False Impressions by Terri Thayer Page B

face changed, a storm cloud moving across his forehead quickly. Kit didn’t notice the anger April saw. J.B. got himself under control, testing a kitchen drawer, keeping his face turned away from his niece.
    “You look good,” Kit said.
    “I’m doing good, real good.”
    “Where have you been?”
    “Not far away,” J.B. said. “In Mountain Top.”
    Kit had just sat down, but she bounced back out of her seat. She faced him, her hands on her hips. “You’ve been, what, fifteen miles away this whole entire time? I thought you’d left the county at least.”
    J.B. used a soothing tone. “No, I’ve been staying with a friend.”
    Kit’s eyes were huge. She settled back in, grabbing J.B.’s hand, pulling him away from the construction zone and over to where she sat. He sat in the folding chair opposite her. “But did you have money? Where did you live?”
    “There was a little money, yes. It’s been okay.”
    “Who died in the fire?” April asked.
    Kit jutted her chin at April. She clearly didn’t want April talking about the explosion.
    J.B. lifted his eyes to hers. He didn’t seem to miss much, and he was probably wondering what her role was. He glanced at Kit, who hadn’t taken her hand out of his and was stroking it in her lap like a cat.
    “Got pictures of the babies, Kit? I really need to know if the young’uns got my nose.” His tone of voice was light, but to April’s ear, a bit forced.
    Kit laughed and grabbed her backpack off a hook on the wall next to the basement door. She pulled out a pocket-size photo album. The cover had been stamped and embossed. She pulled open the ribbon that bound the book and handed it to him.
    The pain of losing her uncle was etched on her face. Rocky had told April she’d been in a precarious stage of her pregnancy when the explosion happened and very nearly miscarried. The joy and excitement of having twins had been tempered by the death of her favorite relative.
    They bent their heads over the pictures. The two looked alike. Their hair color was almost exactly the same. J.B.’s hair was still thick, despite his forty-plus years, and it had natural highlights that April would have paid big bucks for. He wasn’t overly thin. He looked like he’d had been well cared for.
    April sat down in the third chair. They were in an awkward little circle with Kit’s snacks untouched in the middle.
    He hadn’t answered her question about who had died in the fire. It would have had to have been a major conflagration to burn bodies down to ash, with no identifying remains. Of course, in this small town, no one was going to do DNA testing. It would be easy to misidentify the remains.
    But if J.B. were alive, then some other family was missing their son.
    “Everyone was so sad,” Kit said, pointing at a picture of the babies’ christening. “We missed you that day.”
    “Not everyone,” J.B. said. J.B. picked up a round of kielbasa and ate it. “Your parents were happy to be rid of me. And your husband.”
    “No one wanted you dead,” Kit said.
    J.B. hung his head. “I was such a loser. I wouldn’t blame them if they did.”
    “Why didn’t you die that day?” April asked.
    “I wasn’t there when the house exploded.”
    “Your truck was there.” Kit’s voice was small. She was understanding something she didn’t want to know.
    J.B. sat back in his chair. He sipped the water Kit had poured for him. “I got involved with the wrong people. I got myself in a situation.”
    He wasn’t being clear. April wanted him to tell Kit everything. She’d be better off if she knew exactly what he’d been doing.
    “Were you making meth?” April asked. Kit looked up sharply. April might as well have smacked her across the face.
    J.B. didn’t look at April. He put his hand on Kit’s knee. “I made some bad choices.”
    April made a snickering noise. J.B. glanced her way and sat back in his chair. He propped one leg up on the other and held on to his ankle.
    “Look, I