in fancy labs, slowly chasing down leads, working with elite private investigators…it”s just.” I shook my head. ”I don”t know. I”m a fish on land or something. I like the beat. I could help people. I really could.”

”By driving junkies to shelters? Pulling jumpers off buildings? Dodging bullets?” Frankie swept in closer to me, her expression laced with a mood I”d never seen on it before and couldn”t quite understand it. ”The whole point was to not do that anymore.”

”The whole point was to enrich my life, but this isn”t doing it. I know I”m not the first cop to feel like this. Or the last even, but I like the beat better. I really do.”

She grew quiet for a moment, her deep maroon lips pressed together as she folded her arms across her middle. Her eyes lingered on her thick, knee-high laced boots for several seconds. I didn”t know what to do in her unusual silence, so I climbed back up the ladder to finish the border.

After a few hisses of the spray, Frankie broke her silence. ”Even though I hate you, I don”t want you to get shot in your stupid face. Okay?”

”If you hate me, why do you care about my face?” I didn”t look at her, but the tightness in my stomach clenched all the way up to my throat.

”Because it looks a little like mine.”

”No, it doesn”t.”

”Yeah. It does.”

”You”re like four shades whiter. Ghost-like even. Like some sort of ghost that haunts my ass while I paint.” I glanced over my shoulder at her. ”With creepy black eyes and two stupid ponytails above your ears.”

Frankie scowled through her chuckle, though I noticed her eyeliner appeared damper than usual. ”Well, I can see your lesbian-plaid boxers through the holes in your pants.”

”So, you legit haunt my ass.”

”Better than haunting your pussy.”

”Gross, Frankie!” I tossed a swift kick at her, and she laughed, grabbing my leg at the same time.

I nearly tumbled from the ladder but jumped down in the nick of time. ”You”re worried about bullets in my face, but you nearly broke my neck.”

”You don”t need your neck. It”s small anyway.” She shoved me hard enough to rattle the ladder beside us. ”Just remember though, you once said this same thing about being a beat cop.”

I ignored her statement and shoved her right back until she grabbed me in a headlock. I let her, of course, because I was the one with the training who could kick her ass. Instead, I wriggled my fingers up, grabbed the laces of her corset, and yanked the tight strings. Right away, everything popped lose.

”Jags!” She released me, huffing and puffing while looking down at herself. ”It took Nikita ten minutes to tie that.”

”Your ribs need air anyway.” I grinned with pride at my win and propped my hands on my hips. ”Victory.”

”Asshat.”

”Boob beanie.”

Frankie sputtered, her eyes wide as she fought hysterics. ”Boob beanie?!”

”Body part with head gear for body part with head gear.” I shrugged, biting my tongue to hold back my amusement.

It didn”t last long until we both cracked up.

”What”s so funny in here!” a small voice shouted from the hall.

Reagan”s heavy feet pounded the floor as she raced down to us. She swung into the room, her eyes wide with excitement. In the time she was gone, so much happened, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw her. I held my arms to her right away, and she ran to me.

”Hey, kiddo.”

”Tia Jags!” She tossed her arms around my neck. ”Avó is here. She wants to see you.”

”Been awhile since I”ve seen Granny. I better go say hi, huh?” I set Reagan on my hip, and she nodded.

”Are you going to ignore me, Rea?” asked Frankie, her haunted mouth in a lame pout.

”Probably.” Reagan giggled.

”Rude. No more sneaking candy to you then or watching you after school. You can go to daycare.” Frankie said the last word in a dark, spooky tone.

Reagan frowned at her then looked at me.

”She”s kidding. Want me to punch her?”

”A little.” Reagan watched expectantly.

In slow motion, I balled my fist, and bopped Frankie in the shoulder. ”Don”t tease Reagan.”

”Don”t teach her violence!”

”I already know about violence. It”s mostly not the answer except for you.” Reagan narrowed her eyes and tossed Frankie the darkest glare ever.

I about died on the spot.

”Well then! I”m getting the hell out of here today!” Frankie stomped her way out of the room while holding up her corset, but her laughter followed with her. ”Nikita! I need help.”

”She literally doesn”t care that this is her place of business,” Nikita said loudly to her customer as we followed Frankie out. ”Please hold. The boss calls inappropriately.”

”Used to it. All good,” the woman in her chair replied with a chuckle.

I found Tatiana standing with Wyatt and Mrs. Silva by the coffee station in the corner. Reagan and I looked on as the three of them chatted animatedly. Mrs. Silva, with her warm, accented tones, seemed genuinely happy to be talking to them, and that cooled off my worried insides. It wasn”t long ago where Tati”s mom struggled with her coming out, but she overcame the ingrained history and religious upbringing to love her kid anyway.

”Jagger.” She turned to me when she saw me, arms outstretched, and welcome me into a hug. I leaned in, embracing her with one arm while balancing Reagan on the other. ”Como estás?”

”I”m good. How are you?” I returned her double cheek kiss that followed, then set Reagan down when she wiggled.

”Em Português, por favor.” She cocked a brow at me under her thick mane of black hair that matched her female bloodline standing beside her.

I glanced at Wyatt who gulped and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. His anxiety seemed to spike with the expectation, but I managed.

”Muito bem, e você?” I replied, with a terrible American accent per usual.

Mrs. Silva chuckled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. ”I”m very good. Excited to see Tatiana”s gallery showing next week.”

”How come you get to talk in English?” I folded my arms over my middle and huffed dramatically.

Reagan giggled her head off beside me, then hugged her mother around the middle. She gave Wyatt a high-five and a cheeky grin.

”Because I”m learning English and you”re learning Português.” She grinned and tossed me a wink.

Everyone chuckled at that, and I shook my head. ”Forever busting my chops.”

”Ignore her,” Tatiana said to Wyatt. ”She”s not learning English. She lived here for twenty years before moving back to Portugal.”

That did it and Mrs. Silva burst out laughing. ”She”s not wrong.”

”Oh.” Wyatt smiled as he seemed to catch on to the teasing. ”You all freaked me out.”

”I”m about to freak you out more.” Mrs. Silva patted his shoulder. ”When I visit, we have a family dinner all of us together. And I would be very happy if you joined us.”

”Wyatt”s coming to family dinner!” Reagan through her hands in the air, then looked right over at Frankie. ”And Frankie”s not.”

”Hey!” Frankie frowned at her while Nikita yanked her around the middle, finishing off the ties of her corset before returning to her client. ”Rude.”

”You”re rude,” Reagan tossed back.

”Hey, now.” Tatiana stepped up as always. ”Reagan, that was rude. Stop it or you”re not coming to family dinner.”

”No fair!” Reagan shrieked, her eyes wide.

”She”s literally been picking on me all day.” Frankie nearly pouted from across the room.

”She”s six.” Wyatt”s eyes widened as he looked between her and Tatiana. ”Is she kidding?”

”Nope.” Tatiana pointed between the two of them. ”Reagan, act like a six-year-old well-behaved child and not a bully. Frankie, act like you”re in your thirties, please.”

”I”m not in my thirties.” She scowled, folding her arms across her middle in a huff.

”She”s in her forties,” muttered Reagan.

Wyatt and Mrs. Silva shared a glance, as if testing who would laugh first.

”I heard that!” Frankie stomped her foot.

”So!”

”Okay.” Tatiana scooped Reagan up and set her on her hip. ”You”re done.”

”M?e!” Reagan wiggled and a near-fit ensued.

”Absolutely unacceptable,” I heard Tatiana say as she carried her down the hall. ”When I tell you to stop doing something, you stop doing that something.”

”Frankie started it!”

”I literally did not!”

”Frankie. Don”t argue back at her.” Frustration bubbled in my stomach, and I frowned. ”Come on. She”s a kid.”

”A bratty kid right now.” Frankie”s attitude continued as well as her glares.

”You”re being a bratty adult right now.”

”Girls,” Mrs. Silva began, sweeping between us. She moved her arm behind Frankie and urged her over to the coffee station with us. ”Enough bickering for the moment. Frankie is coming to family dinner. Reagan is having a timeout, and everyone is going to be nice to each other.” She smiled, a bright sweet smile. ”Or I will make you be nice to each other.” And there was the threat.

Frankie smirked and glanced at me, then back to her.

”Sisters need to be kind to each other, even in moments of fun.”

”We suck at being sisters then,” said Frankie, and I nodded my agreement.

”You don”t.” Mrs. Silva nudged both of us to sit down on the stools. Wyatt followed suit, and the three of us faced her as if we were in a classroom. ”You”re making up for lost time. Siblings always argue, bicker, or poke at each other when they”re young. You didn”t have that chance, and so you do it now. But there are better ways.”

”Can I make her play dress up with me?” Frankie grinned. ”She”ll be a good vampire.”

”No.” I nearly growled at her.

”Fine. Werewolf then.”

”Frankie.”

”Girls.” Again, Mrs. Silva”s tone cooled us off.

”Mrs. S, since you invited Tati”s man to dinner, are you going to invite Jagger”s girl?” Frankie wagged her brows at me. ”We all want to meet her.”

”Hey.” I flopped my hands in my lap then looked up at Mrs. Silva. ”She”s incorrigible.”

”I noticed. But she”s going to settle down.” Mrs. Silva stood closer to Frankie, and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. ”So, there”s a girl?”

”Sorta.” I glanced at Frankie. ”Yes.”

”What”s her name?” asked Mrs. Silva, her expression gentle.

”Clementine.” I gulped when her name left my lips as the anxiety over the situation spiraled. Clem had already met my friends; it was Frankie that worried me the most.

”Is she tall? Long blonde hair?” asked Frankie suddenly, her interest peaked.

”Yeah…why?”

”She comes to the salon. Or she used to when I worked there more.” Frankie tapped her lip thoughtfully. ”Stylish. Pretty hot. A little weird though.”

”She”s not weird—”

”Not too friendly, if I remember.”

”That”s not true, Frankie. Stop it.” Wyatt nudged her with his elbow. ”This is why you end up with people yelling at you constantly. Just stop goading everyone.”

That seemed to do it and Frankie settled down. Wyatt”s normally calm, easy-breezy demeanor seemed to fade suddenly with a hint of passion I hadn”t seen from him save for skateboarding or his affection for Tati.

Mrs. Silva rolled with it, and turned to me. ”If you”re comfortable, invite Clementine to family dinner on Sunday. We would love to meet her.”

”I”ll think about it…”

The front door opened suddenly, and Zay rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.

”Jags.”

”Yeah?”

”We gotta go,” he said, waving me toward him.

”Okay…” I broke away from the small pack and snatched my phone off the desk. ”Later.”

”Think about it!” Mrs. Silva called after me.

”I will.”

”Why didn”t you answer your phone?” Zay pressed right away as I hopped into the passenger seat of his car.

”I was busy. What”s going on?”

”We got a lead.”

”We always have a lead. To nowhere.”

”Maybe. Remember those demo companies we were looking at? The inquiry you sent to one of them down in Tacoma got back to us. They do demolition but they also have a lot of land where they bring stuff back to sort through it for scrap. Apparently, they found skeletal remains a few years back when they were digging around one of these areas. I sent in for the reports on it, but haven”t gotten anything back yet. We need to head down there.”

”All right. You driving?”

”Yeah. Feds are gonna meet us there.”

It took a tad over an hour to get there, maybe more, in the rush hour traffic. Zay chatted my ear off about the case. His excitement over the potential lead didn”t match mine at all.

”You”re quiet,” he burst forth mid-sentence. ”Why?”

”I want tacos—”

”I already fed you tacos.”

”More.”

”Taco junkie. Seriously.”

”I had soft shell and now I want crunchy—”

”Christ, Jags.” He laughed at me. ”Is that why you”re grumpy?”

”Not really.” I glanced at him. ”But I still want tacos.”

”On the way home.”

””Kay.”

”Why aren”t you pumped about this?” he asked.

”When have you ever known me to be pumped?”

”You used to be pumped. Pumped enough to blast your opinions all over the walls of Seattle”s best buildings.”

”That”s different,” I said, shrugging. ”I cared about that.”

”You don”t care about this case?” He lifted a brow at me as concern flooded his features.

”I mean…I do. But I don”t think cold cases are for me. It”s so…cold. I miss the beat,” I admitted. ”I really do.”

Silence found us for a moment, gripping the hems of my shirt like a nagging child. It irritated me when I couldn”t read his mind. Had I offended him? Did it matter if I did?

”You really miss the beat?”

”Yeah. I guess. I don”t like this. These long pauses. Waiting for things to happen. I”m supposed to read the pages of these old case files and have some sort of epiphany that seasoned detectives before me never had? It doesn”t make any sense to me,” I blurted out all my frustrations in one big vom-dot-com of nonsense.

”I get it,” he said after a moment. ”Watching James and Miller, Donovan and her crew. They know what they”re doing.”

”Yeah.”

”But I liked it. I feel like I can learn from them. I spent the day with Donovan”s crew today, just kind of watching them. They”re brilliant. I felt like a fool.”

”I feel like a fool every day. James and Miller—or technically Miller and Miller—are some sort of crime-solving savants. Like who thinks like that?”

”They do… And I think I”d like to some day.”

”Not me, I guess. I liked helping alive people more. I liked helping alive people not get dead.”

”Are you gonna talk to Walsh?”

”Maybe.” I glanced at him, then stared out the window at the foggy road as it past by. ”Maybe.”

Blinding lights greeted us as we pulled up the dirt road toward the demolition site. In the darkness, the lights made it appear like something out of a space-age movie where people excavated alien space crafts in the middle of the night. Instead, machines moved stuff all over the lot, while others pushed dirt into giant piles.

”Creepy. Kind of like a quarry or something,” said Zay.

”Never seen a quarry.”

”Good place to hide a body, I suppose.”

”It is. I mean, if I needed to hide a body, it would be in a quarry or a dump.” Zay parked and we exited the car behind the black SUVs belonging to the FBI.

The group of us walked in a slow flow around the area while waiting for the owner to show up. Donovan leaned against the barrel of a construction vehicle while staring down at a stack of papers in her hands. Beside her, a similarly stoic woman looked around with her hands on her hips. I”d heard her referred to as Agent Olsen a few times, but hadn”t spoken to her much.

”Did you see this?” Donovan said, glancing at me.

”I haven”t seen anything,” I responded. She handed me the folder and I flipped through the pages. ”Where are the remains now?”

”Requested them. Should be here by morning. I”ll get that clever bombshell of a forensic investigator to work her magic again.” Donovan glanced at me. ”Think she”ll be game to do us a solid? Or rather, do you a solid?”

”Rude, Donovan.” Annoyance bubbled in my chest, and I felt my fingers ball to fists. ”I”m sure there are more professional ways to find out.”

”Car, c”mon.” Olsen immediately stepped forward and elbowed her colleague in the side. ”Ignore her, Jagger. She”s trying to get you to share information about your connection to Doctor Wright.”

”You could just ask…” Olsen”s presence calmed me and I handed Donovan back the folder. ”We need to get the list of employees working at this place and also run cross checks here like we did with the others. I”m going to head to the dumpsite and gather some soil samples to take to forensics as well.”

”Right on.” Donovan smirked, tossing me a nod. ”There”s the fire I like to see. Have at it, Roth.”

Zay walked with me as we headed toward the indicated area. Beneath our feet, the gravel crunched, and I noted the varied terrains of the area. He pointed it out at the same time, and I nodded.

”We need to scrape multiple areas,” I said, and he nodded again.

”Agreed. Let”s get a move on that. I”ll grab the gear and notify the team.”

We spent the rest of the day digging through piles of scrap, collecting bits of earth, and creating chains of custody for various boxes of evidence. The skeletal remains would arrive eventually, and only then would we be able to piece it all together, if at all. The list of employees for the past decade came along with all of this, and I found myself seated back at the department combing through records. We used Clementine”s theories, focused on those with female DNA, who fit the general profile. It didn”t take long, but my mind was on the time anyway. All of this would bring me back to Clem, and the impending excitement of seeing her throttled me.

Was it ridiculous that I felt so excited to see her? My insides bubbled with it, but outside I felt like I needed to contain myself. Sometimes whenever I was a little too excited, people accused me of being in a bad mood. I never understood it.

”You seem blah,” said Zay. ”What”s up?”

And there it was.

”I”m not. Why do I seem blah?”

”You”re quiet. Not really saying anything, and your face is all screwed up like you have a stomachache or something.” He shrugged, but when the computer sounded, his brows lifted upward. ”Some results are coming in. Nothing specific yet.”

”Good. I”m most curious about the soil samples. All of the bodies had some trace evidence like that. I wonder if they all share that common characteristic.”

My phone chimed in my pocket, and I whipped it out to see a text from Clem.

I found my favorite art of yours, she said, with a smile emoji afterward.

Immediately, I felt my cheeks warm and lift. Your favorite, huh. Just which one is that?

You”ll have to meet me there to find out.

Right now?

Yep.

Aren”t you supposed to be working your butt off on all the things the FBI sent you? AKA me.

It”s all done and running through. I work fast.Again, another emoji followed and this time it was a cute giggling smiley face with the hand over its mouth.

Well then…I glanced at Zay then back to my phone. I better figure out where to find you then.

It won”t be too difficult. I”m not that far.

My brow furrowed as I contemplated where she could be. ”Zay, I”m gonna head out for a bit.”

”To see Doctor Wright?” he asked, nonchalantly. ”She usually gives you the info before the feds.”

”Yeah.” I smiled when he asked. ”To see her.”

”Cool. I”ll let you know if we get any hits on the match.” He nodded to the computer. ”Also, if you come back, bring me an empanada.”

I laughed at him as I grabbed my energy drink from the desk. ”The food trucks are going to kill us.”

”I know.” He grinned. ”Don”t make it stop.”

”Dork.” I waved, in my usual awkward way, and headed out.

Once outside, I stared down at my phone then texted Clem, Okay. Is this a scavenger hunt to find you?

Mhmm. She responded immediately. I can see the water from where I”m at. And the buildings are all in a straight line.

Well…that narrows it down, I teased as I began walking toward the harbor.

LOL. But I bet you”re walking toward the harbor now though. Right?

Accurate. Next clue?

All of the buildings have windows facing the street and there is no parking on the street.

Is it cleaner there?

Uh huh. See? You know.

I chuckled and headed toward Gallery Row, as I liked to call it. In recent years, Seattle reserved an area specifically for upcoming artists and seasoned artists to display their work. The galleries began opening a few years back and residency there is always consistent, according to Tatiana anyway. But the thing is, I never tagged anything down there. Most of the buildings were restored or rejuvenated and even if I did drop some tags, it would be gone by now because of the gentrification.

About ten minutes passed on my walk until Clem finally offered another hint.

Estou à espera…

As soon as I saw her text, I knew. You”re with Tati.

Sim.

I”d only ever met Tati down at the gallery to drop off or pick up Reagan. Her gallery show wasn”t ready for display yet, and so chilling in a giant room with nothing but white, echoing walls wasn”t my favorite thing. It reminded me too much of the institutions where I”d spent way too much time as a kid. The huge concrete slabs of juvenile detention, the emptiness of foster homes, the general iciness of it all. Not for me. Nowadays, I preferred small, warm, and cozy.

I jogged the rest of the way, until I landed at the double glass doors of the gallery. White paper still covered the storefront windows with the Coming Soon sign painted in fancy calligraphy in two places. As expected, I saw not a drop of street art. Not current or aged, not mine or any other. Just clean brick-faces, restored stoops, and refinished windowed storefronts greeted me.

Without hesitating, I pulled open the door, and the twinkling of a tiny bell announced my arrival. Right away, my shoes clunked on the plank floors, and the blast of white greeted me. Except this time, it wasn”t as white as before. Tatiana”s paintings, most of them bigger than me, hung proudly on the walls, while some stood on easels nearby. A few remained leaning against the wall, and the ”in progress” nature of the situation reminded me that she still had a week before her opening. The murmur of voices in the back echoed through the place, and I made my way through the bountiful colors belonging to my bestie. Tati”s work always comforted me, wrapping me in the emotions of the hues she chose to place on the canvas.

I found the two of them standing over an extra-large painting that Tati laid on the floor on top of messy drop cloths. Clem”s waist-length hair hung dangerously close to the wet paint while she bent forward to look at whatever Tati pointed out. They spoke in Portuguese at a speed that left me in the lurch, but I watched them. I watched how kind and gentle Tatiana was with Clem, and the excitement Clem harbored about the work she saw. Clem tapped her palms together repeatedly while speaking rapid-fire, and when they stood up again, Tatiana”s eyes twinkled with glee. She loved that Clem enjoyed her work, and that expression I”d seen before. In her tidy black Oxfords, Clem lifted to her tiptoes briefly when Tati showed her an image on her phone. I heard them listing off a few cities in Portugal, and when they said óbidos, I knew they were talking about the medieval structures still standing there. Tati”s floor painting bore only a skeletal structure of what she intended to paint. It made sense to me now, and following their conversation became slightly easier.

Tatiana saw me first and tossed me a smile right away. She shifted to English immediately and nodded in my direction. ”Someone is watching us. Such a little creep.”

”Only a little.” Clem smiled when she saw me, and again, I noticed she lifted to her toes and clasped her hands together. ”Hi.”

”Hi.” I chuckled and held my arms to her as I approached. She moved into them, accepting the hug with only a mild stiffness at first. As soon as my arms encircled her waist, she relaxed. I kissed her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ears. ”I found you. Do I get a prize?”

”I am the prize,” she teased, a snicker escaping with it.

”Yes. You are.” My insides warmed so fast that I felt my cheeks burn with it. My teeth grazed my lip and Clem”s eyes twinkled while she gazed at me. I ran my thumb over her bottom lip, then glanced over to Tati. ”Hello.”

”Well, howdy.” She grinned and tossed me a wink.

I turned back to Clem as she rested her hands on my shoulders, her fingers toying with the underside of my hair. Goosebumps coated my skin, and I found myself leaning into her gentle affection.

”I found my favorite,” she said, bumping her forehead with mine briefly before glancing over at Tati. ”Show her?”

”You sure can. I bear full responsibility for anything that happens afterward.” Tati held her hands up in a gesture of surrender before motioning to the back of the gallery. ”Go ahead.”

Confusion puddled in me, but I followed Clem anyway when she took my hand and led me down the hall. Her cautious footfalls made me walk a little more carefully as we turned the corner into the only room of the place. Right away, this area made itself known as the working area for gallery set up. Tools, wood, workbenches, and the like filled the space along with canvas rolls and a ladder. Clem led me to a stack of canvases leaning up against the wall, one of which was covered by a giant blue sheet.

”Are you ready to see my favorite Jagz design?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with life but also hinted with a bit of nervousness.

”I”m so confused right now…”

”Good.” She smiled then glanced behind me.

I followed her attention to see Tatiana standing in the doorway while leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her middle. She smiled at me, offering me a small nod of support. I returned my attention to Clem, and gulped.

”Okay. Show me.”

Clem pulled the fabric from the canvas to reveal the wall-size painting of a giant skull. Darkness and color swirled around it, and in the farthest recesses of my mind, the memory of the hissing paint can that created it fluttered to the surface. The faded words, hidden trinkets, and underscored message shouted to me the same way it had years ago. Bold hues mixed with blacks and neons to craft an image that spoke of my rage and pain, freed only by the tiny butterfly escaping from the top. My tag, as it always appeared, landed in the bottom right corner, its edges much sharper than the work above it.

Minutes passed it seemed like, before I breathed. My face felt warm and the tears in my eyes burned with a mist I fought to keep at bay. The dryness in my mouth made swallowing difficult, and I forced the gulp as I glanced at Clementine.

She smiled, rocking on her heels once as she shrugged. ”My favorite.”

My gaze wandered to Tati and her soft smile floated with her over to me. ”Remember this?”

”Yeah.” I gulped down the emotions as Clem squeezed my hand. The gesture startled me at first, but instead she interlaced her fingers with mine. ”Yeah, I do. But how did you get it here?”

”Can I tell Clem the story?” Tatiana linked her arm with mine.

I nodded as words seemed to leave me, divorcing themselves from the trail that carried them to my lips. All I could do was gulp, and hold tightly to the feelings that bubbled inside me. I found myself leaning into Clementine, and she accepted my closeness without pause.

”So, when Jags and I first met,” began Tati, with as much expression and spirit as if she were telling Reagan an enthusiastic bedtime story. ”She was living sort of everywhere. In a foster home, but not really. She”d run away every day and one day, I found her spraying up the side of our high school by the dumpsters. We were both freshmen. I was sneaking a cigarette and saw her standing on top of the dumpsters writing resist in giant pink letters under the school banner. The building was dark brick, so the neon pink stood out crazy. I just watched her do it. She had no idea I was there.”

I chuckled while listening to her and leaning against Clem.

”What were you resisting?” she asked, her gaze meeting mine for a moment.

”They told me I wasn”t allowed to wear a hat in school,” I said, smirking at the silly notion.

”That was only the beginning.” Tati grinned and continued. ”I caught her a few more times using those fat permanent markers to tag lockers and desks with slogans just the same. Votes for Women with a sketch of a woman in an old school dress and bonnet won me over. She put it on a condom dispenser.”

”It was appropriate. Condom dispensers in only the women”s bathroom? Men should have to wrap their own wanker up. It”s not just women”s responsibility,” I blurted out.

”See what I mean?” Tati gestured to me while beaming from ear to ear. ”A social justice warrior even then.”

”Sign me up.” Clem snickered and then gave my ponytail a stroke. ”I found a lot of her work like that.”

”Most of the places in the city where she created things like that kept it. Almost all of them. But this one was different…” Tatiana looked over at the skull painting. ”Much different.”

”Tell me about this one.” Clem nodded toward it, then met my gaze. ”Would you?”

I nodded then, once my words seemed to return to me. ”Tati eventually figured out I was a street kid and would bring me food all the time. Eventually, her mom caught her, and she began bringing me to her house. I think we were about sixteen or so.”

”About that.” Tati nodded.

”Around then, I got cocky and confident. I”d tag overnight all the time. Learned to be evasive. Until that pain in the ass cop chased me down. Literally hunted me.”

”Maggie Miller,” filled in Tati. ”You”ve met her.”

Clem nodded, her lips pursed suddenly. ”I have.”

”She tried to get me to cool my shit, but I didn”t listen. Eventually, I got picked up by other patrols and ended up in court. People began pressing charges for property destruction. Especially when I decided to tag the entire side of a conservative politician”s office building.” The pride in that never left me, and I felt the smile fight to explode from my face. ”But I ended up in juvie, as you know, mainly because of the bridge incident. No one could ignore that. But Miller had other plans for me. I was there about six months, maybe a little more and it was miserable. She did something to get me out on a diversion program, and I got accepted.”

”But not before she decided to be a rebel.” Tati flicked my ear. ”She got some kids to smuggle spray paint into juvie.”

”Yeah. I mean…I didn”t think I was ever getting out. So, after I knew I was absolutely being released, I hung the bed sheet up by closing it tightly between two doors while they processed me. The van was literally outside waiting for me. One of the friends I made in there helped me. And I made this.” I motioned to the skull behind me. ”In less than fifteen minutes. It was kind of my final mark. My final message, in a way. I knew I couldn”t make street art anymore after that. So… I left it.”

”Wow…” Clem”s eyes widened. ”But how did you get this, Tatiana?”

”This woman showed up at the tattoo shop a few weeks ago and handed me an old box. This was in there. I only knew what it was because of Jagger”s story about it.” Tatiana ran her fingers over the edge of the canvas. ”So… I restored it, mounted it over the canvas and sealed it.”

”What woman?” I asked, my brow furrowed.

”She said her name was Maggie at the time. But now I know that that Maggie was Maggie Miller.” Tati met my gaze, her expression more serious now.

”She brought this?” I allowed myself to touch the painting now, smirking at the feel of the sheet under my fingers now coated with whatever Tatiana did to protect it.

”She did. A box with just this.”

”I wonder why she kept it.”

”You should ask her,” said Clem, nodding with it. ”I think it”s meaningful.”

”Jags…” Tati gripped my shoulder. ”I want this in my show. Actually, it”s already in the show. Unless you legit freak out.”

”But it”s your show…” My stomach clenched suddenly.

”It”s an art show. And you”re an artist. And therefore, you”re in it with me. Our art show…” She held her hand to me, and I took it as tears welled in my eyes.

”But I”m not—”

”But you are.” Tati forced her will in a way that I needed sometimes.

I looked to Clem, whose hazel eyes shimmered with a mist of her own. ”You are. Just face it.”

”Not sure I can.” I sniffled and gazed up at the work of my teenage self. I remembered every mark I placed on that old sheet. Every drop of blood I shed on it during scuffles with other juveniles. It was more than just art to me, and maybe that was just the whole point.

”You can keep it in the show,” I agreed, my voice cracking with it.

”Good.” Tati smiled as she pulled both of us into a hug. ”Because it belongs there with mine, just like how you belong with me. Sister from another mister.”

”It”s possible that the two of you could be biologically related. I could, perhaps, run your DNA through my genetic amplifiers to find some linkage along the generational lines particularly if your bloodlines are of European descent.” Clem burst off into a universe of her own, and I chuckled, leaning into the tingling excitement that her information dump brought.

”Really?” Tatiana”s eyes widened. ”Lets” do it.”

”Wait a sec—”

”I”ll just need the tiniest swab from both of you.” Clem broke away from us to grab her messenger bag from the floor by a stack of wood. ”A little blood wouldn”t hurt—”

”What is happening right now—”

”Can I spit in a tube?” asked Tati as she joined her.

”Oh! Sure.” Clem beamed as she pulled out a bunch of plastic bags.

”That escalated quickly.” I stood there watching the two of them with my hands on my hips. I would be an idiot not to admit the enjoyment that cascaded through me. Nothing save for the pure joy of it, watching my best friend and the girl who held my heart in a way she might”ve not realized, galivanting off into the land of science and speculation.

I smiled at them while listening to their chatter, then turned back to gaze at my painting. The title artist didn”t suit me much, I thought, but neither did detective. Maybe one day something would fit better, but for now, I settled on the notion of feeling included and celebrated. Even if it was just for a fleeting second.