Page 88 of The Last Close Call

“Want the last spring roll?” Joy stood up and held out the carton.

“I’m stuffed.”

Joy padded barefoot into the kitchen with her dogs trailing after her, probably hoping to get another handout.

Rowan and Joy had developed a surprisingly comfortable rapport over the last few hours. In her home with her husband out of town on a business trip, Joy seemed relaxed compared to the way she’d been that first day. If Rowan had met Joy in any other context, she highly doubted they would have hit it off. It wasn’t like Rowan had much in common with a wealthy tech exec who lived in Pemberton Heights. And yet here she was.

“More LaCroix?” Joy called from the kitchen.

“Sure.”

She came back with an open soda can and set it beside Rowan.

“Terrible article,” Joy said, looking over Rowan’s shoulder at the printout of the news story from the Austin American-Statesman. Rowan had found the printout in Joy’s file. When she’d arrived this evening, she’d been surprised to discover Joy had been compiling research on Will Anderson and his adoptive family.

“Every time I look at that burned-out house, it makes me want to puke.” Joy sank into the chair at the end of the table, and Rowan noticed she’d refilled her drink again—vodka cranberry, getting lighter and lighter on the cranberry. “Of all the crazy shit I’ve learned over the last few days, I think that’s what’s most disturbing.”

“You know, they investigated the fire and ruled it an accident.”

Joy lifted an eyebrow. “You believe that?”

Rowan slid the article back into the file folder, along with all the other chilling news stories. “Not really.”

Joy looked at her for a long moment. This evening she wore a designer off-the-shoulder workout top and leggings. Even lounging around her house on a Sunday evening, she managed to look fashionable.

“How long have you lived in Austin?” Joy watched her over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“I was born here.”

“A native. Well that’s rare. Most of our population flocked here for the tech boom.”

“I went to UT,” Rowan added.

“Then you know all about WCR.”

She nodded.

Joy pivoted her laptop toward Rowan and tapped the mouse. A news article appeared on the screen. WEST CAMPUS RAPIST ATTACKS AGAIN, read the headline. She must have had the story bookmarked.

“You know, back when all this was happening, I had insomnia,” Joy said, staring at the screen.

“A lot of people did.” Rowan didn’t mention that those “people” included herself.

“I was living in a bungalow in Rosedale at the time. This is before I met Michael. I upgraded my security system, had new locks put in.” Her ice cubes rattled as she sipped her drink. “I couldn’t sleep. I was anxious at night, jumping at shadows all the time.” She plunked her glass down. “Kind of like now, ironically. Just the other day, someone left the gate open, and my dog got out. I practically had a panic attack.”

Rowan glanced down at the dogs. “Was he okay?”

“He was fine. Someone just left the gate open—probably our pool guy.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But the point is, I’m a nervous wreck. This whole situation is bringing it all back, only worse now because I’m directly connected to it.”

Rowan wasn’t used to playing the therapist role, but she felt compelled to at least try. “You’re having trouble sleeping again?”

“Nothing a little Ambien can’t fix, but yeah.” She opened the file folder Rowan had just closed and stared down at the photograph of the blackened shell that had once been the Andersons’ home.

“I never met them in person but... I always imagined them to be the perfect young couple. So eager for a family that they adopted my son.” The wistfulness in her voice made Rowan uneasy. Did she actually feel guilty over what happened?

“How long have you been doing this?” Joy asked. The wistfulness was gone now, replaced with her usual matter-of-fact tone.

“DNA work? Ever since I graduated,” Rowan said. “I got my start working in a lab. The genealogy part is more recent.”

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