Page 66 of Paranoid

“I just want some perspective,” Mercedes insisted. “To tell the story of the boy who lost his life in the cannery. Who, exactly, was he?”

For a second Rachel was stunned into silence as she thought about Luke as he truly was: complicated. Popular but secretive, an athlete who stood toe-to-toe with his stepfather if need be, a kid with a great sense of humor, a boy who loved to tease and taunt, though he always, always had his sister’s back.

“I’m not talking about Luke.”

“Then talk about that night. Let’s hear your side.”

Rachel stopped short, shaking her head as she stared down at the phone. “My ‘side’ is in my statement to the police. From twenty years ago. It hasn’t changed and I’m sure you’ve got a copy.”

“But I’d like your perspective now and how you look back on it. Maybe you remember some details that weren’t in the original report. You know, tell me what you think, what you remember, now that your dad isn’t a cop and looking over your shoulder.”

“My father had nothing to do with it. What I said was the truth.”

One of Mercedes’s eyebrows cocked a fraction. “We’re all more careful when our parents are around. Especially as children.”

Rachel stood then. “My story hasn’t changed.” Placing both hands firmly on Mercedes’s desk, she looked squarely into the other woman’s eyes. “And if you print one word that differs from what I said in the original police report, I’ll sue you, Mercedes, and you can quote me on that.” With that she turned and left.

“I’m quivering in my boots,” Mercy called after her, and even had the audacity to laugh.

“You do that,” Rachel ground out quietly as she flew out the door, turned away from the shop window, and collapsed against the stucco wall. A heavy mist was falling, quickly soaking into her hair. She hugged herself, trying to stop the tremors that rose from the cold deep inside her. So much had been ruined, and she didn’t know when she’d have the energy for damage control.

After these stories went out, would she ever find another job? Would she lose clients from her small business?

Would the kids lose respect for her? Not that they treated her too well as it was, but she couldn’t stand them using this as an excuse to make bad choices.

Would the kids be ostracized at school?

The rain began in earnest, and she pressed back against the building, wondering if she should make a run for her car or wait until it blew over. Suddenly she wished she had the kids this weekend. She’d make them some comfort food—tomato soup and grilled cheese—and try to have one calm afternoon in a week of constant turmoil.

Just then Rachel noticed a shadow moving across the street in the narrow alleyway between two buildings.

Someone stood there, his face in shadow. He seemed to be wearing a dark jacket, with the collar turned up and a baseball cap pulled low.

Was it just someone having a smoke?

No. He was simply standing there, watching her.

She glanced right and left to see if there was someone else he was keeping an eye on. Nope. She was the only person outside in the gray drizzle.

Icy fear, cold as the rain penetrating her scalp.

She told herself she was imagining things, that there really wasn’t anything sinister about him, that she needed to keep her cool. But her skin prickled as she wiped the gathering moisture from her face and then cupped a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes and focus her gaze on him. A passing truck blocked her view momentarily.

And then he was gone.

The alley empty.

Leaving her to wonder if he had ever been there at all.

CHAPTER 16

Monday morning the sky was clear, a few stars fading, the air fresh as Kayleigh let herself in through the back door of the cedar and stone building housing the sheriff’s department. A skeleton crew was manning the phones and desks until the shift change, so the offices were quieter than during the day, just a few voices and footfal

ls audible over the rumble of air running through ducts overhead.

Shedding her jacket in her locker, she was already mentally going over the Sperry case as she made her way to the lunch room. After picking up her car on Saturday morning, she’d spent most of the weekend reviewing notes and interviews on the Sperry homicide, studying evidence and checking alibis, and allowing a little time for watching football.

So far, Leonard Sperry’s story was holding up. His fishing buddy had come through with an alibi, confirming Sperry’s whereabouts near Bend in Central Oregon. Motel and restaurant receipts had placed him 250 miles from his home. The police were still waiting for cell phone records, but Kayleigh assumed the information from the phone company would confirm his alibi.