Riley's Secret (A Moon's Glow Novel # 1)

by Smith, Christina

  Detective Carver and another man in a suit, made their way back over to me and asked me to wait in my car for a few minutes.

  I did as they said, scared out of my mind.

  Chapter Three

  Riley House

  I sat in my car for about half an hour, watching the men finally put the fire out. Just as the firemen were packing up I saw Detective Carver talking on her cell phone. When she hung up, she spoke briefly to the other detective and then they both headed back in my direction. I climbed out of the car with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach and leaned against the bumper to wait.

  “Megan, this is my partner, Detective Alberts,” she said, once they stood in front of me.

  “Hello, Megan. Detective Carver tells me that you were in the school parking lot when you saw the smoke?”

  “Yes.”

  When Carver’s cell phone rang, she took a step away from us to listen to the caller.

  Alberts ignored her and kept up his questioning. “That’s strange, because when you look over at the school from here, you can only see the football field. How did you see the house from the front of the school?”

  “I didn’t say I could see the house. I said I could see the smoke.”

  “Oh, I see.” He glanced over at his partner and watched as she hung up her cell phone.

  “Are you sure you were alone at the school, Megan?” Detective Carver asked, sliding her cell into her jacket pocket.

  I gulped nervously, shifting my eyes between the two detectives. “Um…yes.” It sounded more like a question than an answer.

  “Did you happen to see anyone on the school property?”

  “I…I didn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t anyone there. Why?”

  “Because the officers I sent over to take a look at the schoolyard found beer bottles and fireworks on the field. I would think you would have heard them if you were in the parking lot.”

  “Maybe that was from last night.”

  “I just got off the phone with the football coach and he said the field was clean at today’s practice.” She was leaning on the police car and then pushed off, walking over to stand in front of me. “Who are you covering for?”

  “No one.” I glanced around the area nervously and spotted Nate standing near the parents. His focus wasn’t on them—it was on me.

  “Did you know that the firemen found remnants of a firecracker on the roof where the fire originated?” Alberts asked me.

  I wasn’t going to answer. It was obvious they knew what happened and I couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” Detective Carver asked.

  “I already told you what happened,” I said softly, the conviction gone from my voice. I was in way over my head and I didn’t know how to get out of this predicament.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. I think you’re covering for friends. I don’t think you had anything to do with it. It’s obvious you weren’t drinking and you tried to help the family. If you weren’t banging on the door, Mr. Green”—referring to Nate—“would not have known what was going on and the family probably would have died.” She paused, letting the seriousness of the situation set in. “I know you’re a good person, so do the right thing and tell us who is responsible.”

  I folded my arms in front of me, staring at her with defiance, hoping to appear stronger than I felt.

  “Okay, Alberts, I guess she’s not going to talk. Cuff her.”

  “What? You can’t do that!” I backed up, raising my hands in front of me. I felt a rush of fear. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “All the evidence points to you. You were at the scene of the crime, plus you called nine-one-one. And we have a witness who says you admitted it. Since you won’t tell us who really did this, we’re going to have to arrest you.” She gestured with her hand to Detective Alberts. He came over and put my hands behind my back, snapping handcuffs on my wrists. The metal cuffs were tight, cold and dug into my skin as he led me to the cruiser.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” I shrieked, the air rushing out of me as panic began to seep in.

  “Prove it. Tell me who you’re covering for.” When I didn’t respond, she began reading me my rights; only I didn’t hear the words. I was so terrified, my mind went blank.

  Once inside the back of the cruiser, I glanced at Nate through the closed window. He just stared at me in disgust. If I hoped he would try to help me, I was sorely mistaken.

  “Where’s my car?” I asked after I was fingerprinted and my mug shot taken.

  “Impound. You can have one phone call,” Detective Carver informed me, handing me an old black rotary phone with a cord.

  “Dad!” I cried when I heard my father’s sleepy voice through the receiver.

  “Megan, where are you?”

  “Don’t freak out, okay. But I’m in jail.”

  “What? What happened?” His voice sharpened with what I chose to believe was fear for me, not embarrassment or anger.

  “I went to the school hoping to get in so I could get a book out of my locker. I saw that a house was on fire and I called nine-one-one. I tried to help the family. But I’ve been arrested.” I heard him swear on the other end and then silence. “Dad?” I asked.

  “Go on.” His voice was hoarse.

  “The police think that I’m covering for the people that started it and I think they arrested me to make me talk.”

  “Are you covering for someone?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  He sighed heavily. The weight of the world was in that sound. “Fine, I’ll be right over with Edwin.” Edwin was my dad’s lawyer. My father used to be a lawyer and still was, but he ran the firm now and didn’t practice often.

  “Thank you.”

  Three hours later, I was in my room getting ready for bed. Edwin had gotten me out of jail. But unfortunately, the only way he could do that was with two hundred hours of community service, unless I told them who had started the fire. If I did that the charges would be dropped and I could walk away with my record clean. I was their only suspect and apparently the evidence wasn’t on my side. Since I refused to co-operate, I had to start my community service tomorrow. Not really what I had in mind for a Saturday.

  After my shower the next morning, I stared at the rows of clothes in my walk-in closet, wondering what was appropriate to wear when feeding the poor. I was to report to a homeless shelter and help serve lunch. I guessed that wearing the latest styles from the best designers wasn’t a good idea. However, since my mother bought me expensive clothes when she felt guilty for not spending time with me, it was all I owned. I finally decided on a simple black fitted top and a pair of skinny jeans. At least no one would see the labels. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, wearing only eye makeup and lip gloss.

  “Hey, Mona, how are you this morning?” I asked our cook when I stepped into the kitchen. She had been my nanny until I was twelve, but when I couldn’t let her go, she stayed on as one of our cooks. I considered her my mother more than the person who gave birth to me.

  Mona looked up from her mixing bowl and stared at me in amazement. “My goodness, girl, it’s only ten o’clock on a Saturday. What are you doing up?” She was in her fifties and her long brown hair that was always pulled up in a bun was starting to turn gray. She lived with her husband Ben in a small cottage here on the property. He was our gardener.

  I sat down on a stool in front of the kitchen island, where she was making her famous banana pancakes. “I guess you didn’t hear what happened to me last night?” I poured myself some orange juice out of the jug in front of me.

  “Oh, I heard.” Her brow was raised, her voice irritated. “What is wrong with you? Why would you let yourself get arrested for those losers you call friends?” She pointed at me with the wooden spoon she was using to stir the pancake mix.

  “They’re not all losers.”

  She sighed, leaning ove
r the counter toward me, her gardenia scent as strong as ever. “I know you think Mandy is different, but if you really sat down and thought about everything she has gotten you into, you might change your mind.”

  “I don’t want to talk about her right now. I need to eat and get going. I have to report to Riley House this morning by eleven.”

  “What for?”

  “Edwin got me out last night, but I have to do two hundred hours of community service.”

  “How did he manage that in the middle of the night?”

  With the glass poised in front of me, about to take a sip, I answered her, “He woke up a judge.”

  She laughed. “What that man wouldn’t do when your father speaks.” She flipped a perfectly round pancake onto my plate and then poured a generous amount of batter into the now empty skillet. “You know your mother was worried about you. She told me she didn’t want you to go out and then you didn’t call until one in the morning.”

  I stabbed a piece of pancake from my plate. “If she was so worried, why didn’t she come with Edwin to get me? And when I got home she was in bed.” I popped the forkful into my mouth and chewed. Once I swallowed I continued. “But Dad was worse. When I called him, he said that he would be right over, but what he meant was, he’d send Edwin.” I took another bite, but didn’t taste the sweet maple syrup or the banana flavor, only the burn in my throat. I wouldn’t cry over my parents’ neglect anymore. I promised myself that two years ago when I sat opening presents on Christmas morning with our cook and gardener.

  She gave me her usual look of pity when my parents screwed up. She would never speak against my parents, but her silence always spoke volumes. She lifted the pan and tilted it. The pancake fell onto a waiting plate.

  After I finished my breakfast, I waved goodbye to Mona and headed to my punishment. The drive there seemed to go way too fast. I was nervous and a little bit scared. I had no idea what to expect and I hoped my nerves would settle on the way over, but no such luck. When I turned onto Addison Avenue, my stomach did flip-flops.

  I pulled up in front of a very large house that looked a lot like a bed-and-breakfast. Did I have the wrong place? I glanced at the address I was given for Riley House and then looked back at the numbers on the yellow home. The numbers matched. But it must be wrong. I was expecting more of an industrial building, with garbage overflowing in a big Dumpster outside. But this was not what I saw. Riley House was just what the name implied, a house. It was a large, three-story, yellow-sided colonial-looking structure. And it featured white shutters and huge white columns that held up the covered porch. The porch was lined with a few wrought-iron chairs, benches and a covered swing. I had the instant feeling of lounging on it with a glass of lemonade. A girl about twelve, with long black hair, sat on one of the chairs hunched over a MP3 player.

  At the sound of a horn behind me, I pulled into the driveway that wrapped around the house and into a parking lot.

  I slid into the spot next to a black sports car. The car seemed to be a couple years old, but in a homeless shelter it really stuck out. I was glad that my red convertible wouldn’t be the only flashy car in a lot full of station wagons and rusted trucks. I turned off the motor and stared at the back door, where a sign that said “New volunteers report to the front door” hung above it.

  Riley House was a place for people to go if they needed anything—food, shelter and even help finding work. I had heard about it on the radio, but had never been. It was built by one of Lauren’s ancestors. Their family was one of the most generous in this town. They were also the oldest. The Riley family had been here since the eighteen hundreds. The first Riley’s department store opened in this town and now they were located all over the world.

  Realizing I was about to be late for my first day, I grabbed my bag and climbed out. I rushed past the girl with the MP3 player. The music was blaring through the ear buds and with her eyes closed, she didn’t even notice me walk by.

  I entered the building into chaos. There were children reading books and playing board games in a game room set up to the right. One boy was screaming as he chased a little girl around with a rubber snake.

  To the left was a bunch of adults watching TV and reading magazines. In front of me, a woman in her forties was sitting at a desk, talking on the phone. She was pretty, with long honey-colored curly hair and blue eyes. A pencil that was stuck behind her ear peeked out of the curls.

  “Yes, please and we’ll need them this afternoon. We want to treat everybody. Today is Frank’s fiftieth birthday. We need a cake.” She paused, listening to the person on the other end. “Thank you,” she said before hanging up the phone. Then she noticed me. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Julia Benton?” I glanced at the form the man at the police station had given me to make sure I had the right name.

  “That’s me. Are you Megan Banks?” she asked with a frown. Great, more people looking at me with disapproval. When I nodded, she handed me another form. “Take this to the kitchen and report to your supervisor. You’ll be working with him. Just do what he tells you.”

  I thanked her and headed in the direction she had pointed to. I heard a mixture of sounds, pots banging, voices, laughter and loud, out-of-tune singing. I stood at the entrance of the bright, spacious kitchen, watching the activity for a few seconds. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I took a deep breath before stepping forward towards the person closest to me. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with a white apron. His black hair was messy and a little damp; it fell into his dark brown eyes. He looked about twenty and he stood in front of a large counter making sandwiches.

  “Hi. Could you tell me where I could find, ah…?” I glanced down at the form. “Nathan.”

  A grin spread slowly across his face before he looked me up and down. “Are you sure you’re not looking for Eddie?” He leaned against the counter, giving me a flirtatious grin. “’Cause that would be me.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure.”

  “Fine then, you want the boss man. He’s the one elbow deep in pots and pans.” He pointed to a guy washing dishes at the back. Nathan had been the one singing loudly. Everyone close to him was singing along and laughing. After I thanked Eddie, I made my way slowly over to my supervisor, weaving around a girl that was about sixteen. Her hair was black with a pink streak down the center of her head. She glared at me as I stepped past her. She was standing beside Eddie, helping with the sandwiches. I ignored her, but dodged a large bowl that was almost jammed into my stomach. “Sorry,” a man in his thirties said, smiling as he rushed past me.

  I finally managed to get to the sink, where three people were doing the dishes. A teenage girl with blond hair in braids was drying and a woman in her mid-twenties was putting them away. I approached the guy that was to be my supervisor, wondering if any of these people had heard of dishwashers.

  He was tall, maybe six feet and his wavy blond hair almost reached his shoulders. “Excuse me, are you Nathan?” I asked quietly.

  He turned around, smiling. “That’s me, but you can—” He stopped speaking when he saw who I was. But I knew what he was about to say: “You can call me Nate.” The person that was in charge of my community service was none other than Nate Green. His smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in jail.” He tossed a plastic dish he had just washed into the empty sink, where it clanged against the stainless steel.

  “I was, thanks to you. Now I have two hundred hours of community service to do, so if you don’t mind, I guess I have to report to you, as much as I hate to say it.”

  He grabbed my arm roughly, but when his hand touched my skin, it was surprisingly soft. He dragged me through the busy kitchen to the front desk, with curious faces staring as we passed.

  Once we were standing in the front hallway, he let go of me. “You can’t be serious, Julia. I am not working with her.” Disgust dripped from his words.

  Julia dropped the pen she had been
holding and leaned back in her office chair. “Nate, she’s a volunteer. You are in charge of the volunteers, remember?”

  “No, she’s not. She’s forced to be here. It’s not the same thing.”

  “Doesn’t matter the reason, she’s here to help. Now put her to work.”

  He scowled at me again and then a slow grin appeared on his face. That grin suddenly made me nervous. “Fine, after you help serve lunch, you’ll be in charge of cleaning the washrooms.” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms in front of him.

  I gulped, but made sure he didn’t notice. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, cleaning the toilets. I’m sure you’re great at that, Princess.”

  I cringed inside. He was right. I had never cleaned a toilet before. Actually, I had never cleaned anything before, but I certainly wouldn’t be telling him that. All I wanted to do was wipe that smug look off his face. “Anything I can do to help, is fine with me.” My voice was all sweetness.

  He scowled again, obviously expecting a different reaction from me, like maybe running out the door screaming. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Fine, follow me.”

  As I walked away, I thought I saw Julia smile.

  Chapter Four

  A Purpose

  Nate put me with Eddie and Mia, the girl with the pink stripe in her hair, making sandwiches. As I buttered bread and added ham and cheese, Eddie chatted with me while Mia ignored us completely.

  He told me tales of growing up on the east side of Creekford. His family was poor and he grew up trying to stay out of trouble. He also told me of the times he would steal from the corner store to put food on the table for his two younger siblings. He never saw his mother and his father died when he was little. His mother worked two jobs and it still wasn’t enough.

  By the time we were ready to serve the food, I was almost in tears. I hid it well though. Eddie had no idea who my family was and I had no intention of telling him.