Secret Remains

by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush

  Emily gulped down the horrible news. Thank God Mina couldn’t see the look of disgust on her face right now.

  “Did she tell anyone besides you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And what about Sandi? Did she know?”

  “Tiffani said that Sandi had come home right after it happened and went ballistic. She and James got into a huge fight. Screaming. Yelling. Then they sort of made up. James apologized and they took off for a drive.”

  A drive to her death. This was getting so, so ugly.

  “And that’s when Tiffani came to your house?”

  “Yeah. She rode her bike over.” Mina drew in another deep inhale and then exhaled. “I never told anyone because I’d promised Tiffani I wouldn’t. She had been through so much with her stepdad, and then James, and then Sandi disappearing. I just didn’t want to make things worse for her,” Mina broke down in a sob.

  Emily gave her a moment until she heard Mina blowing her nose. “Mina, are you okay?”

  “Am I in big, big trouble?” she sniffled.

  “Not at all. You did the right thing.” Emily assured her she would be safe and asked if she would go in to the police station to give her statement.

  “I have to think about it. I’m afraid to go alone,” said Mina. Emily agreed to set up a Skype call later that afternoon with the two of them and the Freeport police. She would walk her through every step of the process.

  As soon as she got off the phone, Emily saw that Delia had texted her two hours earlier at four AM.

  Stop by Brown’s. Surprise info.

  Emily swung herself out of bed and leapt into her clothes. Hang on, Nick! We may be finally getting somewhere.

  49

  Emily knocked on the alley door of Brown’s Bakery. Delia opened it, greeting Emily with a plate of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Emily’s stomach growled at the sight of them.

  “Good morning,” said Delia with a freshly lipsticked smile. Emily might be this chipper too at six thirty in the morning if she were surrounded by baked goodness.

  Emily took a roll off the plate and stepped inside. “You know you’re never going to get to truly retire if you keep making these so insanely delicious.” She sank her teeth into the cinnamon-y soft bread and icing.

  “I’ve already had several offers to franchise,” Delia told her as she marched them through the kitchen.

  “Tempted?”

  “If they can duplicate the local friendliness of Freeport, then we have a deal. But so far, I haven’t seen it. Latte?”

  “Absolutely.” She licked the sticky from her fingers.

  “How’s Nick?”

  “Unflappable on the outside. But last night his heart rate was elevated … and the look in his eyes. Stone-cold worry.”

  “There’s a box of rolls ready for you to take to him this morning—and the rest of the guys over at the station.” Delia pointed to a delivery counter. Emily nodded. Delia was a softie.

  They entered the front café, and Delia went to the barista station behind the counter. She grabbed two mugs and flipped on the authentic commercial-grade espresso maker she had imported from Italy.

  “I have some rather disturbing but case-breaking news,” Emily began.

  “As do I, doll. You go first,” said Delia.

  Emily quickly explained to Delia how Tiffani had run to Mina’s after James sexually assaulted her and then blackmailed her with the video.

  “This case gets worse by the minute.” Delia steamed the milk and poured it atop two shots of espresso. She handed it to Emily and leaned against the counter with her mug.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind James killed her,” said Emily, finishing off the last bite of her roll. “We have to get Tiffani to tell us the truth about that afternoon and why she was with James six months ago.”

  Delia nodded as a timer buzzed from the kitchen, and she heeded its call. Emily followed her to the commercial ovens that lined one of the walls. “What’s your news?”

  “That the plot of land in Pinetree Slopes was purchased about six months ago by Hendrick VanDerMuellen.”

  Emily, who was taking a sip of her latte, almost sprayed it all over Delia.

  “James’ dad? Wow!”

  Delia slid out a rack of bread, took one cursory glance, and slid the loaves back in, setting the timer for another five minutes.

  “You don’t think they were planning to move back to Freeport?” Emily asked.

  “Not at all. Hendrick invested money with the land developer. Well, his company did. They own Lexington Investments, and his company made the purchase. So no actual human names are on the deed.”

  “Lexington was building the house on that parcel where we found Sandi’s remains … but who was going to live in it?”

  “Melany didn’t know.” Delia pulled a lever on a large mixer, and the giant paddle slowed to a stop. She pulled a batch of stringy dough onto the ceramic counter and began to roll it into one long log. “Melany says her husband never came into contact with any representative from Lexington. It was a corporation-driven transaction.”

  Why was it that no one, including she and Nick, had put this together until now? Emily watched as Delia cut the long dough roll into twelve pieces.

  “Can I give you a hand?”

  “That’d be great, doll. Just shape these into round loaves.”

  “I bet Hendrick knew about his son’s dirty deeds,” said Emily.

  “Very likely,” Delia entertained. “As I recall, the VanDerMuellen family moved south the fall after James graduated. I think after Sandi’s death and the investigation, they wanted to close the door on this chapter of their life and hope their past never came back to haunt them.”

  “I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that the family corporation purchased the plot of land where James buried his murder victim,” Emily mused.

  “Nor do I,” said Delia. “But be careful about making assumptions. There’s always more than meets the eye.”

  Good point. As Emily formed her dough pieces into symmetrical round balls just like Delia’s, she thought back to the Facebook picture with the black onyx stone. In light of what James had done to Tiffani, why on earth was she in a recent photograph with him? How had he made it back into her life? Why had she allowed him? Maybe he was blackmailing her again. Perhaps Tiffani was in more danger than she was letting on.

  Stranger still, Lexington had bought a plot of land in Pinetree Slopes around this same time. Did Tiffani know her sister was buried there? There was no way James was planning to return to Freeport and live on that parcel. But he was going to let some other unknowing family live in a house with a dead girl buried underneath.

  Emily handed Delia her loaves, and she placed them evenly onto a large tray. She slit a crisscross on each of the tops and then lay the tray in the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes. Brown’s would be open before it went off, and Delia would soon be hosting a stream of regulars.

  Emily’s mind kept reeling with insights and impossibilities.

  It all boiled down to Tiffani.

  She had to find a way to pry Tiffani’s life open and get to James.

  “I know your train of thought right now. Do what you need to do, but be careful.” Delia nudged her and handed her Nick’s box of cinnamon rolls.

  “What do you mean?” Emily tried to layer her voice with innocence. But there was no fooling a former FBI agent.

  “Sometimes the best disguise is no disguise at all.”

  50

  Emily delivered the cinnamon rolls to Nick and reassured him that there were new developments in the investigation, but she didn’t want to divulge them. Nick revealed that another detective was going to be assigned to the case within the week. Someone from the state police post. Both he and Emily knew what this meant. It would be a slow-moving machine to get the new person up to speed. And it wouldn’t be the only investigation this person would be working. Sandi’s case would lie dormant, and could become stag
nant if there were no new leads. All the more reason for Emily to put her plan into action.

  Nick’s case was being assigned to the county defense attorney, who he believed would do a competent job. Emily could tell that Nick’s nerves were shot, and his bloodshot eyes were a dead giveaway that he hadn’t slept a wink. He asked her to bring him a few more things from home. A toothbrush, deodorant, and more socks. Looking into his pained eyes made her gut twist. The only thing she could do for him was to keep her spirits light and get Tiffani to crack.

  “Please be careful. I’m not out there to save you from the crazies,” said Nick.

  Emily grinned and took his hand. “I’m ready this time. And no one is going to out-crazy me.”

  * * *

  For the next few days and nights, Emily camped out in a hidden spot near Tiffani’s apartment and watched her coming and going. There was nothing unusual about her activities. She got home late, slept in late, and then usually rolled out of the house midafternoon to run a few errands in Freeport. Emily trailed her every time. Tiffani returned home and then headed off to work around seven or eight. Emily would follow her to work, too. While she waited, she reviewed her father’s medical examiner case files to see what she had missed in twelve years. It was a good use of time and kept her from nodding off.

  One file in particular caught her attention. She hadn’t found it with the others. Her father had placed it in the top drawer of his desk for easy and frequent access, Emily surmised. She read the details of the autopsy with shock. It was dated June the summer after she left for Chicago. A family of four—mom, dad, and two twins—had been shot to death in their lake home on a summer weekday afternoon. No weapons, bullet casings, or suspects had ever been found. The autopsy report was rote and clinical, but it was her father’s handwritten notes, scribbled on several sticky sheets tacked to the inside of the manila file folder, that gave her pause.

  McClelland estate. Detroit. 2 guns used. Revolver. Glock. Oldest child missing. Possible witness. Kidnapped?

  She closed the file and sat with her troubled thoughts. It was the third night of her watch, and lack of sleep was catching up to her. She felt her head bob back on the seat rest as sweet sleep overtook her. But not for long.

  The grumble of a diesel truck awakened her as it pulled into the strip club complex. She checked the clock. Two AM. Inside the club, patrons had already been hours deep into the entertainment, as the club was closing soon. The truck parked next to Tiffani’s Lexus at the end of the lot. An odd spot, when so many vacant ones were closer to the door. Emily could make out the form of a man in the driver’s seat, but given the way he had parked in the shadows, she was unable to collect any identifiable detail about him.

  Emily trained her binoculars on his rear bumper and jotted down the numbers on his Florida plates. Florida. Miami. James. Is James in the truck? She was dying to leap out and run over there. But she kept still.

  He didn’t get out. He didn’t move at all, just stared straight ahead.

  She watched. And watched. Over the next hour, Emily witnessed several of the girls trickle out as their shifts ended. A few patrons also left. By three AM, only a handful of cars remained in the lot. Emily always made a point of parking down the street so she wouldn’t stand out when the crowd thinned.

  A few more vehicles exited, leaving only three in the lot. The Florida truck. Tiffani’s Lexus. And an SUV.

  A half hour later, Tiffani emerged with Watch Your Ass Wanda. They chatted for a few minutes, and then Wanda took off for her SUV. Tiffani walked toward her Lexus, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a tiredness in her step. Her head hung, eyes to the ground. She seemed unaware of the truck and driver.

  Emily’s heart raced for Tiffani, but she continued to watch. When Tiffani was about fifteen feet from her car, a man opened his truck door and got out.

  Tiffani’s head jerked up, startled, and she stopped in her tracks, clutching her bag. From Emily’s view, she could see Tiffani’s face light up with shock.

  The gentleman’s appearance bespoke wealth. His thick, well-styled, silver hair, tailored shirt, and fitted jeans showed he paid attention to his looks.

  The man, probably in his early sixties, came a few steps toward her. Tiffani backed up. It wasn’t a friendly conversation. Emily pulled up the keypad on her phone. Her finger hovered over the nine. She had a feeling this could get ugly fast.

  As if on cue, the man started gesticulating and had his hands in Tiffani’s face. Tiffani backed up again, her bag dropping to the ice-packed parking lot. She shouted something at him, and he grabbed her by the arm. She wiggled to get free. He grabbed her other arm. Tiffani tried to knee him in the groin.

  The man removed his grip for a second, and Tiffani rushed for her car. He lunged after her, taking her down by her coat hood and throwing her to the ground. His hands clenched around Tiffani’s neck as he lorded himself over her. Tiffani kicked and punched, but she was losing to a greater strength.

  Emily slammed her accelerator to the floor and peeled into the parking lot with three quick, successive horn honks.

  “Hey. Hey!” Emily called out from her driver’s side window.

  The man’s head jerked up, and he released his grip. He lumbered to his feet.

  Emily sailed up alongside Tiffani as she scrambled to her feet with a look of sheer terror.

  Emily’s face was flint as she turned to the man. “Who are you?”

  The man turned and scampered back into his truck. He didn’t bother to back the truck up. His tires spun out on the slippery parking lot as he barreled forward out across a snowy patch of lawn and over the sidewalk. His truck bounced down off the curb onto the street as he laid a patch of rubber.

  Emily caught her breath, then turned her gaze to Tiffani, who, shaking and flustered, was darting toward her Lexus.

  “You okay?”

  Tiffani didn’t respond at first.

  “Tiff? You okay? Talk to me.” Emily paced toward her.

  Tiffani nodded without looking back. She pulled her keys from her coat pocket. Emily jumped to her side. She wasn’t letting her off the hook.

  “Tiffani. Who was that?” Emily demanded.

  “No one.”

  “He nearly killed you.”

  “He wasn’t going to kill me,” she said in an unconvincing whisper.

  “So his hands clutched around your neck were just a friendly, little hug?” Emily was furious. “Who is that guy?”

  “Leave me alone.” Tiffani’s keys slipped from her hand, and she dove to retrieve them.

  “Don’t be a jerk about this. I just saved your life.”

  The force of Emily’s words had no effect on Tiffani, who plowed past her to get to her car. Emily saw that she was lost in shock, and she calmed her tone. “Why was he trying to hurt you?”

  Emily trailed Tiffani to her driver’s door, blocking her from getting in. Finally, Tiffani lifted her gaze to Emily.

  “He thinks I know where his son is.”

  “That was Hendrick VanDerMuellen?”

  Tiffani nodded.

  “And do you know where James is?”

  Tiffani didn’t answer. She tried to wedge Emily from the driver’s door, but Emily planted herself.

  “What the— Get away from my car!”

  “This won’t be the last time he’ll come after you.”

  Tiffani lunged at Emily, but she braced herself and pushed back. Tiffani was not going to win this one!

  “I know what James did to you that day,” Emily blurted. “And I know he killed your sister.” She searched Tiffani’s calcified expression. “I wanna see James rot in hell just as much as you do. And I can help. But I need your story.”

  Tiffani wouldn’t lift her eyes to meet Emily’s, but Emily could see she had shattered something inside Tiffani. She had done it. She had wedged her way in.

  “Move,” said Tiffani, pressing the fob to unlock her Lexus. “And get in.”

  51

  “He cam
e into the club early last March. I was totally shocked,” said Tiffani, sitting at the wheel of her parked Lexus as the heater warmed the interior. “He said he had lost his job in New York and was visiting some buddies up here.”

  Tiffani took a couple of long swigs from her flask and passed it to Emily. Emily politely declined.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Right before he left for college.”

  Emily nodded. “How did you feel when he showed up now?”

  “Furious. He acted like nothing happened. Like I should be happy to see him after ten years.” Tiffani went quiet for a moment. “I knew this was my chance to do something.”

  “Do something?”

  “He was drunk, and I got him to buy a private lap dance. And I danced for him. He liked it. He kept coming back for more. I saw my way in.”

  “How could you stand to do that with someone who had …” Emily couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “Raped me? Used my sister as a sex slave? Then threatened to kill me every day until he left Freeport?” Tiffani’s face was hard.

  She explained to Emily how she’d turned the tables on him. She’d lured him in like she did all her top clients. But with James, she took it further. Made it personal. Special. He was the only one who got to have her. Really have her. But it came at a price. She charged. And he paid. Whatever she asked. She got him to buy her new clothes. And jewelry. And the Lexus they were sitting in. She used their pillow talk to get him to confess that he had killed her sister. Every gory detail.

  Emily sat riveted to Tiffani’s story. “He just confessed? Like that?” she said.

  “He was really high. I don’t even think he remembers all the things he told me. I recorded everything,” Tiffani added.

  “It must have been so hard to hear all that.”

  “It was all I could do not to vomit or shoot him in the face.”

  “What happened? Why’d he do it? Why’d he go so far as to kill Sandi?”

  “Sandi had found out about the sex video. I heard them fighting when she got home from school. She was screaming at him. She said she was going to go to the school. His coach. The police.”