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)
Not fear. Not anger. Something amorphous that I can’t quite read.
“Jason didn’t do this to you,” I say. “And if you’re trying to frame him, you’d better think long and hard about your next move. Because I will find out what happened that night. And when I do, I’ll make sure the truth buries you.”
Ralph’s breathing grows heavier, his fingers twitching at his sides. For the first time since I walked in here, he looks unsure. But I don’t wait for him to respond.
I stand and push my chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor. “Sleep tight, Ralph.”
I turn to leave, but just as I reach the door, his voice follows me.
“Be careful what you dig for.”
A chill runs through me, but I don’t turn around.
He’s bluffing.
He’s always bluffing.
But I still can’t shake the chill.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jason
“What?” I demand.
Blake clears his throat. “I’m going to need a few minutes alone with my client.”
“Of course.” Detective Mann rises. “But we’ve got photos of your client slinking around outside Ralph Normandy’s apartment last night around midnight.”
Fuck.
That car.
I was being followed.
But I wasn’t at Ralph’s.
Once Detective Mann is gone, Blake turns to me. “What exactly were you thinking?”
Confusion whips through me.
And then it all makes sense.
A horrible, dreadful kind of sense.
“I didn’t know it was his place,” I say.
“I can’t help you if you don’t level with me,” Blake says.
“That’s just it. I am leveling with you. I got that address from one of my late wife’s classmates. I hired a PI and I’ve been looking for her old high-school boyfriend. It’s a long story.”
“I suggest you start telling me now.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead, trying to ease the ache erupting inside my temples like a ticking time bomb. “I just never thought these things could be related.”
“Start at the beginning, Jason.”
I take a deep breath in, gazing at the door to the interrogation room. “Detective Mann will be back in a few minutes.”
Blake shakes his head. “Detective Mann is required by law to give you as much time with your attorney as you require. We will sit here until you’ve told me the entire story, so we can figure this out together.”
“I just never thought…”
“Stop saying that. And start at the beginning.”
I gulp and pour out the story of the accident, my injury, Julia’s death, and Lindsay’s subsequent suicide. How I gave her suicide note to the cops without reading it myself, and only just after meeting Angie and realizing that I could move forward with life, looked at the note.
The color has drained from Blake’s face. “And you’re sure it’s not her handwriting?”
“Yeah. I took it to her parents, got several journals. I mean, I’m no handwriting expert, but she was my wife. I know her writing.”
Blake nods. “And this old boyfriend?”
“Apparently he stalked her pretty badly. Her family had to get a restraining order, and after graduation they moved from New Jersey to Colorado. The whole family up and moved. Lindsay’s two older siblings were already out of the house, so they weren’t uprooting anyone else at that point.”
“And what made you think that this old boyfriend might’ve had something to do with her death?”
“He’s the only logical suspect. He was obsessed with her.”
“Yes, I understand that, but he had left her alone for years.”
“Maybe he didn’t know where she was. Her family left town, after all.”
He strokes his chin. “In this day and age, unless you completely change your identity… Lindsay is her real name, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, they didn’t go that far.”
“Then with the internet at everyone’s disposal—social media and the like—it’s pretty easy to find anyone you want to find.”
Blake’s not wrong.
“Is there anything else that made you suspect the old boyfriend?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t looked at Lindsay’s Facebook memorial in years, but I pulled it up the other day, and I saw a post from a year ago. And it was just signed R. Lyon.”
“R. Lyon?”
“Yeah, and her old boyfriend’s name was Ronny Burgundy.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, that’s his name. He was born before that movie.”
“Right. He would’ve had to have been.”
“And now… Damn.” I bury my head in my hands.
“So this Ralph Normandy fellow—”
“Oh my God…” It hits me all at once—sharp, sudden, electric. Like a switch flipping inside my brain. Everything I didn’t understand a second ago slams into focus, perfectly aligned, like it was never scattered at all. No build-up, no warning. Just that rush of clarity, like cold air to the lungs. It’s so obvious now, so painfully simple. The truth doesn’t creep in—it crashes, full force, and leaves no room for doubt.
When I first learned about the trip to Switzerland, I cracked open an old atlas that had been gathering dust for the better part of a decade. I wanted to get a good lay of the land. I’m not sure why I didn’t do a Google search. The information would have been more up to date.