The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

After leaving Emily playing adorably with her cat, I open my office safe and take out one of the handful of burner phones I keep in there. Dovie Donegan isn’t the only witness who’s ever blocked my number. I’ll use another burner to try Dovie again later, since it feels like she’s hiding something.

I set the burner phone on my desk, ready my notebook and pen, and tap in the numbers from Max’s email.

“Hello?” She answers on the first ring. She sounds relaxed, but her voice is a little rough, as though I’ve woken her, or maybe she has a cold.

“Laurel Radford?”

“Yes.”

“This is James Logan. I’m an investigator working for Rick Errol.”

“Oh.” She’s silent for a moment and I wait to see if she’s going to hang up. “Dovie told me you might try to reach me.”

I bet she did. “Are you willing to talk to me?”

“Yes. I don’t want anything more to do with Rick, though. That part of my life is done.”

Interesting. “What part of your life is that?”

“The partying. The stuff with Dovie and Damon.”

“Okay—”

She interrupts me. “Look, Dovie said she told you I’m engaged. I’m done with craziness. I’ve gotten my life together.”

Does she consider her past with Dovie and Damon craziness? A ménage is pretty tame in my book, but it might not be in hers. Either way, she clearly wants to distance herself from it, and that gives me leverage.

“Congratulations on your engagement. Rick doesn’t want to undermine your relationship in any way. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s about Rick slapping me, tell him to forget it. I’d forgotten it, actually, until Dovie called.”

“So, no hard feelings?” I ask.

“Definitely not. We were all drunk. I was out of my head. If I’d been in his shoes, I’d have slapped me, too.”

This doesn’t sound like a woman who was plastering an allegation of rape all over the internet a few days ago. Or one with such deep rage and hatred she’d produce the Little Box of Horrors.

But she could just be a good liar.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the party?”

“No, but I’ll tell you up-front, I don’t remember it all that well. If you must know, it was that weekend that convinced me I had to end the crazy and straighten out, because there are big parts of it that I don’t remember.”

“Like what?”

She’s silent for a moment. “I don’t remember how I got home.”

“Did you drive up or take the train?”

“Actually, I flew. My company flew me to New York for a conference on Wednesday and I stayed through the weekend to visit Dovie. But I didn’t fly home. I know that because I didn’t use my plane ticket. I have no idea if I got a train or hitch-hiked or freaking walked. I really don’t remember.”

“Was that because of the drinking?”

She blows out a long breath. “You’re a PI, right? Not a cop? Is this confidential? I mean, is anyone other than Rick going to find out about this?”

“No one but Rick will ever see my report,” I say. That’s all I can promise. I could be compelled to testify about my investigation, but everything she tells me would be hearsay.

“Okay. Look, I was effed up. I was taking pills along with the booze. It screwed with my head.”

“What kind of pills?”

“Prescription.”

“Codeine?”

“Tramadol. I was in a skiing accident in my senior year of college and broke my leg really badly. I was prescribed Tramadol and even after my leg healed, I lied about the pain to keep getting the pills. I know I should never have combined them with alcohol. That’s Russian Roulette. I could have died. That weekend made me realize what terrible chances I was taking. It’s taken me a long time and a lot of help, but I’m completely off the booze and pills.”

“Good,” I say sincerely. “I’m glad you got clean. Do you have any memory of the party?”

“Some. It’s hazy. I remember we took the ferry. I remember Pedro’s house; he and Terri have a really nice place. I remember meeting Rick and talking with him before we went off into a bedroom. I remember the sex. I remember taking another pill and lying on a bed while Dovie and some guy were going at it. That’s pretty much it. I don’t remember leaving the party, or how I got home. Dovie says we took the ferry back and I told her I had a ride, but I have no idea who it might have been with or where I met them. She left me at the ferry terminal.”

Not a very good friend. “Did you get home safely?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle, because I’m already pretty sure of the answer.

“No,” Laurel says, her voice going very small. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess.” And Dom intuition, which is telling me that much, much more happened to her than just blacking out on the ride home. That wouldn’t have been enough to scare her straight. “Were you raped? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but this isn’t going any further.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then says, “Yes.”

I’m silent myself while I get a handle on my anger. No woman should have to face the horror of rape, and it enrages me that this woman did, even though she’s a stranger to me. She deserved better, from Rick, from her friends, from whomever violated her, and even from herself. I wish I could go back and protect her from all of it.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now.” Her voice comes through a little stronger. “Thanks. I mean, I don’t know you, but—”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you got help and that you’re okay now. I need to ask, was the sex with Rick and Damon consensual?”

“Yes. I mean, I was drunk and high, and I know you can’t really consent when you’re drunk and drugged.”

I control a shudder. If she ever said