Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I have to ask him something, and I don’t want to. Surely it’s already occurred to him anyway.
“Jason,” I begin slowly, “is there any chance that Lindsay might have been having an affair?”
Jason’s face hardens, his eyes turning icy cold. “No.” His voice is clipped. “Lindsay loved me. She wasn’t the type to do anything like that. She’d talk to me first, try to work out whatever was bothering her.”
“But she—” I stop abruptly.
Now is not the time to remind him that she didn’t talk to him about taking her own life.
Which begs the question… Maybe Jason is right. Maybe Lindsay didn’t commit suicide.
But if that’s the case…then how did she die?
What possible motive could anyone have for murdering an innocent woman? A woman who’d just suffered the most devastating loss imaginable?
“Then who is R. Lyon?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He rubs his eyes. “Lindsay and I met the first week of college. She didn’t have any other…”
“No other boyfriends?”
“Just one in high school. They were serious, I guess, until he went a little nuts on her.”
“A little nuts?”
He grips the back of his neck. “Yeah, he started stalking her. Sending her notes all the time. She had to change her number and even got a restraining order. She came here to school because it was far away from her home in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She was the youngest of her siblings, so Barry and Lisa, her parents, moved here too. Sold the house where they’d raised their kids to keep Lindsay safe from the guy.”
“Do you know his name?”
“She only said his name was Ronny Burgundy.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. He was born before that Will Ferrell movie came out, so, you know. But it’s not a name you can forget.”
I scratch my chin. “Did she ever hear from him after high school?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m sure she would have told me if she had.”
“So he just let her go?”
“Yeah. I mean, the local cops threatened to arrest him if he kept bothering her. That’s enough to scare most people off.”
I think for a minute. “The R could stand for Ronny. I don’t know about the Lyon.”
“Lyon. Like lion. King of the forest. Fierce protector.” Jason shrugs. “It’s all a longshot, Angie.”
“Yeah.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “But a longshot is better than nothing. And there’s one thing you’re overlooking.”
He cocks his head. “What’s that?”
“That R. Lyon message was posted two years after Lindsay’s death.” I bite my lip, grab his arm. “Two years, Jason. Who would remember her so intensely to post something like that unless they had unfinished business with her?”
He closes his eyes a moment. “I don’t know,” he says finally.
“Are you sure the note isn’t in Lindsay’s handwriting?”
He looks me straight in the eye. “Yeah. Of that I’m completely sure. I even got some handwriting samples from her parents tonight to prove it.”
“Show me,” I say.
“They’re at home. I dropped them off before I came over here.”
“Then let’s go to your place. It might be good to have a third party look at both samples. It’s about time I saw it, don’t you think?”
He nods. We get dressed, put on our coats, and walk three doors down to his townhome.
His hand trembles slightly as he fumbles with the key. The door swings open to reveal a warm, inviting living room.
Before I have a chance to take everything else in, I notice the photo on a side table next to the couch.
A beautiful blond woman and an adorable little girl.
My heart breaks a little.
He leads me to a home office filled with shelves of books and piles of papers. He opens a drawer and pulls out what looks like a journal.
“I suppose I should show you the suicide note,” he says.
“I suppose so, if I’m to compare the writing.” I shrug. “I’m not exactly an expert.”
“Neither am I,” he says. “But I was with Lindsay for ten years. I know her handwriting.”
I gulp as he pulls out an envelope.
“This is it,” he says. “The cops saw it after Lindsay died. I gave it to them, but I never read it. They gave it back to me in the envelope.”
“They didn’t keep it as evidence?” I ask.
“Why would they? No charges were filed. It was ruled a suicide. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Dead kid, devastated mother, suicide note at the scene. I would have been the only likely suspect, and I had an alibi. I was at work.”
“Doing what?”
His face reddens. “I may not be able to do surgery, but I’m still a damned doctor, Angie.”
He’s flustered, and I don’t blame him.
Still, though…
He stands up, paces. “I was meeting with the dean of the medical school. We were discussing a few courses I could teach. Lindsay hadn’t been back to work since Julia’s death, and there was no end in sight to her depression. One of us had to work.”