Mending Fences

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Friends,

I’m always being asked what sparks the ideas for my books, especially after more than one hundred of them. A glimpse into how Mending Fences came about will give you some indication of the process that my sometimes quirky mind goes through.

For many years now I’ve worked with the same accountant and during those years have also got to know his wife. Carl and Dianne Margenau are terrific folks, who’ve recently made a move from Miami to North Carolina, so much of our contact is now by phone. During one of those calls, Dianne mentioned how much they missed their long-time neighbours, how close the families had been over the years and what wonderful people they were.

So I began to think…What would happen between two families who’d shared so many important events, so many hopes and dreams and such a deep friendship, if something tragic occurred with the potential to split them apart? From that conversation, Mending Fences was born. Please keep in mind that beyond making me wonder ‘what if…’ there are no similarities between the Margenaus and their long-time neighbours and the characters in my book. Still, Dianne gets the credit for kicking my imagination into overdrive and Carl, as always, gets credit for keeping me out of financial hot water. I’m grateful to them both. I wish all of you neighbours you can count on and friends who enrich your lives.

As always,

Sherryl

Present

Grady Rodriguez had been a police officer for nearly twenty years, but he’d never gotten used to interviewing young women who’d been the victims of date rape. It wasn’t quite the same as talking to those who’d been assaulted by strangers. For those women, there was little ambiguity about the attack. It was usually random, unexpected, violent and degrading. It could happen to any woman at any age who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Date rape tended to happen to young, often inexperienced women who knew their attacker. They were left with a million and one questions about what they might have done differently, how their judgment about the guy could have been so wrong, why saying no hadn’t been enough. He’d responded to too damn many of those calls, listened to too many brokenhearted sobs, seen too many injuries.

In either case, the women questioned everything about themselves. They dealt with unwarranted shame, sometimes made a thousand times worse by the well-meaning reactions of the people who loved them. In all instances, it changed who they were, made them more cautious, less trusting. Sometimes it destroyed relationships or even marriages.

From everything he could see as he and his partner, Naomi Lansing, walked into the off-campus Coral Gables apartment where tonight’s attack had happened, Lauren Brown was typical. A pretty college student with shiny, long blond hair, she barely looked old enough to date. A kid that young shouldn’t have had her innocence stripped away in a manner that left her eyes glazed with pain and disillusionment. Seeing her huddled in a corner of the bed in her room in tears, Grady wanted to punch his fist through a wall, but Naomi was cool and calm, the kind of soothing presence the situation required.

Naomi’s compassion allowed him to remain in the background, to study the scene in a coldly analytical way. They were the perfect team for this kind of investigation, something he’d never have predicted back when they’d first been assigned to work together and every encounter had been a test of wills.

“She was like that when I came in,” Lauren’s roommate, Jenny Ryan, told them in an undertone. “Just rocking back and forth and crying. She said her date had hurt her, but she wouldn’t say anything else. She asked me not to, but I called nine-one-one anyway. The creep shouldn’t get away with this. I don’t care who he is.”

Something in her words gave Grady a chill, the hint that Lauren’s attacker was well known, perhaps well-respected in the University of Miami campus community.

“You did the right thing,” Naomi assured her. “We’ll take it from here. Could you wait in the other room?”

For a moment, Jenny hesitated. “I’m not sure I should leave her.”

Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd Lauren. “You’ll be okay, right?You’re up to talking to me?”

Lauren’s head bobbed once, but she didn’t look up.

As Naomi began murmuring the most intrusive questions in her quiet, matter-of-fact voice, Grady studied the bedroom. Painted and carpeted in the bland beige of inexpensive rentals, it was decorated in a style that was too shabby to be chic. There were mismatched pieces of furniture, a few snapshots—family pictures, it looked like—stuck into the dresser mirror, a laptop computer next to a stack of textbooks and an antique rocker he would bet had been a prized possession from home.

Other than the tangled spread and sheets on the bed and a few pieces of clothing that had been tossed on the floor, the room was neater than most coed rooms he’d seen. Carefully gathering the clothes she’d apparently been wearing, he noted the buttons missing from her blouse, the torn strap of her bra and a rip in her panties, all consistent with someone intent on having sex, perhaps with an unwilling partner. He found three buttons scattered around the carpet and added those to the evidence.