The Truth About Rachel by Deanna Sletten (recommended reading .TXT) 📕

The press will insist on it, and maybe, if we’re lucky, your mother will want the body exhumed to find out if you’re telling the truth.” He grinned. “I think we’re going to finally get some answers.”

“I hope so,” she said, relaxing for the first time that day. She laid her head back against the headrest and sighed. “Maybe this will be over soon.”

Avery glanced over at her. “Good for you, bad for me.”

“I thought you wanted this figured out too. It might lead you to the person who murdered your mother.”

“I do want to find out who murdered her, but once your mystery is solved, you’ll go home to Tallahassee, and I’ll still be here.”

She reached for his hand and held it tight. “You could always visit.”

“Yes, I could.”

They rode in silence, each in their own thoughts. Rachel stole a glance at Avery as he drove. He was so handsome, and she loved his easy-going nature and sly sense of humor. She’d miss him when she left. But her home and life were in Tallahassee, and she couldn’t imagine leaving there for anywhere else.

They arrived at the outskirts of Modesto, and Avery began listening to his GPS for directions. They were led to a very stylish, upper-class neighborhood where the houses were large, the lawns were green, and six-foot stone walls separated each yard for privacy. Finally, Avery pulled up in front of one house and parked. “This is it.”

Rachel’s heart began to pound. It was nerve-wracking to show up at an important person’s house and ask for help. She was so glad Avery was with her.

Avery opened her door and offered his hand, and Rachel held it as they walked up the sidewalk to the front door. He rang the bell, and they waited.

“Just a minute,” a voice called from inside the door.

An elderly gentleman opened the door and stared at them through the screen door. He was tall and slender, with a thick head of silver hair. He looked exactly as Rachel had pictured a District Attorney would look. Surprisingly, he looked nothing like his son, Jeremy.

“Well, that was fast,” the older man said. “Did Jeremy send you my way?”

“You know who we are?” Rachel asked, stunned.

“Of course. Everyone with a television knows who you are.” He opened the screen door and moved aside. “Well, come in, come in. You don’t want to stand out there with your mouths hanging open catching flies, do you?”

Rachel and Avery clamped their mouths shut in unison, and she walked inside ahead of him. Glancing around, she noted the house was very nice inside—elegant, actually. A large dining table with eight chairs sat in the formal dining room to one side, and the kitchen was a chef’s dream. Ahead of her was the main living room with the most expensive-looking leather sofas she’d ever seen.

“Come this way,” Robert Mitchell said, waving them toward the kitchen. “I was just putting a small roast in for dinner. We can talk while I cook.”

Rachel and Avery sat on the stools at the wide granite counter as Robert offered them a drink. “I have Coke or Diet Coke,” he said. “Unless you want something stronger.”

“Coke is fine,” Rachel said, and Avery agreed.

This elegant gentleman didn’t just hand them each a can. Instead, he poured ice into two beautiful crystal glasses and poured the soda into the glasses. “Here you go. I’m not much of a soda person myself, but my daughter and grandchildren like it.”

Rachel’s brows rose. “Jeremy has a sister?”

“Yes,” Robert said. “Justine. She’s two years older than he is and has two girls, one in college and one in high school. They live nearby.”

“I never knew that,” she said.

Robert finished sprinkling spices on the roast and covered it with tinfoil. “The trick to preparing a nice, juicy roast is to cook it slowly,” he said as he placed it into the stainless-steel stove. He turned to them after he’d closed the door. “But I suppose you aren’t here to learn how to cook, are you? You want to know about the Rachel Parnell murder case.”

“Yes,” Avery said. “More to the point, we’re wondering if you kept any files on it that might help us.”

Robert assessed Avery a moment, then turned back to Rachel. “I don’t have the files. I don’t believe in storing important documents like that in my home. And since I’ve retired, I left my case files where they belong—at the DA’s office.”

“Oh.” Rachel deflated, disappointed that he wouldn’t be of any help.

“But you see, it’s all right up here,” Robert said, pointing to his head and grinning. “I never forget a detail. I have a mind like a computer.”

She perked up. “Then maybe you’ll answer a few questions?”

“You can ask. I’ll decide if they’re relevant enough to answer.”

Rachel thought that was a strange response but continued. “Do you know how my father identified the body?”

“No. That never came up. The minute your father identified the body as his daughter, it was taken as fact. I mean, who would purposely misidentify their own daughter’s body?”

Avery spoke up. “No tests were done on blood, dental records, or anything?”

“As I said, we believed the father,” Robert said matter-of-factly.

“What about the skin and blood found under the girl’s fingernails?” Rachel asked. “Was that tested to see if it matched with Keith’s blood or skin?”

“Irrelevant again,” Robert said, waving his hand through the air. “Keith had scratches on his face, and the girl had skin under her nails. What more would we need? Although, I know that samples were taken from under her nails in case Keith’s lawyer insisted on testing. But he never did. His lawyer was a clod.”

Rachel’s mind was spinning. “Do you think those samples would still be in with the evidence?”

Robert nodded. “They should be. Although I wouldn’t put much confidence in them after all these years. I’m sure the samples have degraded tremendously.”

Rachel sighed. Just as she was about to ask another question, Robert turned his attention back to the