Chapter Forty-One. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
Perhaps In Cold Blood wasn’t the best middle-of-the-night reading material, I think as my phone alarm rouses me.
Not surprising, reading about the slaughter of an entire family amplified my unease.
I kept thinking about the car speeding past me as I climbed the steps to Betty’s porch, and the broken lock on the door to the strange room.
I can’t shake Betty’s observation that my mind is more mysterious than I gave it credit for.
And beneath it all—like a throbbing pulse—is my worry about Danny.
I hate that I still long for my ex-husband. That I yearn to save him, to be with him again.
I haven’t heard any sounds to indicate Betty is awake, so I pull on sweats and creep to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
She doesn’t eat much in the morning, so I make tea and set out an English muffin and strawberry jam.
The sunlight is streaming in through the window above the sink.
I check the window. It has one of those thumb locks that’s ridiculously easy to get through, but it’s high up enough that someone would need a chair or ladder to gain entry.
Betty doesn’t emerge from her bedroom for another two hours, during which time I’ve swept the floors, deep-cleaned the refrigerator and scrubbed the kitchen, and stared at the hollow atlas for more than a few minutes.
I didn’t investigate the contents too closely last night because there were at least a hundred pages, but the ones I saw were a combination of typed and handwritten, with notes scrawled in the margins, lines crossed out and circled, and words underlined and boxed.
Annotations that seemed to befit a math problem more than psychology notes.
“Yesterday must have taken more out of me than I thought,” Betty says as she enters the kitchen. “I don’t know when I’ve slept so late.”
“I’m not surprised,” I tell her, flicking on the gas beneath the teakettle. “How about some breakfast?” The kitchen smells fresh and the old appliances are gleaming.
“It’s sparkling clean in here,” Betty says. “And yes, an English muffin sounds good.”
“Is there anything special you need today?” I ask.
Before she can answer, my cell phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number. Betty stares at my phone like it’s an object from another planet.
“This is Elizabeth Harris,” a woman says after I pick up. “I’m trying to reach Riley.”
I recognize her name instantly. Professor Joshua Woods’s wife. The woman I met in front of their home.
“This is Riley.”
Her tone grows even chillier. “My husband shared the message you left on his cell phone. He played it for me last night.”
Betty is staring at me intently. I’m sure she reads the shock on my face. I can’t even formulate a sentence.
“You mentioned Alex Finch,” Elizabeth says. “I’m assuming you’re a friend of hers?”
“Um, yes,” I reply.
“I’d urge you to be more circumspect before you take her lies at face value and harass innocent people. And now I have a question for you: What is it you think my husband took of hers?”
“Her student ID.” My voice sounds rusty, so I clear my throat. “He used it to get some files from the Marquis library.”
“Why would he need her ID when he has a faculty ID of his own?” She exhales, sounding exasperated. “Did you know that Alex Finch rated my husband five chili peppers?”
I blink. “Chili peppers?”
“It’s a thing, apparently. Students rate their professors based on their hotness quotient.
Five is the highest. It’s easy to verify online; Alex signed her rating.
She has since deleted it, but I took a screenshot.
Then Alex began dropping by his office hours.
And when he rebuffed her advances, she fabricated their relationship.
That timeline is indisputable. Apparently she’s under the care of a therapist. Part of our decision to not file charges was because Alex agreed to increase her sessions to twice weekly.
She is a deeply troubled young woman; my understanding is her best friend from high school committed suicide and that may have affected her mental state.
My husband is soft-hearted, which is why she tried to prey on him. ”
I regain my footing. “Did your husband deny having Alex’s student ID? Because I believe Alex. And I think he took those files.”
There’s a pause. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
“You sound familiar,” Elizabeth says slowly. “I have a good ear and I know we’ve talked before … Wait a minute, you were in front of my house yesterday, weren’t you?”
I can’t think of a plausible denial.
“Josh and I are a family. And if you threaten us, we’ll push back hard. If you call or come near either of us again, I’m calling the police.”
She hangs up and I stare into Betty’s eyes.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Betty says.