Chapter Five #2
“Easy enough to find out.” He pulled out his cell phone and started a search.
The memory of rushing along the street scrolled through her mind.
“There are bigger houses on River Drive. I remember seeing them in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t stop.
I guess because no one had been home at the ones here, I was sure no one would be at any of those either.
They were all dark. But it was late. People were probably just in bed.
All I could think about was running until I found my way back to town… to help.”
She remembered the determination and desperation to find help…it eclipsed all other thought. Even rational thought.
“You’re right.” He looked up from his phone. “Hollywood got one tenth of an inch of rain that night. Not much but enough that if you went outside immediately after it stopped, the grass and pavement would have been wet.”
That was at least two things the detective had gotten wrong. The door had been unlocked, so no need for tampering, and it had rained.
“If the intruders parked and walked on the pavement,” she offered, “that would explain the lack of any sort of footprints or tire prints after the rain.”
“It would, yes,” Chance agreed. “Let’s go back to when you first arrived. Your statement said you arrived here before nine.”
“Yes. We had our ceremony in the park. Everyone wished us well, and off we went. There was no reception. Honestly, it was a very small gathering. Maybe a dozen people besides our families. We had a basket prepared for our dinner that night.”
“Like a picnic basket?”
She nodded, a smile pushing at her lips as she recalled her aunt’s sweet wedding gift. “There was a shop in town—maybe it’s still there, The Feed Store—that specialized in charcuterie boards and picnic baskets. Breads, deli meats, cheeses, fruit. That sort of thing.”
“When did you bring the basket in?”
“What?” She frowned. Hadn’t she mentioned that already?
“You said you went to the car for your bags, but you didn’t mention the basket or the champagne.”
Think, Rory! They had packed the SUV and then hurried to the park.
She had dressed in the back seat after Pete walked out to join those waiting for their arrival.
She’d already had her dress on before she remembered her shoes were in the cargo area.
She’d had to hike up the skirt of her dress to get in the proper position to reach back there and find her shoes amid their two overnight bags.
The basket wasn’t in the vehicle. Then she remembered… Austin was bringing the basket and the champagne to the cottage ahead of their arrival.
“The basket and the champagne were already here.” Mystery solved.
“Who brought them?”
“My brother. Austin.”
“So he had a key?”
“No. The lock on the door then was the same as the one now.”
“A smart lock,” he said. “You gave him the code?”
“Yes.” How had she forgotten about that? In all fairness, what happened that night had obliterated most other thoughts and memories around that time frame. No one had ever asked about the food basket or the champagne. She supposed it hadn’t been relevant.
“But the police didn’t find his prints?”
The question jarred her. “No…they said only mine and Pete’s prints were found.” That had to be wrong. She looked to Chance. “How can that be?”
“It can’t. Not if they actually did their job.”
Wow. The investigation had gotten at least three things wrong, it seemed. As her aunt would have said, the third time was the charm.
The reality had anticipation searing through her. “It’s true, then. They didn’t even try to find anyone else. They barely bothered with an investigation at all.”
“I’m a firm supporter of the police and what they do.
But it’s sounding that way to this detective.
” He glanced around the room. “I’d like you to walk around.
Touch things. Furniture…the wall…a doorknob.
Take your time. Focus on where you are and the sensation of touching each place, each item.
Think of having seen or touched it that night. ”
Rory stood. She walked into the kitchen area first. Allowed her hand to glide along the crisp white countertop.
She tugged at a drawer pull. Walked to the French doors that provided yet another view of the lake.
She traced the ornate antique brass handle.
Closed her hand around it. She felt warm and happy. Excited.
Even a weekend getaway at this charming little cottage had felt wonderful because she had just become Mrs. Peter Harris. She remembered they had made a toast on the balcony outside these doors. The moonlight had shimmered on the water.
She wandered away from the view and back toward the bedroom.
As she passed the dining table, she allowed her fingers to glide along that surface too.
Flickers of memories flashed frantically in her mind.
Her body stretched out on one end of the table.
Pete making love to her. She passed through the bedroom door, touched the knob there.
Allowed her fingers to slide across the soft white bed linens and fluffy stack of pillows.
Pete’s deep voice rumbled in the back of her mind, teasing the places his lips had touched…her ear, her neck. Their soft laughter. The sound of their kisses…of their bodies coming together. The sweet memories tugged at her heart.
Then the shouted words… Pete’s voice. The disturbance had woken her from a dead sleep. She had thrown back the covers and dropped her feet to the cool wood floor. The shouting grew louder. She’d hurried to the bedroom door.
Then…
Emotion clogging her throat, Rory turned around.
Chance stood in the doorway.
The gasp escaped before she could stop it. She pressed the fingers of her right hand to her mouth. Her heart battered her breastbone so hard she couldn’t catch a breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. You didn’t answer me, so I came to see if you’d found or remembered something.”
She pointed to him, tears burning her eyes. “He was right there…in the door just like you are now.”
“Pete?”
“No. The man in the mask.” She pressed her lips together to hold back a sob. “The…the one who…raped me.”
She fell against Chance’s broad shoulder and let the tears flow. He whispered assurances that she was safe now. Slowly she calmed and started to voice the horrific memory.
“All I could see were his eyes and his lips. He stared at me for a moment, and then he smiled.” She shuddered. “I shouted for Pete, but the other room had gone silent.”
Chance didn’t let go until the tears subsided. She drew back, swiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. The memory was just so intense. It was like I was back there, and then when I turned around and you were standing right where he had been, it was so vivid.”
He took her hand and led her back to the sofa. When she’d settled, he resumed his seat. “In your statement, you said the intruder pulled you from the bed.”
She gave a succinct nod, then shook her head.
“No. That was wrong. His voice—I suppose it was his voice—pulled me from the bed. The shouting. I heard Pete, and I heard someone else. Shouting. Arguing. I got up to come see what was happening, and the intruder was suddenly there in the doorway just as you were a moment ago. He grabbed me and threw me back onto the bed. I fought him, but he was too strong. All I could see were his eyes…brown, not so dark like yours but brown for sure. He…you know what he did next.”
Chance nodded, his expression somber. “Did you hear the voices in this room again during or after the attack?”
“No.” She tilted her head and replayed those moments again. “It was all quiet. Just the sound of his…grunting.” She shuddered.
“What do you remember next?”
“I suddenly broke through the fear that had held me frozen. I remember fighting the man…screaming. I bit him…scratched him.” Her pulse raced faster with each remembered action.
“I remember a stab in my shoulder.” She frowned.
“But it couldn’t have been the man on top of me because his hands were on me at that point.
One on my mouth…the other grasping my hair. ”
“His partner must have come in and drugged you. He’d probably already done the same to Pete.”
A blade of pain speared through her. “I guess so. But it was sudden,” she said, thinking about how she heard the shouting and then abruptly it was all quiet.
“I mean, it was seconds. Not a whole minute.” She looked to the man asking the questions.
“They said there was no tissue under my fingernails, but that can’t be right. I know I had to have scratched him.”
“Your fingernails may have been cleaned after you were unconscious. A professional would know all the things to do to clean up after himself.”
Something, a memory, either real or imagined, flickered through her…a gloved hand holding her hand. Had her hands and beneath her fingernails been cleaned? If not, the evidence that might have been there had been ignored. But there was no way to prove any such thing.
“You mentioned that you dream about that night.”
She nodded. “All the time.” She searched his face. Appreciated that his expression was thoughtful, seemed caring. Other than her aunt and her brother, it had been a long time since anyone showed her those considerations.
“Can you tell me what the dreams are about? Specifically?”
Rory drew in a deep breath. “In one of the dreams, it’s like the man who…
attacked me was nervous.” She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I know that sounds crazy, but I felt him tremble.
But in that moment, what it meant didn’t register.
Or even that it happened. So I’m not sure if that part is real or not.
It feels like it was—in the dreams, I mean. ”
“It may have been the adrenaline,” he offered. “Different people have different physical reactions to pleasure as well as danger. Are there other ones? Different dreams? Different details? Conflicting or otherwise?”
“In one dream, I can feel myself being lifted and carried. The next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor with Pete. My arm goes across his body, but I didn’t move it. It’s as if someone else put it there. I could see Pete, and I was aware of what was happening, but I couldn’t react.”
“Did you recognize either intruder’s voice?” he asked then.
She recalled the sounds…her frantic efforts to defend herself.
The heated words from the man attacking her…
or were they from the other man? She shook her head.
“Their voices were odd. It’s like they exaggerated the sounds when they spoke.
Growled or spoke through their teeth, whatever, to ensure they weren’t recognizable.
But really, they didn’t speak much at all.
When they did, it was not in normal tones. ”
“You said the two of you drank the champagne. Did you eat any of the food? Do you remember having anything out on the table or on the counter? Where was the basket when you called it a night?”
She thought about that one for a bit. “I don’t remember eating. Maybe that’s why the champagne went to my head, and my memory is foggier than it should have been.”
“So you never touched any of the eating utensils or knives in the kitchen.”
“No. I never even opened the fridge.” Heat rose in her cheeks.
“We just went straight to the bedroom when we arrived. We went out on the balcony once. Pete had the glasses and the bottle of champagne. At one point we were at the table, but there was nothing on it. No basket, no food.” She concentrated harder on the details.
“I’m fairly certain I didn’t touch much of anything beyond furniture. ”
“In the one hundred and thirty two crime scene photos,” he said, his gaze steady on hers, “all the things you said were in the basket were spread on the table. There were plates and glasses. They gave the appearance that the two of you had been at the table eating.”
That wasn’t right. “No. I’m certain we never used the table. Not for eating.”
“Someone did. There were half-eaten portions of bread and cheese. Bare grape stems. Either someone ate, or they went to great lengths to make it look as if the two of you had eaten.”
“Detective Fowler never mentioned anything about the food or the table.” She looked at the table. “But if we didn’t eat, that would mean…”
Dear God, she couldn’t even say the words.
“It would imply that the men,” Chance said for her, “who murdered your husband and attacked you ate before they left or prepared the table as if someone had eaten.”