Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Alani
The moment I step into my room I know somebody’s been there.
The room has been tidied, the sheets changed and my garbage bin emptied.
I immediately glance up and a shiver spills down my spine.
Someone has uncovered the camera lens. Being under constant surveillance is driving me crazy.
I can’t think straight and I immediately grab a piece of paper from the ream on my desk and tape it over the tiny lens protruding from the wall opposite my bed.
The thought that someone wants to watch me sleep is disturbing.
What sort of sick mind does that to someone?
I’d left my laptop sitting on the desk when I dashed to the store with Allison.
I’m wondering if that was a ruse to get me out of the house so they could rummage through my things.
My laptop is protected by a thumbprint but that can be overridden by a simple four-digit PIN.
I’ve used the PIN number a couple of times prior to knowing about the camera surveillance and anyone who watched the video footage would have been able to decipher what I’d typed.
I run my fingertips over my purse. Inside I keep a backup copy of everything I’ve written on two flash drives and they go everywhere with me.
As far as I’m aware no one knows anything about them because I discovered the camera lens prior to using them for the first time inside this house.
Instead of checking out Jenny’s flash drive as I’d planned, I spend a little time searching the room for another camera.
They are so small they could be hidden anywhere.
After twenty minutes or so, I find a small black object.
It could be a listening device, so I take it to the toilet and flush it.
Feeling a little safer I go back to my laptop and change the password.
I shake my head trying to comprehend the reason why the Boswells are so secretive and afraid of what I’m doing.
Surely they would have checked me out before offering me the contract to write Isabelle’s memoirs.
Why do they suddenly believe I’m a threat to them?
Now they expect me to go out on the yacht with them and I have no choice but to comply.
Do they really want me to be part of their celebration or are they planning to throw me overboard once they sail deep into the ocean?
I open my files and gape in astonishment.
Since speaking with Isabelle this morning all references to Rachel have been deleted.
The file I compiled about her for my own personal use is also missing.
Anger crawls up my throat. How dare they tamper with my private files?
I want to run down to Isabelle’s bedroom, hammer on the door and ask her to explain but I figure that will only make things worse.
Maybe it’s better that I ignore this invasion of my privacy.
I haven’t lost the files, I made copies and the flash drives are snugly hidden inside my purse alongside Jenny’s.
Before I go out this evening, I’ll ask Linc if there’s any way I can slip past the paparazzi to dash back to my parents’ house.
I’ll say I need something to wear to the party and he’ll likely send his bodyguard with me.
While I’m there, I’ll use my mother’s computer to make copies of everything and I’ll stash the originals and Jenny’s notebook in the family safe.
I lean back in my chair and smile. It will take more than Isabelle Croft to outwit me.
I stand at the sound of someone outside my room.
When I fling open the door I see Allison walking away.
I grab my purse, slip outside the door and follow her.
She is heading toward the kitchen and when she slips inside, I pause for a few seconds and walk through the door.
It’s busy with people making preparations for dinner.
I’ve been here a few times before if I needed to grab a cup of coffee.
I could pick up the phone and ask one of the staff to bring a cup to me but I’m quite capable of collecting my own.
I can’t see Allison anywhere; it’s as if she went in one door and out another.
I grab a large mug from the shelf, fill it with coffee from the pot, add the fixings and head back upstairs to find Oliver coming out of Mia’s room.
My heart thunders at the thought of him watching me again and if he’s been inside my room, but I have only been gone for a few minutes.
I do a general sweep of the room and find nothing disturbed. This time I close and lock my door.
Excitement shivers through me at the thought of finally discovering the truth.
I pull on the examination gloves and insert Jenny’s flash drive into my computer.
From the list of files that come up she is very organized.
Each folder is labeled with the contents, which makes life much easier.
First of all, I scroll through her research and find she had been actively working on Rachel Stackhouse’s background.
The information is eye-opening. Prior to being raped, Rachel was an A grade student, a cheerleader and voted most likely to succeed in the yearbook.
She came from a religious family. It seems her family deserted her by moving her from a hospital to a clinic for her care over the time she was in a coma.
From the photocopies of the newspaper clippings Jenny had discovered, the victim of the attempted murder and rape hadn’t been expected to live.
It had a big splash on the front page of the newspapers as she’d been discovered on the steps of the local high school.
The report said she’d been to cheerleader practice and had told the other girls she was meeting a boy.
The police had concentrated on students around her age and an extensive investigation had taken place.
The case was unusual because no trace evidence had been discovered on Rachel’s body or clothes.
This in itself was unusual because if it had been a spur of the moment attack, it would have been highly unlikely for the perpetrator not to leave evidence behind.
The consensus in the newspapers was that the police believed that the attack had been well planned.
The problem being that Rachel hadn’t mentioned the name of the boy she planned to meet prior to leaving the practice that evening.
As I read the many newspaper articles that cover the period from the time of the rape to my birth and onto the night Rachel died in the motel room, it becomes more and more obvious that someone informed Jenny that Barnes’ victim was Rachel Stackhouse.
I check the dates on the file folders and discover the last chapter she wrote.
Within the file is a fact sheet, listing anything that might be subject to defamation.
It seems, like me, she also didn’t trust Isabelle’s rendition of her past. The entry mentions Isabelle consumed many glasses of wine prior to the interview and was rambling most of the time.
I check the notebook and discover Jenny made copious notes but it will be difficult to pull out the truth between the lies.
However, she did believe Isabelle told her the name of the young woman giving birth in the same ward as her.
The fact that it tied up with everything else going forward was a bonus.
The information would be spectacular for the memoir and would be a marketer’s dream.
I open the file and read. What is inside astonishes me.
Jenny has written a clear and concise documentary of exactly what happened the night of the hurricane and Mia’s birth.
My stomach clenches as I read that my birth mother screamed to have me removed from her and refused to look at me.
Suddenly all the resentment I have toward my adopted parents melts away.
Rachel hated me and I would have been a constant reminder of what she went through.
It was better for all concerned that I was adopted.
I read on and my jaw drops in astonishment.
My father had tried to murder Rachel in the hospital—and Isabelle denied it!
What the heck is going on here? After gathering myself and waiting for my heart to slow, I read it again, making sure I’m not mistaken.
I realize now Barnes is what they call an organized psychopathic killer.
Even though Rachel’s name was never mentioned, Barnes must have read the newspaper articles giving her location.
It was a terrible mistake for the media to run a story saying she hadn’t died and mention the name of the clinic.
My heart pounds as I read about the attack.
How much did Isabelle witness? She mentioned she was in the same ward as Rachel.
It should have been the end of it when Barnes was incarcerated but it didn’t take Jenny too long to link Rachel with the “Black Valentine” murder.
The way she’d written the chapter would have been sensational.
I know now why Isabelle was so careful when telling me the story of the night of Mia’s birth.
I lean back in my chair and blow a wisp of hair away from my face.
I wonder what Isabelle would do if she discovered that my brother could be the person responsible for murdering Rachel and is now shadowing me?
I wasn’t fooled by Damon’s insistence of innocence. I’m not that stupid.
Jenny is still missing, Aunt Susan is dead—and what about the pilot who took Isabelle to the hospital?
How many more people did Jenny talk to about what happened that night—and why is it worth killing for?
Barnes has almost done his time, and he’ll be a free man soon.
Nothing I’m reading makes sense. If they come clean and let it all out now, it wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Yes, it would sell books but instinct tells me there’s a whole lot more to this than meets the eye.
I just know that Isabelle is hiding something monumental.
Did Jenny find out what it was and Isabelle threatened her and threw her out of her house?
I know what I must do. I need to find Jenny.