Secret Remains

by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush

  It was only seconds before he texted back.

  Be at hospital til 6. Key code 569010. Dinner?

  Sure. What time?

  Eight. My treat.

  Sounds good.

  R u spending night?

  Emily thought about it a second. It would beat having to find an overpriced hotel room and paying through the nose for parking. She could sleep on the couch. Or the guest room. She didn’t want things to be weird or give Brandon the wrong impression.

  Yes. She texted back. And left it at that.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Emily locked the house and jumped into her car with an overnight bag. She let out a huge sigh of relief as she pulled out of the driveway. No sooner was she a mile past city limits than she heard a police siren behind her. She checked her rearview mirror. The blue and reds strobed and the cop was flashing his lights at her. She looked at her speed. She was actually under the limit by a couple of miles per hour. Was there smoke coming from her vehicle or something? Wait. Nick had done this to her before, when she’d returned to Freeport late on the night of her father’s first heart attack. Emily sighed at the inconvenience and pulled over, unbuckled her belt, and jumped out of the car as Nick approached.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You’re supposed to stay put,” Nick said.

  “No, what are you doing? I wasn’t disobeying any traffic laws. There’s no reason you should be pulling me over,” she snapped back.

  “I knew you wouldn’t pick up any of my calls,” he said.

  “So you followed me?”

  “Not exactly. I went to your house and your car was gone. I just started driving toward town and guess I got lucky.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk. Paul told me about your little visit.”

  “Yeah. And now I know why you shut me down when I asked you and Ross about the sex video.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. Emily was not in the mood to have this talk right now, but here it was. “What else are you hiding?”

  “Em, I can’t always share every detail of a case with you.”

  “Were Ross and James colluding to sell Sandi’s sex tape?”

  “That’s an odd reach.”

  “Not if James was pimping Sandi and Ross was in on it.”

  “Also a big stretch.”

  “And are you sure Sandi didn’t come over to your house? It’s not adding up, Nick. Tiffani was gone at a friend’s. James claims he was home alone. And so were you. Maybe James and Sandi came over. Maybe you and James got into a fight and Sandi accidentally got in the middle? Maybe one of you killed Sandi?”

  “What? Whoa!” Nick shuffled his feet on the gravel in protest.

  “Is that the secret of the pack you’re hiding?”

  “Em. Hold on. Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m not dumb, Nick. None of the stories are connecting.”

  “So you drew some conclusion that I accidentally murdered Sandi with James?”

  “You. Paul. Ross. You’re all so cavalier and covert.” She was aware from Nick’s reaction that her flushed face and bulging eyes were conveying the depth of her distress.

  Nick dropped his tone and held her gaze. “I want you to know I that I was never a part of the pack.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Not like that. We were in sports together. But I never participated in the stuff they did.”

  “But you did. By association,” stammered Emily.

  “I’m not going to argue semantics. I did not kill Sandi. And I am going to make this right. I’m going to do everything in my power to stand up for Sandi and find out who killed her.”

  “Great. Good. I hope so, Nick. I really do. But how on earth do you explain what happened before that?”

  “I was … it was … just a weird high school guy thing.”

  “Boys will be boys?” she said with a sneer.

  Nick’s eyes diverted from hers, and that’s all she needed to know.

  Nick sighed, and the color drained from his face. “Ten years this side of it, I get that kind of defense doesn’t really hold up.”

  “You knew. Even if you didn’t participate. You knew,” she said.

  Sins of omission. Pack or no pack. He had kept silent. He had kept their secrets. In that way, he had been a part of it. Emily didn’t know what to say to excuse it or make him feel better. She didn’t want him to feel better. Their increasingly depraved behavior had led to Sandi’s murder. It didn’t get any worse than that.

  “I think you better find an attorney and reconsider that badge,” said Emily, turning to head back to her car.

  “Running away again without telling me?” Nick’s tone held venom.

  Emily whipped around. “I still have a life in Chicago.”

  “If you’re going back to Brandon, the least you could do is have the decency to tell me.” Nick’s words stung again.

  Emily would not dignify this comment with a response. At least Brandon, from the moment she had met him, had always been a man of the highest integrity. That she could count on.

  28

  Emily was immediately charmed when she stepped foot into their brownstone. The pristine living room was a mirror image of the one she had seen on Brandon’s phone when he’d first showed her. The rug was square. The throw pillows were fluffed and stacked in a row along the back of the L-shaped couch. Knickknacks and picture frames were free of dust. Brandon had a housekeeper. No doubt about it.

  Emily set her bag down and wandered through the expansive four-story home. It was, down to the last detail, everything she could have ever wanted in a Chicago residence. What moved her most was a large wall heading up the second flight of stairs leading to the third floor that held dozens of empty picture frames. Written across the white paper inside the frames were the names of places they had talked about going. The Great Wall of China. Prague. Costa Rica. The Great Barrier Reef. Machu Picchu. Canary Islands. Amalfi Coast. Places Brandon wanted to take her. Place she would have willingly gone. Memories in waiting.

  Emily went out the back, across the small yard to the garage in the alley. She thought it was the most logical place to find boxes of her things. But all she could find were Brandon’s bike and toolbox.

  She went into the house and into the master bedroom. She looked into the closet, surprised to find her clothes, not packed, but perfectly hung on one side of the walk-in. Her sweaters, jeans, and workout clothes were folded on the shelf above it. And her shoe collection lay in color coordination from whites to creams to nudes to blacks on the shoe rack. Jackets and coats were hung in a separate, smaller closet in the room, with boots on the floor under the coats. He was expecting her to come back and move in.

  Her heart pinged with pain at this tender act of taking such good care of her things. After a few more moments of admiring it, she went to her car and dragged up a large, empty suitcase of her father’s. One by one, Emily took the pieces off each hanger and rolled them into the suitcase. It didn’t take long before it was filled. Emily made a quick mental calculation of what was left. Over half done. Not including coats and boots. She would need boxes. She started to text Brandon to ask if he would bring some from the hospital. There were always stacks of them down by the incinerator in the basement. Before she had a chance to press send, the closet door creaked.

  “Hey, you’re here.” Brandon greeted her with an eager smile.

  Emily spun around, sweater in hand. “Hi.” He looked great in his scrubs, hair disheveled. “Good day?”

  “They’re always good,” said the gorgeous optimist leaning against the doorframe. “But they’re better when you’re here.”

  She didn’t know what to say. So she wadded up the sweater and tossed it back onto the shelf.

  “I … sort of underestimated the size of my wardrobe. I was just texting you to bring some—”

  Before she could finish, Brandon slid a stack of boxes from the bedroom into the closet. “I thought yo
u might need these.”

  “I also didn’t expect you to have unpacked all my stuff. Thanks, I think.” She realized now that it had been a colossal waste of his time. “I appreciate the thought behind it anyhow.”

  Brandon nodded. “Obviously I expected things to go a little differently.”

  She nodded. Neither wanted to touch the unhealed wounds between them.

  “May I help you?”

  “Ah, please.”

  “Otherwise you might be here all night. And I have some special plans in mind.”

  “What are you cooking us?”

  Brandon was a self-taught chef who loved to showcase his creations for one or twenty.

  “Actually, I decided not to cook tonight. There’s a new place I want to take you,” he said, putting a box together.

  “Where’s that?” Emily grabbed the sweater she had just tossed onto the shelf and rolled it. This was also a trick Brandon had taught her when they’d started traveling together. Rolling the clothes kept them from wrinkling.

  “I say no more. Let’s finish this up. Shower. Change. And we’ll be off. Sound good?”

  It did sound good. Brandon had a plan per usual. It would feel wonderful to shut off her brain for an evening and just go along for the ride.

  While Brandon showered, Emily freshened up in the guest bath where Brandon had thoughtfully laid out towels and toiletries for her. This was the kind of caring, thoughtful man Brandon was. The consummate host. Always wanting to make sure everyone felt comfortable and taken care of. At least, when he wasn’t working. Or preoccupied with his nose in a textbook. As long as Brandon was in charge and his plans were on the table, everyone could relax and have a good time.

  Emily, now in a fresh change of clothes, waited on the living room couch for Brandon to come down. The couch felt amazing on her tired legs and back. She sunk in, remembering how much she loved this piece of furniture. She had helped Brandon pick out this couch for his former apartment. She had sat and slept on it more times than she could count. It made this new habitat feel like home.

  As she scanned the room more carefully a second time, she noticed that most of the items were new. New lamps. New artwork. New window dressings. Brandon had taken care of it in his way. On his terms. She hadn’t been consulted about her preferences. How would he feel if she wanted to change the rug? Hang different curtains? Paint the walls turquoise instead of Dapper Tan?

  She heard Brandon coming down the wooden staircase from the third level where the master bedroom was located. When he arrived in the living room, she expected him to clap his hands together twice and announce, “Ready!” like he usually did. More of a command than a question. But he didn’t. He smiled and took a seat next to her on the couch.

  “How have you been?” he said in a steady voice.

  “Moving forward. You ready?” She started to rise.

  “No, wait. Have a seat. I mean, really, how are you? With everything?”

  Emily paused. It was unlike Brandon to be so reflective. What was he getting at?

  He read her blank stare and filled in. “What’s been going on in Freeport? How are things with your dad’s estate? And this new case they threw on you? That was crazy. I think I woulda told them to shove off.” He laughed a little. She did, too. It was crazy, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to leave Freeport in her rearview mirror for the moment.

  “I’m getting through it.” That was honest.

  Brandon seemed disappointed. “Come on, Em. It’s me. I still care.”

  “I can’t really disclose anything about the case. And my dad’s estate is complicated and detailed and … time-consuming.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She thought for a second about how to respond. And about the irony that he was asking now. Much, much after the fact. A huge part of her was gone, and he would never understand it.

  “No. I’m just trying to adjust to the idea that I don’t have any more time with him,” she said.

  “I thought I’d have more time, too,” he said softly. “Emily. I’m sorry I didn’t come up sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him better. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. He rubbed it between his own, dry and rough from surgical gloves and frequent washings. “I want to try. I am … trying to try. Will you let me?”

  She was stunned by his confession and believed he was sincere. This was the conversation she had wanted to have two months ago.

  “Do you still want a life in Chicago?” he asked.

  “That’s a big question right now.”

  She had invested so much in her training.

  “Do you still want a life with me?” he asked.

  “That’s an even bigger question.”

  She had invested so much in their relationship.

  He smiled. “Maybe I should start with a smaller question. How do you like the house?”

  Emily glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on a large potted palm branching out from the corner. She liked the tropical flavor it added—it reminded her of their trips to the Caribbean in the middle of harsh Chicago winters.

  “Would you ever put twinkle lights on an indoor plant?”

  “That’s a funny question.”

  “Why? Just answer.”

  Brandon’s voice remained calm, but Emily recognized the familiar tension at play when someone wasn’t seeing eye to eye with him. “Twinkle lights, huh? That’s more of an outdoor look, don’t you think?”

  “I like them all year round,” Emily said. “There’s something magical about them.”

  Brandon gazed over at the palm, then back to Emily. “But if we have them all year, then they’re not special in the summer or at Christmas.”

  “But would you do it anyway? Just for fun. For me?”

  “I mean … for a party, maybe? Why?” he pressed. “What are you getting at?”

  “Never mind.”

  He took her other hand. “Are you hungry?”

  “Definitely. Please tell me it’s a Thai place.”

  “Only three blocks from here.”

  Emily pulled herself from the depths of the cozy pillow stack.

  “You’ll need your winter coat. Nights are getting nippy.”

  She realized Brandon had unpacked that, too. “Where?”

  “Master closet. Top shelf. Next to the box with the winter scarves.”

  As she climbed the stairs, Emily again passed by all those empty frames with the names of far-off places.

  She realized that these were the things that made Brandon happy. And she didn’t really need any of those trips to be happy. Twinkle lights on indoor plants could be enough.

  29

  Brandon left for his shift at Northwestern before dawn, and Emily woke up to the smell of his coffeemaker wafting up delicious scents of caffeine goodness as she lay in the bed in the guest room. She would swing by the doctors’ lounge on her way out after her meeting with Dr. Claiborne to see him.

  Emily reached up in a huge stretch. Sleep had been good. Very good. Brandon had a knack for picking luxurious mattresses and bedsheets and she had melted into them, falling asleep within seconds of hitting the down pillow. For a change, her dreams had not tormented her; they had been nondescript and tonally gray. But when she opened her eyes, only one vivid image sprung to mind. Sandi Parkman’s fifteen-year-old yearbook picture.

  Emily made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a mug of coffee. She pulled her laptop from her handbag and hit the power button. She wanted to see what she could discover about James VanDerMuellen from an Internet search.

  She Googled his name and came up with several matches. She soon found the right James, recognizing him from a high school baseball team photo. He was listed as a broker on the New York Stock Exchange. But that job had ended over a year ago. She tried LinkedIn. No record. She looked on Facebook. No account. Twitter and Instagram. Nothing. She found
an old New York City address, but nothing current. It was like he’d dropped off the map. He didn’t even have a driver’s license. She hunted for about an hour, determining that he must have gone off the grid.

  Emily wondered what Nick was finding out from Paul and the rest of the pack about James and his whereabouts.

  Emily clicked over to Paul’s Facebook account. His last post was from two years ago, but she thought it might send her on a trail to see who else was connected to the pack and if they were still in touch.

  Click after click. Down the Facebook rabbit hole, deeper and further into one account linked to another and another. They all seemed to be connected through Freeport High School’s alumni page. Some of the names she recognized, but most she didn’t. None of them mentioned James. It was like Nick said. He had graduated and disappeared.

  Through another series of clicks, Emily landed on Tiffani’s page. Last post was sixteen months ago. She tried finding her on Instagram. Bingo. It was littered with GIFs and memes and animal videos. And tons of staged selfies of Tiffani. Group shots at the strip club with the girls. Selfies at bars doing shots. Selfies with her and a girlfriend puckering up in the stands with fans at a hockey game. On the ice with hockey players. Tiffani posing in a bikini next to a souped-up sports car. Tiffani posing in short cut-offs with a monster truck. With each vehicle she was with a different guy. So many guys! Was this business or pleasure? Emily thought. Or maybe a bit of both?

  Emily scrolled down until she stopped at one selfie. Tiffani in short-shorts, a tank top with chest overflowing. The odd thing was that only half her body was in the frame, the rest centered on a lake-and-sunset landscape. Emily tried to place the lake. It was a vast body of water. No shoreline. Almost like an ocean. Cancun? Hawaii? Caribbean? The water was dark midnight blue. Not tropical. It resembled one of the coasts. Maine or San Francisco? Perhaps even right here near home, Lake Michigan. Emily stared at the picture and noticed a smooth-skinned, very tanned male hand draped around her shoulder. Tiffani had cut the guy out of the frame. Odd. Why didn’t Tiffani want to show off this guy?