As he speaks, he reaches out his hand and grabs my arm. His eyes are dark, angry. He is holding it so forcefully it hurts.
“Ryan, stop it. Let go,” I say, but he doesn’t listen.
“You’ve gone completely insane. It’s crazy; can’t you see it? You talked to that OSI investigator, didn’t you? They told me someone came in and said I was seen at Sandra’s house and Ted’s house. You’re the only one who saw me, Laurie; it could only be you. How could you do this to me? How could you betray me, your husband, like this? I thought we loved one another. Now, because of that article, they’ve called me in again for further questioning, they say. Because of what you wrote. Because of you! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Ryan, let go of my arm,” I yell, but he squeezes it harder. He is holding me so tight; I can’t move.
That’s when the door opens to the children’s bedroom, and Isabella comes out. Her eyes grow terrified as she sees her dad holding me.
“Isabella, honey, stay in your room,” he says, trying to sound sweet, but it makes him sound even creepier. I can tell she’s frightened. This is a little too similar to the night when she ended up getting shot.
He continues, trying to sound like it’s nothing…like she shouldn’t worry, “Mom and Dad are just discussing something.”
“Isabella,” I say, groaning, trying to get out of his grip. I can’t. He’s not letting go. “Call the police.”
Hearing this, Ryan suddenly eases up on my arm and finally lets go. I pull away with a loud gasp, then touch my arm in pain. Isabella closes the door and disappears back inside. Ryan is shaking as he turns to face me. I fear he’s gonna reach out and grab me once again, so I take another step back.
“You’d actually do that to me?” he says, panting. Disbelief has replaced the darkness in his eyes. He is shaking his head slowly. “You’d really call the cops on me?”
I nod my head, barely able to breathe. “You better believe it, Ryan. Don’t come around here anymore, do you hear me?”
He points his finger at me, snorting angrily.
“This is not over yet.”
Then he runs to the door, opens it, and disappears, slamming it shut behind him. I stay behind inside my living room, heart pounding, body shaking. Then I fall to my knees, crying.
Chapter 39
The local law enforcement comes to my apartment, and I tell them about Ryan coming there and threatening me. They promise me they’ll have a talk with Ryan, then leave. I see them out, not feeling very safe or even convinced it’s going to help me. I then call Frank, and he comes over as fast as he can. I hear him running up the stairs after I buzz him in. He holds me by the shoulders.
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head, then hug him tightly. Damian and Isabella are both sitting in the living room, and they see it. As I turn around, I realize it is the first time Frank and I have been openly physical with one another in front of them.
“How about some ice cream, huh?” Frank says, clasping his hands. He walks to the kitchen and grabs the Moose Tracks ice cream from the freezer. He puts some in four bowls and hands them to us. I am not hungry at all, but I eat it anyway. The kids aren’t talking. Isabella is pushing her ice cream around inside the bowl and not eating any.
“Why was he here?” she suddenly asks without looking up from the bowl. “Why did he come?”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “He was angry with me because I wrote an article about the Air Force and his friends.”
“So, he didn’t come for me?” she asks.
My heart drops. Is that what she thinks? That her dad came to hurt her? “No, sweetie. He is angry with me, not you.”
She finally looks up, and our eyes meet. “He was grabbing you. Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head and lift my arm to show her it’s fine. “Not really. But it was kind of scary.”
“Daddy is mean,” Damian says, chewing a piece of chocolate. “I don’t want to see him ever again.”
We finish the ice cream in silence, and I tuck both of them in, then go back to Frank, who has poured two glasses of Chardonnay for us. I sit on the couch with a deep sigh, then hold out my hands so he can see them.
“Still shaking. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
He exhales deeply. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here to protect you.”
“It’s not your job,” I say and lift the glass to my mouth. I stare into the liquid afterward, spinning it.
He places a hand on top of mine. “I’m just happy nothing happened to any of you, not like last time.”
“You and me both,” I say and drink. I think about the day Isabella got shot and shiver. I think for a second about moving again, moving far away so he won’t find us. But I know he will find us; somehow, he will.
We sit in silence for a few seconds while I worry about Ryan coming back now that he knows where we are. I remind myself that I have the gun in my bedroom and to sleep with the phone within reach so I can call the cops if he does come back. Then I look at Frank. His eyes are so worried as they linger on me. He looks like a big puppy.
“There is something I have been thinking about, though,” I say. “Something I have meant to talk to you about.”
“And that is?”
I put the glass down on the table, then face him. “I did some research the other day for my article on suicides in the military and was thinking a lot about Clarice. I then called your dad and had him send me the death report that was sent to him after her death. The official one.”
Frank sips his wine and looks at me, an eyebrow lifted. “You did?”
“Yes. And guess what I found?”
He lifts his hands. “I give up. You tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about a motive for these murders that look like suicides, but I haven’t been able to find any. For a while, I believed it was random. That was before I took a closer look at the report.”
“Really? You mean to tell me you have a motive?”
“Well, a connection, at least. Besides the fact that they were all from the same unit and deployed to the same base. All of the names are also in the report, in Clarice’s death report,” I say. “Sandra, Ted, and Duke are all witnesses that the OSI investigators spoke to after her death. They all testified to how depressed she was leading up to the suicide, and all claim to have seen her on the night she allegedly shot herself, and they all say she seemed out of it on that night…like she was in distress. Sandra even says she was worried about her.” I grab my laptop and open the lid. I click the mouse on the link, and it opens. “Here, let me show you.”
Frank looks at the screen as I show him the names and statements. Then he looks up and smiles.
“You’re right. I can’t believe I hadn’t even thought about that. That’s amazing.”
“I don’t quite know what to do with this information yet, but it is quite interesting to me.”
He clears his throat, then lifts his glass. “Here’s to our own Nancy Drew.”
“Hercule Poirot,” I say.