This didn’t make Mike happy. It made Clarisse less so.
He was in track pants, a tee and a sweatshirt. He had his gym bag over his shoulder and he was trying not to trip over an always excited Layla as he walked down the stairs to get to the garage. He was three steps from the bottom when the doorbell rang.
He went to the door, looked through the peephole and saw Rhonda Holliday.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, dumping his bag by the door, unlocking it and opening it.
Her eyes came direct to him. Her face was pale. Her expression was downright haunted.
“Jesus, Rhonda, you okay?” he asked.
“I…uh…” She stopped, stared at him, tears wet her eyes and she whispered through trembling lips, “No.”
Fuck. Maybe Rhonda wasn’t one of those people who needed avoidance. Maybe Rhonda was one of the different kinds of people.
He didn’t know if that was better or worse.
Fuck.
He stepped aside and muttered, “Come in.”
She dropped her head and came in.
Layla pounced.
Mike closed the door, moved forward, grabbed his dog by her collar and guided her down the hall, inviting, “Follow me. Just gonna put her out.”
“Oh…okay,” Rhonda whispered and he felt her following him as he went down the hall to the big living room/dining room that sprawled the entire back of the house.
He took Layla directly to the backdoor, she got excited for a different reason that didn’t involve company but jumping around in snow and shot out the door the moment he opened it.
He closed it and turned to Rhonda to see her looking around.
“You want a cup of coffee or something?” he asked thinking she didn’t look like she needed coffee. She looked like she needed a shot of tequila.
“I…” She looked uncertain for a moment and finished, “No, Mike. But thanks.”
He moved to her and stopped five feet away, giving her space as she fiddled with both hands at the strap of her purse.
“What’s up, Rhonda?” he prompted when her eyes darted everywhere but to him and she didn’t speak.
Her eyes went to him then to his shoulder then she bit her lip. Through this she still didn’t speak and this went on awhile.
“Rhonda –” he started and her eyes shot to his and then she spoke. Fast.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I know I shouldn’t have. And I don’t know if I should be here. But I don’t know what else to do. Where else to go. Who else to tell. If there’s even anything that can be done.”
This was not a good start.
“How about you tell me what you did you shouldn’t have done first,” he suggested cautiously.
“I found her diaries and read them,” she blurted quickly.
Mike blinked.
Then he asked, “Pardon?”
“Dusty. Dusty’s diaries. I found them and read them.”
Mike’s entire body got tight but before he could stop her, the floodgates opened and pure acid began to pour out.
“I was…was looking through Darrin’s things. I was…was…I don’t even know how he had them but he hid them and I found them and I didn’t know what they were so I started readin’ them and then what I read, I couldn’t stop and it hurt so bad, Mike. To know. To finally know what happened to Dusty. And it hurt so bad to know Darrin knew that all these years seein’ as he had her diaries. And he bore that weight all by himself. And now I don’t know what to do ‘cause someone’s gotta know. If this is…if it’s…if she’s coping. ‘Cause if she isn’t, someone has to help her and you’re a cop. You’ll know what help people need when things like this happen.”
He didn’t want to know mostly because he simply didn’t want to know. Partly he didn’t want to know because Rhonda clearly had no clue Mike had started a relationship with her sister-in-law and it wasn’t his right to know until Dusty told him.
He opened his mouth to find some way to inform her of this without exposing anything when she kept talking and the acid of her word felt like it flayed away his skin.
“Denny Lowe molested her when she was fifteen.”
Mike stood completely still.
Dennis Lowe had been born in that town. Dennis Lowe had grown up in that town. Dennis Lowe had found a woman in college, married her and brought her back to that town. Years later, Dennis Lowe took an axe to his wife and they had to identify her from the wedding band on a finger which was one of the only parts of her body he hadn’t hacked to goo. Dennis Lowe had then gone on a killing spree in the name of Alec Colton’s now wife February. Then Dennis Lowe had committed suicide by cop. So Dennis Lowe was known nation-wide as just what he was. A thankfully dead whacked in the head serial killer.
And although not a dead ringer, Dusty looked like February Colton. Blonde hair, curvy figure, dark brown eyes.
They knew of one girl he’d raped prior to his losing total control on the very tenuous hold he had on his mind and then going on to murder five people, a dog and attacking another man.