THE WOMAN BEFORE

Chapter 23

I S L A

     I AWAKE TO the ding-dong from the doorbell. Cursing under my breath, I reach for the alarm on the nightstand. Seven thirty in the morning and someone’s at my door. I’m not expecting any visit from anyone. This is a bit out of place for me.

     Reluctantly, I rise and slide my feet into the slippers. I yawn and stretch my arms. Running a hand through my bedhead, I walk across the spacious room to the bathroom. The ding-dong echoes again. This time, it rips across the silence of the house. Whoever is behind my front door is as impatience as I am. If I don’t get downstairs in the next three minutes, my ears are going to split. I quickly freshen up and change into a casual dress, then head downstairs.

     When I open the door, a tall brawny man wearing blue jeans topped with a sleeved shirt stands on the porch. His dark hair shines in the morning sun. He has an oblong face with a square jawline, a pointed nose, and very thin lips. I try to remember where I know him from, but then it occurs to me that he just looks like one of those hot FBI guys I’ve been seeing on TV. I hope he isn’t FBI. It’s too early for one to pop in. I almost chuckle at my wild imagination.

     “Good day, ma’am,” he says, bringing out something from his pocket.

     “I’m Detective Conor with the Amarillo PD.” He flashes a badge across my face, and my heart skips a beat. He can’t be serious, but from the look on his face, I know he is.

     I’ve been rehearsing for this day. If he is here, then it means Rosina has been kidnapped. This was quick. I thought it was going to take a while. But if Nick has already done the job, why hasn’t he called me? That way, I would have prepared well to face this detective.

     I’m sure he has already noticed I’m taken aback, which could mean anything to him. Perhaps I don’t do well in front of cops. Nobody does, except fellow cops, of course. Or maybe I’m guilty of something. His face is devoid of any emotion, and it’s difficult to read his mind.

     I grip the knob, observing my distance. “Good day,” I respond, trying my best to keep the anxiety away. I hope it doesn’t give me up. “How can I help you?”

     He pulls out a small notepad and glances through it, then looks up at me. “Are you Isla Dupree?”

     My voice shaky, I say, “Yes. That’s me.” Damn! I thought I had mastered this. Why am I so nervous?

     He stuffs the notepad away. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Rosina Scott. I know you’re familiar with the name.”

     “Yes.” Widening my eyes deliberately, I say, “Rosina is missing?”

     He bobs his head. “Can I come in?”

     “Of course.” I open the door wider and let him into the house. Sighing, I close it, then lead him to the living room.

     “Have a seat.” I direct him to a couch and sit across from him.

     After he’s settled comfortably, he says, “How long have you known Rosina Scott?”

     “Some weeks long. We haven’t talked before.”

     “Is it true you tore her wedding gown?” he asks.