The Truth About Gretchen

by Alretha Thomas

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “I was transported to the New Year’s Eve party, and those are some of my observations. Robert was angry. Did you notice that?”

  A rare headache on the horizon, I press on my temples. “The only time I saw him get mad was when Lorraine jammed him up. Oh, he was also upset with security. Robert wanted to have his own people at the door, but the hotel said because of the liability they had to provide the security. They were letting people into the party who weren’t on the guest list. Why? I have no idea.”

  “I remember him being angry about the lack of security. But something else had him boiling mad. Something that, if it had been revealed to your mother, would have destroyed her. He also said he had to make something right.”

  Gretchen’s last statement makes my stomach flip. “Oh my god.”

  “What?” she says, practically rising out of her seat.

  “Robert told me he was going to make something right. I never got a chance to ask him what he meant.”

  “Think, Regina. Why would he have said he needed to make something right? Whatever it was, I believe it had something to do with your mother.”

  “I’m not sure. But when I talked to one of the guys from our neighborhood, he told me Robert was involved in some things that weren’t good.”

  “Like what?” she says, her blue eyes intense.

  “Gambling. Robert was supposedly betting on his own games, and he was spending a lot of time in Vegas. The guy also said Robert may have had ties to the jewelry store heist, as a way to pay off his gambling debts, but I don’t believe that. He also said there were rumors about Robert working with the police to finger the guys who robbed the jewelry store with him.” Gretchen knits her brows, then writes on her tablet. “What are you writing?”

  “I’m adding to the suspect list.”

  We ponder everything that has been said. Gretchen picks up the sheet of paper with the bullet points. “What kind of relationship did Robert have with your stepfather? In my transport it seemed as if Robert resented your stepfather.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “My stepfather is … a fake and a fraud. After all these years, I can’t understand what my mother sees in him, but he’s her world.”

  Gretchen’s face lights up. “Is it possible your stepfather did something that angered Robert, something that if your mother found out would hurt her deeply?”

  Fear rises within me, and I get up from the table. Before Gretchen can part her pencil-thin lips to ask me what’s wrong, I bolt to the ladies’ room.

  At the sink, I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face. I peer into the mirror, recalling that night. There’s no way Robert knew. He’d been home from Dallas for eight days. And the night it happened; he was hanging out with his friends. It was the night before the celebration. No one knew.

  ******

  I was lying in bed, thinking about the shopping spree Robert had taken me on the day after Christmas. I left my closet door open, so I could admire my new clothes while in bed. I couldn’t wait until school started again, so I could brag. I held up my arm and gazed at my sparkly, new bracelet. I wanted to wear my necklace to bed, but I was afraid I’d break it.

  A sound at my door made me sit up. My eyes fixed on the doorknob turning; my heart pounded. I relaxed and laughed at myself. It was just Robert.

  “Come in, Robert. I’m not asleep.”

  The door creaked open, and my stepfather, Curt, stumbled into my room. The smell of alcohol was so potent I could taste it. Before I could tell him to leave, he lunged onto my bed and pinned me to it. I tried to scream, but he clamped his hand over my mouth.

  “Robin, stop squirming. Baby, I want to make love to you.”

  I realized he was so freaking drunk he didn’t know he was in the wrong room on top of the wrong person.

  With all my might I pushed him off me, and he fell onto the floor.

  “Get out of here, you drunk-ass fool!”

  “Why you talkin’ to me like that, baby? Robin, I love you. Lawd knows I do.”

  I jumped out of bed, grabbed the bat I kept in my closet, and swung at him. He dodged it and started taking off his pants. I wanted to scream, but I knew he was plastered and didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t want to alarm my mother. I hit his arm, and he pulled up his pants and ran out of the room.

  As soon as he left, I shut my door and shoved the dresser up against it. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never done that before. My mother has threatened to divorce him because of his drinking. He sobers up, then falls off the wagon. I knew she’d be lost without him, and I believed he loved her. I stood there, unsure what to do. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I’ll threaten that if he ever drinks again, I’ll tell my mother what he did.

  I grabbed the phone in my room and called one of my friends to solicit her opinion.

  “Hello?”

  “Marlene, are you up?”

  “I was asleep. What’s up?”

  “My stepfather tried to rape me.” As soon as I said the R word, I burst into tears.

  “Shut the freak up. I hope you cut off his balls. Don’t cry, Gina.”

  “Well, he didn’t actually try to rape me. He was so drunk, he thought he was in his room and that I was my mother.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. He’s not a child molester. He’s never touched me before. Why now?”

  “So are you going to tell your mother? She’d be devastated, and she’d divorce him so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him—and she’d have him put under the jail.”

  “Girl, you know my mother. I can’t tell her. It would kill her. She’s so happy having Robert home. I don’t want to ruin things for her. I’ll talk to him tomorrow when he’s sober and tell him that if he ever even thinks about a drop of booze, I’m going to rat him out.”

  “That’s a good idea. You’d better not tell Robert. He’d kill your stepfather.”

  “I know.”

  ******

  “Regina, are you okay?”

  I turn away from the mirror. Gretchen stands in the restroom doorway. “I’m fine,” I say, grabbing a paper towel.

  “You ran away so fast, I was concerned.”

  “Gretchen, the week Robert was killed, I had an incident with my stepfather.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “He came into my room drunk and got in bed with me. He didn’t realize it was me. He thought it was my mother.” She stumbles backward.

  “What you’re saying reminds me of something. What ended up happening?”

  “I chased him out of my room. And the next day I confronted him. He begged me to forgive him and not to tell anyone. He swore off alcohol, and he hasn’t had a drink since. Nor did he ever touch me again.”

  “Is there any chance Robert knew what happened?”

  “I don’t think so. He was hanging out with his friends. I’m not sure what time he got home.”

  “In my dream, I see someone come out of a door, and I have a sense of dread. Oh my god.”

  “What?”

  She starts to speak, but a woman comes into the restroom.

  “Let’s go back to the table. Sarah is watching our things,” she says, rushing back to our booth. We sit, and she continues. “On Wednesday, I went to my fiancé’s school to surprise him. When I got to his classroom, I looked in the window. He was making out with one of his students.”

  “What the freak? What did you do?”

  “I ran and ran right into my fiancé. He was coming from the principal’s office.”

  “But you said he was in his classroom.”

  “That’s the thing. He wasn’t. I must have had some kind of quasi-transport. I believe that what I saw was an extension of my dream. My fiancé making out with the girl represented your stepfather trying to make out with you. I think Robert saw your stepfather leaving your room.”

  “And he probably heard my conversation.”

  “What conv
ersation?”

  “I called my friend, Marlene, and told her my stepfather had tried to rape me. Robert probably heard that.”

  “What if he confronted your stepfather? If looks could kill, your stepfather would have dropped dead at the New Year’s Eve bash. Robert was furious.”

  “What if he confronted my stepfather that night, and my stepfather panicked and killed him? He owns a gun. Maybe that’s what Robert meant when he said he was going to make things right.” My eyes burn. “I may have been the reason Robert was killed.”

  “Don’t say that—don’t think that.”

  “This is crazy. What do we do?”

  “We put your stepfather on the suspect list.”

  “I’m sure the police talked to everyone who was there. If he did it, how was he able to do it without being seen, and where is the gun?”

  “Regina, you have to tell the police about what happened. It gives your stepfather a motive.”

  “You’re right. Wow, my mother is going to be sick,” I say, wanting to throw up, thinking about my stepfather living in our house, being a part of our family all these years, now knowing he might have killed Robert.

  “At this point, he’s a suspect. We can’t rule out the guys who robbed the jewelry store or even Lorraine and her people. We have to stay open. There may be other suspects. We have to keep brainstorming. I’m going to contact the police department, try to find out what detectives were handling the case.”

  “I want to go with you. I have a thing or two I want to say to those detectives.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re too emotional. We don’t want to alienate them. Let me meet with them first; then we can talk to them together. I’m emailing you a copy of the suspect list.”

  I’m hearing her and not hearing her. I wait a few minutes, then access my email on my phone and read the list.

  Suspect: Motive:

  Thugs at the party. Jealousy.

  Lorraine Curry/her people. Woman scorned.

  Someone Robert owed money to. Revenge.

  The men involved in the heist. Shut Robert up.

  The stepfather.Shut Robert up.

  After I finish she says, “That’s just the beginning.”

  “You should have bolded and underlined number five,” I say.

  Chapter 19

  Gretchen

  Things are happening so fast; I feel like I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And I’m concerned that Regina seems intent on pinning Robert’s murder on her stepfather. It’s possible that Robert heard the conversation she had with her friend. And I can see Robert confronting Curt. When, and if, he did isn’t clear. But if he did, to keep his marriage and not to go to jail, I could see Curt panicking and shooting Robert. It would have been Curt’s word against Regina’s. Granted, it seemed like his attacking her was a drunken mistake, but who knows how the authorities would have interpreted it? In my transport, Robert knew the person who shot him. If only I could see the face, the body, anything. It’s a blank. Maybe over time the person will be revealed to me. In the interim, we have to keep digging.

  I tap Regina’s hand. She stops staring into space and turns toward me. “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking about that night, and I remember my stepfather going missing around the same time we heard our neighbor screaming.”

  “Did the police question you?”

  “My mother wouldn’t let them. I was in shock. They questioned my mother and my stepfather and the other adults at the afterparty.”

  “Do you have any photos of the party at your house?”

  “My mother does.”

  “What about video?”

  “I think she has that too. Why?”

  “We need to look at it. To see who was there and where they were.”

  “Damn, Gretchen, if you had been on the case, my brother’s killer would have been found by now. The police didn’t do any of that. They told my mother that Robert’s murder was gang related. He did have a minor gang affiliation, but he’d put all that behind him when he went away to college.”

  I lean back in my seat, exhausted. Something nags at me, something I heard during my transport to the party at the Crystal Ballroom.

  “I feel like I’m missing something,” I say. “I’m sure it’ll come to me eventually. Look, I have to go. Do you think you can get those pictures and the video?”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “Let’s touch base Tuesday. Tomorrow’s Sunday.” I need to see the game. “And I have callbacks on Monday.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Going well. Are you sure you’re okay with me moving forward with the film and using Robert’s name?”

  “I’m fine. Now, my mother may not be. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “Regina, I believe we’re going to find Robert’s killer, and your mother is going to be happy about that.”

  “She won’t be if the killer ends up being my stepfather.”

  I have no response to that. I hug her and leave the diner, more determined than ever to find Robert’s killer.

  ******

  “Driving directions to the Shady Grove Police Department,” I say into my phone while sitting in the diner parking lot. While waiting for the directions to appear, I notice a woman with huge blond hair drive up in a pink Cadillac. She exits her car, wearing tight jeans and a pink knit sweater, and sashays into the diner. Through the window I watch her embrace Regina. She must be Kate. I should go back in and meet her, but I’m anxious to see if I can find out who worked on Robert’s case. It’s already close to 5:00 p.m., and it’s Saturday. Most people who have to work weekends tend to be less cooperative. Since I’m not family, I’m sure they won’t be too keen on giving me any information, but I need to try.

  The directions start, and I drive out onto the street. My phone rings, and I answer with my car Bluetooth.

  “Hey, Lance. What’s up?”

  “My Aunt Allison called and invited us to dinner with her and my Uncle James tonight. Are you up for it?”

  Wanting to score some points with Lance, I say, “Sure.”

  “Where are you? I thought you’d be home by now. Didn’t your class end at three?”

  “Yeah, it did. I had another meeting. But I’ll be home shortly. What time are they talking about getting together?”

  “Eight.”

  “I should be home before seven.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  He hangs up, and I breathe. I know he wanted to ask me about my other meeting. I’m glad he didn’t. I’m tired of fighting. I’m already lying—something we promised we wouldn’t do. But desperate times call for desperate measures. According to the navigation, I’m a mile away.

  I continue driving, make a few turns, then I arrive at the station. It’s small and unremarkable. No wonder the case wasn’t solved. Robert was killed in 1991. Twenty-seven years ago. Hell, the internet hadn’t even gone live yet. The police were barely using DNA to solve cases back then. I park in the visitor lot, click on Google, and say, “When was DNA first used to solve a case in the United States?” In 1987, Florida rapist Tommie Lee Andrews was the first person in the United States to be convicted as a result of DNA evidence. That’s what we need—DNA. Obviously, there isn’t any, because if there had been, Robert’s killer would be behind bars. Then again, forensic evidence doesn’t guarantee a conviction.

  I get out of the car and head to the entrance. I step into the lobby, with a tile floor so shiny it looks like it was just polished. My eyes lock on a display on a brick wall, featuring photos of the police department and captains dating back to the eighteenth century. I move in for a closer look, my gaze falling on 1991. I study the photo of the captain during that time. His massive nose reminds me of Bill Clinton and the late Karl Malden, one of my mother’s favorite actors. Adjacent to the exhibit are black fabric chairs connected by a small wooden table. A young couple occupies the seats. Thei
r heated argument stops, and they look at me. I jerk my eyes to the glass-covered receiving area. I assume it’s bulletproof. A policewoman, not much older than I am, stands behind the glass.

  “How can I help you?” The forced smile on her wide, freckled face makes me self-conscious.

  “My name is Gretchen Holloway. I’m a graduate student at Dancing Hills University, and I’m doing my thesis project about a young man who was killed in 1991—Robert Parker. He was gunned down in front of his home in Shady Grove, on Brickman Street. The case was never solved.”

  She squints as though she’s trying to remember the case, but it’s obviously before her time.

  “I was hoping to speak with the detectives who worked on the case.”

  “You need to speak to someone in our cold case investigation unit. That far back, I’m not sure who the original detectives were. But our cold case department is headed by Officers Leon Williams and Tony Garcia. If you leave your information, I can pass along a message. They’re not in at this time.”

  Her words make me giddy, but I suppress the belly laugh working its way up my throat. Something about receiving names triggers hope. “Thank you.” I reach into my purse and hand her my business card. “I’m available anytime. Day or night.”

  “Sure,” she says, taking the card through the slot underneath the window.

  I nod and leave, feeling like a champ. If I’m this fired up over so little, I have no idea how I’ll react when we find my … Robert’s killer.

  ******

  Esposito Italiano is a five-star restaurant in downtown Dancing Hills. The owner has bragging rights that anybody who’s anybody has eaten here, and he has their pictures on the wall to prove it: politicians, singers, actors, and sports figures. It’s famous for its delectable food and inviting ambiance and décor—stacked stone veneer panels in a rich mahogany color. The lighting is discreet, and piano music resonates throughout. The aroma of spices permeates the dining area, causing my mouth to water. I haven’t eaten since this morning.