Their Last Secret

by Rick Mofina

  She looked under their bed. Nothing. Under the mattress. Nothing. Emma’s nightstand. Nothing. Emma’s drawers, sifting through her clothes. Nothing. Back to the closet, checking pockets, clothes, suitcases. Nothing.

  In the hallway closet she checked the folds of blankets, towels, washcloths. Nothing. She checked closets with cleaning supplies. Nothing. The laundry room. Nothing.

  Emma hadn’t returned yet.

  Kayla had no idea how much time had passed, or how much longer she could search without risking Emma surprising her again. She continued looking in every room, nook and storage area she could think of. She went to the garage and searched there.

  Nothing.

  As she stepped back into the house, she heard a noise and stopped dead.

  Someone’s in the kitchen.

  Retreating to the garage, she looked for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Spotting a claw hammer on her dad’s workbench, she grabbed it, then went back into the house.

  Using extreme caution, and with the hammer raised behind her head, she inched her way quietly toward the kitchen. With her free hand, she held her phone, poised to hit 911.

  Moving closer to the kitchen, she heard slurping. Familiar slurping.

  She glimpsed a tail.

  Tug lifted his head and barked at her.

  “Tug!”

  Rushing to him, Kayla dropped to her knees, crushed him in her arms, wrapping him in a happy frenzy of kissing and licking.

  “Where’d you go, you stupid dog?” Kayla brushed her tears of joy. “Are you okay?”

  Kayla pulled back and in a quick inspection ran her fingers over his head, his coat, checked his pads. All seemed to be in order.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  Tug barked and Kayla went to the counter, put fresh water in his bowl, then began opening a can of dog food for him.

  “Don’t ever run away again!”

  The back door opened. Emma had returned. Kayla glimpsed her over her shoulder.

  “Emma, Tug came home!”

  With the open can and wooden spoon in her hand, Kayla turned and stared at Emma, who’d steadied herself against the counter. Blood was trickling from Emma’s arm and hand. Scratches bloodied her temple and cheek. Her shirt was torn, streaked with blood and dirt.

  “Oh my God! You look like you’ve been in a fight—what happened? Was it a coyote?”

  Kayla put down the can and spoon to pass her a dish towel.

  “No. After I found Tug, I tripped and slid down a hill.” Emma shifted off the backpack, plopped it on the counter and sat down. Kayla saw the backpack was smeared with dirt, loosened at the opening.

  “Are you all right, Emma?”

  “Just a few scrapes.” She smiled. “I found Tug on the trail near the spot where we expected, but as we got closer to home, he ran ahead of me.”

  “I saw him alone in the kitchen,” Kayla said. “Thought he came home by himself. It’s good his collar key still works on his door.”

  Kayla spooned the food into Tug’s bowl, set both down, then took his head in her hands to nuzzle him. “I’m so glad we’ve got him home.”

  A long moment passed while Tug ate, and Kayla turned to Emma and gave her another assessment. “That must’ve been a nasty fall. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  “No, no, I’ll take care of myself. Just need a bandage or two. I’m fine.”

  Kayla stared at her for a long time. “You don’t look fine, but suit yourself.”

  “Tug’s home safe—that’s what matters.”

  Kayla shook her head slowly, then looked at Tug, nearly done chomping on his meal. Then she looked at Emma.

  “All I know is nothing around here is making sense,” Kayla said. “Come on, Tug.” She led him upstairs to her room.

  Alone in the kitchen, Emma reached into her pocket for the ring and pondered it in her shaking hand.

  * * *

  In her room, Kayla got on her phone and wrote her dad a message.

  Emma found Tug in the park, like you guessed, but she came home a bloody mess. Says she fell on the trail. She’s acting SO STRANGE! WTF Dad?

  Kayla knew he didn’t like her swearing but if ever there was a time...

  Minutes went by without a response from her father. She looked at Tug. Then she threw her arm around him, nuzzled and kissed him. “If only you could talk.”

  Almost fifteen minutes went by, with Kayla playing games online and thinking. Deciding her dad must be too busy to respond, she returned with Tug to the kitchen to possibly try to talk to Emma—but Emma wasn’t there.

  She wasn’t in the living room, or Dad’s office.

  Kayla went to the bottom of the stairs and called up. “Emma?”

  No response. The house was so quiet.

  Did she go out?

  Kayla looked in the garage. Emma’s car was there.

  Walking through the house, Kayla saw her outside by the pool on a chair and watched her.

  Emma appeared to be on her phone texting furiously, then looking toward the hills in the park before covering her face with her hands and sobbing.

  Seventy-One

  Orange County, California

  Present day

  Tug was barking the next morning as distant thunder evolved into loud thudding when a helicopter passed over the Grants’ house.

  Emma and Kayla went out to the back, standing poolside looking to the sky and the lettering on the chopper: Orange County Sheriff.

  “Looks like it’s headed to the park near the trails,” Kayla said after it passed by.

  Emma watched it disappear from view.

  “What do you think it is?” Kayla said.

  “A missing hiker?” Emma said. “I don’t know. We should get going.”

  Taking quick stock of Emma—the bandages on her hands and arms, a small one on her temple, the red scrapes on her cheek and her sober expression—gave rise once again to Kayla’s concerns that something was going on with her. Last night she’d texted her dad, updating him on Tug and Emma. But when she had finally heard back from him, it didn’t help matters.

  Happy Tug came home, he’d replied.

  Hope Emma recovers from her fall. Sorry, honey, busy here, got things happening. Love you.

  * * *

  Emma was dropping Kayla off at her school before heading to her own.

  They didn’t say much to each other on the drive, glancing up as a news helicopter passed overhead toward the park.

  Emma had the radio tuned to a soft rock station and was submerged in her thoughts, frequently checking the rearview and side mirrors.

  Kayla was on her phone.

  They were stopped at a red light when the radio station news began with a breaking story.

  “A body has been discovered in Suntrail Sky Park. A spokesperson for the Orange County Sheriff’s Office has confirmed that the body was found this morning by a man walking his dog in the park. The park borders the communities of Cielo Valle, Lake Forest and Mission Viejo. No other details have been released.”

  “Wow,” Kayla said. “That’s near our place. So that’s what all the action is about. Wonder what happened?”

  She turned to Emma, who was staring straight ahead when she said, “It’s terrible.”

  After the news, weather and sports, the station played “Spirit in the Sky” by Norman Greenbaum. By the time the song ended, Emma had stopped in the drop-off area of Kayla’s school. Kayla didn’t move, her thoughts kept her seated before she turned to Emma and said: “How are you? I mean after that fall... Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be okay.” She gave her a little smile.

  “I saw you yesterday by the pool, crying.”

  “Oh, I had a little pain from the fall.”

  She took a moment. “No, that’s not it. I
know you’re hiding something and it’s starting to freak me out.”

  Emma looked at her. “Kayla, I’m not hiding anything. We’ve been over this and I understand why you have trouble accepting me, but we’re a family. Okay?”

  Kayla pushed back her tears and nodded.

  They let a moment pass and ended things with a hug.

  “You’re going to be late,” Emma said. “I’ll pick you up later.”

  “Thanks but I’ll get a ride or take the bus.”

  Checking her mirrors, Emma said: “No, I’ll be leaving school early today. I’ll pick you up after your last class.”

  “All right, whatever. Bye.”

  Kayla got out, took a few steps toward the school doors before she stopped and watched Emma drive away.

  She began a text to her dad but abandoned it.

  I’m definitely on my own here.

  * * *

  At Valley Meadow High School, a few people noticed the scrapes on Emma’s face as she got on with her morning, meeting with students, taking care of appointments, returning calls, completing reports and evaluations, struggling to focus on her work. At midmorning she went to the teacher’s lounge to get an apple from the fridge. The few people there were all watching a breaking TV news story. Orange County Coroner personnel were moving a gurney holding a body shrouded in a sealed bag out of Suntrail Sky Park and loading it into the coroner’s van. The camera pulled back to a reporter Emma recognized: Maggie Shen, with KTKT. She was holding a microphone and reporting from the crime scene tape.

  “KTKT can confirm the body is that of a woman and sources tell us this is a homicide...” Maggie touched her earpiece connecting her to the news anchor. “No other details are available but we’ll continue to follow this story.”

  Emma slowly lowered herself into a chair. She reached into her pocket to run her fingers over the skull ring.

  Seventy-Two

  Orange County, California

  Present day

  The bell sounded and classes changed.

  As Kayla threaded her way through the busy halls from math to history, she checked her phone. A new message had arrived in the Yahoo email account she’d created for BenjaminGrantBooks.

  She stopped.

  It was from Darmont Hill College in Indianapolis—finally—an attachment of an official letter in response to her request on behalf of her dad. Students bumped into her as she opened and read.

  Dear Mr. Benjamin Grant:

  I am pleased to provide this document as verification that Emma Anne Chance graduated from Darmont Hill College. She successfully completed all required coursework...

  The letter went on detailing Emma’s completion date, her being awarded a Master’s Degree and her accomplished rank among all students in her graduating class, adding that a transcript would follow in the regular mail. It ended with:

  If you have questions, please feel free to contact me.

  Sincerely

  Clinton Parkerfield

  Director of Records

  Kayla read the letter a second time, a mixture of confusion and disappointment rippling through her. This was not the result she’d expected.

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  This proves that Emma’s telling the truth and I was wrong.

  But what about the deadly phantom restaurant fire? Maybe it did happen and she’d simply failed to find a record of it. What about Emma’s concern about Dad’s book and reading stories about an anniversary and killers? And Emma’s journal? “No one knows the truth about me”?

  Perhaps she had misinterpreted it, and it was nothing more than a personal reflection.

  Kayla was jounced by a few more students, then the chaos of the hall subsided, leaving her staring at the message, conflicted.

  Maybe Doctor Hirsch is right. It’s me. I can’t accept Emma because I don’t want to be disloyal to Mom.

  Seventy-Three

  Eternity, Manitoba

  Present day

  In his motel room on his phone holding for a clerk at Manitoba’s Vital Statistics Agency in Winnipeg, Ben was encouraged.

  Getting the full names of the Skull Sisters from the Tullocks was a breakthrough.

  Having them was critical to determining the killers’ new identities and tracking them down.

  Wherever the women are living now, I’m going to find them.

  Things were coming together fast, Ben thought, as he scrolled through his notes, then clicked on the photos he’d taken. But his concentration shifted to California, Kayla and Emma.

  He kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck.

  The problems at home weighed on him at the same time things were moving well here with his work. He was making progress. He had to keep going. It was clear from his research so far that the girls had changed their names at some point during their incarceration or after their release.

  Ben was familiar with how the process for a legal name change worked, based on the research that went into all of his books. He’d found that the basics were similar in most US states and most countries. A person usually applied to the court in the jurisdiction where they were living, then they provided required documentation and notice of the name change was made public.

  But if the names of the killers from Eternity were flagged by the courts, then that would keep their new names secret, he thought.

  “Mr. Grant?” The clerk returned to the line.

  “Still here.”

  “Thanks for holding. As for your request, we have no record in the Manitoba Gazette for the names you provided.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I’m sorry, nothing, sir. You can search archived editions yourself for free, if you like. They’re public. I’m sending you a link now.”

  “Great, thank you.”

  Seconds after ending the call, Ben’s laptop displayed the page for the Manitoba Gazette and the window to search archived government documents and notices.

  One at a time, he submitted the names of the girls: Nicola Hope Gorman, Marie Louise Mitchell and Jane Elizabeth Klassyn, going back to the years they would’ve changed their names. After numerous attempts, he gave up on the database.

  Nothing came up. Zip. He’d hit a wall.

  They could now be living anywhere. Tapping his forefinger to his lip, Ben realized that he needed help.

  He needed Tessa Fox in Washington, D.C.

  Ben found her number and called.

  He’d hired Tessa to conduct research on a number of his books. Tessa had worked for the FBI, Homeland Security and the NSA. Now retired and living in Georgetown, Tessa was a forensic genealogist. She’d worked on proving identity in cases involving descendants of victims of the Titanic and the Holocaust; she’d located fugitive war criminals, assisted investigators finding next of kin in major disasters and cold case crimes. Tessa’s expertise and extensive network of colleagues gave her access to an ocean of archives and databases both public and restricted in over fifty countries.

  “This one sounds interesting,” Tessa said, after he’d explained the case and given her all the details on the girls that he had, including names and approximate year of birth.

  “I need to find these women now. You can charge more than your usual rate if you can expedite it.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Ben. We’re only talking about a couple of decades. I just finished a contract, so your timing’s good. If there are no complications, this shouldn’t take me too long. I may have to access a few restricted databases.”

  “Thank you, Tessa.”

  “I’ll get going on this right away.”

  * * *

  Next, Ben called Manitoba’s Justice Department to follow up on his request.

  “Yes, Mr. Grant,” an official with the department said, “we’re arranging to send you court transcripts both
printed and in a compressed digital file.”

  “Thank you, and my other requests?”

  “Your request to see evidence in this case, and the journals and other writings of the defendants while they were serving their sentences, is being reviewed. I must again remind you, much of the material remains sealed under court order. However, I’ve been advised that it’s possible that some items may be released. It will require further review.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ben ended the call, collected his things and got into his rental car.

  Seventy-Four

  Eternity, Manitoba

  Present day

  Ben drove to a neighborhood lined with tall shade trees, stopped at a tidy two-level frame house and knocked on the front door.

  Now that he had names, he needed to confirm which girl had lived at which address so that he could learn more about the young killers. Waiting for a response, he looked next door at the run-down bungalow with the unkempt yard and the For Rent sign in the window. He was knocking at the door of the house where he’d seen a curtain move when he was here earlier with Jurek.

  Nosy neighbors tended to know things.

  Ben was about to knock again when the door was opened by a heavyset woman in her seventies or eighties with white hair piled in a bun. She eyed Ben guardedly.

  “I’m not buying anything, mister.”

  “I’m not selling anything.” He smiled. “I’m a writer.”

  “A writer?”

  “Ben Grant.” He gave her his business card.

  She looked at it. “From California.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Have you lived in this house a long time?”

  She raised her chin a little as if to indicate she had an idea why he was here. “Forty years, why?”

  “I’m researching a tragic part of Eternity’s history.”

  He let that register, waiting for her reaction.