Page 9 of Her Last Farewell

Before she could knock a second time, the door opened. Julia Rhodes stood in the doorway, her ash-blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, wearing black yoga pants and a loose gray sweater. She was attractive in an understated way, with clear green eyes and fine features that suggested she and Carla had shared good genes. Something in those eyes triggered Rachel's instincts—a shadow of recognition, as if Julia had been waiting for this moment.

“Yes?” Julia said.

“We’re Agents Gift and Novak, with the FBI,” Rachel said. “We were wanting to—”

"Is it Carla?" Julia asked before Rachel could finish.

Novak stepped forward slightly. "Yes. Ms. Rhodes,” he said, his voice soft and somber. “Your sister's body was found this morning. I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you."

Julia's reaction wasn't what Rachel expected. Instead of immediate grief, she seemed to absorb the news with an almost clinical detachment. It had been five months after all; it wasn’t like this was some unexpected, harsh blow to the gut. And oddly enough, the first words out of her mouth were a correction to what Novak had said.

"It's Julia Kasum," she corrected, her voice steady. "Rhodes is my maiden name. And..." She paused, swallowing hard. "I think I supposed from the start that she was... that she was dead. She…"

But even as the words left her mouth, the reality seemed to finally hit her. Her hand flew to her mouth, her composure cracking like thin ice. She took an unsteady step backward, her other hand reaching for the doorframe to steady herself.

"Please," she managed, gesturing them inside while quickly wiping a tear away. "Come in."

They followed her through a short entryway into a living room that spoke of careful curation. The furniture was modern but comfortable—a slate blue sectional sofa, a leather reading chair, clean lines everywhere. Potted plants occupied sunny corners, their leaves glossy and well-tended. A half-finished puzzle spread across a coffee table suggested someone who liked to keep their hands and mind occupied.

"Would you like some water?" Julia asked, her hostess instincts seemingly on autopilot. Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen. They could hear the soundof cabinet doors opening, glasses clinking, water running—all performed with mechanical precision.

Rachel and Novak settled onto the sectional, exchanging glances as they listened to Julia in the kitchen. The sounds continued longer than necessary for simply getting water, and Rachel recognized the behavior—someone trying to hold themselves together through routine actions.

"Give her a minute," Rachel softly told Novak. "Let her process it her way."

Novak nodded, his posture loose and, in his own peculiar way, sad. Rachel was once again impressed by her partner's intuition with victims' families. She'd seen too many agents over the years who rushed this part, eager to get to their questions, forgetting that these moments shaped how families would remember their loved ones' cases forever.

When Julia finally returned, her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. Her excuse to retrieve water had likely been a cover for letting a few tears out. She set three glasses of water on cork coasters, then lowered herself into the leather chair across from them. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her own glass.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked gently. "We can take a moment if you need to—"

"I'm fine," Julia cut her off, though her voice wavered. "Or rather, I'mnotfine. But I need to know what happened. Please. Where was she found? And had she killed herself or…or…"

Novak spoke up, detailing the morning. Rachel listened as he deftly explained everything in a way that was gentle but also informative. There were a few times where Julia came close to breaking, but she managed to keep it together.

When Novak was done, Rachel watched as Julia's fingers worked at the hem of her sweater, folding, and unfolding the fabric. She waited a few more seconds to let everything sinkin before starting to push toward finding answers. Her mood seemed to have shifted now that she understood there was a very good possibility that her sister had actually been alive for the past five months but, in the end, had still turned up dead.

"We'd like to ask you about the note," she said carefully. "The one Carla left. Did you see it?"

Julia nodded, her throat working. "Yes. The police showed it to me when she first..." She stopped, corrected herself. "When she disappeared."

"Were you're certain it was her handwriting at the time?" Novak asked, his tone gentle but firm.

"Yes." Julia's answer came quickly, almost defensively. "I know my sister's handwriting. And plus, the cops compared it to some things they found around her house. And honestly, the note..." She drew a shaky breath. "It wasn't a surprise."

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean?"

“Carla had been struggling. Her divorce..." Julia's voice caught, and she took a moment to compose herself. "Her husband cheated on her. Multiple times, as it turned out. She'd given him everything—moved across the country for his job, gave up her own career to support his. Finding out about the affairs destroyed her."

Julia reached for her water glass again, took a small sip. "She told me she felt like she'd never known real love. Our mother died when we were young, and our father..." She set the glass down carefully. "He did his best, but he wasn't an emotional man. When he died last year, Carla took it especially hard. She said she felt completely alone."

"Were you trying to get her help?" Rachel asked, noting how Novak had shifted his position slightly, angling himself to appear less intimidating while maintaining eye contact with Julia.

"I was trying." Julia's composure finally broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'd found a therapist. Made the appointment myself. But before I could even tell her about it, she was gone." She pressed her hands to her face. "I thought... I really thought she'd just found some place quiet to... to end it. Somewhere no one would have to see or deal with..." Her voice cracked. "With the mess of it."

The wail that tore from Julia's throat was primal and seemed to come out of nowhere. It was as if she'd kept it all contained over the past five months, and she was choosing now to let it all out. The noise was filled with five months of suppressed grief suddenly unleashed. Her body folded forward as if she'd been struck, violent sobs wracking her frame. All the careful composure she'd been maintaining shattered completely.

"Oh God," she gasped between sobs. "All this time... all this time I thought... and she was alive. But to know she…she was out there somewhere? Oh God, oh God..."

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