Page 132 of Passion at the Lake

This officer conducted a phone interview with the parents of the friend whom the daughter claimed to have been with at the time in question. They corroborated the daughter’s statement.

Given Mr. Lerner’s prior history with this department, it is this officer’s opinion that his original statement was false, but no action is contemplated at this time. The suspect, Boone Benson, was released and this case awaits further developments.

This department has been notified by the Scarsville PD that Mr. Lerner is considered a suspect in the armed robbery of a QuickMart at the time that Mr. Lerner claimed he and his daughter were in the vicinity of Clear Lake. The fact that this alibi is considered unsubstantiated based upon the interview of the daughter has been passed on to the Scarsville PD.

I slammed my fist on the steering wheel.

Her fucking asshole father had been behind this the entire time.

Angela had mentioned that her father was against her seeing me, but this way of breaking us up was psychotic. Two birds with one stone had been the objective—break us up and give himself an alibi for a robbery. Angela had mentioned he was currently in prison, which meant he hadn’t mended his ways when they left the area. What a piece of shit.

And that piece of shit had been the real one to rob me of my chance.

Fucking Devlin had fed me an altered report, and only the first page, to break us up. And I’d fallen for it.

Rose’s story resonated now. Because she’d listened to her sister and not checked herself, she had an unexpected batch of kittens.

Because I’d believed a piece of paper from Devlin and not checked myself, I had a much bigger problem. I rested my head on the steering wheel as guilt washed over me like a dark cloud. I’d fucked it all up—me, not her.

And now she was gone.

* * *

Pris’s yellcarried through the phone. “What the fuck did you do? How could you hurt Angela like that?” My sister was on the war path.

“I—” I didn’t get a chance to answer before the yelling continued.

“You’re such a fuckup. I’m ashamed to be related to you.”

This time I was smart enough to keep quiet and wait for the storm to pass so I could get a word in.

“She’s a sweet girl, and you treat her like shit on the day she was supposed to leave.”

The phrasesupposed to leavegave me hope. Maybe she was still in town. “It wasn’t—”

Pris cut me off again. “Couldn’t you dump her like a regular douchebag and just say it wasn’t going to work out instead making her feel like shit and accusing her of being the problem?”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Haven’t you done enough damage? You stay away from her. I’m warning you.”

“Pris,” I said slowly, trying to lower the temperature of our argument. “Where is she so I know where to stay away from?”

“Huh-uh. No way. Not if you ever want to have kids.” At least her volume had decreased.

“Pris. Where?”

No answer came. The line was dead.

* * *

Angela

Pris had left earlierthis morning, and she’d been right last night when she said I wouldn’t be in any shape to drive today.

At least my headache was manageable now.

Pris had claimed that was due her hangover smoothie with jalapeños. “The heat burns away the weak brain cells, the ones that are hurting,” she’d claimed. I gave credit to the extra Advil I’d swallowed.

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