Deception (7 page)

"And you and your family live in Half Moon as well?"

"No. I live and work in Pescadero." I nod, not ever having been to Pescadero, or even knowing where it is.

"All right, so now I need to know, in detail, what you did on Friday. I’ll need for you to try to remember everything, including the time that you did it, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went to bed. If you can't recall something, we can skip over it for now. But I really need for you to try to remember as much as possible. I’ll make a timeline while you tell me the details."

“Okay,” he responds, shifting in his chair. I note that this is the first time he's done this since he sat down.

"So run through your day, starting with the time you woke up."

"I woke up at six-fifteen, and got Amanda up at six-thirty. I cooked her breakfast, and then dropped her off at school at seven-forty-five. I drove to work, and was there until two o’clock. Amanda stayed after school for computer club, so I drove to the school to pick her up at two-fifteen. We then went to the bakery down the street to pick up a cake for my parents. It was my parents’ thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. After, we drove to Half Moon and stopped at a local florist. Amanda wanted to get her grandma some flowers. We also picked up some take-out from my parent's favorite restaurant."

"What time did you get to Half Moon?" I interrupt.

He shrugs. "I think it was around three o’clock, or so."

"Okay. Continue," I instruct, putting my pen back to the paper.

"So, we went over to my parents’ house. My mom had just gotten home from work. My dad was in the garage, working on a car. And Brian was out somewhere. I texted him to see if he was going to join us, and he texted back saying he'd be over in fifteen minutes. When he got there, we all sat down and ate. Amanda was going over to a friend’s house for a sleepover, so we left."

"What time was that?"

He pauses in thought, and then he presses his lips together and lightly shakes his head. "I think it was around four-thirty."

"All right."

"Brian wanted to go out, so he asked me for a ride. He had me drop him off at a friend’s house about three or so miles away. Then Amanda and I drove back home. She packed an overnight bag, and I drove her to her friend's house."

"Do you recall what time you dropped her off?"

"I remember it was just before five o’clock, because her friend's parents asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner. I recall looking at the time. I couldn't stay because I had to return to work."

"So, you went straight to work after dropping your daughter off at her friend's house?"

He looks down at his hands. "No, actually, I went home for a bit. I needed to shower.”

"What time did you get to work?”

"I think it was around seven o’clock."

"And what time were you at work until?"

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "Until my brother called saying that my parents were―" He takes a moment to clear his throat, and then says softly adds, “―dead.”

My breathing quickens and I feel tears prickle in the back of my eyes. "And do you remember what time that was?"

"I remember it exactly, it was eight-forty-one," he answers, trying to look composed.

"Do you need a break?" I ask him, hoping he’ll say yes since I could certainly use one.

"No, I'm fine."

"This is where it’ll get hard. I understand if you have a difficult time answering some of this. But, please know, I'm asking so that I can understand everything that happened. I will get police reports, but I do need for you to tell me what you know." I want so badly to reach my hand across the table and touch his arm. I refrain, and put my pen back to the paper instead.

"How were your parents killed?" I ask, forcing out each word.

He looks down. "They were stabbed repeatedly. They each had over twenty wounds to the chest, and my dad's neck was also sliced open."

"Did it appear as they fought back?" I manage. I see a tear roll down his cheek, but he doesn't attempt to wipe it away.

"My mom was bound to a kitchen chair, her legs and hands were both tied. My dad was found on the floor next to her. I don't know if they fought back."

No longer able to hold back, I reach my hand across the table and touch his forearm. He flinches for a moment, but then looks up at me and tears stream down his face. He continues looking into my eyes while the tears flow. I can't hold back my own tears anymore. I, too, let it out. "I miss them Amy," he says tenderly.

“I know.”

Even knowing what it’s like to lose a parent, I can't begin to understand how it is to lose both parents in such a tragic way. "I think this is enough for today," I say, keeping my eyes fixed on his. He looks sad, tired, and broken. "If the police or any reporters ask to speak with you, please tell them to contact me. I don’t want you talking to any of them without me there." I turn off the audio recorder. He nods quickly, wiping the tears from his face. "I’ll need more information from you in the next few days. I may even need to speak with anyone you were with that day to corroborate your story, in case we should end up needing it. That might include having to speak with your daughter, your wife, and coworkers."

He shakes his head. "There's no wife, it's just me and Amanda."
No wife?
He must be divorced. A few years back, I heard that he was married.

"How old is your daughter? Do you think she'll be fine to answer some questions?" I ask, already anticipating the answer.

"Amanda’s thirteen. And yes, she'd be fine to answer questions."

"By the way, why is your brother in custody?" I probe, remembering that I don't know the reason.

"His fingerprints were on the bloody knife they found.”

I bite down on my lower lip. "All right. Well, in the meantime, please try to think of any reason why someone would do this to your parents, including your brother. Try to remember anything that will help us to get the justice that they deserve." I stand. "Call me with any information."

"I will," he responds, pushing in his chair. We stand in silence for a moment, and then he smiles ever-so-slightly. "Thank you Amy. Thank you." His beautiful smile sends my pulse racing. I look down at the floor briefly.

"You're welcome Travis. They were once my family too," I manage to force out, choking back tears.

He shuffles to the door. Not wanting him to go yet, I decide to walk him out. Once we reach the entryway, he pauses and then turns. He leans in to hug me. Before I can think, I wrap both arms around his shoulders. "Everything will be okay," I say calmly.

Before I pull away, I take in a breath and his scent intoxicates me. I'm instantly reminded of us―of our past―and of the times that I was so madly in love with him. When we let go, I feel like pulling him back in and smelling him some more. But I think better of it.

He pushes the door open, without looking away from me. He hesitantly turns and disappears. I remain standing in place a moment longer, absorbing the lingering scent of him in the air. Once my legs begin to feel weak, I return to my office and Julie trails behind. "So how did it go?"

I smile somewhat, but it fades quickly, replaced with sadness. "It was fine. It was difficult, but it went well. We didn't finish the interview. It was too much for one day."

She can see the sorrow on my face, so she nods. "Rich was here. When I told him that you were in a meeting with a client, he said he would wait. But then he took a phone call and decided to leave."

"You didn't tell him who I was meeting with, did you?"

She chuckles. "No. I was not going there with him after the morning you've had."

"Good. Thank you."

I tell her that I’m going to leave for the day since I don’t have any other appointments scheduled. "Do you have a copy of that invoice we spoke about this morning?" I ask her on my way out.

"It’s right here," she says, handing it to me.

"Thank you, Julie. I'll be in tomorrow. See you then."

I decide it's time to go home and confront Rich with the invoice.

• • • •

Where the hell is he?
I pace the floor and glare out the window. I haven't been able to do anything but pace the floor of the entire house since getting home nearly four hours ago.

I decide to text him before I burn a hole directly into the floorboards.
Where are you?
I text, and then put the phone in my pocket.

After ten minutes of more pacing, my feet start to ache so I sit on the arm of the couch, resting my feet on the cushion, while staring out the window.

Another hour passes, and still no sign of Rich. “If he’s not going to come to me, then I guess I need to go to him," I rage, grabbing my keys, and storming out the door.

I drive to the one place I hope he'll be―his office. I pass by slowly, attempting to see if there are any lights on. But I don't see any. I drive to the back of the building, and find his car in the parking lot, along with another car as well. I’ve seen that other car before, but don't recall who it belongs to.
What do I do now? Do I attempt to text him again, or do I go into his office? What if he's with a client, and I go storming in with the invoice in hand?
I'm torn, so I sit a while longer running through a variety of scenarios.

Moments later, I turn the engine off, grab my phone, and walk to the front door. It’s locked, so I press my face up against the dark windows and peer in, looking toward his office. I can see a dim light. Remembering that I have a spare key, I slide it into the keyhole.
Should I go in?
My conscience says no, but I eventually say
screw it
. I open the door and walk into the lobby. It's quiet. But as I stand there, listening for voices, I can hear muffled sounds coming from behind Rich's closed office door. I take slow steps in that direction, keeping in mind that he doesn't like to be interrupted when he's in a meeting.

When I get to his office, I look into the long narrow window beside the door, and I gasp. Afraid that he's heard me, I put my hand over my mouth while I let out an even louder gasp. I’m motionless and unsure of what to do next. In the faint light, Rich leans back against his desk. He appears to be completely naked. A girl is kneeling down in front of him and she seems to be wearing something. I narrow my eyes, because while it looks like it's a dress, it also doesn't look like any dress I've ever seen. She's draped in black leather something-or-other, with chains hanging off of it everywhere. Her hands are behind her back, and they’rebound by somethin
g—
maybe handcuffs or chains?

I jump in response to a loud sound, and then gut-wrenching screams. Rich has a whip in his hand and he's flogging her backside with it. She lets out a scream with every crack of the whip. But, then she quickly continues to provide him with oral satisfaction. What the hell is going on?

Adrenaline kicks in. I throw open the door, but neither one of them hear me since Rich just whipped her again. Her shrieks fill the room. He throws his head back in, what appears to be, gratification. I instinctively snap a picture with my phone. When the flash illuminates the room, Rich turns his head in my direction. The girl removes her mouth from his midsection and darts her head toward me. My mouth drops open. I know her. "How dare you?" I retort, so angry that I'm surprised to be able to speak.

Not wanting to be there a moment longer, I dash out of his office. "Amy. Don't―" Rich calls out. But I don't care to hear what he has to say.

I start breathing hard, and my chest tightens, while I try to I hold back tears. I feel like I'm either going to be sick or punch a hole in the wall. I do neither. I stomp out the door and run to my car. With my hands shaking uncontrollably, I glare over at the car that I recognized. It's Sarah, my best friend, Laura's, sister. The same Sarah that Laura told me on Sunday was pregnant.

I put the key in the ignition and stomp on the gas pedal, sending the tires squealing out of the parking lot. I drive straight home, struggling to remain focused on the speed limit and traffic lights.

I march upstairs to the bedroom, go to my closet, and gather all of the pieces of the TracFone. Marching over to his side of the bed, I throw it on top of his pillow. Heading back downstairs, I take hold of the handle to my suitcase that’s still packed for my trip. I stroll out the door and get in my car. My phone dings as I back out of the driveway. Without looking down at it, I press the power button and toss it onto the seat next to me.

I drive headed nowhere. My body feels num
b—
no tears are to be formed, no sadness is to be felt, and no anger is to be expressed. I need to call Laura. I need to talk to someone. If she knows about this and didn't tell me, that might devastate me more than what I just witnessed.

Deciding that I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while, I do the first thing that comes to mind, I check into a hotel. I draw the curtains, and curl up into a ball in the middle of the bed and allow the numbness that I was feeling to subside. Instantly, all of the emotions of sadness and anger ravage me.

Chapter Eight

Friday

April 19, 2013

9:35 a.m.

After completely losing myself in my fit of rage last night, sleep finally found me around four o’clock this morning. It must have been quite the hard sleep because I woke up with my mind clear, body refreshed, and sadness gone. I've always considered myself a strong woma
n—
I've had to be with everything I went through after what Travis did to me at such a young age. But today, I feel better than I have in quite some time. Maybe catching Rich in the act was exactly what I needed to stop fooling myself into believing that our relationship was strong. As I sit here in this hotel room this morning,it's clear to me that I was in denial. No man would ever continually put their work before the love of their life. I might not be made for a serious relationship, I need to accept tha
t—
I will accept that. I spent six years after the situation with Travis without a man by my side. Rich appeared out of nowhere, like a knight on a white horse, ready to save me from the demons of the world. But now, I realize that I might’ve been color blind. He’s certainly no knight, and his horse is certainly black like his heart.

I don't feel like speaking to anyone today. I need to figure what to do next. But I have to at least call Julie to let her know I won't be coming in. After turning on my cell phone, it vibrates and displays that I have nine voicemail messages. I shake my head, refusing to listen to them. I press four, and wait for her to pick up.

“Are you all right?" Julie answers, with concern in her voice.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I respond, wondering how she even knows that something is up.

"Rich is looking for you. He was parked outside when I got to work at eight o’clock. He asked me if I had heard from you. He stayed out there until about nine-fifteen. What’s going on?"

"I need some time to myself. I have things to sort through. I won't be at work today, but I'm fine."

"Your mom called this morning as well. She said you weren't home or answering your phone."

"My mom?"

"Yeah. She said that she was worried about you. She didn't know if something had happened to you because you never showed up yesterday morning. She took the first flight home, as soon as the ship docked."

"Did you tell her that we had arrived late?" I ask her, panicked that my mom is so worried.

"I did. But, Amy, she didn't sound like she believed me."

"I'll call her."

"Please tell me that you’re okay. You'd tell me if you weren't, right?"

"I'm fine, Julie, I promise," I reassure her. "Can you tell Laura to call me as soon as she gets in?"

"Sure."

"Thank you. If Rich happens to show up there again, please tell him I'm not going to be in today, and to leave the building. Get Gus or Matthew to escort him out, if you should need it."

"Okay. But, you’re really worrying me."

"Don't worry, Julie, everything will be fine."

I set my phone down on the nightstand and not a minute later it chimes. Looking down at it, I anticipate it being a text from my mom. Instead, it's from Rich:
We need to talk.

I roll the phone in my hands contemplating if I want to respond.

I text back:
We don't need to talk. Nothing you could say to me would matter right now.

My phone dings again:
Please, Amy. You need to give me the opportunity to explain.

I respond:
There is no explanation that will make a difference. I don't want to hear you try to justify how having your dick in another woman's mouth while you whip her brings you satisfaction. Or how you spent Valentine’s Day christening another woman's sofa. I also don’t care to listen to you explain how you never wanted children with me, but you get another woman pregnant. I'm not what you want, it's very apparent. You are better off walking away.

I toss the phone onto the bed, deciding that was the last communication I will have with that lying, cheating bastard. I elect to take a shower, and then I’ll call my mom.

When I exit the bathroom, I hear my phone ring. While not caring to look at who could be calling, something makes me look at it anyway. It's actually not Rich calling, it's Julie.

"Hi, Julie. Is everything all right there?"

"Yes. He hasn't returned. But Travis called a couple of minutes ago, saying that he needs to speak with you. I told him you weren't in today. But he said that he really needed to talk with you today. I didn't know what to tell him, so I said I would relay the message to you."

"Damn it. I forgot that I told him we would meet again. But today is not a good day for it."

"He really sounded desperate. Something in his voice made it appear like he had something important to tell you."

"Do you have his phone number?"              

I stare down at the number for a while, trying to decide if I'm in the right frame of mind to do this today. Huffing loudly, I press the numbers into the keypad and wait. The line rings repeatedly, and eventually his voicemail picks up. My breath quickens at the sound of his voice. I immediately hang up.

Instead of leaving a message, I decide to text him:
It's Amy. My assistant told me you wanted to talk. I'm busy today, but we can schedule a meeting for Monday, if that's okay.
I hover my finger over the Send button, and then after a few seconds gently press it.

I dry off my hair and sit on the bed, getting ready to call my mom when my phone chimes.

Travis:
I really need to speak with you today. Not sure if I can wait until Monday to tell you what I need to. Can we please meet up today?

I sigh. I really don't think I can deal with work today, but I also know that he might need to get all of the information together as soon as possible. I call instead of texting him again.

"Hi," he answers, and my stomach flutters with that one word.

"Hi," I respond, before reminding myself why I called him. "I know I said we needed to meet again, but I’m busy today. Can we schedule to meet first thing on Monday morning?" I hear him breath into the phone and it sends chills throughout my body.

"I really need to talk to you today. I can't go another day without telling you something.” His response makes me think he wants to talk about something other than his parents.

"Travis, if what you have to say to me has anything to do with our past, then I don’t want to hear it. I told you yesterday that I don't want to talk about that."

"Amy, I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday. I…can't go another day without telling you the truth."

Suddenly, I feel anger simmer. "Travis, I told you yesterday that I needed you to be completely honest with me. If you are now saying that you weren't, I don't think I want to help you. And if you had anything―anything at all―to do with your parents' death, I suggest that you turn yourself in right now," I say, my voice rising with every word.

"No, Amy. No. I promise I didn't kill my parents. I really need to clarify something that I said yesterday, I need for you to know. Please give me a couple minutes of your time today. I promise that's all I want." I close my eyes and attempt to calm myself from the fury that I’m experiencing. "Okay, Travis. I will give you a couple minutes to explain yourself. But you better understand, if this is some kind of hoax to get me to believe a lie, I will find out. I've had my share of dealing with lies. I refuse to help you if you continue to do so." He's silent. "What time can you meet?" I ask, with a hint of annoyance in my voice.

"Can we meet this morning?"

"Meet me in the lobby of The Clift hotel at eleven o’clock."

"The Clift? All right."

"See you then," I say, hanging up.

My phone dings again; it's a text from Rich. I decide not to even look at it. Instead, I dial my mom's number.

"Amy," she answers, and I notice her voice is still rough.

"Mom? You still don't sound well. Are you feeling okay?"

"Amy, I was so worried about you. I couldn't stay on vacation. I had to come and see if you were all right," she says in a hushed tone, barely sounding like my mom.

"You didn't have to leave in the middle of your vacation. You should’ve stayed."

"Honey, I really needed to know that you were fine. And, I need to speak with you," she says hesitantly.

"Is everything okay? You’re starting to scare me."

She sighs, and then I hear her take in a breath. "Everything will be fine. But I don't want to do this over the phone. I really need to speak with you in person."

"I can come over. Just give me a few―" I say, suddenly remembering that I’m meeting with Travis in less than an hour. "Um, Mom, can I come over after lunch? Is that soon enough?"

"Yes, Ames, that's perfect. Please know that I love you."

"Mom, you’re scaring me."

"Honey, I love you and everything will be all right. I promise." I nod, knowing she can't see me, but I can't find my voice.

I sit in the restaurant off of the lobby in the hotel, sipping on water and staring at the door. After what feels like forever, Travis appears. Standing at the entryway, he scans the lobby. I stand up from my chair and wave my hand to catch his attention. He looks in my direction, and makes his way to me. I sit back down without saying anything.

Pulling the chair out on the other side of the table, he sits. He nods his head slightly, seeming like he's giving himself an internal pep talk. I look at him with mixed emotio
n—
a part of me is not wanting to hear what he’s about to say, another part of me is angry that he wasn't completely honest with me yesterday, and a small―albeit significant―part of me is downright drawn to him. I try not to show any emotions. While I try and quiet the many voices in my head, I’m outright gushing over this gorgeous man with gray blue eyes, tousled, light brown hair, well-groomed scruff, and lips that I can't seem to move my eyes away from. The voice of reason abruptly screams out, awakening me from my trance, reminding me why he's even here right now.

"I've been tearing myself up all night because I wasn't completely truthful with you yesterday. Uh―" he says, finally breaking the silence. He looks down and swallows hard. "I didn't go home after dropping Amanda off at her friend's house the evening that my parents were killed. I actually drove to San Francisco to drop something off, and then I immediately drove back. I did get to work until just after seven o’clock."

Not understanding why he wouldn't have told me this yesterday, I narrow my eyes while stretching my head forward to get him to look up at me. "I'm confused as to why you didn't tell me this yesterday. Why did you say you went home?"

Biting down on his lower lip, he raises his head and looks straight into my eyes. "The thing I had to drop off was―" He takes a moment to swallow, still holding his gaze on mine. "I was at your office," he finishes. Immediately, it all becomes clear to me.

"The sunflower?" I manage to inquire. He doesn't respond. "They were from you? But why?" I ask, shaking my head, confused. "Why after all these years, Travis?"

"I think you need to talk to your mom.”

"My mom?" I shoot him a muddled look. "What does this have to do with my mom?"

"Amy, I promise that she’ll be able to explain it to you."

I rub my hands over my face, feeling completely staggered and hoping that I’ll wake up at any moment with this being a horrid dream. "Was your parents’ death an elaborate scheme to get me to talk to you?" I shoot back, really not sure where that question is coming from. I know that it makes no sense what-so-ever, but I’m so confused right now that I can't even think straight.

"No. Of course not. No. Why would you think that?" he asks, sounding disgusted by my question.

"I know, I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head. "You have to understand that none of this makes sense to me, so I'm left unsure of what to think."

He reaches across the table and puts his fingers under my chin, pushing it up so that our eyes meet. The touch of his hand on my face sends my heart nearly into cardiac arrest, and I find myself having to catch my breath. "Please believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with my parents' death. I wasn't honest with you yesterday because I was afraid to tell you I was here. I couldn't go another day without telling you the truth though. I don't want to lie to you. I want you to know the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"I don't think it's my place to tell you, Amy. I mean, I could tell you, but your mom is really the one that needs to explain everything to you. Please know that it all comes from a good place. You deserve to know the truth. You’ve been lied to for too long." I close my eyes, feeling the room spin around me. I've been lied to for too long? What is that supposed to mean? Was everyone in on Rich's betrayal? Is that what he's referring to?

Travis stands and extends his hand. I hesitate. "I think I'm going to stay here for a bit," I say, not able to move. He nods, and then offers an endearing smile. It comforts me ever-so-slightly. He walks away, leaving me confused and scared.