“Bea? Oh, I’m so glad I caught you,” she sobbed, making it difficult for me to understand her. “Please, can you come over again? I-I really need to talk to you.”
“I was just going to dinner,” I protested feebly, knowing that I’d cave in the end. Something about an older person weeping on my phone did that to me. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight, however.
“Please, I’ll order something in for you. Do you like Thai? I know of a marvelous place.” She was begging me, and I couldn’t be that hardhearted. I agreed to meet her in half an hour and let her know that Rafe would be coming with me. She acquiesced.
“I take it there’s a change of plans,” Rafe said, watching my face. I didn’t say anything but simply nodded. He sighed as he led me to his car. “Where to?” He asked as we buckled up. I told him and predictably, he wasn’t happy. It seemed as if our lives were being taken over by this case. We drove to Mrs. Rodriguez’s in silence, neither of us in the mood to talk.
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Rodriguez said, opening the door at the first ring of the bell. She must have been on the other side of the door just waiting for us to show up. Her eyes were reddened and puffy, and it was hard to look at her without feeling like crying myself. “Come in, come in.” She ushered us into the living room again.
“I went over to Linda’s apartment today. I-I had to clean out her things. I found this.” She held out a slim book which looked like a journal—which it was. Since she was holding it out to me, I took it. I flipped through it, feeling a pang at the sight of Lydia’s handwriting. “Read the last entry,” Mrs. Rodriguez said, her voice tight. I flipped to the last page, Rafe reading over my shoulder. It was written a few days before Lydia died.