Page 27 of Little Stolen Memories

“Danny, are you all right?” Dorothy asked.

“I … yeah, I’m fine. What does any of this have to do with me?”

Since it appeared he had no interest in addressing me, I cut in. “I have been asked to assist with the case. I understand you used to live in a cabin close to where the teenagers were murdered.”

“What of it?”

“Do you remember the conversations you had with the detectives back then?”

“Nope. And even if I did, why would I want to talk about it again? It didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“You might not feel like you have any information to share,” I said, “but sometimes the smallest thing leads us in a direction that changes everything. I’m not asking for much of your time. Just a few minutes.”

“Yeah, well … I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not,” Dorothy said. “You’re retired, and by the looks of it, all you have going today are a bunch of reruns and a six-pack of beer.”

“You don’t get it. The way they treated me, like I had information I wasn’t sharing. Nothing I said satisfied them back then, and it won’t satisfy them now. So, like I said … I’m busy.”

Danny attempted to close the door, and I pressed a hand against it.

“A metal bat was found not far from the cabin you were renting at the time,” I said. “Right at the edge of the property. Do you have any idea how it got there? Did you see anyone suspicious in the area at the time or hear anything unusual on the day of the murders?”

Danny reached for a set of keys, which were hanging on a hook on the wall.

At first, I thought he was holding them out to me, until I noticed something dangling from the keyring. As I stood there, contemplating what he was about to do next, my eyes began to burn, the bubbling sensation blinding me.

I stumbled back, reaching for my gun.

But it was too late.

The damage had already been done.

CHAPTER 13

Dorothy cursed at her brother, and then she brought me inside the fifth-wheel. She helped me to the sofa, and I sat down. I heard her shuffle away from me, and when she returned, she said she had a wet washcloth. She placed it over my eyes, telling me to hold it there while I waited for my vision to return.

A second before Danny pepper-sprayed me in the face, I’d jerked my head back. It didn’t save me, but it kept me from getting a full dose of the spray. Still, my eyesight was minimal, at best. It would be some time before I could see well enough to get myself out of there.

While I sat there, helpless, contemplating my situation, Danny and Dorothy were in the kitchen, arguing over what had just happened.

“What in the hell is wrong with you, Danny?” Dorothy asked.

“Me? You’re the one who brought a cop to my doorstep.”

“She’s not a cop. She’s a private eye. Who she is or what she is doesn’t matter. What matters is you maced her in the face, you moron. Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”

“You don’t understand,” Danny said. “I can’t go through this again. I won’t.”

“You can’t go through what again?”

“When the murders happened … well, let’s just say there are things I never told you.”

“I’m listening.”

“The cops didn’t question me once. They questioned me several times.”

“Why?”

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