Riley nods. “You’ve described it perfectly.”
“The point is, in my own way—and through my own experiences—I sort of get it.”
“I imagine you might.”
“So, what do you think about a redo from before? Join me for lunch. It’ll be my treat.”
“That would be lovely,” Riley says, knowing she can’t afford this place and thrilled by the prospect of moving further into Samantha Light’s world.
“Great. I’m Samantha Light, by the way.”
“Riley Harper.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Riley, even if it was through an unexpected accident.”
25
Lunch is served, and the two women relax into quiet, comfortable conversation.
“So, what brings you to this part of town?” Samantha asks.
“I’ve been out looking for a job—or trying, anyway.”
“Not much luck?”
“Not much at all.”
“Hmm. That really sucks.” Samantha gazes upward, and her drawl becomes thicker. “I may be able to help. What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Well, I used to be a teacher, but I’ll take whatever pays the bills. I can’t afford to be picky, and I’m a fast learner.”
“I’m new here, but let me put out some feelers and see what I can find.”
“You’d do that?”
“Absolutely. I love helping people.” She beams. “It’s my favorite thing.”
“Wow. I’d really appreciate that. Where do you work?”
“Right now, I’m working on my life,” Samantha laughs. “Also not so easy.”
“Having problems?”
“Yes, but they’re remarkably underwhelming, and I’d rather not bore you with them.”
“But we’ve done enough of me, so let’s do you now.”
“Okay, here’s me.” Samantha straightens her posture and grins. “I came north from LA. Been there for the last several years but finally got sick of it. So glad to break out of there. Those crowds. And don’t even get me started on the ridiculous freeways. Too many of them, and too many cars. It’s like trying to drive through a jammed parking lot. Add to it the failed relationships—seems I’m always picking the wrong people to be close with—and I knew it was time for a new start.”
“LA seems like another world to me. I’ve never traveled far from this town. Hopped around a lot through the years, but I always manage to stay in the general area.”
I even hopped right into the nuthouse one of those times.
Samantha sips her wine, then abruptly stops to look at Riley. “Hey, I just got an idea. My car’s navigation system confuses the hell out of me, and I’m still having a difficult time trying to find everything. I was fixing to check out Google Maps to get a feel for where everything is, but would you be up for showing me around town?”
Riley brightens. “Absolutely. I’d love to.”
“Awesome. I did figure out how to find a Starbucks, though. You know, priorities and all. I can make it there in four minutes flat from my place.” A wink and a smile. “That is, if I pretend not to know the speed limit. Don’t come between me and my coffee,” Samantha says in playful forewarning. “I can turn bitch in a hurry. Caffè mocha’s my drug of choice.”
“Well, coffee does make the world go ’round.”
“Okay, now I like you even more.” Samantha laughs. “But, seriously, coffee is one of my obsessions.”
“And the other?”
“Others,” Samantha corrects. “But let’s not go into those.”
“Got it.”
“I will say that the good stuff can give me a religious experience.”
“That must really be something.”
Samantha flips her wrist to check her watch. She perks. “Oh wow. I’ve been enjoying our time together so much that I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve got an appointment in, like, three minutes.”
“Then you’d better get going.”
“Here. Hand me your phone.”
Riley does. Samantha punches in her number, texts herself, then hands the phone back. Riley looks up at her and smiles.
“Well, that’s the happiest face I’ve seen all day,” Samantha says.
Riley shrugs. “I’m just glad we’ve crossed paths again.”
“Right back at you,” Samantha says. Now she’s smiling, too.
A few minutes later in the parking lot, Riley is still reflecting on her and Samantha’s conversation, but several feet from the car, her blood runs cold. She stares vacantly, mind unable to fully absorb the sentence keyed into her passenger’s side door just above the handle.
DIE MURDERER!
Chilling words, biting words.
She allows the fear to own her only for a few seconds, then her body locks up with rage—rage that sears its way into indignation. Using her key, she scratches out the letters, then spins around and at the top of her lungs shouts, “QUIT HIDING AND BRING IT ON, YOU COWARDLY ASSHOLE! I’M READY. DO YOU HEAR ME? I’M SO READY!”
Riley looks around. People are stopped on the street and staring at her.
Flustered by the sudden onslaught of unwanted attention, she squirms, wipes her brow, and jogs to the driver’s side door, acting as if nothing happened.
26
“How are things going?”
“They’re going.”
Patricia Lockwood has a different look today. She’s taken the once-whimsical gray bob to a new and exciting place, blowing it forward. And the color of the day is purple—lots of it. Purple blouse, purple pants. Even her shoes are purple.
Riley realizes she’s been goggling and averts her gaze to the opposite end of the room.
“Have you found work?” Patricia asks.
“Not yet.”
“Have you been looking?”
She swings back to Patricia. It sounded like a challenge rather than a question, and Riley’s tone is a shade too curt when she says, “As a matter of fact, I did. All day yesterday.”
Patricia’s approving nod seems like an effort to smooth the situation over. “And? How did it go?”
“Well, let’s see . . . awful?”
Patricia’s head tilts to the left. “What happened?”
“It’s what didn’t happen. There’s not much demand for a suspected murderer who just crawled out of the loony bin—especially one whose face has been all over the news.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Not nearly as much as I am.”
Slap, slap, slap.
Riley snaps her eyes to Patricia’s foot.
Patricia stops. She leans forward and concentrates on her steepled hands. A transition of some sort. She waits a beat or two longer, then looks up at Riley and says, “I’d like to talk about Clarissa today.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I know it’s difficult, but difficult is what we try to fix here.”
Riley’s jaw clenches. “What about her?”
“Well . . . everything came down on you pretty hard after the murder.”
Patricia is stating the obvious, and Riley’s not sure how to respond, so she doesn’t.
“With all that happening,” Patricia continues, “did you ever have the opportunity to mourn her death?”
“Not much.”
“Not much or not at all?”
“I guess not at all.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Everything happened so fast. I was too busy trying to defend myself to the cops, then I got thrown in jail and put on trial. Then, after that was over, I started to crack and fall apart.”
“What about while you were at Glendale? Did you do any grief work there?”
“A little toward the end, but they spent much of the time trying to get my mind stabilized.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s about trying to put my life back together.”
Patricia raises her chin. “It’s never too late, you know. To griev
e.”
“I’ve tried, but it seems like I can’t even get that right.”
“Why do you say that?”
Riley scrubs a hand across her face as if the act might wash away her frustration. “I got in trouble the other day with Erin. She saw that I’d taken out some of Clarissa’s old clothes and left them on the bed.”
Patricia’s probing expression asks the next question.
Riley answers it. “I don’t feel like it’s that big of a deal. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Do you think it’s wrong?”
“I think we each find our own way to grieve.”
“So it’s okay.”
“Considering you’ve only recently had a chance to begin that process, I’d say it’s a step. Externalizing those feelings—talking about them—here would be the next.” Patricia pauses, looks pensive, then, “Did Erin explain why she had a problem with what you were doing?”
“She thinks it’s denial.”
“Do you?”
“There’s nothing to deny.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“I tried. She didn’t buy it.”
Patricia’s smile is sad.
And Riley can’t stand to look at it. She focuses on her fisted hands, but when she comes back, Patricia has a hard fix on her.
“What?” Riley asks.
“I’m wondering why you avoided looking at me. Was it something I said?”
“It was your expression.”
Patricia asks her to explain.
“The sympathy,” Riley says. “It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like it, don’t need it.”
“Why not?”
“It hurts too much.”
“Interesting response . . .” Patricia pauses. “Sympathy is used to comfort people. Why do you suppose it has an opposite effect on you?”
“I don’t know.” Riley locks both arms across her chest and feels it rumble with something scalding and raw.
“Could it be because—”
“Because I needed that sympathy then.” The statement bursts from Riley’s mouth. Her eyes start to burn, but she fights the tears. “Because nobody would give it to me, and getting it now only reminds me of how lonely I felt, how hated I became. Because now it just makes the pain hurt harder.”
“How about your sister? Didn’t she offer the sympathy you so wanted?”
“She doled it out sparingly.”
Patricia pulls her head back. “How come?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Life can be complicated.”
“Why do you always say that?”
“Because it’s always true.”
Patricia silently holds Riley’s gaze, waiting for the answer to her question, and the room is thick with tension.
Which makes Riley blurt out, “I don’t think Erin believed I was innocent, okay?”
“Really?” Patricia asks, broad eyes going broader. “Why do you say that?”
“Because she never told me.”
“But how do you know that means—”
“I—I think I’ve had enough for today.” Riley grits her teeth. Her emotions are raw, and Patricia is pushing too damned hard. “I just—I need a break from this. I’d like to go.”
Patricia nods.
Riley practically sprints toward the door.
27
Riley is still reeling from her session with Patricia.
She watches her tired feet straggle down the hallway, then a buckle breaks free from her shoe, causing the strap to fling off to one side.
Great. Just great.
Inside the apartment, she goes directly to the window. She’s aware her preoccupation with Samantha is a bit over the top, but watching her has become so routine that she hardly even thinks about it anymore.
She looks out and blinks a few times. The red Mercedes is parked in its spot. She checks her watch, then looks back at the car. She checks her watch again. It’s only 4:00 p.m.
This isn’t the regular pattern.
Everything feels out of whack today.
I could use a distraction.
She grabs her cell phone and, without thought, dials Samantha’s number.
“Hey!” Samantha answers.
“Hi. I hope I’m not bothering you,” Riley replies, recognizing her impulsivity and feeling a little awkward about it.
“Not at all. Glad to hear from you. What’s up?”
Riley gulps. She hadn’t thought about that one, either, so she randomly throws out, “I was just following through on my promise to give you a tour of the town. Are you still up for it?”
“Yeah. Absolutely!”
“I’m heading out to grab a bite.” She tries to figure out why she had to lie. “I thought maybe you could join me. I can point out some things along the way.”
“Gosh, I’d love that—I really would—but I already have plans. You know, personal stuff. So boring.”
“It’s okay.” Riley holds a palm to the back of her neck and rubs, knowing in retrospect that her sudden, improvised invite was presumptuous. “It’s no big deal at all, really. It was just one of those spur-of-the-moment thoughts.”
Actually, there was no thought.
“How about tomorrow?” Samantha suggests. “I’m free after two.”
“Great time for an afternoon pick-me-up. Coffee?”
“God, I love you for that. Absolutely. Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up.”
“No,” Riley immediately volleys back.
Samantha doesn’t speak.
“Sorry. I meant to say that I won’t be home then.” She cringes at the thought of Samantha seeing this place, even more at the thought of her finding out it’s the dump located directly across from her swanky building. “I have to drop something off at my sister’s. I’ll be coming from there.”
“You have a sister? Cool. What’s her name?”
“Erin. Why?”
“Nothing. Just didn’t know you had one. A sister.”
“Can we meet somewhere in town?”
“Sure! So check this out. I stumbled upon this little gem of a coffee shop. They serve an awesome cup. It’s on Sixth and Falcon. Meet me there?”
“Yes,” Riley says. And already starts to feel better.
28
On her way to meet Samantha, Riley stops at a gift shop and finds the perfect conciliation present for Erin: a glass cube with an orange-and-yellow sea anemone inside. She loves anything to do with the ocean and is thrilled when Riley drops by to deliver the offering. Erin is happy, and Riley feels good about making her sister smile.
Reset button hit. Lingering resentment over. Everything fine.
“In a hurry to go somewhere?” Erin asks when Riley tells her she has to shove off.
“I’ve got a few errands to do,” Riley says, smiling through yet another lie.
Samantha comes to the table with two large caffè mochas. She passes one over.
“I’ve really missed a good cup of coffee,” Riley says.
“Missed it?”
“I went on the decaf train for a while. It crashed.”
“Welcome back to the Heavenly Kingdom.” Samantha lifts her cup in a toast. “We’ve missed you.”
Riley regards her with quiet amusement.
“What is it?” Samantha’s smile slowly builds. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just that you remind me so much of my daughter right now. She had a quick sense of humor, too, could toss out the lines so effortlessly.”
“I would have loved to have met her.”
Riley becomes distracted when a mother and her teenage daughter walk in. They’re joking, laughing with each other. Having a great time. When Riley lands back in the moment, Samantha wears a compassionate expression.
For a time, neither says anything, the quiet between them feeling a bit thick.
Eventually, Riley draws a grounding breath. She looks down at her coffee cup. “Clarissa was fifteen. I was driving her hom
e from school, and we had an argument. A bad one. Things got out of control, and I . . . I lost my temper.” Riley hears her shoe tapping a nervous, erratic beat against the wood flooring. She shakes her head and looks Samantha in the eye. “I made her get out of the car and walk the rest of the way home.” Her voice cracks as she repeats herself. “I made her walk the rest of the way home. Those are the memories that haunt me every damned day.”
Samantha lets out a heartbroken sigh as though the ache belongs to her as well. She takes Riley’s hand from across the table and cradles it inside hers.
“We were only a few blocks from home,” Riley continues. “I thought she’d be safe. How could she not have been safe? It doesn’t make any sense. But it was stupid of me. Because . . . because . . .” Her breathing picks up, and her words tumble out in broken bits. “Because twenty minutes went by . . . and . . . and she still wasn’t home. I got worried and went out looking for her. Then . . . later—I don’t know how much later—a horrible storm came in. But I stayed outside. I did. I kept running, running everywhere she might be, screaming out her name. I couldn’t find her . . .” Tears fill her eyes. She can almost feel the wind in her face, the hysteria rushing through every living cell in her body. It sounds like a pleading whimper when she says, “Samantha, I couldn’t find my baby . . .”
Samantha takes a tissue from her purse, gives it to Riley, then takes one to wipe away her own tears.
“Next thing I knew, I woke up lying beside the road with no idea how I got there. The rain was stinging my arms, my neck, my forehead. My head was throbbing. Then I felt something in my hand. I was holding Clarissa’s sneaker. At first I thought the blood was coming from me, but there was none there, then . . .” Her throat constricts around the last word, strangling it. She presses a fist to her lips, closes her eyes.
Samantha waits, giving Riley the time she needs to gather herself.
“And all of a sudden, I knew something horrible had happened to my child. I panicked. I took off running, screaming out her name. But my mind was so hazy, and I didn’t even know where I was running to. A few minutes later the police found me.”
What She Doesn't Know: A Psychological Thriller Page 7
