Secrets Rising

by Sally Berneathy

  "I took a shower and changed clothes," she said, and he realized he was staring.

  "I know. I heard the water running." And he'd seen in his mind's eye exactly how she looked with that water sluicing down her naked skin, cascading over her rounded breasts—

  "Have a seat." He interrupted his thoughts before they got completely out of hand.

  "I brought my own." Only then did he take his eyes off her body sufficiently to notice that she was dragging a chair behind her.

  "Good idea." Keep him off that bed. Maybe keep his mind off that bed.

  She pulled her chair over to the table where he'd set the pizza box and soft drinks.

  He sat across from her.

  Much better. He could still see the bed behind her, a background, but at least he wasn't sitting on it, and the covers weren't rumpled. The maid had straightened the worn spread, tucking it around the pillows and sheets, leaving it pristine, and he hadn't touched it.

  He picked up a piece of pizza and bit off a big chunk. Rebecca did the same, and for a few minutes they ate in silence.

  "Pretty good," she said, reaching for a second slice.

  "Yeah. Good barbecue, good pizza. This town has a couple of things to recommend it in spite of Mayor Morton and Chief Gates."

  She grimaced. "It's going to take more than barbecue and pizza to compensate for those two. So what's our next step?"

  Our next step, she'd said, not your. What the hell, he was getting used to that. She wasn't going home any time soon. There was nothing he could do about it. She was surprisingly stubborn for someone he'd originally thought weak. She was determined to plunge headfirst into a lake of quicksand that could very well suck her down so far she'd never be able to get up.

  He couldn't stop her, and what did it matter to him anyway?

  "The library. I'm going back there to see if good old Eunice has any idea who might have put that clipping in my briefcase. I have a feeling she doesn't miss much that goes on in her library."

  "Do you think she'll tell us?"

  "Well, that's a whole other story. Only one way to find out. After that we need to run a check on Janelle Griffin."

  Rebecca laid down her last bite of pizza and frowned, the aura of fragility returning to hover about her. "I thought you said you didn't think she was my mother."

  "I said I have a hunch she isn't. If she is, our Chief Gates is into overkill. Nevertheless, we can't discount the possibility that she's somehow involved. Otherwise, why, of all the dead women in the Edgewater cemetery, did our mysterious visitor leave us an article about her death?"

  "I see. What about Doris Jordan? Do you think she's telling us everything she knows?"

  "My gut feeling is that she is. Which is too bad. It would have been nice if she'd remembered exactly who bought that dress thirty years ago."

  "That's terrible about her son's murder." She shuddered. "Reading about it in the newspaper made it..."

  "Real?" he finished for her.

  "Yes. When she told us, it was sad, but it was something that happened a long time ago. I guess because the newspaper story was written the day after the shooting, now it's like it only happened yesterday."

  "Well, it didn't," he said brusquely, needing to vanquish her fears about Janelle Griffin and her sentimental feelings for Doris Jordan's losses as well as his own out-of-character tendency to be sucked into those feelings, into Rebecca's losses.

  "I know. But don't you think it's interesting that Charles Morton was involved in that situation, too?"

  "Not really. It's a small town. The cast of characters is small. You're bound to see some repeats. Especially a high-profile guy like our friend, the mayor."

  She nodded as she drew one slim finger slowly through the condensation on the outside of the paper cup holding her soft drink. It was an unconscious gesture, the kind people make when their minds are far away, but Jake could almost feel that finger drawing patterns on his skin instead of on the cup, wiping away a path of sweat rather than condensation, sweat from the exertion and excitement of making love—

  "Jake?"

  "Huh? What?"

  "I said, am I being paranoid, or do you think there's some kind of conspiracy going on here?"

  "You know what they say, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean somebody's not out to get you." He picked up his own paper cup and downed a large gulp of the flat and watery but icy cold liquid. He ought to pour it into his lap.

  "I kind of expected that people might be reluctant to talk to you," she said, "but I would never have expected somebody to slip us a false lead or break out the headlight of your car."

  "Yeah, they're definitely trying to get rid of us. But all they're doing is pissing me off. I wouldn't quit now if you told me to."

  A slow smile spread across her face. "Good."

  "How about you? Are you okay with all this? I mean, it's pretty obvious your parents aren't cleaning the guest room and chilling the champagne in preparation for your arrival."

  There it was again, that far-reaching emptiness in her smoky eyes as if she were the only person in a dark, starless galaxy that stretched ahead of her into forever. But when she spoke, her voice was firm. "I told you from the beginning, that doesn't matter. I just need to know."

  I didn't believe you then, and I don't believe you now, he wanted to say. But he didn't. He had to give her credit for one thing. She had guts. Anybody could be brave when they had no fear. Rebecca had plenty of fear yet she kept pushing forward in spite of it.

  "Glad to hear it," he said instead, pretending he believed her. "Because this whole thing is starting to stink. I have no idea what our friendly mayor's next move will be, but I can almost guarantee he'll make one."

  "I keep wondering if he might be my father." She tore the remaining piece of crust into little bits as she talked, her gaze focused on that activity.

  He knew she wanted him to deny the possibility, but, at this point, he couldn't. If she was so determined to find the truth, she'd better be ready to face whatever she found.

  "You don't look anything like him except for the mandatory one nose, two eyes and two lips." That brought her attention to him and even tilted the two lips mentioned upward in a slight smile. "He does have snow white hair which could mean he was a blonde when he was younger. He has blue eyes, and yours are blue mixed with green. But there are only a few eye and hair colors to go around, so that doesn't mean much."

  "Wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I feel some sort of connection to him if he was my father?"

  "Nope," he said, squashing down the desire to agree with her, to respond to the plea in her eyes. "Now that's something I do know about since I come equipped with family members of every size, shape and degree." He leaned back in the rigid motel room chair and grinned. "When they put me in kindergarten, I called my teacher mother. I thought all grown women were mother and all grown men were dad. The other kids were my brothers and sisters. Hell, I had to be careful when I started dating to be sure I wasn't dating one of my half-sisters."

  She smiled. "How many sets of parents could you have had by the time you were in kindergarten?"

  "Let me see. I think Dad was on his third wife and Mom was on her second husband, but each one of the step parents had kids who had other parents. I swear I remember living with my father's second wife's first husband and his third wife for a couple of months."

  She arched a dubious eyebrow.

  He burst into laughter...at her, at the absurdity of his life, her life, the whole world. She joined him, her laughter clear and mellow, like a well-tuned violin.

  "It's funny," he said. "But it's true."

  She sobered. "It is?"

  "Yep. I told you I have enough family for both of us. I was a teenager before I was certain which two people were my original parents. And they weren't my favorites, by any means.'"

  She studied him intently, her forehead wrinkling. "Don't you feel detached, at loose ends?"

  "Doesn't everybody? Isn't everybody? We come i
nto this world alone and go out the same way."

  She shifted her gaze from him to the curtain over the single window in the small room, as if she would see through it, find some answers in the darkened parking lot outside. Her profile was classic and elegant, her skin fine-pored and translucent with no makeup, her nose straight, lips full and faintly pink, chin curving down to the creamy sweep of her throat.

  A ringing sounded from far away.

  She turned to him, her eyes still hazy with distant images and thoughts.

  The ringing came again, and she blinked away the fog. "Is that my phone?"

  "Yeah, it sounds like it. Are you expecting any calls?"

  She shook her head, and they both charged out the door. If this was another threat, he wanted to be there, to hear the voice, to speak to the caller.

  Rebecca fumbled with her key, got her door unlocked and ran to snatch up the phone.

  "Hello?"

  Jake followed her, leaning his head against hers so he could hear the conversation.

  "Rebecca, this is Doris Jordan."

  "Hello, Mrs. Jordan. How nice to hear from you."

  Jake could tell from the sound of Rebecca's voice that she was genuinely pleased to get a call from the older woman. A connection, he thought. Something she desperately needed. A surrogate grandmother.

  In spite of everything that had happened and everything he'd told her, Rebecca still wanted to believe in fairy tales and happy ever after.

  At the rate things were progressing, that hope couldn't survive much longer.

  "Would it be possible for you to bring that blue dress over and let me look at it again? I've been thinking about it ever since you left. It was so long ago, but I think that dress might have been in a 1978 shipment. I can't promise that it'll do any good, but I'd really like to look at the garment again, if you wouldn't mind."

  "Of course. When would you like me to bring it by?"

  "I'd love to have you and Mr. Thornton join me for lunch tomorrow."

  Without giving him a chance to agree or disagree, she accepted. "We'd love it."

  "Shall we say about one? Is that too late for you all?"

  "No, that's perfect. See you then."

  She replaced the receiver and turned to him, her face glowing. "She wants to see the dress again. She's starting to remember."

  "Maybe. Or maybe she just wants the company. She said she was always glad to have company."

  Rebecca's expression didn't change with his pronouncement, and he realized Doris' motivation didn't matter. Rebecca's enthusiasm was inspired almost as much by the luncheon invitation as by the possibility of Doris' having pertinent memories of the blue dress.

  "Okay," he said. "At least we won't have to go back to the barbecue place for lunch tomorrow and risk meeting Chief Gates again."

  Rebecca smiled at him, at his small attempt at tact, and Jake was suddenly very aware of being close to her, of the way she smelled...like soap and an open meadow in full summer bloom.

  He stepped away, moving toward the door before he did something really dumb like kissing her again, like throwing her across that bed and making love to her until they both forgot how pointless such an action would be...how ill-equipped she was to deal with the consequences of such an action.

  "Well, it's been a long day. Guess I'll go get some sleep. Let me know if you have any more strange phone calls."

  "I will."

  ***

  Rebecca closed the door behind Jake, glad and sorry he was gone.

  She was exhausted, bone tired. It had indeed been a long day after a short night. Two short nights.

  She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep deep and hard. Nothing more, that is, than to crawl into that bed with Jake and make love deep and hard.

  She yanked the band off her pony tail and shook her hair loose then sat on the bed to brush it. Her chair was still in Jake's room, right where she wished she was.

  She'd had a couple of relationships with men, relationships that began with mutual respect and friendship then segued into mutually enjoyable sex. Pleasant relationships that provided her with an escort to company functions and someone to eat dinner with when she didn't want to be alone. Looking back, she couldn't remember why she'd stopped seeing either of them. The partings had been as insignificant as the relationships.

  Nobody special.

  Nobody who'd ever disrupted her life.

  Nobody she'd ever wanted the way she wanted Jake.

  She and Jake weren't friends, and she was pretty sure enjoyable would not be a term that would apply to their lovemaking. Hot, out-of-control, wild, life-changing...but enjoyable was far too tame a word.

  She didn't understand the pull, and she certainly didn't trust it. Her whole world was chaos. She had to somehow get it stabilized, not get involved with someone who would make it even crazier. Not someone like Jake Thornton, someone who, she felt certain, could make her want him in a special way, take her self-control away again, then leave without a backward glance. His entire family had left no lasting impressions on him. Certainly she wasn't likely to.

  She jumped at the sound of a knock on her door. "Rebecca?"

  Jake.

  He'd come back, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to send him away.

  "Yes?" If she didn't open the door, didn't look at him, didn't smell the earthy scent that belonged to him alone, didn't feel the electrical charges that sprang from him to her and tingled along her skin, maybe she could resist.

  "Are you dressed?"

  As if that made any difference.

  "Yes."

  "Then would you let me in?"

  A hint of anxiety in his voice reached her, and she rose to open the door.

  A cloud of heat, heavy and sultry, rushed in, pushing aside the air conditioning and surrounding them as he stood with one hand on the door frame. The world beyond him was dark and distant, and the heat seemed to come from inside the two of them rather than from that outside world.

  His eyes narrowed with recognition of the feeling, but then he stood straight, scowled and compressed his lips.

  "Did you take the dress?" he asked.

  "What dress?"

  "The blue dress. Your mother's dress."

  "No, you did. You put it in your briefcase at Doris Jordan's house yesterday."

  "After that, I mean. I took it out of my briefcase and put it in one of the drawers in my room last night."

  "Then why are you asking me if I took it?"

  "Because it isn't in that drawer anymore."

  Rebecca shook her head uncomprehendingly. "When would I have taken it? Where is it? What are you saying?"

  "It's gone. The blue dress is gone."

  Chapter 11

  Their only clue was gone.

  Rebecca had anticipated another restless night of fluctuating between bad dreams and insomnia. Instead her fatigue had finally caught up with her, and she'd slept soundly, awakening refreshed and in a surprisingly good frame of mind. Her emotional overload had acted in the same way as her physical.

  She resolved to enjoy the respite, however brief it might be, and began by dressing in a peach colored scooped neck cotton blouse and matching gathered skirt with a wide white belt and white sandals, the happiest, most capricious outfit she'd brought with her.

  She'd just finished dressing when Jake called. "Are you ready to go?" he asked without preliminaries.

  "Yes. I'll meet you outside."

  She stepped from her motel room into a glorious morning...the sky a wide, cloudless blue, the breeze pleasantly warm and scented with the fragrance of unseen honeysuckle. Taking advantage of the moment, she drew in a deep breath, savoring the clean, innocent essence of the day, knowing soon the temperatures would be scorching, and she and Jake would be embroiled in the nasty little secrets of the town.

  Jake's door opened, and he came out wearing another pair of faded blue jeans with a white knit shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest and allowed a few dark
hairs to escape from the open V-neck.

  "Good morning," she said, but his gaze slid over her to focus on something behind her.

  She turned to see what held his attention. The motel maid was rounding the corner with her cart.

  "Come on," he said curtly.

  Rebecca followed him down the sidewalk, almost running to keep up.

  The woman, short and plump with streaks of gray in her shiny black hair smiled as they approached.

  "Hi, I'm Jake Thornton in room 103."

  Though the woman's expression didn't change, Rebecca thought her smile became stiff. Or perhaps she imagined it, was becoming paranoid.

  "Did you clean my room yesterday?"

  She hadn't imagined it. The woman's dark eyes widened in fright. She shook her head, the motion jerky. "No hablo inglès."

  Jake folded his arms and rocked back on his heels."¿Limpia usted el cuarto de numero cien y tres ayer?" The woman's gaze darted from side to side as if seeking an avenue of escape."¿Ve usted una blusa azul?" Jake continued.

  The woman shook her head vehemently and darted away.

  "I don't know what you asked her, but she's not being honest," Rebecca said, watching the woman disappear into a room and close the door behind her.

  "I asked her if she cleaned my room and if she saw a blue dress. And I agree. She's lying. She knows something about it."

  "Why would she take the dress? It's out of style. It's old and faded. It wouldn't even fit her."