An icon for the Evernote app.
With trembling fingers, she tapped it.
No wonder she’d never found the journals. She didn’t find her journals on the computers because they weren’t on the computers—they were stored here, on her iPad, via Evernote. She could have accessed them from anywhere if she’d had it installed on the other computers.
She closed her eyes and swore. The Evernote app had been on her phone, and early on she’d had Bill delete it and anything else she wasn’t sure how to use.
Fuck. All this time there they were, waiting for her to find them.
She immediately exported everything into a document and sent it to her iPad so she could read it. She scanned ahead to the days before the attack, and other than a notation about signing up for the Classfriends site, there was nothing that would help.
Tear stung her eyes. She had been so sure, so certain that she’d find the answer there. Still nothing.
The final entry was at 1:14 p.m. the afternoon of the attack.
Doogie’s getting snipped. I get to bring him home tomorrow morning. Poor guy, but he needs it. We should be getting our wedding invitations from the printer any day now. I can’t wait! This is really happening. I’ve met Prince Charming. Well, my handsome Sir.
He’s not an ugly toad, either.
I think I’m looking forward to the collaring even more than I am our wedding. And it’s pointless to stay in the condo. I want to start moving all my stuff to the house. I’m going to surprise him with the news this weekend, over a candlelight dinner. I’ve got it all planned…
The memory returned. Not of the attack, but of writing that entry. How happy she’d been, making her shopping list, even the music she wanted to play on the stereo. Remembering how deeply in love she felt that afternoon.
And upset that, after all these months, there were still no more answers.
Steve entered the office and found Laura sobbing over the iPad. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
She pointed to the device. “I found the missing journals. They don’t tell me shit.”
He turned her chair to face him. “Sweetheart, you knew it might not give you any information.”
“I was so sure it would.” Steve held her, let her cry against him. Sarah heard the commotion and walked in, closed the office door behind her, and sat with them.
“What’s wrong?”
Steve told her. “Did it trigger any memories?” Sarah asked.
Laura finally sat up and shook her head. “Not of the attack. I thought it would. I thought for sure it would answer everything and I would know who did this to me.”
The weather radio alarm sounded, blasting its warning tone and startling them, announcing a marine thunderstorm warning.
“Looks like the boat returned just in time,” Steve said. “We’ll have to cancel some charters this week if that latest tropical depression spins up our way.”
When Rob picked up Laura from the shop a little after four that afternoon, she told him what she’d found. He hugged her.
“It’s okay, baby girl. We’ll figure it out.”
He wouldn’t let her help with dinner, knowing she was emotionally worn out. She decided to explore the Classfriends site on her laptop. Maybe if nothing else she would remember something. The username and password combo was her usual, and she logged in. Her last recorded login date was the afternoon of the attack.
Nothing.
Something itched at her conscious, though. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in weeks, like a buried memory wanted to come through. But it didn’t feel like it was about the attack. And frankly, that’s all she cared about at the moment was remembering who did it to her.
Rob didn’t want to leave her, but he was scheduled to work a twelve-hour shift starting that evening. “I could call in or swap off.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll be okay. Really.”
“You want me to call someone to come stay with you? Or I can take you over to Seth and Leah’s.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll be okay. I’ll probably go to bed and watch TV until I fall asleep. You’ll be home tomorrow night, right?”
“Hopefully. Depends on this storm.” He stared at her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m just…” She stared at the iPad, which she’d left on the coffee table. “I need to read through everything.”
He cradled her face in his hands. “We’ve talked about this. You knew it might not be a magic pill. And you’ve got so much back.”
“I know.” She let him pull her close, holding her tightly. She couldn’t take her eyes off the iPad. Somehow, she sensed it still might hold the answers.
If she could just figure it out.
Thomas called her cell phone that evening.
“Two calls in a week?” she quipped. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Are you at home?”
She didn’t like his terse tone. “Yeah?”
“Doors locked?”
“You’re freaking me out.”
“I’ve dispatched a deputy to your house. He’s already on the way.”
She shivered and walked to the living room where she closed the curtains. “What’s going on?”
“We discovered a woman’s body late this afternoon down in Placida. Not far from your shop.”
“What?” She gripped the phone tighter.
“She was strangled and beaten pretty badly.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Laura knew. In her gut, she knew.
“Have you checked your email lately?”
She walked to the table where her laptop was set up and opened her email program.
Her blood chilled. Sure enough there was a message from MedicineMan.
Her spit dried up. “How did you know?” she hoarsely asked.
“He left a computer-printed note on the body. I can’t tell you what it said because of the investigation. What does his email say?”
Her hand trembled as she clicked on the message.
Sorry I’ve been too busy to pay you any attention lately. Storm’s around the corner, Laura. I’m ready to finish our business pretty soon. Here’s a preview of coming attractions. ;)
Attached was a picture of a woman’s body.
The face beaten beyond recognition.
She dropped the phone to the table and ran for the bathroom, barely making the toilet in time to puke her guts up. After she could walk, she drew the gun from her holster and returned to the living room. She heard Thomas screaming into the phone, and when she picked it up to talk to him, someone started pounding on her front door.
“I’m okay. I got sick. Sorry. There’s someone at the door.”
“Don’t open it. Ask who they are.”
She went to the front door. “Who is it?”
“Sheriff’s Department. Are you okay, ma’am?”
She spoke into the phone. “He says he’s a deputy.”
“Can you see out the door?”
“Peephole.”
“Ask for ID.”
“He’s in uniform.”
“Ask, dammit!”
She called through the door. “Det. Thomas told me to ask for ID.”
She watched as the deputy held up his ID to the peephole. In the driveway, she saw his marked cruiser. “He’s got ID. And he’s in a cruiser.”
“I don’t give a damn if he’s in Santa’s sleigh. Get his damn badge number.”
“What’s your badge number?”
The deputy read it to her, and a moment later, Thomas said, “He’s legit, let him in.”