Remembering That Night. Stephanie Doyle

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ should be sorry. I am not a morning person.”

      She smiled. “You were a little hard to wake up.”

      He smiled back. “Just be grateful you weren’t trying to wake Chuck. He’s worse than I am and he flails.”

      “I thought I would be better.” Her voice cracked and she hated how completely broken she sounded.

      He bumped her shoulder with his. “Can I make an observation?”

      “You’re asking me? If I recall last night, and I do at least remember that, you’ve already made several.”

      “Did it upset you?”

      She shook her head. “I was ready to cling to anything you told me. Hoping it might trigger something. You can’t know how this feels. It’s like an emptiness. I want to say I’ve never felt anything like it before but...”

      “But what?”

      “I feel lost,” she said, dropping her head. Shame, deep shame, replaced the sadness she’d previously been feeling. “I feel like it’s not the first time, either. Like I’ve been here before. In this mental place. Only I don’t know when or why. I only know I hate it. What was your observation?”

      “That. What you just did. Dropping your head, covering your face with your hair. You’re going through this major thing right now where you don’t know who or what you are. You should be angry this happened to you. You should be scared shitless. Instead I feel as if you’re...embarrassed.”

      Embarrassment. Shame’s weaker twin. He was right. She needed to get over these feelings and start thinking about a plan of action. “I’m sorry I woke you. I should let you get back to sleep.”

      “Yeah, that’s not going to happen now. How about I make us some coffee?”

      “Okay. I don’t think I could sleep now, either. How soon do you think we can call the doctor at Thomas Jefferson to see about scheduling an appointment? I’m hoping I can walk or take the Speedline to get there. Then I won’t have to be a burden on you.”

      “You call it the Speedline,” Greg noted as he stood. “Not the subway. You’re definitely a Jersey girl.”

      He snatched up his T-shirt which reminded her that he was half-naked. Half-naked with a lean sculpted chest, covered in the same dark hair that stuck out messily on his head. She looked away as he dressed and padded over to the kitchen on the bare feet that had startled her earlier. He scooped out some ground coffee and put it in a filter.

      She wasn’t sure why but she considered his nonanswer somewhat ominous. “You don’t think I’ll be able to get an appointment today. Is that it? Are you worried I’ll be stuck here longer? You know I was thinking, if you could lend me some money... Ugh, this is so awful. I know you don’t know me, but I swear I would pay you back. Before I washed it I looked at the label on my dress and I looked it up online on your computer upstairs. It’s fairly pricey. You said yourself you think I come from a wealthy family. I promise I would repay you. I think five hundred dollars would be enough to last me a week. I would have to be back to normal by then.”

      “It’s not that...”

      “Two hundred. I don’t really need that much to eat. Then I wouldn’t be so dependent on you.” She laughed humorlessly at herself. No, she’d just be in debt to him. She might as well have offered him sex for money. At least then there would be something in it for him.

      If he was even attracted to her. Why she was wondering about that was completely beyond her.

      “It’s not the money and I’m not worried about you being here for a few more days. I didn’t answer your question about the doctor because I’m not sure what your schedule is going to be like today.”

      She snorted. “My schedule? Unless you know something I don’t, I think my schedule is going to consist of sitting on this couch trying desperately to remember something.”

      He folded his arms across his chest and she could see his expression was serious. “I’m afraid I do know something you don’t. The sheriff called last night. I didn’t want to upset you, but you’re going to need to talk to some detectives in the ACPD this morning.”

      Her heart thumped hard in her chest. “Why?”

      “I don’t want to alarm you...but there’s been a murder.”

      * * *

      “I DO KNOW SOMETHING you don’t.”

      “I don’t want to alarm you.”

      It had been seven hours since he’d said that to her. He’d only mentioned the murder. As if it was just an inconsequential detail.

      “There’s been a murder. You need to go in for questioning. I shouldn’t have told you that much but...well, I guess I did.”

      It was all he’d given her. Not the rest of it. Not the most important part. Not even her name.

      He wouldn’t make the trip to Atlantic City. Which was fine with her. She didn’t need him anymore. Now that she knew who she was.

      “Ms. Dunning? Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

      She stared at the detective sitting across from her and nodded her head.

      Her name was Eliza Dunning, but she went by Liza. She was an accountant. She was on the payroll of The Grande Casino. She was also known to be a close personal—there had been a subtle emphasis on that word—friend of Hector D’Amato’s.

      Hector D’Amato was dead. Shot and killed with a bullet to his face.

      Liza looked down at her lap. She’d had to turn in her dress to the police as evidence. Her attorney agreed. Liza confessed to washing it, wanting them to understand that it hadn’t been an intentional attempt to hide evidence. The ACPD already had the original piece the Brigantine sheriff had taken and they didn’t seem concerned with the compromised evidence.

      Now she was in a pair of too-big sweatpants and an Atlantic City P.D. T-shirt but she felt more comfortable in this than she would have if she’d still been wearing Greg’s clothes. At least the sweats and T-shirt were honest.

      Liza turned to her attorney who was sitting calmly next to her at the table. Chuck had introduced her to Elaine Saunders and told her she’d be representing her during the questioning. They had picked her up at her office on the way to Atlantic City. Elaine worked on the other side of the Ben Franklin Bridge in New Jersey.

      Just her and Chuck and Elaine. Because Greg apparently didn’t go to Atlantic City. Ever.

      She’d listened with half an ear during the drive down while Elaine—a short woman dressed in a severe, professional suit, with an odd pairing of shoes—traded barbs with Chuck the whole way.

      Elaine criticized Chuck’s clothing, his driving, his goatee. Liza might have felt sorry for him if Chuck hadn’t fired back regarding Elaine’s makeup, hair and clunky silver loafers.

      Then Elaine had dismissed him altogether and called Greg. She’d listened intently СКАЧАТЬ