“We found the car at the scene. I recognized the body,” Edwards said, voice soft. “It’s her, Gwen. She’s gone.”
But Rhiannon hadn’t seen the body. Edwards only met her once. It wasn’t Delilah. It couldn’t be.
“Was it a car accident or something?” I asked. “Because there are lots of pretty, young blonde girls. Maybe this girl just looks a lot like D—Alison. It’s not—it can’t be her.”
“At this time, we’re suspecting suicide,” Mitchell said. “That’s why we figured we’d?—”
“What? No. No, if it was suicide, it definitely wasn’t her. Something’s mixed up here. You don’t have the right girl. That’s not her.”
“I’m really sorry, Gwen.” Edwards shook his head. “It’s her. She had the key card to the ranch in her pocket. I’m sure when Rhiannon scans it, her name is going to pop up.”
I stared at him in disbelief for a few heartbeats, but I said nothing.
He did know what Delilah looked like. They had met. They’d spoken, and interacted, and?—
“When we spoke with her father,” Mitchell began, “he informed us of her mental health issues. Considering her history of depression, and the PTSD Rhiannon mentioned, unfortunately, we understand the situation. We just thought this was news to deliver in p?—”
“Herfather?” I spoke that title with disgust. “Her father let her date a twenty-five-year-old man when she was fifteen. When she showed at his door with a black eye and asked for a place to stay, herfathertold her to go work it out with the guy who abused her. So why should we trust any word out of that man’s mouth?”
They both cringed at that.
Edwards said, “She did have a clinical diagnosis for depression, Gwen?—”
“She has the same situational depression that every woman has when their partner beats them, and their father doesn’t listen to them,” I snapped. “PTSD, fine. But she isn’t depressed.”
Mitchell stepped forward. “Rhiannon mentioned the miscarriage?—”
“She wassad.” My eyes darted to his, unblinking. “She was sad the same way that every woman who’s had a miscarriage—at least fifteen percent of us—gets sad. But she wasn’t depressed. I have only seen her happy since she’s been here. Happy to be away from that bastard. Just last night she was talking about going to college to be a preschool teacher. Depressed people don’t plan their lives. People who want to kill themselves don’t speak openly about their future.”
“Are you saying you don’t think it was suicide?” Edwards asked.
Mitchell gave him a look for that. As if to say,She’s just in denial. Don’t feed the fantasy.
“I’m telling you that if she’s dead, her ex had something to do with it,” I said. “She didn’t kill herself. Shewouldn’tkill herself.”
A deep breath escaped Mitchell’s nostrils.
“I know how my grief works, sir.” My voice shook as I continued. “When the doctors told me my mom was dead, I had a moment of disbelief. Then they said she’d been drinking and driving, and it all clicked. This isn’t that. I know Alison, and Iknowshe didn’t kill herself.”
“We can do a bit more digging,” Edwards said. “But I gotta be honest with you, Gwen. There are no signs of foul play on her body. Right now, it looks like she drove out to the woods, and she did it herself.”
“How?” I shook my head again. “How did she do it? Did she take a bottle of pills? Did she jump off a cliff?”
Mitchell said, “I’m not sure the family would be comfortable with us sharing?—”
“To hell with her family!” I shot him another look, unable to stop my voice from cracking. “Her dad is friends with her abuser. He didn’t just ignore that behavior—heexpectedit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s covering for the guy.”
“Let’s say you’re right.” Despite my yelling, Edwards remained calm, expression still compassionate and kind. “Let’s say her ex-boyfriend did this. How would he have found her?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed. My shoulders slumped.
“This place is secure,” Mitchell said, softening his voice. “Completely fenced and off the grid. Why would she have run into his arms? And if that was the plan, why didn’t she go back home? Why would she meet him half an hour down the road?”
After everything he did to me, I feel like I’m entitled to a little karma.
“Revenge,” I said. “I can’t count how many times she told me that she wanted him to pay. She wanted him to hurt the same way he hurt her. She wanted to tell him about the miscarriage, just because he wanted kids so bad. She wanted him to hurt. Maybe she called him. Did you find her phone? Did you look through it?”
“Not yet, no,” Edwards said. “We do have a couple guys sweeping the scene.”
