“Well, it got even better. I began stopping off at different local bars after work, and eventually, I saw you, having a drink with a man, who I recognized. Jay and I were in the same hockey league. Different teams, but I definitely had met him a time or two. Well, it was all easy after that. I made a point of getting to know him. After games, guys often went out for drinks. Jay and I got to be friends. I hesitated when I found out that he was a psychologist. Didn’t want him looking into my psyche, but it was a challenge too. Made things a little more interesting actually. One night, he let slip that his grandfather had been a detective on the Boston Strangler case. I was fascinated. He didn’t like to talk about it too much, but after a few drinks, and some coaxing, he’d tell us stuff. He insisted he only described what had been released to the public. Jay was such a boy scout. Anyway, in no time, Jay and I were buds. You weren’t married yet, but I remember the first time I met you, I was blown away. This is Melinda Wright, I kept thinking. Wow. Anyway, you hit it off with Laken, and the rest is history.”

“Why did you kill that woman?”

He rubs his temples. “I don’t feel like talking about that right now.”

“How did Jay know it was you?”

“Later, maybe.”

“Were you calling me?”

“That was me.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Enough for now.” He stands and reaches inside a bag. “Drink before you dehydrate.” He twists the cap on a water bottle. “Oh, I’ve got cookies too. Oreos. Your favorite.”

He sets the bottle on the floor. Suddenly, I’m filled with rage and hit him as hard as I can with my left fist, but I only clip the side of his leg. He grabs me by the shoulders and knocks my head against the wall and bursts of light float before my eyes.

“Don’t do that again, Melinda.” He kicks the water over, and I grab for it before it all spills out. “I’ll be back later.”

CHAPTER 67 - Rita

CHAPTER 67

Rita

JOE AND I ARE GATHERING OUR NOTES WHEN JOSH PEARSON IS ESCORTED into the room. His eyes are wild, and he’s biting his lips. “I wanted to tell you that I lied earlier,” he blurts out. “Don’t bother going to Walmart and Lowe’s. I wasn’t there.”

Just as I suspected. “Okay. Have a seat.”

He flops into a chair, runs his hand through his neat sandy hair. I pull my phone back out and hit record. “Say that again, Mr. Pearson.”

He does.

“You want to tell us where you were last night?” Joe asks, his hands clenched, his anger barely tamped below his words. Pearson has wasted our time, and that doesn’t sit well.