investigating an intriguing case or being a good, responsible fiancé. It appeared I couldn’t be or do both.
It didn’t matter right now, though. I had to pick up Riley from therapy.
CHAPTER 2
Ten minutes later, I sat in the parking lot of the hospital. Traffic had been miraculously light, so I’d gotten here earlier than I anticipated. Instead of going inside to wait, I decided to peruse the papers Garrett had given me.
The paper on top of the file appeared to be the most recent article about his family’s murders. The article was glossy, from a magazine. A nice magazine. I glanced at the bottom of the page. Time magazine.
Wow. This had been a big story.
The headline read, “Murder at the Mercer House.” As I skimmed the article, my gut clenched at the details.
Garrett’s dad, mom, and sister were all shot point blank. Nothing was stolen from the house, and nothing had been left except for a couple of footprints. It was almost as if a ghost had come in, done the deed, and disappeared.
The police had no motives and no real suspects.
Apparently, some suspected a contractor hired to renovate the Mercer’s bathrooms who’d been seen flirting with Elizabeth Mercer, the mother. The contractor had a criminal history and no alibi. But the authorities also had no proof that he’d been to the house on the night of the murders, nothing to tie him to the scene.
Another man named Arnold James was also suspected. He’d killed another family in Missouri, had stolen nothing, and left very little evidence. There certainly seemed to be similarities in the cases, but nothing that truly connected James with the Mercers. The man was now in prison, serving a lifetime sentence, so confessing to the murder of the Mercer family wouldn’t have added any real time to his stay behind bars, yet he still claimed his innocence.
Some speculated it was a copycat crime , one meant to mirror Arnold James’ pattern of murder. The problem was, even if it was a copycat crime, they had no suspects for the copycat perpetrator.
There seemed to be absolutely nothing to go on when it came to find ing the killer.
Which would make one interesting investigation.
I glanced up at the time on the console of my van and gasped. I was three minutes late meeting Riley.
I threw the folder into my passenger seat, grabbed my purse, and dashed through the parking lot . In my haste, I darted in front of an oncoming car. The smell of burning rubber quickly assaulted my senses and deepened my guilt.
I tapped the hood, waved, and tried to ignore the driver shaking his fist out the window at me. I knew Riley would be fine for a few minutes without me. But a small part of me feared leaving him alone for too long. I feared he might wander or forget who was picking him up.
I was so thankful to have Riley in my life. The past couple of months had been hard, though. Despite the fact that he was recovering physically from his brain injury, he was still having trouble with his memory. The doctor wasn’t sure how quickly those issues would resolve. In my mind, there was a possibility they would never resolve.
Honestly, I just wanted my old Riley back. I felt selfish, but every night, that’s what I prayed for. Over and over again. To the point of tears.
And I had moments of hope. I had moments when I saw glimpses of my old Riley. His humor came out. His protective instinct showed. His intelligence became clear.
But then he had other moments of looking vacant. Of not remembering certain moments in our history. Of looking like he couldn’t find the words.
Those were the heartbreaking moments. The moments when I realized that Riley may have survived the gunshot wound, but he still had a lot more to survive.
I tore inside the building, bypassed the elevator and climbed two flights of stairs. I was breathless by the time I reached the Neurology Wing.
Riley was in the waiting room. He stood when I walked in.
Good. He hadn’t wandered
It didn’t matter right now, though. I had to pick up Riley from therapy.
CHAPTER 2
Ten minutes later, I sat in the parking lot of the hospital. Traffic had been miraculously light, so I’d gotten here earlier than I anticipated. Instead of going inside to wait, I decided to peruse the papers Garrett had given me.
The paper on top of the file appeared to be the most recent article about his family’s murders. The article was glossy, from a magazine. A nice magazine. I glanced at the bottom of the page. Time magazine.
Wow. This had been a big story.
The headline read, “Murder at the Mercer House.” As I skimmed the article, my gut clenched at the details.
Garrett’s dad, mom, and sister were all shot point blank. Nothing was stolen from the house, and nothing had been left except for a couple of footprints. It was almost as if a ghost had come in, done the deed, and disappeared.
The police had no motives and no real suspects.
Apparently, some suspected a contractor hired to renovate the Mercer’s bathrooms who’d been seen flirting with Elizabeth Mercer, the mother. The contractor had a criminal history and no alibi. But the authorities also had no proof that he’d been to the house on the night of the murders, nothing to tie him to the scene.
Another man named Arnold James was also suspected. He’d killed another family in Missouri, had stolen nothing, and left very little evidence. There certainly seemed to be similarities in the cases, but nothing that truly connected James with the Mercers. The man was now in prison, serving a lifetime sentence, so confessing to the murder of the Mercer family wouldn’t have added any real time to his stay behind bars, yet he still claimed his innocence.
Some speculated it was a copycat crime , one meant to mirror Arnold James’ pattern of murder. The problem was, even if it was a copycat crime, they had no suspects for the copycat perpetrator.
There seemed to be absolutely nothing to go on when it came to find ing the killer.
Which would make one interesting investigation.
I glanced up at the time on the console of my van and gasped. I was three minutes late meeting Riley.
I threw the folder into my passenger seat, grabbed my purse, and dashed through the parking lot . In my haste, I darted in front of an oncoming car. The smell of burning rubber quickly assaulted my senses and deepened my guilt.
I tapped the hood, waved, and tried to ignore the driver shaking his fist out the window at me. I knew Riley would be fine for a few minutes without me. But a small part of me feared leaving him alone for too long. I feared he might wander or forget who was picking him up.
I was so thankful to have Riley in my life. The past couple of months had been hard, though. Despite the fact that he was recovering physically from his brain injury, he was still having trouble with his memory. The doctor wasn’t sure how quickly those issues would resolve. In my mind, there was a possibility they would never resolve.
Honestly, I just wanted my old Riley back. I felt selfish, but every night, that’s what I prayed for. Over and over again. To the point of tears.
And I had moments of hope. I had moments when I saw glimpses of my old Riley. His humor came out. His protective instinct showed. His intelligence became clear.
But then he had other moments of looking vacant. Of not remembering certain moments in our history. Of looking like he couldn’t find the words.
Those were the heartbreaking moments. The moments when I realized that Riley may have survived the gunshot wound, but he still had a lot more to survive.
I tore inside the building, bypassed the elevator and climbed two flights of stairs. I was breathless by the time I reached the Neurology Wing.
Riley was in the waiting room. He stood when I walked in.
Good. He hadn’t wandered
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