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Authors: LYNN BOHART
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make me laugh
until my sides hurt. When we hung out together, it was like going to therapy. I
forgot about myself and was able to just…be. It was liberating; I began to feel
like that box I’d shut myself in had begun to open. And then suddenly…she was
gone.”
Lee shifted her
weight and crossed her arms as she leveled a serious look at Robin.
“Diane didn’t
kill herself, Robin. I’m as certain of that as I am of my own name. And I owe
it to her to find the truth. Listen,” Lee continued, “I’m not mad at Alan. I
might not even be mad at Sergeant Davis. It just feels like Diane is talking to
me, pleading with me to clear her name,” she stopped and sighed. “My God,
Robin! Would a woman who keeps her shoes in individual plastic containers be
likely to kill herself?”
At that, Robin finally
broke a smile. “Okay,” she said, squeezing Lee’s hand. “But be careful. You’re
not a detective. And you need to get some sleep first. You look a little like
the walking dead yourself.”
Lee laughed. “Thanks.
Only a friend could get away with that.” She gave Robin a quick hug. “I’ll see
you tomorrow.”
They said
goodbye, and Lee got into the car and pulled onto Marcola Road, overwhelmed by
having confessed so many of her inner truths. The sky had cleared, and she
cracked the window, hoping the fresh air would relieve the leaden feeling in
her stomach.
Now that she’d
given voice to her suspicions about Diane’s death and why she felt so compelled
to look into it, she realized the seriousness of what she was doing and the
potential danger. She had no intention of trying to solve a murder, but felt
driven to find one piece of information that would take this out of the realm
of speculation and place it squarely into the center of an investigation. Her
resources were few, and she didn’t know the first thing about sleuthing. So,
what could she do?
As she watched
the night shadows pass her window, she decided that somehow, Diane would have
to point the way.
CHAPTER SIX
Lee left the
open country and pulled onto Highway 126, feeling the need to get home to
consider her options. The Kingsford briquette plant whizzed past on the north
side of the highway, its mountain of cedar chips blotting out a portion of the
night sky. The strip malls flashed past in a blaze of neon light, and a moment
later she was crossing over the interstate into Eugene. As she neared the
turnoff for home, Diane’s condo came to mind and she made an abrupt decision. With
a quick turn of the wheel, she was heading north.
Diane had lived
in a large complex built on the Willamette River. Lee had a key, and it was the
only place she knew to look for answers. It was nine-thirty when she pulled into
Willamette Oaks and parked in an empty space next to Diane’s lonely Ford Escort.
Diane’s was the last of four townhouses facing a large, sloping lawn that
fronted the river.
The parking lot
was at the back of the townhouse. Although the parking lot was lit, the condo’s
windows were dark and this end of the complex was encased in deep shadows. A
nervous chill prompted her to climb out of the car and quickly skirt the
building before she could change her mind.
She came around
to the condo entrance from the south side, noticing for the first time how
isolated the front door was from the adjoining units. Even the small front
porch was encircled by a waist-high wall topped with wooden planters. No one would
have a clear view of the front door. Diane liked her privacy, and Lee
remembered her mentioning how she had chosen the unit partly for this very
reason. Unfortunately, that decision may have contributed to her death. The
thought made Lee look anxiously behind her as she approached the door.
Lee opened the door
and gingerly stepped inside, locking it behind her. She was immediately struck
with how crisp the air felt. The condo was silent except for the ticking of the
grandfather clock in the corner. Lee flicked on the overhead
until my sides hurt. When we hung out together, it was like going to therapy. I
forgot about myself and was able to just…be. It was liberating; I began to feel
like that box I’d shut myself in had begun to open. And then suddenly…she was
gone.”
Lee shifted her
weight and crossed her arms as she leveled a serious look at Robin.
“Diane didn’t
kill herself, Robin. I’m as certain of that as I am of my own name. And I owe
it to her to find the truth. Listen,” Lee continued, “I’m not mad at Alan. I
might not even be mad at Sergeant Davis. It just feels like Diane is talking to
me, pleading with me to clear her name,” she stopped and sighed. “My God,
Robin! Would a woman who keeps her shoes in individual plastic containers be
likely to kill herself?”
At that, Robin finally
broke a smile. “Okay,” she said, squeezing Lee’s hand. “But be careful. You’re
not a detective. And you need to get some sleep first. You look a little like
the walking dead yourself.”
Lee laughed. “Thanks.
Only a friend could get away with that.” She gave Robin a quick hug. “I’ll see
you tomorrow.”
They said
goodbye, and Lee got into the car and pulled onto Marcola Road, overwhelmed by
having confessed so many of her inner truths. The sky had cleared, and she
cracked the window, hoping the fresh air would relieve the leaden feeling in
her stomach.
Now that she’d
given voice to her suspicions about Diane’s death and why she felt so compelled
to look into it, she realized the seriousness of what she was doing and the
potential danger. She had no intention of trying to solve a murder, but felt
driven to find one piece of information that would take this out of the realm
of speculation and place it squarely into the center of an investigation. Her
resources were few, and she didn’t know the first thing about sleuthing. So,
what could she do?
As she watched
the night shadows pass her window, she decided that somehow, Diane would have
to point the way.
CHAPTER SIX
Lee left the
open country and pulled onto Highway 126, feeling the need to get home to
consider her options. The Kingsford briquette plant whizzed past on the north
side of the highway, its mountain of cedar chips blotting out a portion of the
night sky. The strip malls flashed past in a blaze of neon light, and a moment
later she was crossing over the interstate into Eugene. As she neared the
turnoff for home, Diane’s condo came to mind and she made an abrupt decision. With
a quick turn of the wheel, she was heading north.
Diane had lived
in a large complex built on the Willamette River. Lee had a key, and it was the
only place she knew to look for answers. It was nine-thirty when she pulled into
Willamette Oaks and parked in an empty space next to Diane’s lonely Ford Escort.
Diane’s was the last of four townhouses facing a large, sloping lawn that
fronted the river.
The parking lot
was at the back of the townhouse. Although the parking lot was lit, the condo’s
windows were dark and this end of the complex was encased in deep shadows. A
nervous chill prompted her to climb out of the car and quickly skirt the
building before she could change her mind.
She came around
to the condo entrance from the south side, noticing for the first time how
isolated the front door was from the adjoining units. Even the small front
porch was encircled by a waist-high wall topped with wooden planters. No one would
have a clear view of the front door. Diane liked her privacy, and Lee
remembered her mentioning how she had chosen the unit partly for this very
reason. Unfortunately, that decision may have contributed to her death. The
thought made Lee look anxiously behind her as she approached the door.
Lee opened the door
and gingerly stepped inside, locking it behind her. She was immediately struck
with how crisp the air felt. The condo was silent except for the ticking of the
grandfather clock in the corner. Lee flicked on the overhead
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