Page 50 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
“Can you state your name for the record?” the woman asks.
“Jane Elizabeth Mendoza.”
The female detective writes it down on an old-fashioned flip notepad. “You understand that you are not under arrest. Your answers here are given of your own free will, and they are true to the best of your ability.”
Hearing the words under arrest from a detective makes my pulse pound. I glance at the lawyer. He gives an encouraging nod, adding, “You’re not under oath,” he says gently, with a sideways look at the detectives. “And there’s no reason to suspect her of anything.”
Joe Causey leans forward. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re not under arrest. Not under oath. Only because we don’t have enough evidence to hold you.”
“If you badger my client, I will terminate this interview,” the lawyer says, his voice stern.
Beau tenses, every muscle coiled for defense. Or attack.
It should make me feel safer, but instead it makes me feel more afraid—as if I’m stuck in a battle between wolves and bears, as if I’m a mouse destined to be ripped apart by both sides.
Detective Moss clears her throat. “We understand you witnessed someone walking on the beach. Can you tell me about that?”
The way she says it is nice… but a little condescending. As if she thinks I’m making a big deal about a tourist on the beach. “Maybe it’s nothing,” I say, my voice halting, hesitating. “I’m a little nervous after the fire. A little jumpy.”
“You’re fine,” Beau says, his voice hard. “The detectives requested this meeting.”
Right. They requested this meeting. I sit a little taller in the chair and lift my chin. It’s not easy for me to face them, but I’m determined to do it with my head held high. “I was giving Paige a bath. She likes to take her time, so it’s a full hour of splash time. I usually try to give her her privacy while also making sure she’s safe, so I check into the bathroom and also spend some time in the bedroom with the door open. I fold laundry and get her clothes ready while I wait.”
I take a breath and glance at the lawyer for reassurance. He nods at me to continue.
“That night I looked out the window. There was a woman walking on the sand. I had the impression of blonde hair the way the moonlight reflected it. But the strange part was that she was wearing this long, white nightgown. It seemed out of place on the beach.”
“Did she do anything suspicious?” This from Detective Causey.
My skin prickles the way it did when I saw her.
The truth is she wasn’t necessarily being suspicious, but somehow my instincts warned me that this wasn’t right. It warned me that this wasn’t… safe.
“No, I just thought it was odd. I’m used to couples walking together or someone walking a dog. Then I checked on Paige, and when I looked back, she was gone.”
“A white nightgown,” Detective Moss says, her pen poised to write more.
“It was far away, but it seemed like something long. It went past her feet.” I don’t share that it looked like she was floating along the beach. I don’t think they’d receive that information well. I’d probably get locked up in an insane asylum. “And it was long sleeved.”
“Even though it’s summer,” Detective Moss murmurs.
The truth is the nights here are still just as cold as the winter nights in Houston. But I’ve learned that people here consider anything short of a deep freeze to be temperate weather. At least I arrived in the early spring, when the snow had passed. The only thing I faced was freezing rain.
“Did you mention her to Rochester?” This from Causey.
“No,” I say, my cheeks burning as I remember what happened when he showed up.
Tell me the truth. Trust me with it. He’d given me more than words in those scalding moments. He’d touched me. Tasted me. Made me gasp and pant with desire before pulling back. His words had doused the embers in a single instant.
Someone was in the house that night. Someone lit a goddamn match.
“I didn’t think it was important,” I say. “Not until Paige told me about seeing a woman wearing a nightgown on the cliffside, near the Coach House. It was strange enough to see it in one place… but in two different places? It seemed suspicious.”
Detective Causey gives me a cold smile. “That, Ms. Rochester, is what we in the law enforcement profession call circumstantial. It means nothing.”
My cheeks heat. “My last name is Mendoza.”
“Oh,” Causey says with fake apology. “Of course you’re still Ms. Mendoza. He hasn’t coughed up an engagement ring yet, has he?”
Rochester glares at him, but I don’t want him to say anything. I don’t want him to defend me. Not when I can defend myself.
