House of Secrets

by Ramona Richards

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ray took a deep breath. “Gage is going to check on the stolen car report this morning, and I’d like for us—”

  “Y’know, I come out here early and just sit, listening to the birds and watching the sun get brighter and brighter. The bluebirds are amazing this time of year, although sometimes I think the mockingbirds are on a campaign to deafen me.” She sipped the coffee. “Something about spring mornings reminds me that the world is bigger than my problems and that God takes care of everything.”

  “June—”

  “Do you have a change of uniform in the car?”

  Ray hesitated, then nodded. “I keep one in the trunk.”

  June put a gentle hand on his arm and peered up at him with soft affection in her eyes. “Then before we dive back into the world where people shoot at us and try to run us down with cars, can we sit down to some yummy food and thank God for the good things in our lives?”

  Ray hesitated, then nodded. “We do have to eat.”

  She grinned. “Exactly. Grab the clean uniform, then you can take a shower while I start breakfast.”

  When Ray returned to the house, he discovered she already had biscuits in the oven and was carefully separating the eggs for an omelet. His eyebrows arched. “Exactly how early did you get up?”

  She shrugged one shoulder, then tossed another eggshell into a small bucket on the counter. “Long before Mrs. Digsby called. I wasn’t joking about the mockingbirds. There’s one in residence in a bush outside my window who’s more annoying than a rooster. I’ve already had my shower. Just still need to do the hair-and-makeup thing.”

  “How about if, after we eat, I clean the kitchen while you do that?”

  June grinned. “Deal.” She leaned over to check the oven timer. “You’ve got about ten minutes before the biscuits come out. There’s a new razor in the medicine cabinet you can use.”

  “I’m on it.” Ray headed down the hall to June’s bathroom. Even though he’d been in this house a number of times, Ray never failed to be impressed with how carefully every item had been positioned. Even pictures, some of which he’d helped her hang, were in a precisely measured spot on the chosen wall. He never spotted a speck of dust or a cobweb anywhere in the house.

  Ray wondered if such cleanliness was a reaction to the squalor of her youth, her dependence on the image of the perfect pastor’s wife…or just because she tended to be a bit of a neat freak. It had almost become a challenge to him, to find something out of place, maybe a dust bunny under a chair.

  Why do you keep looking for flaws in her?

  Interesting question, and one he’d asked himself before. Maybe because it was the flaws, the “little imperfections,” that Ray found most interesting in people. His was a job that dwelled on human frailties, and he’d come to expect that everyone had them. Even more, he’d come to distrust people who tried to hide them.

  It was one of the reasons that the “perfect” label that some people in the community had placed on his wife amused him deeply. Obviously, their memories of her were faulty if they couldn’t remember the temper that she controlled only in the classroom. Or the frequent fender benders that kept their insurance rate through the roof.

  Nor was Anne physically perfect. They’d forgotten that a childhood injury to her hips had left her with a constant limp. And they’d used that injury to explain why they were childless to hide the real reason for their choice, a secret that Ray kept even all these years after her death.

  Children.

  Ray turned on the hot water, trying to push away thoughts of the past. Past events. Past regrets. Dwelling on such tended to be a waste of time. Focus on the right now…the future. The past was set in stone, whereas the present grew beneath your feet. And the future consisted of dreams to pursue.

  Ray paused, realizing in that moment that the idea of having children with June made up one of the most pleasant and satisfying dreams of the future he’d had in a long time.

  He broke free of the fantasy with a sharply inhaled breath. Better focus on the present, Ray, old boy. Thoughts of the future are the last thing you need right now.

  June hummed a lullaby as she pulled the pan of biscuits from the oven, a comforting melody that reminded her of the nursery in JR’s downtown ministry. So many homeless families had small children or infants that made it hard for the parents to search for jobs. JR had set up a day care and June had helped out, learning for the first time how much she enjoyed taking care of babies.

  Those were good days. Before we married. Before White Hills. When we just focused on helping others.

  June lifted the lid on her skillet, checking on the omelets, which were browning slowly but steadily. Small morsels of cheese had slipped out around the edges and toasted nicely in the oil, blending sweetly with the other scents of breakfast—biscuits, gravy, fresh fruit, bacon.

  June set a bowl of fruit on the table next to the plate of biscuits, then expertly served up the fluffy omelets and bacon. Ray emerged just as she put the plates on the placemats, looking infinitely more refreshed.

  “Wow, you look better.”

  Ray’s eyes widened in mock surprise, and he placed his palm over his heart. “Well, thank you. I think.”

  June smiled. “You slept in your car, and trust me—you looked and smelled like you’d slept in your car.”

  “Job hazard. This, on the other hand, smells awesome.”

  “Thank April. She lived with JR and me for a while after her divorce. Taught me how to make an omelet that will melt in your mouth. Sit. Will you say grace?”

  “I’d be honored.”

  They sat, clasped hands and Ray spoke a clear prayer to God that reached right into June’s heart.

  “Lord, we give You thanks today that we are here to serve You. We praise Your gifts to us and ask for Your guidance as we deal with what lies in front of us. Thank You for bringing this lady into my life, and thank You for our friendship. Please watch over and care for us this day and in the future, and bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. All this we ask in Your name. Amen.”

  June squeezed Ray’s hands before releasing them. “That was a great prayer.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled almost shyly, then dug eagerly into his omelet.

  “So what are the plans for today?”

  He looked up, swallowed and his eyes brightened. “Today,” he announced, “we discover how Rosalie Osborne’s diaries caused David Gallagher’s death.”

  TWELVE

  June stared at the grand old Victorian, which no longer bore any resemblance to the welcoming, charming home she and JR had created. The bomb and the bullets had scarred and ripped the eastern side of the house. The darkened paint, shattered electric meter and torn boards made the entire house appear to list to the right, like a tall ship wounded near the port keel.

  “It’s okay,” June whispered. “We can make you whole again.”

  Ray cut his eyes toward her but remained silent, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He opened the cruiser door and got out, heading for the back door.

  June grabbed the backpack holding her laptop and followed him. She stepped around the reddish-brown footprints on the porch, scowling. “Are we going to talk to Virginia Bridges?”

  “One thing at a time.”

  “She’s rich. She could run off to St. Kitt’s or some thing.”

  “A. She’s just a victim of car theft. She’s not officially a suspect.”

  “Yet.”

  “B. Her son is in the middle of a major campaign. No way she’d bolt from that without good reason.”

  June sniffed at the lingering scent of decay in the house. “In other words, you’re going to get to her last.”

  “Unless we turn up direct evidence about her, yes.”

  “If we find them, can you fingerprint Rosalie’s diaries?”

  Turning to look at her, Ray stopped so suddenly June almost plowed into him. June stepped backward, regaining her balance. Ray’s eyes
were intense. “Why did you ask that? What do you have in mind?”

  June stared back at him. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “No promise. Just tell me.”

  June straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Going on the premise that David found the diaries…”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, if I recorded that much of my life, then there’s no way I’d run away from home and leave my diaries behind. They’d be in my suitcase along with my passport and a lot of cash.”

  Ray grew more intrigued. “So?”

  “So if she didn’t take them, then she most likely didn’t leave voluntarily. What if whoever took her did so because he knew about the diaries? Maybe even touched them at some point before she hid them? Can fingerprints last twenty-five years?”

  Ray’s brow furrowed. “Depends.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “You start with the laptop. I’ll start with the niches on this floor.” Ray pulled the list from his pocket.

  June turned toward the butler’s pantry. “Let me know if you find the Holy Grail.”

  Ray chuckled, and June turned her attention to the wrecked computer. “Like old-home week,” she murmured, her hands gently pulling apart the splintered remains of the case. Odd, distant memories flashed through her mind as she pulled a set of small tools from her backpack to help her dismantle what was left of the computer’s case.

  Back in her hacker days, she’d rescued the hard drive from many a damaged computer. Like most people who take out their frustration on a computer, the sniper had aimed for the screen, one of the least essential parts. Now, peeling away the disjointed case, June extracted the hard drive, which appeared intact. Having left her own hard drive at home, June opened her laptop and installed the drive from the parsonage computer.

  The parsonage computer was an older model, but the same brand as hers. Holding her breath, June powered up her laptop. The drive purred like a stroked kitten, and start-up images popped up on the screen. “Yes!”

  Ray poked his head into the pantry. “It works?”

  “Just like it’s supposed to. You find anything yet?”

  “Lots of empty spaces, but according to the list, they were empty when discovered.”

  June nodded, still watching the computer. “Most were, like I mentioned yesterday. What I didn’t get a chance to tell you was that one of the maids mentioned in her diary that Rosalie’s father, Monty, had sold a lot of Siegfried’s prized possessions. The maid had been really loyal to Siegfried, and she complained about Monty’s lack of respect for all his father had achieved. She mentioned a set of silver coins, some jewelry. My guess is that Monty emptied a lot of the niches himself.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Combined with Rosalie’s firing of the help, it sounds as if the Osbornes had financial problems again.”

  June nodded, clicking open several of the numbered files. “Rosalie took over the family business before Monty died. Maybe his mind had led him to making some foolish decisions.”

  “And schizophrenia can be inherited.”

  June turned to look at Ray, whose gaze had grown distant as he stared out the broken window. “What do you mean?”

  Ray focused on her again. “You said Siegfried suffered from extreme paranoia. Heard voices in the walls and had obsessive tendencies. He sounds like a paranoid schizophrenic to me.”

  June realized where Ray was headed with this. “If he did, then Monty might have had the same illness.”

  “And he’d seen his father lose everything before.”

  “So if Rosalie had returned from college to find her father selling off the family heirlooms…”

  “It might have driven her to take over the business and push to make it successful.”

  “Or to marry into money.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed. “All those ‘unfortunate’ affairs.”

  June nodded, then gestured toward the list in his hand. “Read me the contents summary for each niche. Let’s see if the computer files still match.”

  Ray smoothed the wrinkled sheet out against the wall. “The ones on this floor are numbered seven through fifteen. All empty on the list and in reality.”

  “Right. No files for those.”

  “One through six, in the basement. Only one with contents, number five. A set of silver candlesticks.”

  June checked the corresponding computer document. “Right. They were there when we opened that one. We donated them to the Bell County museum, so it should be empty now.”

  Ray continued to read the contents from the list. All matched the files on the computer, until he came to a niche located in the family nursery. “Date book.”

  June opened the corresponding file and froze. “Oh, no.”

  Ray peered over her shoulder. “What?”

  Silently, she pointed to the screen. The entry read simply, “JR’s date book, tin box.”

  “Why would JR hide a date book?”

  June shook her head, feeling suddenly chilled. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t—” Her voice cracked. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look at when this file was modified. This has to be David’s entry.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They headed up the stairs, almost breaking into a run as they moved down the hall to the room that had once been the Osborne family nursery. Ray closed the door and June dropped to her knees behind it, using her fingernails to pry a section of baseboard away from the wall. It resisted at first, then gave way with a sharp creak, and June pulled it from the dovetailed groves it rested in.

  “Hand me your flashlight.”

  Ray pulled his light from his belt and June snapped on the light. As she peered deep into the crevice, her heart sank as she saw what lay within. She pressed her cheek against the floor, feeling the first tears welling up in her eyes. “How could you?” she whispered.

  “June?” Ray’s deep voice was full of concern.

  Her fingers shaking, June reached into the dark niche, pulling out a leather-covered date book, a small shoe box…and a dusty black tin box with a faded red rose on the cover. She passed everything to Ray, straightened and leaned back on her heels, her chest tight as the tears leaked down her cheeks.

  “He’d promised to get rid of it.” She reached out toward the box, but Ray’s hand closed around her wrist.

  “I want Jeff to fingerprint everything inside before we examine them.”

  June pulled from his grasp, staring at the box. “He asked me to trust him. Why would he keep it? Why did he lie?” The very air in the room suddenly felt heavy, crushing in on her, and she pushed to her feet. “I have to get out of this house.”

  “June, wait, we can’t leave—” He caught her arm.

  June broke free, a surge of rage flashing through her. “This house is nothing but death and betrayal. I can’t be here!”

  She spun and ran, tears blinding her as she raced down the hall. Ray’s hand closed on her forearm before she reached the stairs. His grip jerked her around, and she lashed out, slamming his chest with her fist. “Let go of me!”

  He grabbed her other arm and held it tightly, pulling her close to him. “June, stop. Stop holding on to the past like this,” he said softly. “It’ll make you crazy. It’s time to let it go.”

  June froze, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “What? What did you say?”

  “Let go, June. Let JR go. Please.”

  She stared at him, her eyes stinging and flooded with tears. The weight on her chest felt as if it would crush her. “I can’t.”

  Ray released her arms and cupped her face with both hands. “Yes, you can. You have to. For yourself.” He took a deep breath. “For us.”

  June’s knees buckled and she closed her eyes as she sank. Ray wrapped both arms around her, sitting on the floor and pulling her tight against his chest. June clutched the cloth of his shirt, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The grief she’d fought for so long gushed out of her in deep, racking sobs.

&nb
sp; Silently, Ray held her, rocking her gently as the crippling anger eased. Slowly, June became aware of how comforting his strength was, how patiently he held her.

  How bizarre this must have seemed to him, this strange anger that had come out of nowhere. But he’d simply held on.

  He hadn’t let her go.

  “He promised he’d never lie to me.”

  Ray stroked her hair. “So I gathered.”

  June let out a long sigh, her face still pressed against Ray’s chest. “He knew how crucial it was that he never lie, how vital it was to our relationship after everything I’d been through.”

  “I assume you’re not talking about little lies like how you look in that new pair of jeans.”

  June smiled and looked up at him.

  He stroked her cheek. “Ah, there you are.”

  “No, I’m not talking about the love fibs people tell each other.” Her smile faded. “Ray, by the time I met JR, I’d lived an entire lifetime of lies. My father. People on the streets. I’d learned to lie in order to survive. It was such a habit, I lied even when I didn’t have to. Ask me if I was going to the store and I’d tell you I was going to the library. JR brought me out of that. Telling the truth became our manifesto. We put it in our wedding vows.”

  June shifted in Ray’s arms but made no attempt to push him away. “I knew he had to keep some things private. He’d simply say, ‘I can’t tell you.’” She waved her hand toward the nursery. “He said the contents of that box were dangerous and he had to destroy them. I believed him. He lied.”

  “June, if JR lied to you, he must have had a very good reason.”

  “Good enough to violate my trust?” June shook her head, but Ray stopped her, bracing her cheek in one hand.

  “I meant what I said, June. Let him go. For yourself.”

  June stilled, her eyes staring into his. “For us.”

  He nodded, then tilted his head and kissed her.

  His lips were soft but firm, and June relaxed against him, the tension in her muscles easing as his arms tightened around her. His kiss moved from her lips to her cheek, then to her hair as she leaned her head on his shoulder.