Rory pressed her eyes tightly closed as she cranked her choke hold with everything she had left inside of her. As Casper reached for the knife, fear overwhelmed her and Rory took a deep breath, reaching for her last bit of strength, and squeezed his neck with all her strength.
Still, his fingers managed to creep toward the knife’s handle. A guttural scream came from Rory’s throat when Casper’s hand grasped the knife.
CHAPTER 99
DETECTIVE OTT SPLAYED THE FLASHLIGHT BEAM OVER THE GATE AT the entrance of Westmont Prep and along the cobblestone pavement beyond. The library was visible in the distance, with its four bold columns lighted by upward directed spotlights. Off to the right was the visitor parking lot, and he noticed a lone car parked there. He craned his neck to get a better view, but the brick wall that the wrought iron gates were connected to blocked his vision.
He took a minute to consider things and then headed down the sidewalk that ran parallel to the red brick wall. The barrier was eight feet tall, and he walked for a distance that he estimated put him in direct line of sight to the visitor lot. He dropped the flashlight into the breast pocket of his suit, reached up to the top of the wall, and pulled himself upward so his head peeked over the upper edge of the bricks.
He grunted as he exerted himself, and not for the first time he considered that he was getting too old for this shit. But old or not, his instincts never led him astray. He remembered Rory Moore’s Toyota from when he had gone to Dr. Phillips’s place to speak with them. He was staring at her car now, and wondering why she had gone onto the campus without him. She told him she would wait outside the gates.
Ott pulled himself upward and lifted his right leg until his heel reached the top of the wall. He groaned and grunted until he was straddling the bricks. He swung his left leg over until both dangled on the campus side of the wall. An angry knee from college football would protest his next decision, so he didn’t give himself time to change his mind. He placed his palms on the bricks, lifted his rear end up, and jumped. He crashed to the ground and was thankful to find grass instead of concrete. Still, his knee ached when he landed.
He headed off to the parking lot and shined his flashlight into Rory’s car. He noticed her cell phone on the passenger seat. He took only a minute to look around before he walked onto the path he remembered was called Teacher’s Row. It was from here that he had walked into Charles Gorman’s duplex the previous year. He stood there now, looking down the quiet path that ran in front of the buildings. That’s when he heard it. A muffled scream that came from the duplex to his right.
His eyes went wide as he reached for his gun. He heard another scream and ran toward it.
CHAPTER 100
THE SCREAM THAT CAME FROM RORY’S MOUTH, AS CASPER’S FINGERS found the knife’s handle, startled her. It was foreign and animalistic, and Rory couldn’t believe it belonged to her. But she knew what it meant. She was in a fight for her life, and the unfamiliar voice inside of her was screaming for her to do everything possible to win it.
When Casper grasped the handle, Rory released her choke hold and rolled off of him. Like a vacuum unclogging, she heard Casper inhale a giant lungful of air. Rory had her back to him and was on a mad dash for the doorway. Her only hope was to get to the window well she had spotted on the way down to the basement and crash her way through it before he gained his bearings. She didn’t come close. He was on her in an instant, hurtling himself into her from behind. She went face-first into the doorframe, the drywall caving in from the impact of their bodies. Rory screamed again as she managed to slither around so that her back was to the wall and they were face-to-face. Casper brought the knife up. Rory had just enough time to grab his wrist as he pushed the blade toward her neck. Surely, her mind reasoned in some strange tangent of thought, this was the same knife he had used to slash Andrew Gross’s and Tanner Landing’s throats.
Banging came from upstairs. Someone was pounding on the front door. She saw Casper’s eyes go wide. His jowls vibrated with effort as he pushed the knife closer to her. Rory’s left arm alone was not strong enough to stop the knife’s progress, so she brought her right hand up for reinforcement. When she did, her hand brushed across her left breast and she felt the pinprick through her jacket. In a flash, she ripped down the zipper of her windbreaker, reached to the breast pocket of her shirt, and withdrew the Foldger-Gruden brush. It was the last one she had used on the Kiddiejoy doll earlier that morning, meant for fine sculpting and with a needlelike point on the handle.
As Casper pushed the blade of his knife toward her neck, Rory jabbed the pointed handle through his left eye socket. Like a ruptured balloon, he deflated in front of her and crumbled to the ground, his face flopping onto her Madden Girl Eloisee combat boots and coloring them red with the blood that poured from his eye.
CHAPTER 101
CHRISTIAN CASPER’S AUTOPSY REVEALED THAT THE HANDLE OF THE Foldger-Gruden brush had passed through his left eye socket—a clean puncture through the cornea, iris, crystalline lens, retina, and the soft orbital bone—to rupture the internal carotid artery. A massive brain bleed, formally termed exsanguination from cranial hemorrhage, was the cause of death. Justifiable homicide, the manner.
The emaciated woman was indeed his mother, Liane Casper. She was hospitalized for three nights following the ordeal in the basement of her son’s duplex before returning to the long-term care facility near Indianapolis. Gwen Montgomery, too, spent time in the hospital. She had no physical injuries, but her mental state—already tenuous from the past year—was at a breaking point. A week after her release, she found some relief from finally sharing her secret with Detective Ott and the Peppermill Police Department. She and Gavin Harms were facing involuntary manslaughter charges for the death of Marc McEvoy, whose body had been fished from Baker’s Creek. Gwen and Gavin faced a wide range of potential sentences, from probation to years in prison.
It was a week after the events in Christian Casper’s basement that Rory walked into the den of her Chicago bungalow. She sipped Dark Lord stout as she sat down at her workstation. The Armand Marseille Kiddiejoy German baby doll lay on the workbench under the glow of the gooseneck lamp. It was, to both the casual observer and a seasoned collector, flawless. The face was without defects, the fissures erased to perfection. The reconstruction of the ear and cheek seamless and balanced.
Rory ran a brush through the doll’s hair, straightened its clothing, and then walked to the row of built-in shelves. There was a single vacancy, created that morning when Rory took an older doll down and stowed it away. She placed the Kiddiejoy in the empty spot and backed away to admire her handiwork. Something inside of her reset, and she felt balanced again as her latest restoration blended into the collection. The assortment of dolls that filled her den was not just her life’s work, it was her salvation. A lifeline that guided her beyond the affliction that otherwise had the power to lure her thoughts and destroy her existence.
She returned to the desk, sat in the chair, and took a sip of Dark Lord. A large manila envelope had arrived in the mail that morning, and she saved it for now to open. After ripping the top away, she pulled the folded newspaper from within. It was yesterday’s edition of the Indianapolis Star. The story was on the front page, above the fold.
Missing South Bend Man Unlocks Mystery of the
Westmont Prep Killings
PART ONE OF A THREE-PART SERIES
by Ryder Hillier
Before Rory started in on the article, she pulled a yellow sticky note off the front of the newspaper.
Rory—
My meeting is tomorrow.
Thank you one hundred times over!
—Ryder
Rory took another sip of Dark Lord. It was her first and last of the night. She had to be sharp for the flight the next day, although this time she would have Lane as her seatmate, and the flight to Florida would surely be much more enjoyable than her last.
She picked up the newspaper and read Ryder’s article.
CHAPTER 102
RYDER HILLIER MADE THE DRIVE UP TO CHICAGO IN JUST UNDER two hours. She now rode the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor of the office building set squarely in the middle of the Loop. Butterflies stirred in her stomach, and she worked hard to keep her emotions under control. The elevator opened, and she wheeled a small suitcase behind her as she pulled open the glass doors and headed to the reception desk.
A young man with a pleasant smile greeted her.
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“Ryder Hillier to see Dwight Corey.”
“Yes,” the young man said with enthusiasm. “He’s expecting you.”
He picked up the phone.
“Mr. Corey, your one o’clock is here. Ms. Hillier.”
A moment later a tall man impeccably dressed in a tan Armani suit opened the door next to the reception desk. He, too, sported a broad smile.
“Ryder?” he said as he approached, extending a hand. “Dwight Corey. So nice to meet you.”
Ryder shook his hand. “Thank you. I really appreciate the opportunity.”
“It’s more than an opportunity,” Dwight said. “From what Rory and Lane have told me, this is what you’re made for. Come on in. The NBC people will be here in thirty minutes, and I want to brief you on the offer.”
Ryder swallowed hard and followed the agent into the office. She was about to make her pitch to NBC why she was the perfect host to continue Mack Carter’s podcast. Her heart pounded as she wheeled her research behind her.
CHAPTER 103
THEIR FLIGHT WAS SCHEDULED FOR ONE P.M. THEY LEFT THE HOUSE at ten, much too early for Rory’s liking since such an early departure would put them at the airport at ten-thirty with hours to spare. Even with first-class tickets and the benefit of the Admirals Club, so much downtime at the world’s busiest airport was unappealing. But Rory had a stop to make before they headed to O’Hare.
Lane drove so that they could forgo parking. They turned onto LaSalle Street, Lane clicked on his hazards for a quick double-park, and Rory jumped out of the car and headed into Romans shoe store. After nearly a decade in the same pair of Madden Girls, she was now purchasing her second pair in as many weeks—her last ones destroyed when Christian Casper’s pierced eyeball had leaked blood over them.
She sunk her feet into a pair of size 7’s and felt the same calm she had when she was here at the beginning of the month. She paid at the register and again wore the boots out of the store. The Florida heat be damned. She was never a flip-flop girl, anyway.
* * *
Their plane landed in Ft. Meyers at 4:05 P.M., and they were driving the rental car across the Sanibel Island causeway thirty minutes later. In her more than ten-year relationship with Lane, they had never taken a vacation together. There were many reasons for this. Rory preferred to spend her downtime between cases alone, or at least in the self-serving manner of restoring a new doll and fighting back the oppressive affliction that was constantly working to disrupt her life. Lane was simply not the vacationing type. Neither of their brains was capable of relenting enough to allow them to lie by a pool and sunbathe. Rory’s aversion to sand, and all the crevices it had the potential to penetrate, was enough to keep her away from a beach for her entire life. Which was why this trip was a leap of faith. Lane had promised that there was method to the madness of renting a condominium on Sanibel Island. For the life of her, Rory couldn’t see what it might be. But Lane’s close call with death and her traumatic time in Christian Casper’s basement were enough for them both to rethink their lives. Lane had promised Rory that he knew what she needed and would deliver it on this trip. The man had never once lied to her, and she believed him when he told her that going to Florida was the right thing for her.
Rory Moore was not the type of woman who could be swept off her feet, literally or figuratively, and romanced back to some state of bliss. Lane knew this. He understood how her mind worked and how her DNA was coded. Rory’s mind needed constant stimulation, either from a cold case or at the workbench in her den repairing a damaged antique doll. The cases Rory solved were not just her occupation, they were her way of life. A delicate balance that helped her exist. She needed the mysteries of unsolved cases because without a puzzle to solve, her affliction would take over her life.
The causeway delivered them onto Sanibel Island, and Lane steered the rental through the only road that cut through the island. He turned onto a side street flanked and shadowed by long lines of palm trees until they finally came to the entrance of the condominium complex.
“I can see it on your face,” Lane said. “You’re starting to worry.”
“No,” Rory said. Then she forced a smile and made a show of looking up through the windshield. “This is beautiful. It’s... just what I need.”
“You still think I brought you down here to sit on the beach and drink piña coladas, don’t you?”
“I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to do while we’re here, but I know for certain you don’t believe I’d ever drink a piña colada or walk on a beach.”
They found a parking spot, and Lane pulled their luggage from the trunk. They took the outdoor elevator to the third floor, where Lane keyed the door and held it open for Rory. Inside, they dumped their bags in the bedroom before Lane walked her to the lanai. The Gulf was on majestic display before them as the afternoon sun shimmered on the surface of the ocean.
Rory grimaced when she looked down at the beach.
“Seriously, Lane. Don’t make me walk barefoot in the sand.”
“Please,” Lane said. “Don’t you think I know you by now.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close, then checked his watch. “There’s someone I want you to meet. He has something to show you.”
“Do I have to wear flip-flops?”
“God, no, bite your tongue.”
CHAPTER 104
THEY KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF THE CONDO THREE DOORS DOWN from theirs. Rory stood in gray jeans and a gray T-shirt, her new Madden Girls stiff but comfortable. When the door opened a moment later, Rory adjusted her glasses, but for some reason the desire to hide behind them felt less than usual. The older gentleman who answered the door had an aura that immediately put her at ease.
“Lane!” the man said with a grin and a handshake. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Gus.”
Lane turned to Rory. “Gus Morelli, this is my better half. Rory Moore.”
“Rory,” Gus said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. From this guy and others.”
Rory smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
She noticed that he didn’t attempt to shake her hand.
“Come on in,” Gus said. He pointed at Rory. “I’ve got something for you.” He checked his watch. “Ah, it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Inside, Rory stood close to Lane as the man opened the refrigerator and produced a bottle of Dark Lord stout.
“A real son of a bitch trying to get my hands on this stuff. But Christ, is it good.”
He peeled the wax from the top and popped it open. “Doc, can I pour you one?”
“No,” Lane said. “The dark stuff upsets my stomach. But I’ll take a light beer, if you have one.”
Gus pointed. “La Rubia is on the bottom shelf.”
Gus handed Rory a glass. It had been perfectly poured with a thick gray head over the black stout below.
“Cheers,” Gus said, holding his glass out.
Lane held up his bottle of beer. Rory looked at the two of them, who seemed like long-lost friends. She was still confused by what was transpiring.
“What are we toasting to?” she asked.
Gus cocked his head as if there were something for Rory to see behind him. Then he looked at Lane and smiled.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Not yet,” Lane said.
Gus smiled at Rory. “Follow me.”
Rory trailed Gus as he walked to the hallway off the living room. He reached for the handle of a closed do
or and pushed it open. It was as if the room emitted a magnetic current that pulled Rory toward it. Inside she saw stacks of boxes. She walked through the doorway.
“What is all this?”
“Every case from a thirty-year career that I’ve never been able to figure out or stop thinking about. Lane said you might be interested in helping me with them.”
Rory slowly walked over to the boxes and ran her hand across the tops of them. Her mind began to fire and flicker at the possibilities that this room possessed. Her heart fluttered at the mysteries that waited to be solved inside the boxes.
She sat on the bed, placed her Dark Lord on the side table, and pulled one of the boxes onto her lap. Slowly, she lifted the top.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
All of my novels are stand-alone thrillers. However, astute readers will find little nuggets of the previous book sprinkled within the pages of each subsequent one. Although this is the second book in the Rory Moore/Lane Phillips series, I was careful to write each story so fans could read the books in any order.
If The Suicide House was your first adventure with the incomparable Rory Moore and you would like to read more about her, check out Some Choose Darkness. It fills in some background on where her quirkiness comes from. It’s also a hell of a thrill ride.
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