Cherished Secrets

by C. B. Clark

  Vivian pulled out a chair from the table and perched on the seat. “He deserves to know.”

  “It’s too late.” Carrie Ann wiped her streaming eyes. “Bonnie thinks her father’s dead. How can I now tell her he’s alive?”

  Vivian was silent for several heartbeats. “I heard Sheldon Dubrowski is talking to the sheriff.”

  “This town is something else.” Carrie Ann shook her head. “Everyone knows what everyone else is doing.”

  “Exactly why you need to tell Declan. You don’t seriously think no one knows about Bonnie, do you?” Vivian reached out, but stopped just short of touching Carrie Ann. “Think what will happen if he learns about Bonnie from someone else.”

  Carrie Ann’s stomach clenched. She’d thought of nothing else. Her aunt was right. Far better for Declan to hear the truth from her, but too much time had passed, too many lies had been told. How could she explain the sudden appearance of a daughter he never knew he had?

  She and Bonnie were a team. When Bonnie had started asking questions about her father, Carrie Ann had done the only thing she could—she’d lied and told her daughter her father was dead. Over the years she’d embellished on the lie, expanding the tale until it was a tragic love story cut short by sudden death. Bonnie believed her. Why wouldn’t she? Mothers didn’t lie to their children. After all these years, how could she tell her daughter her father was alive and well? “I’m not going to tell him.”

  Vivian opened her mouth, but Carrie Ann cut her off. “And you’re not going to tell him either.”

  Vivian watched her for a long moment. “I hope you realize how wrong you are before it’s too late.” She stood, swaying, clinging to the table. Her face lost what little color it had.

  Carrie Ann grabbed her arm, holding her steady. “Are you okay?”

  A long minute passed before Vivian inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m fine. I appreciate your concern, my dear, but you should worry about your own life, not mine.” On that biting comment, she shuffled out of the room.

  Carrie Ann watched her go, unease filling her. The old woman was ill. But then she shook her head. It was probably just the flu. Vivian would be back to her usual robust self in a few days. She was too ornery to get sick. She’d tell whatever illness dared to attack her to go to hell like she did everything and everyone else.

  Picking up her plate, Carrie Ann threw the unfinished sandwich in the trash. She was going out to the old Rankin Farm. Something deep inside, an intuition, sixth sense, whatever you wanted to call it, something told her the answers she was looking for were at the deserted farm.

  Most people in town believed Declan had met up with Skye when he went back to the old farm to get his truck the night of Prom. He’d been drunk, and he and Skye fought. In a blind rage, Declan had killed her and hidden her body in the woods.

  That version of events didn’t pan out anymore. Now they knew Sheldon had left the party with Skye. Later, she’d climbed into a vehicle with someone who’d stopped and picked her up. That person had to be the murderer and someone from Cooper’s Ridge. A stranger wouldn’t have known about the old farm and its isolation. The killer could have hidden her body any number of isolated spots. Instead he’d chosen the farm.

  The back door opened with a bang.

  She jumped, her hand going to her chest to still the rapid beating of her heart. “Leland! You startled me.”

  He strode into the kitchen, chuckling. “I didn’t know I was so frightening. I decided to come home for lunch and check on Vivian. She wasn’t feeling well this morning.” His brow furrowed. “What’s going on? You’re pale as a ghost.” He sat in the chair Vivian had vacated. “Something you want to talk about?”

  He’d always been a good listener. When she was a child and upset with Vivian, Carrie Ann often ranted to him about the unfairness of her aunt’s autocratic dictates. Leland had listened, never judging, just being there for her. She took a steadying breath. “You heard about Sheldon?”

  He nodded. “I just left the Sheriff’s Office. Sheldon was talking to the sheriff.”

  “I can’t believe what he did. Declan was his friend. How could Sheldon let him suffer all these years, knowing what he knew?”

  “He was afraid, I guess. If we’d known Skye had left the party with Sheldon, the investigators might have looked at other suspects. Sheldon would certainly have been one of them. His father wouldn’t have liked his only son being a major suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “What happens now?”

  Leland ran his hand over his gray, bristly hair. “The sheriff will look into the matter. But, since Sheldon didn’t see the car Skye Lawrence got into clearly, I don’t know what good his information will do.”

  “He described the car.”

  “A lot of people own dark-colored, two-door sedans. Even I do, and have for years.”

  “So this doesn’t help Declan?”

  “This new information will make it more difficult to convict. Any good lawyer could claim reasonable doubt. A jury would probably believe him.”

  She picked up her glass and drank some water, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. “Someone must have seen something. After he murdered her, the killer drove back to the farm and hid her body. How could he move around so freely without someone seeing him?”

  “It was late. You know what Cooper’s Ridge is like. The streets roll up at eleven.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Declan’s private investigator was at the Sheriff’s Office. He turned over a piece of fabric he claimed Declan found in the old barn at Rankin’s Farm.”

  The breath hitched in her throat. “What did the sheriff say?”

  “This doesn’t look good for McAllister. Only the killer would have had a piece of the poor girl’s scarf.”

  “But Declan said he found it in the barn.”

  Leland chuckled. “And you believe him?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  He shook his head, sadness filming his eyes. “My poor girl, you’ve never stopped loving him, have you?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he squeezed her hand and cut her off. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You do realize, McAllister’s going to jail for this. Believe me, you don’t want to be involved with him when that happens. That’s no life for anyone. You have to think of Bonnie.”

  “But he didn’t kill Skye. I know he didn’t.”

  “And who’s going to believe you?”

  “But what about Sheldon’s statement? We now know Skye left the party well before Declan went back there.”

  Leland’s eyes darkened. “Sheldon is Declan’s friend, and as a result, his testimony will be perceived as tainted.”

  “Tainted?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit too convenient that after all these years, Declan’s best friend comes forward with information that removes some of the suspicion from Declan?”

  She jutted her chin. “It wasn’t like that. We had to force Sheldon to tell us what happened. He wasn’t lying. Not this time.”

  “Well, we’ll find out either way.” He stood up. “Any more chicken? I’m starving.”

  She pointed to the plate of sliced meat sitting on the counter and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Leland asked.

  “Out to Rankin’s Farm.”

  “Why in Heaven’s name would you go all the way out there?”

  “I want to see where the killer buried Skye’s body.”

  “Why? How will seeing the burial site help you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The sheriff and his investigators combed the entire farm and the surrounding forest after Skye’s body was found.”

  “I know it’s foolish, but I have to do something. I can’t sit here and wait until they arrest Declan.”

  “Is he going with you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll go with you. You shouldn’
t go alone.”

  “No, you should stay here with Vivian. She’s not looking well.”

  His gaze held hers. “Be careful. You’re a long way from help if you get into trouble out there.”

  A frisson of foreboding rippled along her spine, but she pasted a smile on her face. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  ****

  Carrie Ann surveyed the wall of trees and shivered. She tugged her coat tighter against the chill of the cloudy afternoon. Gusts of wind blew dried, yellow leaves across the desolate clearing. The barn door swayed and creaked on its rusty hinges.

  For the hundredth time since she’d left town, she questioned her decision to come out here alone. What if Declan was right? What if someone was out to stop her from finding Skye’s murderer? What if someone had followed her?

  A raven croaked from somewhere deep within the gloomy forest. She shivered again, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched. Stop being silly. She’d come here for a reason, and she’d better get on with her search before the rain hit.

  Crossing the clearing, she skirted the old barn, heading for the thicket of trees. Wild raspberry bushes, masses of brambles, and a tangle of red willows created an almost impenetrable barrier to the forest beyond. She scouted along the edge of the bush until she found the remnants of a trail leading into the trees. The path wound through the thick undergrowth. Fir trees towered over her, their branches swaying and creaking in the rising wind.

  Hearing the splash of running water, she thrust aside the snarl of thorny bushes to expose a small opening. She stepped through into a clearing. Dim light filtered through the branches revealing a carpet of lush, green grass. A stream bisected the meadow, burbling over moss-covered rocks.

  Tattered strips of faded, pink flagging tape fluttered from where they’d been tied to the tree trunks by the long-ago investigators. The thick mat of grass nearly obscured the oblong depression in the middle of the secluded glade.

  In spite of the cold, sweat beaded her brow. This was where the killer had buried Skye’s body. Twelve years ago the trees would have been smaller, the bush not as thick, but the little clearing would still have been hidden from view.

  Crouching down before the dip in the ground, she picked up a handful of sandy soil, sifting the fine earth through her fingers. Skye’s battered and bloody body had been covered by a thin layer of this dirt and left for the scavengers. Tears stung her eyes. No one deserved to die like Skye had, beaten and strangled, and dumped in the forest.

  Two lives had been destroyed the night Skye was murdered. One senseless attack and two young people’s lives had changed forever. Skye was dead; Declan forced to live under a cloud of suspicion.

  A fat raindrop plopped on the ground, followed by another and then another, raising tiny puffs of dust in the dirt. Taking one last look at the small depression in the ground, she turned toward the trail to her car.

  A branch cracked in the dense thicket of trees.

  She froze, straining to hear over the rain and rising wind. “Who’s there?” Her voice was a thin squeak.

  Another snap, followed by a furtive rustle of bushes.

  She gulped, wishing she’d thought to bring a weapon. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She wasn’t alone. Someone or something was hiding in the dark woods watching her.

  In the next second, she was up and racing along the trail to the barn, ignoring the branches scratching her face and tearing at her clothes. Bursting out of the trees, she ran to her car, stumbling over the rutted ground. She opened the door and leaped in, hitting the automatic lock button.

  Her chest heaved as she peered through the rain-spotted windshield at the crumbling ruin of the barn looming over her, the red paint on the old boards faded to umber, the windows dark and vacant. Another shiver rippled along her spine. Stop being foolish. No one’s here but you. The noises she’d heard in the forest were from a squirrel or a deer seeking shelter from the rain. Lots of animals lived in the dense woods.

  She released a shaky laugh and reached for her purse on the seat beside her for a tissue. Her breath caught in her throat. A small fragment of cloth lay atop her purse, the vibrant colors glowing in the meager, late afternoon light. With a shaking hand, she picked up the cloth. The smooth silk slid between her fingers. Mesmerized, she studied the scrap of torn fabric.

  The air in the car was suddenly too thick to breathe. Fingers shaking, she turned the cloth over and jammed her fist in her mouth stifling a scream. Written across the silk in thick, black letters was a single, condemning word. Guilty.

  She dropped the cloth as if it burned and gulped air. While she’d been traipsing around the forest looking for where the killer had dumped Skye’s body, someone had been inside her car and left this piece of Skye’s scarf for her to find. The same person could still be here, watching her, waiting.

  Her hand shook so much she dropped the keys on the floor twice before finally fitting them in the ignition and starting the car. The engine choked, sputtered, and died. Her heart hammered as she tried again. Come on. Please, please start. The engine rumbled to life. Relief flooded through her, and she pressed her foot on the gas. The car leapt ahead.

  She sped along the rough track to the main road, the small rental car bouncing over the deep ruts, the back end slewing first one way and then the other. Guilty. The single, searing condemnation followed her like a haunting call. She pressed harder on the gas trying to escape the word and what it implied.

  Careening around a sharp corner, she clung to the steering wheel, fighting to keep the car on the road. The vehicle skidded, bouncing over a series of washboards. She glanced in the rearview mirror. The road behind her was dark. Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she eased her foot off the accelerator.

  Rounding the next bend, she entered a straight stretch and cast another quick look behind. A set of headlights shone in her rearview mirror. Her heart stuttered. Once again, she pressed down on the gas pedal. The little car shook as it sped over the gravel road, the motor roaring.

  The vehicle behind loomed larger in the rearview mirror.

  Her car was no match for the powerful, black SUV roaring down on her. The gleaming, chrome, front grill resembled sharp fangs ready to devour her.

  The distance between them narrowed, and a terrifying realization hit. The big vehicle was going to ram her.

  At the last minute, the SUV veered from behind and moved into the lane beside her.

  As the SUV drew level, she risked a glance, but the dark, tinted windows made it impossible to see the driver. Come on, pass. The SUV held a steady pace, matching her speed.

  She slowed, knowing she couldn’t outrun the more powerful vehicle.

  The SUV slowed.

  She slowed even more. Maybe the driver of the SUV was drunk and out for kicks, thinking it’d be a big joke to scare her. Mission accomplished. Her hands shook so much she could barely hang onto the steering wheel.

  Suddenly, the SUV surged ahead, swerving into the lane in front of her, nearly clipping her bumper. The brake lights flashed, and it skidded to a stop.

  She jammed on her brakes, screaming as her car slid on the loose gravel, stopping mere feet from the SUV’s shiny, rear bumper. Her heart pounded at the near miss.

  All was still and silent for five long seconds, but then with a roar of its engine, the SUV’s tires dug into the gravel, and the vehicle reversed, crashing into her with a deafening screech of metal on metal.

  Her head slammed against the headrest, then she flew forward, the seatbelt cutting into her shoulder and waist. A loud bang filled the car as the airbag inflated. She smashed into it, the air in her lungs expelling in a violent burst, and the world went black.

  Chapter 19

  Every swipe of the wipers fueled his anger. Why the hell hadn’t she called him? She shouldn’t have gone out to the Rankin Farm on her own. Didn’t she realize how dangerous the situation was? Declan pressed down on the gas pedal, forcing the tiny rental car
to go faster.

  He’d been at the police station being questioned by Sheriff Atkins when Vivian had called and told him Carrie Ann had gone to the farm on her own. He’d immediately halted the interview and run out of the police station to his car, ignoring the sheriff’s protests. Leaving in the middle of the interview was not smart and would make him appear guiltier, but he had to go. Carrie Ann could be in trouble.

  He swerved around yet another puddle. Headlights loomed ahead, rushing toward him. Relief washed over him. The speeding car had to be Carrie Ann’s returning from the farm. No one else would be foolish enough to be on this remote road in a rainstorm.

  His relief turned to confusion, as instead of slowing, the vehicle blasted by in a spray of muddy water and gravel. He slowed the car and turned and squinted through the rain-streaked rear window, but with a flash of red taillights, the car vanished around a curve in the road. All he’d been able to make out was a large black SUV going like a bat out of hell.

  Why was the other vehicle going so fast? His gut tightened, and once again, he jammed his foot on the gas. The little car surged ahead, the motor screaming in protest. He crested the rise of a hill. A single, bright light shone in the distance where no light should be. The knot in his stomach tightened, and he pressed harder on the gas pedal.

  Carrie Ann’s car, its front end crumpled, one headlight shining up at the rain-filled sky, the other broken and dark, lay ahead. The car’s rear end was mired in the ditch.

  He jammed on his brakes, barely waiting for the car to skid to a stop before he leaped out. Two strides took him to the driver’s buckled door. He wrenched at the door, yanking, until with a protesting scream of warped metal, the door opened. The interior light flickered, and his heart stopped.

  Carrie Ann was strapped in her seatbelt, her head hanging down, her chin resting on her chest. A thin drizzle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth and dripped onto her sweater.

  His hand shook as he touched her cheek. Warm. Thank God.

  She moaned, her dark lashes fluttering against her too pale cheeks.

  “Carrie Ann, can you hear me?” His heart beat so loud he barely heard his own voice.