Chapter 33
I bolt up straight in bed.
“How do you know?” I ask, shoving the hair off my face.
“That pain-in-the-ass Chip Conway texted me ten minutes ago,” Logan says. “He sent a link to a short news item that went up online around six a.m.”
“But what could they have on her? DNA tests still take days, I’ve heard.”
“Fingerprints, maybe? Though it seems too soon for a hit on that, either.”
I finally focus on the fact that Logan is fully dressed—in jeans, a collared shirt, and a blue zippered cardigan.
“How long have you been up?”
“Since five. I couldn’t fall back to sleep, and once I saw the story, I figured I’d better dress to face the day in case all hell breaks loose.”
“I need to see the piece. Can you forward me the link?”
“Sure—or come see it on my laptop. It’s still open to the story.”
I nearly vault out of bed, trail Logan to the living room, and settle there to read the story.
Early this morning New York State Police arrested Hudson River Community College professor Morgan T.
Kroll, 35, of Springtown, for the murder of Riley Reynolds, age 29.
Reynolds, a former Carter College student, was found dead yesterday at a home in Edgerton.
Police have not released details of her death or a possible motive, but it’s been reported that Reynolds was in the area in conjunction with a renewed investigation into the death of another Carter College, student Melanie Chase, eight years ago.
So, it’s true. Morgan killed Riley. Which means she must have killed Mel, too.
There’s a couple of moments when I feel I might be sick, that I might hurl whatever’s left in my stomach.
I sat in the same booth and the same car with her, acting all deferential, when she was the person who strangled my smart, talented, beautiful daughter with a dog leash.
I don’t want her to rot in prison. I want her to burn at the stake.
“She’s as much of a monster as Ruck was,” Logan says.
I take a deep breath, forcing my stomach into submission. “But what if all the police have is circumstantial evidence, based mostly on what I said? I’m going to go insane until I know more.”
“Maybe Halligan will loop us in when we see him this morning.”
“He’s so pissed at me, we’ll be lucky if he tells us anything.”
Logan scoffs. “As far as I’m concerned, he has no right to be annoyed. Where would we be if you hadn’t dug the way you did?”
I’m glad I dug. I’m glad, in the end, that I came here hoping for the truth. And yet Riley’s dead because of it. And Bas might be lost as well.
“I should get moving,” I say, and start for the bedroom to grab my clothes. As I reach the doorway, I pivot to Logan.
“Speaking of all hell breaking loose, I wonder if the Handlers have heard. Alison said she told her husband about Mel, but never Morgan. She’ll be forced to now.”
“This is going to knock them on their asses,” Logan says. “There’s going to be some ugly gossip over the next few months—at the very least.”
“Though maybe Alison can put it to her advantage. She can do a painting of the two of them with flames shooting out of their heads.”
“Speaking of Handler,” Logan says, “I was so thrown last night, I forgot to mention that I checked with the contractor for the Muse office, and he said that the crew is gone every day by four. So, they didn’t pull the table against the door, and apparently no one in maintenance would have done it, either.
Which leaves Handler as a possibility. But why? ”
I flip a hand over. “We know now that he wasn’t sleeping with Mel, but he might have been afraid I’d find out about her and Alison and go to Maya about it. And he wanted me to look slightly unhinged.”
“Yeah, could be. But we’ll probably never know for sure.”
I finally retreat to the bathroom, wash up a little, and quickly change into the same grungy clothes from yesterday.
I need to call Bas as soon as possible and share the news with him.
And in the next two days, I need to determine what to do about my infidelity.
The thought almost knocks me over with dread.
When I return to the living area, I find Logan staring at his laptop screen.
“Is there an update?” I ask.
“Nothing to speak of. They’ve included one new detail, that the home belongs to attorney Hilary Brown.”
A thought suddenly blooms in my mind. “Wait. If the police found evidence at Hilary’s house, she might be privy to what it is.”
On the one hand, it seems unfair to ask her, considering what I’ve set in motion, but she’s also seemed sympathetic to my need for the truth. I dial her number with the phone on speaker. Just when I think the call is about to go to voicemail, she picks up.
“I take it you’ve heard the news,” she says.
“Yes, just now.”
“I’m gobsmacked. And I frankly don’t understand why this woman would do it.”
“I think what I said yesterday—that Riley’s death might be connected to our daughter’s—is true. It seems Morgan Kroll must have used the details she learned about Riley’s assault to murder Melanie several days later, and she couldn’t afford for Riley to change her story about the date.”
A few moments of silence follow. I cringe, wondering if she’s now calculating the part I played in Riley’s murder.
“Oh heavens,” she says finally. “This is almost more than I can fathom.”
“I know you must be busy dealing with family today, but I was hoping you could illuminate something for Logan and me. Do you have any idea why they arrested Kroll? Because we’re concerned the evidence might not be strong enough.”
“Oh, it’s enough,” Hilary says in disgust.
“What do you mean?”
“This is between the two of us for now, okay? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Riley didn’t take her own life and that someone must have been in the house with her.
At about nine last night, when I was already at my friend’s, I remembered the trail camera I’d set up in the woods right behind the house.
I went through the footage. The camera was angled enough to catch a woman arriving at the back door around midday, being let in by Riley, and then exiting in a hurry less than an hour later—with Riley nowhere in sight.
I sent it to the police immediately, and based on the questions they had for me, I realized it was Morgan Kroll. ”
I jerk my head toward Logan, and his expression is as stunned as mine must be. I thank Hilary and promise to update her with anything we learn.
“Who would have guessed?” Logan says once I’ve disconnected. “We’ve been saved by someone’s interest in fucking wildlife.”
Without warning, I begin to cry, unable to stay on autopilot for a second more.
I’m crying about Riley and everything she suffered, in part because of me.
And I’m crying about Mel. Though I’m pretty sure I finally know the truth about her death, she’ll always be part mystery to me and her love forever out of reach.
Maybe Logan was right that she did love me and, like many adolescents, was simply sucky at showing it, but I’ll never know for sure.
He steps forward and embraces me, and for a few minutes we just hold each other, and the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing. I finally pull away.
“Shall I meet you in the lobby at nine fifteen?” I ask, brushing away my tears.
“Sounds good.” He levels his gaze at me. “And then come back, okay?”
“You mean tonight?” That’s clearly what he’s talking about.
“Actually, I mean always,” he says. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Bree.”
My breath catches in shock.
“Logan, I have a partner, and you do, too. She moved in with you only a few months ago.”
“It’s not the right choice for me, though. And I don’t see how you think your choice is the right one for you, either, fleeing to the damn Southern Cone.”
“But—”
“I made a huge fucking mistake, Bree, and I’m not only sorry, but I also want the chance to finally make it up to you.”
I feel shaky. Despite how solicitous Logan has been this week, I never saw this coming. I’m also shaky because I liked hearing him say those words, and I’m not sure what that means. Would I be willing to throw away my new life with a man I love just to be with Logan again?
I do my best to center myself.
“Logan, I’m moved by what you’re saying. But please, can we put this subject on hold for now? I feel too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. I need to get ahold of myself before we meet with Halligan.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Back in my room, I reset to autopilot. I shower, and with my hair dripping wet, I call Bas.
“Carino, hi,” he says. “I was hoping that was you.”
The sound of his voice, so unknowing, floods me with guilt.
“Please tell me your cold is better, sweetheart.”
“Yes, much.”
“So glad to hear.”
I feel like an evil magician right now, using sleight of hand to hide not only my two-timing but also the weird ambivalence I left Logan’s room with. Knowing Bas, he might even sense the trickery.
“You actually caught me at my computer, double-checking your arrival time.”
“That’s partly why I’m calling,” I say. “Something pretty shocking has happened, and I need to spend another day or two with the police here. I’m going to try to switch my flight to Sunday night.”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
God, how loaded that question really is.
“The girl who I told you about, the victim who came forward? She’s been murdered, and we’re pretty sure the woman who did it killed Mel, too. That it wasn’t Ruck after all.”
“A woman killed Mel?” he says.
“It’s a harrowing story, related in part to a relationship we never knew Mel had. I can tell you much more later, but I need to get ready to make a statement at police headquarters.”
And I do want to tell him, every detail I’ve learned. And my own complicity in part of it.
“Sure, sure, of course,” he says. “And please tell me if there’s anything I can do. It’s awful being so far away and not being able to help you, Bree. But I’m thinking of you every minute.”