Page 26 of Healed Heart
“She only said his name was Ronny Burgundy.”
I stifle a laugh.“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.He was born before that Will Ferrell movie came out, so, you know.But it’s not a name you can forget.”
I scratch my chin.“Did she ever hear from him after high school?”
He shakes his head.“No.I’m sure she would have told me if she had.”
“So he just let her go?”
“Yeah.I mean, the local cops threatened to arrest him if he kept bothering her.That’s enough to scare most people off.”
I think for a minute.“The R could stand for Ronny.I don’t know about the Lyon.”
“Lyon.Like lion.King of the forest.Fierce protector.”Jason shrugs.“It’s all a longshot, Angie.”
“Yeah.”I nibble on my bottom lip.“But a longshot is better than nothing.And there’s one thing you’re overlooking.”
He cocks his head.“What’s that?”
“That R.Lyon message was posted two years after Lindsay’s death.”I bite my lip, grab his arm.“Twoyears, Jason.Who would remember her so intensely to post something like that unless they had unfinished business with her?”
He closes his eyes a moment.“I don’t know,” he says finally.
“Are yousurethe note isn’t in Lindsay’s handwriting?”
He looks me straight in the eye.“Yeah.Of that I’m completely sure.I even got some handwriting samples from her parents tonight to prove it.”
“Show me,” I say.
“They’re at home.I dropped them off before I came over here.”
“Then let’s go to your place.It might be good to have a third party look at both samples.It’s about time I saw it, don’t you think?”
He nods.We get dressed, put on our coats, and walk three doors down to his townhome.
His hand trembles slightly as he fumbles with the key.The door swings open to reveal a warm, inviting living room.
Before I have a chance to take everything else in, I notice the photo on a side table next to the couch.
A beautiful blond woman and an adorable little girl.
My heart breaks a little.
He leads me to a home office filled with shelves of books and piles of papers.He opens a drawer and pulls out what looks like a journal.
“I suppose I should show you the suicide note,” he says.
“I suppose so, if I’m to compare the writing.”I shrug.“I’m not exactly an expert.”
“Neither am I,” he says.“But I was with Lindsay for ten years.I know her handwriting.”
I gulp as he pulls out an envelope.
“This is it,” he says.“The cops saw it after Lindsay died.I gave it to them, but I never read it.They gave it back to me in the envelope.”
“They didn’t keep it as evidence?”I ask.
