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“Why is that important now?” Rose asked. “He admitted it to Elizabeth. That should be enough.”

“It’s her honor at stake. Val won’t admit to Chris that he raped his mother.”

“So, you’re focusing on Chris.”

“Sort of.”

“Vic, do you really think it would benefit Chris to know that he was a product of rape? That doesn’t seem well thought out to me.” She popped the tops of two additional beers and brought them back to the couch. “Your sons are in a relationship with this man. Do you want them to be reminded of what happened to their mother every time they are together? It might hurt the ties they are trying to form.”

Vic took the beer from her and leaned back, slipping his arm across her back. “I’m glad you came back. It would have been pathetic if our relationship ended because of that jackass Val Amotte.”

“I agree.”

“What is your aunt going to do now?”

“Work at forgiving him, I suppose. It’s not my concern. Once I understood she was jealous of my relationship with you because hers with Val was falling apart, it was easy for me to see that we belong together. She was trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know your aunt is important to you.”

“The relationship is toxic now. I’m scared she’s going to betray my confidences, too. She knows all the details of my relationship with John and Maggie.”

“She doesn’t strike me as being vindictive. You won’t terminate your friendship with her, will you? Nothing that drastic?”

“No, probably not. She needs to apologize to me, but knowing Elizabeth, that ain’t happening.”

They drank their beers and had a moment of silence. Vic tapped his bottle to Rose’s.

“Can we have old people sex tonight?”

“Ha! Yes. I’d like that. It’s one reason I came back. A woman my age doesn’t get the opportunity for a real flesh-and-blood man to have sex with regularly. It’s not something you give up lightly.”

“I agree,” he replied. “You’re the last woman I’ll disrobe in front of.”

“Me, too. And only with the lights off.”

“I’ll lock up. My sons keep coming back to check on me, and we don’t need that interruption.”

“No, how embarrassing. I know Maggie doesn’t even want to think about it.”

“Why is it embarrassing? They aren’t the only people who get to have sex.”

***

The next morning, Vic was going to see clients at the clinic while Justin had hours at the satellite clinic at Bayou Cottage. With him occupied, Rose planned on more closet investigation. The closet cleanout had changed to a hunt for clues to Emily’s suicide. It just didn’t make any sense to her that someone like Emily, who’d had a great husband like Vic and a great life with her two boys, would end it so abruptly. There had to be underlying factors. Eventually, she expected Vic and his sons to ask the same question, but the boys were in shock. She was in shock.

All of Emily’s undergarments were still in the closet dressers. She had so many camisoles and bras, some with matching underpants. Several drawers and canvas cubes filled with underpants. A perverse, almost voyeuristic curiosity in Rose fought with the need to throw the items away. Why had Vic kept her underpants? No donation center would want them.

But what if there was hidden DNA? Emily wouldn’t have saved the underwear she’d worn the night of the attack, would she? Rose got off her knees and reached up to the pole where all of Emily’s dresses hung in groups. There were dresses in garment bags she assumed were evening wear. Casual dresses hanging on hangers, sleeveless and short, perfect for bayou temperatures. And then, close to the back, dresses that she might have worn to luncheons or appointments, a little dressier, but still knee-length.

The last few hangers grabbed her interest. In that grouping, she found the white cotton pique dress with the roses embroidered around the neckline. Her heart thumping, she stretched up to take the hanger off the pole. She took the dress out of the closet, wanting to see it in sunlight. On the terrace off Vic’s bedroom, she held it up to the sunlight and saw the stain right away, a round yellowish mark about five inches across down by the hem. The dress was a mini dress, that much she remembered. She thought of DNA, but that wouldn’t prove she’d been raped.

Rose looked at her phone for the time. She wanted to talk to Vic’s son Dave, the sheriff. She hung the dress back in the closet and went out to sit on the bed. Dave’s number was in her contacts.

“Rose. What’s up?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m at your dad’s. I made amends,” she said.

“Oh, well, good. I was worried about him being alone last night.”

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