My unease shape-shifts into a low-grade dread.
“Maybe she left in a rush and went out the back,” I say as my gaze lights on a door from the dining area to the outside. “She could have panicked about speaking to me—because she knew I had doubts about the date she was raped ... Did you know, Hilary? That it didn’t happen when she claimed it did?”
She shrugs out of her coat, tosses it on the table, and turns to face me, her expression grave.
“Yes, she told me on the phone today—after she talked to you.”
So, there it is: my nagging suspicion finally confirmed.
“Did she say when itdidhappen?” I ask.
“On the previous Monday night. I’m sorry—I had no idea until today.”
I fight off a swell of emotions, a chaotic mix of anger, frustration, and unbearable sadness. Just as I told myself before, if she’d reported the crime, Mel would surely be alive.
“I’m glad she admitted it to you,” I say finally, “but it seems she’s decided to take off rather than explain herself.”
Hilary shakes her head. “She said she wanted to tell you the whole truth, and I said fine, as long as I was here at the time. I can’t believe she left without any word.”
“What if you call your nephew? He might know what’s going on.”
“Right, but”—I see her eyes flicker with a thought—“let me check the den first. She sometimes reads in there. Maybe she’s fallen asleep.”
She hurries off again with me still following, and I realize we’re headed down a short corridor to the other room that faced the flower bed, which I’d assumed was a bedroom.
The door is closed.
She raps lightly and calls Riley’s name again. Nothing. For a moment, Hilary hesitates as if gathering her nerve. Then she slowly pushes open the door.
We see her at the same time. I gasp as my knees buckle. Hilary lets out a wail of anguish.
Riley is sitting slumped over on the floor with her back against a partially open bathroom door and her neck wound with orange electrical cord. The cord extends from over the top of the door and seems to be tied to the handle on the other side. Her head has dropped onto her chest, but I can see enough to tell that her eyes are closed and her pretty face is dark red, like someone’s held a blowtorch only inches away.
We lurch in unison toward Riley, and each of us grabs hold of an arm. Somehow, we manage to hoist her into an upright position so that the cord finally slackens. My cheek is almost touching Riley’s, but I can’t hear her breathing.
Let her still be all right. Please, please, please.
“I’ll keep her lifted,” I say, panting. “Can you unknot the cord?”
“Yup.”
I feel Hilary working on the other side of the door, and from the way the cord jiggles, I can tell her hands are shaking.
“God dammit,” she yells. “I can’t get this.”
“Do you have something to cut it with?”
Riley is too heavy for me to hold much longer, and I’m scared I’ll drop her and that the cord will tighten around her neck again.
“Yeah. No, wait ... I’ve got it.”
I feel the cord slacken even more, and as I lower Riley back to the floor, it slithers quickly down this side of the door. I lay her on her back and loosen the cord enough so that it isn’t choking her. An angry red bruise is circling her neck.
“Do you know CPR?” I ask as Hilary stoops down next to me.
“God, no, I don’t.”
“I do, kind of. Call nine-one-one and I’ll try.”
