Cherished Secrets

by C. B. Clark

  She clutched the counter, her heart pounding. This was what Leland meant last night. He was involved in the new investigation into Skye’s murder.

  A knock sounded on the kitchen door.

  Her first thought was to ignore it. No one knew she was in town. The person at the door was looking for Vivian or Leland. Another, louder knocking changed her mind. She shoved away from the counter and walked on wobbly legs to the back door, her mind still reeling with what she’d read in the paper.

  A tall, lanky man stood on the walkway dangling a set of keys in his hand. A lock of greasy, dark hair escaped a sweat-stained ball cap and fell over his brow. The name ‘Ted’ was stitched on the chest pocket of his blue, grease-stained coveralls. “Mornin’, ma’am. I got yer car.” The odor of stale tobacco smoke oozed out of his pores and seeped from his clothing, swirling in the air around him.

  “My car?” She blinked, trying to focus. Leland had told her Declan was having her car towed to a garage to have the tire repaired.

  “Yep. Tire’s all fixed. Mind you, if I was you, I wouldn’t plan on doin’ much travelin’. If you don’t mind me sayin’, those tires you got on that there car are ready for the dump.” He handed her the keys.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothin’.”

  She wrinkled her brow, anger starting to burn. “Wait a minute. Did Declan McAllister pay you for the repairs?”

  “Yep. He was in first thing this mornin’ and paid fer the work then.” The man scratched his head under his cap. “I gotta say, that McAllister fella is a heck of a lot nicer than I thought he’d be. I mean, everyone in town says he’s a killer, but he was downright friendly.” He hawked a gob of phlegm into the bed of geraniums beside the door. “And he didn’t dicker about the charge either. In my book, that says a lot about a man right there.”

  “A killer? Who says he’s a killer?” She gulped. Did the people in town still think Declan had murdered Skye?

  “Darn near everyone, ma’am.” Once again he scratched his scalp. “I weren’t livin’ here when the murder happened and all, mind, but I heard ’bout it.” His eyes brightened. “You know him, right? I mean he paid for yer tire and all. You two must be friends. Tell me, did he do it? Did he kill that poor gal?”

  She gulped, struggling to swallow. Did he kill that poor gal? The damning words clamored through her mind. This suspicion is what Declan had faced all these years. No wonder he’d left town. She opened her mouth to defend him, to tell this oaf Declan was innocent, but thought better of it. Did she really want to get involved? Was she willing to risk everything to protect Declan?

  Anything she said to the mechanic would be repeated and exaggerated around town. “Look.” She eyed his nametag. “Look, Ted, I don’t know why Mr. McAllister paid for the repairs to my tire. He shouldn’t have.” She reached in her pocket and withdrew her wallet. “I’ll pay you.”

  Ted spat another wad onto the poor flowers. “No, way, ma’am. I ain’t takin’ yer money. If you’ve got a problem with the guy, work it out with him. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my job and been paid fair and square.”

  Damn. She hadn’t been in town twenty-four hours and already she was indebted to Declan. Not going to happen. She’d hunt him down and give him back his damn money, as well as a piece of her mind.

  “Um, ma’am, I figure there’s somethin’ you oughta know.” Ted shifted from one foot to the other.

  “What is it?”

  “I promised Mr. McAllister I wouldn’t say nothin’ to you, but that don’t sit right with me. I mean, the way I see things, you need to know, seein’ as yer the one drivin’ the car and all.”

  “Know what?”

  He rubbed his hand over his chin, the rasp of stubble loud in the morning air. “The flat tire y’all had?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, you see, ma’am, it weren’t no ordinary puncture.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t likely have noticed if that McAllister fella hadn’t told me to look fer it, but once I had the tire off yer car and had a good look, I seen the truth plain as day.”

  “What?” She tapped the toe of her shoe on the tile floor. Would his rambling never end? “What did you see?”

  “The hole in yer tire? It weren’t caused by no nail.” He met her gaze. “I found a bullet hole in the sidewall.”

  She gaped. “Someone shot my tire? Are you certain?”

  “Sure looks like it, ma’am.”

  “And Declan, I mean, Mr. McAllister, he knows this?”

  “He’s the one told me to look fer the bullet hole.”

  “And he told you not to tell me?”

  “He didn’t want to scare you none.” Ted shrugged. “I thought it better you know, but sweet Jesus, look what I’ve gone and done. Yer shakin’ worse than a spring lamb ’bout to be butchered. Maybe I shoulda listened to him. Maybe he was right.”

  “What…” She gulped. “What about the police? Do they know?”

  He shrugged. “Doubt it. Look, you don’t need to worry none, ma’am. Most likely some farmer was shootin’ at a coyote and the bullet got away on ’im. That’s all. Happens from time to time round these parts.”

  A chill settled over her. Someone shot at her car last night! Only Vivian and Leland had known she was coming back to town yesterday. Even if someone else had known, no one could have predicted she’d take the old shortcut through vast stretches of farmland and forest instead of the paved Interstate to Cooper’s Ridge.

  But someone had known. Someone had hidden on the lonely stretch of road waiting for her to drive by. A quiver of unease rippled along her spine. Someone had been there. Declan was there. In the next breath, she brushed her disquiet aside. The puncture in her tire was an accident. Like Ted said, a farmer shooting at coyotes. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

  “Look, ma’am. I reckon I shoulda kept my trap shut. I sure as heck didn’t mean to scare you none.”

  She almost laughed. Really? And he didn’t think telling her someone had shot at her car would frighten her? “It’s okay, Ted. You’re probably right. I’m sure it was an accident, but thanks for telling me.”

  “That’s the way I see things.” He shuffled his feet and scratched his head again. “Well, if that’s all, ma’am. I reckon I gotta go. You get those tires replaced before you take a trip, you hear? Come see me, and I’ll give you a real good deal.”

  She closed the door, her head throbbing. Someone had shot at her car. The words rang like an ominous refrain through her mind. Why had Declan kept this information from her? Even if the shooting was an accident, she deserved to know.

  She jumped at another knock on the door. What now? She opened the door expecting to see Ted’s oil-stained face.

  Instead, a short, wiry man wearing a dark suit and a bright, yellow, power tie grinned at her, exposing a row of gleaming white teeth. “So, it’s true. You are back.” He chuckled. “Damn, but the Cooper’s Ridge gossip brigade is bang on. Nothing gets by them.”

  “Sheldon Dubrowski?”

  He nodded, beaming as his gaze swept over her. “You look damned good, girl.”

  She couldn’t say the same about her old schoolmate. His rust-colored hair receded from his high forehead. Gone were his mouthful of metal and face plastered with an unflattering mix of freckles and pimples, replaced by deep grooves radiating from the corners of his eyes and bracketing his wide mouth.

  “Can I come in?” He gestured at the partially open door.

  She hesitated. Sheldon had been Declan’s best friend in high school. She wondered if he still was.

  His blue eyes drilled into hers, the grin fading, but never leaving his face.

  Resigned, she breathed deep. “Come on in.”

  He strolled across the kitchen and dragged out a chair from the table, sat down, and studied the room. “Do you realize this is the first time I’ve been inside this house?”

  “We didn’t hang out here
, remember?” She shrugged. “My aunt—”

  “Ah, yes, your aunt. How is the old boot?”

  She couldn’t help chuckling. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”

  He shook his head. “I have to get to work. I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”

  “You heard I was here?” How did he know? Had Declan told him he’d seen her?

  “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the local gossip mill.” He chuckled. “Folks around here knew you were coming home before even you did.”

  She shook her head. One of the many things she didn’t miss. Her Seattle neighbors hardly knew her name, much less cared what she did.

  “So, tell me, why are you back?” His eyebrows rose, and he leaned closer, his whipcord-lean body bristling with curiosity. “Now, after all these years?”

  “My aunt asked me to come home.”

  “Ordered you, more likely.” His sharp eyes narrowed. “I wonder why?”

  “You tell me. You know more of what’s going on than I do.” The last thing she wanted was to give him any more fodder to pass on to the town gossips.

  “Declan’s back too.”

  “Is he?” She fought to keep her expression impassive. So Declan hadn’t sent him. Sheldon didn’t know about their encounter last night.

  “Have you seen him?”

  She shook her head, not sure why she lied.

  He smirked. “Why would you? It’s not as if he’d call you, not after the way things ended between you two.”

  She grabbed her cup of coffee and gulped down the dregs, shuddering at the cold, bitter taste, but needing the fortification.

  He took her hand, holding it between his two warm, moist ones. “Whatever the reason you’re back, I’m glad. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call.”

  She yanked her hand away, resisting the urge to wipe her palm on her pants. “Thanks, but I’m not staying long. I’m hoping to leave town tomorrow.”

  “That’s too bad.” He shook his head. “Say, have you heard I’m working with my dad? Seems I like accounting.” He mock bowed. “Sheldon Dubrowski, Certified Public Accountant, at your service.” His mouth twisted. “Who knew? What are you doing these days? I hear you live in Seattle. Are you married? Do you have any kids? Come on, tell me all your news. I’m dying to know.” His keen eyes watched her.

  Yeah, right. Like she’d risk telling him anything. “How do you know I live in Seattle?”

  He shrugged. “I heard it somewhere. Is it true?”

  Instead of answering, she said, “We all change, Sheldon. Life changes us. We get older and grow up.”

  “It’s the pits, isn’t it?” He rose and walked to the door but halted with his hand on the knob. “By the way, did you hear the news?”

  “News?”

  “I thought Leland would have told you. I assumed it was the reason you were back.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her heart started to pound. She knew what he was going to say.

  “They’ve reopened Skye’s murder investigation.”

  “I read the article in the paper this morning.” She fought to keep her voice calm, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing how rattled she was.

  “Exciting news, isn’t it? Declan’s back in town, and he’s hired some hotshot private detective to look into the old case. He’s determined to clear his name. I don’t blame him. Man, the way the people in this town talk about him, you’d think he was already tried and convicted.” He swelled with importance. “I’m meeting Declan later. He’s going to tell me all about the investigation.”

  She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking.

  “It would be great if they finally found out who murdered Skye.” His eyes shone. “Of course, unlike most people in this town, I’ve always known Declan was innocent.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

  “I know you two had your problems, and you left town when all the trouble blew up,” he continued, “but surely you don’t think he’s guilty. Do you? I mean, you knew him better than anyone.”

  Her paralysis released its hold. “Look, I have to get ready. I’m meeting Vivian.”

  A dozen heartbeats passed as he searched her face. “I have to go too,” he finally said. “Money to make, you know?” He gripped her hand in a tight squeeze. “Nice to have you back. Let’s get together before you leave. It’ll be like old times. Call me.” With a wave, he left, closing the door behind him.

  She sagged in a chair listening to his retreating steps on the brick-lined path. A car door slammed, and an engine rumbled to life.

  Call me. Not likely. Why had he come? His visit wasn’t just to reconnect with an old friend. He’d been Declan’s friend, not hers. No, he was here on a fishing expedition. The questions were—why, and who’d sent him?

  Chapter 4

  Carrie Ann opened the heavy glass door to Vivian’s small boutique and stepped inside. Rich, perfumed air mingled with the muted strains of classical music. A pair of well-dressed, older women looked over racks of over-priced, designer dresses, blouses, and slacks.

  The sales clerk bustled over, a smile pasted on her middle-aged face. Her smile faltered when she took in Carrie Ann’s faded jeans and scuffed leather boots. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  “No, thanks.” Carrie Ann waved the woman off. “I’m here to see Vivian.”

  Once again, the sales clerk perused Carrie Ann from head to toe. Her mouth pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “I’m afraid Mrs. Winters is busy. Let me check and see if she has a moment for you.”

  “Don’t bother. I know the way.”

  The clerk’s pucker tightened, but she didn’t try and stop her as Carrie Ann wound her way through circular racks of clothes and artfully posed mannequins to the back of the store.

  When Carrie Ann was a teenager, Vivian had made her wear some of the clothes she sold in her high-priced ladies’ clothing boutique. Carrie Ann’s face burned at the memory. The styles were conservative and matronly, far too old for an awkward girl trying to fit in with her peers. It had been one more bone of contention between her and Vivian.

  Past the dressing rooms was a small, recessed door with ‘Vivian Morgenstern Winters’ etched in elaborate calligraphy on a discreet, brass plaque. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door.

  Vivian sat behind an antique, gold-trimmed, French provincial desk clicking at a computer keyboard and frowning at the screen. Her gaunt face lit up when Carrie Ann stepped through the door. “Carrie Ann, how nice to see you. Come in and sit down, my dear.” She indicated an elegant, fragile chair more appropriate for a boudoir than an office.

  Carrie Ann sat as directed. The opulent office hadn’t changed. Four copies of paintings by Monet, with their depictions of vibrant, flowered fields and French countryside, provided a splash of color against the cool green walls. The floral, cloying scent of Vivian’s favorite perfume filled the air.

  Squirming on the uncomfortable chair like she was fifteen again, waiting to be scolded for some misdeed, Carrie Ann tried to take the offensive. “I want my mother’s effects.” She scowled at the quaver in her voice.

  Vivian’s sharp gaze swept over her. “You’re pale, my dear. Is something wrong? Did you read the newspaper I left on the kitchen counter for you? Is that why you’re so upset?”

  “I saw the article on Skye Lawrence’s murder investigation, if that’s what you mean.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think anything.” The lie slipped from Carrie Ann’s lips. It was becoming a habit. “Why should I? Skye Lawrence’s murder investigation has nothing to do with me. Not anymore.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Carrie Ann. You never were a good liar.” Vivian’s long, red nails tapped on the desk. “I know how much you cared for Declan, how much you still care.”

  Carrie Ann blew out a breath and gave up all pretext of disinterest. “Is it true? Is the sheriff looking into
the case again?”

  Vivian nodded. “Leland is in charge of the effort. It turns out, we might have been wrong all these years.”

  “You mean someone other than Declan was responsible for Skye’s murder. I always knew he wasn’t guilty.”

  “You may have, but most people in town don’t believe he’s innocent. Declan’s returned to town and hired a private investigator in an attempt to prove his innocence.” Vivian sipped water from a crystal goblet on her desk and dabbed at her lips with a lace handkerchief she’d tugged from her sleeve. “If this private investigator finds anything, and the evidence holds up, everyone will know Declan’s innocent once and for all.”

  Carrie Ann blinked. When Skye’s beaten and bloodied body had been discovered, circumstantial evidence had linked Declan to Skye and the crime scene; enough to substantiate the sheriff’s suspicions. Declan had been hauled in for questioning. Nothing had come of the interrogation, and he’d been released after spending a night in the local jail. No thanks to Vivian and Leland, who’d done everything in their power to convince people of his guilt. “I imagine the thought of him being cleared pisses you off.”

  Vivian flinched as if Carrie Ann had struck her. “On the contrary, my dear. I intend to do whatever I can to help him prove his innocence.”

  “I don’t believe this.” The words exploded out of her. “I always knew Declan didn’t hurt Skye, but you were so certain he was guilty, you did everything short of sending him to the gas chamber. Now you’re telling me you think he’s innocent?”

  Vivian dabbed her forehead with her hankie. “Come on, Carrie Ann. You really can’t blame me. The McAllisters were bad news. You know as well as I what they were like. The whole town knew. His mother locked herself in her bedroom, living on a steady diet of prescription drugs and alcohol.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “His father was a drunk, and when he wasn’t drinking, he was sitting in jail for one petty crime or another. Declan’s reputation wasn’t much better. He had a temper like his father. Look at all the fistfights in which he was involved. Seems to me he was suspended from school for fighting several times over the years.”