Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  I shook my head. “Just the front. The neighbors have fences that make up the sides. Well, most of the sides. And we leave the front gate open. The motor is broken on it.”

  “And the back of the property?”

  “The back doesn’t have a fence due to the steep hill. Past the tree line, there are other homes.”

  “So, someone could have gotten in that way?”

  “Sure, but those homes are in the neighborhood, also. They’d still have had to get past the main entrance gate.”

  She turned to the garage’s interior door, examining the lock, then nodded to the security keypad mounted on the wall. “Your security system go off?”

  “It doesn’t work. It’s from the last owners.”

  “You have any security system at all? Cameras? Motion sensors? A Ring video doorbell?” Her voice rose with each item, and I bristled at her incredulous tone. She probably lived in a townhome. Something low rent, in a neighborhood that might require a security system. This was Atherton. We were paying the highest property taxes and homeowners’ dues in the state for a reason.

  “No.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, I pushed back. “You know, most people in the neighborhood don’t even lock their doors. The Winthorpes leave theirs wide open most of the time. We had planned to get some sort of system in place, but we’re renovating. Did you see the new landscaping?”

  Maybe we should have pushed an alarm further up the to-do list. The security company had given a thorough presentation of the different safeguards available. Window sensors, motion-activated cameras, a schedule of interior lights that would give the appearance of constant activity. I’d seen the estimate and taken a few giant steps back at the cost, deciding to invest in an outdoor seating set instead. And the weather-friendly sectional had been a valuable and impressive investment—until Cat had splattered limoncello all over it.

  She pointed at our side door. “Was this locked when you just came out of it?”

  “Yeah. It’s a dead bolt. I flipped it to come out.”

  “Let’s step in there for a moment.” She opened the door with a gloved hand and moved into the secondary foyer. She let out a low whistle, and I stiffened at the critical way her eyes moved over the space.

  Excessive grandeur, that’s what Matt’s mother had called it, her afternoon pop-in perfectly timed when I was exhausted from unpacking and too emotionally fried for verbal assault. Way too fancy for the likes of you two, she’d said, running her hand over the velvet chair with an unimpressed sniff. That chandelier come with the place, or did you guys buy it? She liked to remind him that I grew up in a shack and had been perfectly happy in my Kmart sundresses before I started wearing designer lines. She was wrong, of course. I may have smiled the night I met her in my cheap sundress, but I had never been happy. Not while my father was home, and not until I was out of that horrible town and had my first taste of financial stability. She thought I changed Matt, but his lifestyle had been what changed me. He’d given me a taste of the good life, and I’d binged on each middle-class bite until I’d developed more expensive tastes.

  From behind us, an officer wiped his boots on my mat. “No one’s on the property. I’ve got lights moving through the back woods, but that’s a wild-goose chase. There are at least six different directions he could have gone in. Right now uniforms are tightening up security and doing vehicle checks at each neighborhood exit.”

  She nodded. “Go next door to the Winthorpes’. See if they’ve seen anything, and make sure they’re all locked up.”

  Oh, poor Cat. She was probably still feeble from her “poisoning.” I hoped the gunman didn’t go in their often-unlocked door. I hoped he didn’t find his way to their bedroom. I hoped dear little Cat hadn’t been a casualty of his panic. Gag.

  She glanced at me. “You know anything about the property on your other side?”

  I shook my head. “The Rusynzks are gone for the summer.”

  The officer nodded. “I’ll check windows and doors on both places,” he offered.

  “Look for cameras. If they got ’em, get footage.”

  “Will do.” He turned and pulled the door closed behind him, his hand casually resting on the butt of his weapon.

  The detective stepped farther into the house, rounding the corner and entering the great space. Looking down at her pad, she flipped over a page. “Mrs. Ryder, we’re going to bring your husband inside and go through a few questions together.”

  My shoulder rubbed against Matt’s, and I don’t know why he didn’t change his shirt before they got here. He was in a thin ribbed tank top, his slight man boobs sagging, the fat of his underarms squishing against his sides. His skin felt clammy and slid against my deltoid in a disgusting way. I shifted a little to the side, wanting to break the contact, and felt the detective’s eyes follow the action.

  “I woke up with the gun in my mouth.” Matt swallowed hard. “It was pressing against my teeth, shoving my head back.”

  “And then he pulled the trigger?”

  “Yes. There was a click, but nothing came out. A misfire. He looked at the gun and then ran.”

  “You’re lucky,” the detective remarked. “Both of you are.” She glanced at me, and I tried to assume a look of gratefulness.

  Oh yes. So lucky. One shot and Matt could have died. I would have been a widow. Instead, we were here, dealing with all this, a crowd of strangers trampling through our house, my husband fully intact beside me, not a single hair harmed on his head. So lucky.

  Detective Cullen moved down a list of questions, and I stayed quiet, listening to Matt’s responses.

  An accent? No.

  Did he sound familiar? No.

  Was he tall? Short? I couldn’t really tell. I was in bed, looking up at him. Maybe six feet tall? Maybe?

  How was his hair? Short? Long? Bald? He had on a hat. Wait, a ski mask.

  Did he move smoothly? Limp? Have any distinguishable characteristics whatsoever?

  No.

  No.

  No.

  As she moved through the questions, she grew more and more frustrated at how inept Matt’s observation skills were. I know, I wanted to chime in. You have no idea how many affairs I’ve carried on right underneath his nose! I’m not surprised he had a gun stuck in his mouth and still didn’t manage to pay attention.

  “Is something funny, Mrs. Ryder?”

  I sat straighter in my seat. “No.”

  “You’re smiling,” she pointed out. “Surely you don’t find this amusing.”

  Matt was looking at me now, his features pinching in annoyance. A burst of anger popped in my chest. It was three in the morning! How was anyone supposed to keep their wits about them at this ungodly hour? “I’m exhausted.” I rose to my feet. “Can we finish these questions in the morning? I didn’t even see the guy. Or hear him.”

  “Yes . . . ,” she said slowly. “Because you ‘slept right through it all.’” She put air quotes around the last part of the sentence, and I gawked at her nerve.

  “I told you what happened. I woke up with Matt screaming at me to call 9-1-1 as he ran downstairs.” I glared at her and dared her to call me a liar.

  “Mrs. Ryder—”

  “Dr. Ryder,” I corrected, unable to let another flub pass.

  “This is going to take some time. Perhaps you could get some coffee while I finish up with your husband?”

  “Fine.” I moved away before she had a chance to change her mind. Spotting a handsome uniform dusting the back doorknob for prints, I ran my fingers through my hair and decided to detour by the bathroom and take a moment to freshen up.

  Inside the bathroom, I tried William’s cell, but for the third time that night, he didn’t answer.

  Detective Cullen found me in the dining room, one of our mugs in her spindly hand. I eyed the coffee and wondered if Matt had offered it to her or if she’d helped herself. Brushing off the thought, I gestured her closer and lowered my voice, making sure Matt wasn’t nearby. “I’ve been thin
king, and it’s possible Matt imagined this entire thing. A stranger, in our house in the middle of the night? No forced entry? He put his gun in Matt’s mouth and then the thing misfired?” I clutched my own coffee cup, the contents now lukewarm, and glanced at the evidence teams scattered across every area of our home. “Have you found any evidence there was anyone here? Any bullet holes? Fingerprints?”

  The woman nodded slowly, considering the idea. “So, you think your husband made the entire thing up?”

  “He takes sleeping pills at night.” I shrugged, encouraged by her open reaction. “Maybe he thought it happened and it didn’t.”

  “On the 9-1-1 call, you said there was an intruder.” Her voice was hardening, incredulity beginning to coat the syllables.

  “It was dark in the bedroom. I woke up to him yelling at me to call 9-1-1. I was half-asleep during that call. But we have no security footage, no footprints, and Matt’s given you a hazy description that could fit anyone from Pee-wee Herman to Arnold Schwarzenegger.” I stood from the seat, my voice rising in vigor. “You could be looking for someone that isn’t out there. Wouldn’t you rather go home? And besides—are you even allowed to be looking through all of our things? Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

  “Neena.”

  I stiffened at the flat sound of Matt’s voice and turned to see him standing just inside the back door, his features eerily still, his eyes dead. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  CHAPTER 40

  CAT

  I stood on the upper balcony and watched as the cars clogged the Ryders’ long lot, black-and-whites with the official seal of Atherton, their lights on, sirens silent. In the dark, black figures with sweeping white beams of illumination moved, their progress partially hidden by shrubbery and trees, their canvass slow and methodical.

  “What’s going on?” William stepped out of our bedroom, his chest bare, his silk pajama bottoms on. He shivered in the cool night air and crossed his arms over his chest, his attention immediately caught by the activity next door.

  “I don’t know. There’s an ambulance, but they haven’t put anyone in it. I tried to call Neena and Matt, but they didn’t answer. I’m waiting on a call back from the chief.”

  As if beckoned, my phone lit up, the Atherton chief of police’s private cell number displayed. I answered the call and put it on speakerphone so William could hear. “Hey, Danika.”

  “It was a home invasion,” she said without preamble. “Or armed robbery gone wrong. We aren’t sure yet. Someone in a ski mask came in the home and attempted to shoot the husband.”

  I inhaled sharply. “Is he okay? And Neena—”

  “No one was harmed. The gun misfired, and the husband chased or scared the man out of the house. But we haven’t located the intruder yet. So it’s important that you stay inside and lock all your doors. We have officers headed to your house now, but please arm your security system, if it’s not already.”

  William pulled on my arm, glancing around as he ushered me inside. Shutting the french doors, he flipped the locks.

  “I’ll go open the front gates so the cops can get in.” He gave me a stern look as he pulled on a worn Stanford T-shirt. “Stay here.”

  I waved him on and moved to the window, parting the curtain and scanning my eyes over the dark stretch of lawn. When the bedroom door clicked shut behind William, I took the phone off speaker and lowered my voice. “Danika, there are some things about the Ryders your detectives should know.”

  By the time I pulled on clothes and made it downstairs, an officer was present. I rounded the bottom of the staircase, and the man nodded at me. “Good evening, Mrs. Winthorpe.”

  I smiled in greeting but didn’t recognize him. We sponsored the department’s annual Christmas party, along with the Care Fund—generous donations that granted us a special decal to put on our license tag, our names at the top of every donation list, and an open invitation to the station. Every uniform in town knew our name, our vehicles, and would look the other way if they spotted us, tipsy and sluggish, stepping into our car. But while they all knew us, I could only recognize a handful of them. Chief McIntyre, of course. A few of the captains and inspectors. Tim, the main patrol on our side of the city.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. “Are Matt and Neena all right?”

  “They’re both fine,” he said. “But we haven’t located the intruder and wanted to see if you’d seen or heard anything.”

  I stepped past him and out onto the front porch, my bare feet curling against the polished wood. Craning my neck, I tried to get a better look at the activity, but the fence blocked the view.

  “Cat,” William protested. “Please come in. It’s not safe out there.”

  The detective cleared his throat. “Have you seen anyone on your property this evening? Heard anything? Has anything out of the ordinary happened?”

  I turned back to him. “No. It’s been a quiet night. I heard their garage door open about twenty minutes ago. It woke me up. But nothing else.”

  He glanced up at our porch eaves. “You got a security system?”

  “Yes.” William waved him toward the kitchen. “I’ll show you.”

  The officer nodded and pulled off his hat, his black hair fringed in gray. “Thank you.”

  Following the men inside, I pulled the front door closed and locked it. In the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee as William pulled up the security app, the content accessible from his phone. “The cameras are both interior and exterior and triggered by motion or the window and door sensors. We turn the interior motion sensors off if either of us comes down in the middle of the night. That’s why you aren’t seeing them now.”

  “Can I view exterior footage from tonight?”

  I gave a regretful frown. “We have the exterior motion sensors turned off the majority of the time. Between the rabbits and the opossums, plus the fox that likes to visit our yard, the alerts were almost constant. I now only have them triggered by a door or window opening—or by the front gate.” I leaned forward and clicked on the folder for tonight. “Here’s when you pulled through the gate.” There were several clips showing his car moving down the drive. Him stepping out and putting on his hat. An adjustment of his pants before he took the steps up to the front door. A moment when he glanced in the front window, then rang the bell.

  William spoke. “We were pretty security conscious when we moved in, but over time we’ve grown comfortable. Most of the time we don’t arm the alarms or lock the doors.”

  “Well, please make sure that all your cameras are on and doors are locked, at least until we apprehend the suspect.” He stuck out his hand to William, and I hurried to the coffeepot, wanting to at least get him a cup to go. “Here’s my card, with my cell number on it. If either of you think of anything, please call me.”

  “Do you know how this guy got in their house?” I pulled a disposable cup from the coffee butler and filled it to the top. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Um, neither. Thank you. And no, we don’t see any evidence of forced entry.”

  “They might have left a door unlocked,” William remarked. “And they didn’t have a security system. I remember the neighborhood deputy scolding them for it when Matt had his fall.”

  “Yes, it seems Mr. Ryder has had his fair share of bad luck.” The man glanced me, and I wondered how much Chief McIntyre had told him.

  “I’m gonna head over there.” I passed him the coffee cup and moved to the coat closet, pulling out a long cashmere cardigan. “I need to see Neena. She’s got to be freaking out.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” William said. “If they haven’t found—”

  “Did you see how many cop cars are out there? There’s not a safer place in Atherton right now. Wherever that guy is, he’s not coming back to the scene of the crime.”

  “Just—give me a second.” William stepped toward the hall. “Let me put on a pair of jeans. I’ll come, too.”

  We approached the R
yder house together, my hands stuffed in the deep pockets of the cardigan. Above us, spotlights moved through the dark, white circles of light illuminating the trees. I moved closer to the officer and glanced behind me, grateful for the well-lit driveway. “Where have they searched so far?”

  “The Ryders’ property and the surrounding lots. The back drop-off is pretty steep, and the guy has a fifteen-minute head start on us, at least.”

  I glanced at the dark sky. “Could you bring in a helicopter? Search that way?”

  He chuckled. “Not for this. If there had been an actual homicide? Maybe. But murder attempts kind of fall into a budgetary gray area.” He caught a glimpse of my face and hurried to reassure me. “Which isn’t to say that they won’t do everything they can to catch him. But things like a helicopter are a bit overkill at this point. Don’t worry. We’ve got a set of dogs on the way. They’ll be able to track his path.” He herded us toward the driveway.

  William frowned. “Murder attempt? I thought this was an armed robbery.”

  “I’d have to let you get the details from the detective.” He shrugged in apology. “I don’t have the full scope of the investigation so far.”

  I walked faster, anxious to be inside the house and closer to some answers.

  We stepped into the open garage, and I skirted Matt’s Volvo, heading for the interior door. The officer grabbed my arm just before I touched the knob. “Mrs. Winthorpe?”

  I turned and noticed the bright-blue tissues he held out to me. He nodded to my shoes. “They’re booties. We’ll also need both of you to wear gloves.”

  “Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Our prints are throughout the house already. We’re over here all the time.”

  “Still, we have to preserve the scene as best we can.”

  I pulled the booties over my shoes and could see, through the glass panes in the door, more officers inside. Neena had to be flipping out over the intrusion. I worked the gloves on and nodded at the man, holding up my palms to prove my adherence.

  When we stepped inside, the first thing I heard was Matt’s voice, muffled, but clearly raised in anger.