You Will Never Know

by You Will Never Know (retail) (epub)

  “Oh,” he said, and he proceeded to reply, voice lowered, as if he were ashamed to pass on such news. “Mrs. Thornton, Grace doesn’t think your husband’s death was an accident.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A steady breeze was coming over the playing fields of Warner High School, and Jessica stood by herself, enjoying the buffeting sensation from the wind. The rain had finally stopped.

  But the words still rattled around in her mind. Mrs. Thornton, Grace doesn’t think your husband’s death was an accident.

  Grace. Sour, moody, and ill-tempered Grace. In the years Jessica had known Bobby, from high school to marriage to his shocking death, never once had she seen that girl smile. Or laugh.

  Not once.

  And why was she hiring a private investigator now? What was prompting her? What demons were driving her to bring up the horrid accusation that Bobby’s death wasn’t an accident?

  The wind felt good, pushing on her face. She leaned slightly into it, hands in her pockets, looking over the playing fields and the stands and the squat and wide two-story brick building that was Warner High School.

  A few students nearby were wearing sports or running gear, and all had small black ribbons pinned to their shirts. Standing alone with a clipboard and a stopwatch in his hands was the girls’ track team coach, John Webber. He was easily over six feet tall, wearing spotless khaki slacks, sneakers, and a blue sweatshirt that had warner on the back in simple white letters. He was completely bald. He spotted Jessica and she went over to him.

  “John,” Jessica said, “I’m sorry again for calling you so late.”

  He said, “You weren’t the first parent to do so and you won’t be the last. No worries. I’m just glad it worked out.” He paused. “You want to talk about tough phone calls, think about the poor detective who had to call Sam Warner’s parents.”

  Jessica shivered. “God, I don’t even want to think about it. I mean, Ted and I were furious at Emma and Craig last night, but at least they came back home safe.”

  “It was some sort of scavenger hunt, wasn’t it?” John asked.

  “That’s what Emma and her stepbrother said. Just the two of them. If it weren’t for track and Craig’s computer club membership, they’d both be grounded for a month. As it is, Ted and I are still thinking about the appropriate punishment.”

  Webber checked his stopwatch. “Emma should be coming in first. No surprise there.”

  Jessica folded her arms, feeling once again the pride she experienced when her daughter was praised in public. “If so, it’s because of your coaching.”

  “Hardly,” he said quietly. “She’s got incredible talent, and, more importantly, she has the discipline as well. She’s in varsity right now, but I don’t see why she can’t go to statewide competition later this year. And if she can keep her focus for the next two years, Jessica, she’ll be able to write her own ticket to any one of a half-dozen colleges.”

  Jessica hugged herself. A few raindrops came down from the gray clouds overhead.

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” she said. “Keeping her safe, keeping her focused—sometimes it feels like a full-time job, especially at her age.”

  Her coach said, “Here she comes.”

  From the other end of the grassy field, near a line of woods, a runner emerged from a trail, running fast and gracefully, and Jessica’s heart raced with joy to see Emma running so freely. Emma had on her usual running shoes, white socks, dark-blue shorts, and a loose warner track T-shirt, also blue, and her blond hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail that bounced with each hammering step. Like the other students, she had a black ribbon pinned on her shirt.

  Jessica was so entranced by Emma’s racing form that she couldn’t move. She remembered being taught some Greek mythology back in school, about a goddess named Atalanta, who could outrace every suitor and did so to protect her virtue and to honor the gods. But one sly man had gotten three golden apples from another goddess, and in his footrace with her he had tossed them aside to slow down a curious Atalanta so he could win the race and marry her.

  But there were no golden apples out here, nothing to halt Emma from winning yet another race, even if this one was just a regular after-school practice, and when Emma ran past two orange plastic cones set up on the field, Webber clicked the stopwatch and grunted with satisfaction.

  “Your girl—boy, can she run.”

  Jessica waved and Emma saw her and waved back, but she didn’t come over. Instead she slowly moved around in circles, slim hands on her slim hips, cooling down. Jessica didn’t feel insulted or overlooked. It was Emma being Emma, getting her job done.

  One, and then two and then three other members of her track team emerged from the woods, racing to Emma and the orange cones, and Emma stood aside, clapping her hands, shouting encouragement to her teammates.

  Webber said quietly, “That’s why she’s a winner, why she’ll go far. She’s not a diva—she supports her teammates. She’s got that special spark. Keep it going, Mrs. Thornton. Keep it going.”

  The delight Jessica felt at those words overwhelmed any thoughts of her girl’s absence last night with Craig, the murder of a classmate, the news of the tracking device Ted had put on their phones, and that disturbing call from Maine. None of that mattered at this moment. It was seeing that happy, glowing, and energetic daughter of hers go to the stands, retrieve a small knapsack, and come over to her mother—that’s what counted.

  Inside the Sentra, Jessica turned on the engine while Emma took a long swallow of Gatorade. Emma waved her free hand in front of her face and said, “God, Mom, I smell gross. Can we leave already?”

  “Just a sec, hon,” Jessica said, not wanting to say what was on her mind: that she loved the aroma of her girl once she was off the running field. There was nothing gross about it. It was the scent of dedication, of exertion, of hard work, of finding one’s own path and not depending on a boyfriend or husband or any other male out there to take care of you.

  But Jessica knew she had to bring up a difficult subject and then delayed it for a moment by touching the black square of cloth pinned to Emma’s shirt. “What’s this about?”

  Emma glanced over. “Oh. That. It was the student council’s idea. A mourning symbol, for Sam Warner. Poor guy. I hear his parents are really freaking out. They’re even talking about having a memorial service for him tomorrow night, at the common.”

  “Did he have any brothers or sisters?”

  Emma took another slug of the Gatorade. “Nope. Only child. Mom, can we get moving? I really need to take a shower.”

  “A single child.” Jessica’s throat tightened as she imagined losing Emma after getting her to high school, after seeing her grow from infant to toddler to little girl, now ready to blossom into adulthood. She found it hard to swallow, find her voice. “Em?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to talk about last night.”

  “Oh, Mom, please. We already went over it. Me and Craig, we went out on a scavenger hunt, that’s all. We had to go around town and pick up some stuff, and it started raining, and Craig got us lost. That’s all that happened. I’m sorry I put you and Ted through that. Honest.”

  “And who was running the scavenger hunt?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Craig knows. We both got printed notes in our lockers, saying to go out last night and pick up some stuff. Like somebody’s lawn gnome. Or a porch mailbox. Or a bicycle. The notes weren’t signed. It was . . . it was stupid, all right?’

  “So why did you do it?”

  Emma shook her head. “Some of the kids in school . . . they’re smart, they’re rich. They go to places. Parties. Road trips. Stuff that other kids don’t know about. It’s stupid, okay, but it’s important. Sometimes they like to invite others to go along, using that scavenger hunt. And I wanted to do it. I mean, Mom . . . I’m sort of related to Craig, and he’s a real loser most times. A drag. Doing this scavenger hunt might have helped me in school, even if I had
to go out with him at the same time.”

  That caused a memory of Jessica’s own days in high school to stab her. Trying to fit in, trying to dress right on a poor budget. Bringing in last night’s leftovers as lunch in a Tupperware container while the other, happier, better-dressed and better-groomed classmates got their hot lunch from the cafeteria. Sitting by herself, maybe playing solitaire or spades with a couple of other losers like herself, seeing with jealousy the tables with the laughing and confident classmates who had it all figured out and mapped out for them, with the help of their rich and connected parents.

  “Tell me, how in the world did you and Craig sneak out without waking me up?”

  Emma smiled and then quickly dialed it back, as if she didn’t want to piss off her mother. “Craig thought it out. We used the small window in the basement foundation. Earlier he had oiled up the hinges so it wouldn’t squeak and it could move easier. We just snuck downstairs, squeezed out that window, and walked into town.”

  Jessica bit her lower lip to prevent herself from smiling. That sounded like something she would have done, back in the day.

  “Mom . . .”

  “One more thing,” Jessica said. “I promise. And then we’ll leave.”

  The rain was now coming down harder, and Jessica left the wipers off. It made everything out there look blurry and obscured and made her feel like she was hidden with her daughter, sharing secrets and confidences.

  “Emma, just so you know. In case your stepfather brings it up or something. And I need to know this, just between us two, about your cell phones last night.”

  Her daughter said, “What about our cell phones?”

  “Well, it’s, uh . . . well, it’s like this. Your cell phones. Your stepfather is a suspicious sort. He might . . . well, he might be able to contact the cell-phone company. Check their records. I know there’s something the cell-phone companies have that they can tell where a phone might be because their service towers can track it.”

  Emma kept quiet and Jessica went on. “So if you and Craig weren’t in town last night and went someplace you shouldn’t have, the cell-phone company might know that and tell your stepdad.”

  Her daughter shook her head in exasperation. “Mom, I told you that last night, didn’t I?”

  “Told us what?”

  “That was part of the scavenger hunt,” Emma explained. “The rules were, you had to take your phone with you, put it in a plastic bag, and put it under a bush over by the Minuteman Monument in the park. That way you couldn’t cheat by looking up people’s addresses or by texting your friends to help you.”

  “And the phones were there when you got back?”

  Jessica’s own iPhone started chiming. She ignored it.

  Emma said, “Of course they were. Why wouldn’t they be?”

  Jessica’s chest lightened up and she found she could take a nice long, deep breath. It all made sense. Everything was just fine.

  The cell phones had been out of Emma and Craig’s possession. Whoever had picked them up, well, they had gone to the town forest. Maybe she and Ted should report that to the police—she would talk to him about it later, when they got home—but right now the disgusting thoughts and suspicions that Ted had mentioned could be put away.

  She looked at her phone. Ted was calling. She let it go to voicemail.

  Jessica turned on the wipers, put the Sentra into reverse. “Let’s get you home to a nice warm shower.”

  Emma said, “About time, Mom.”

  “And what we talked about, the phones, keep it just between us, okay?”

  Emma didn’t say a word. She was busy retrieving her iPhone from her knapsack.

  But seeing her girl running . . . Lots of memories came back, and Jessica said, “You know, hon, I really miss running with you. It’s been more than two years. Why can’t—”

  Emma had her iPhone in her hands and was busily working the screen. “Oh, Mom, not now, okay?”

  Okay, Jessica thought. She backed the Sentra out and headed home.

  The ride home took about ten minutes, and Emma’s fingers and thumbs were texting away madly, her head lowered. Jessica had the radio station on low, but she really felt like cranking up the volume and singing along with whatever oldie the local station was playing, because she felt so free and relieved. Her daughter was safe, was fine, and would continue to be safe and fine for the future.

  As for her former sister-in-law Grace, well, she would deal with that silly crank tomorrow, when she called back the private detective.

  A private dick! The thought of that made her snicker, and Emma looked up from her cell phone. “Mom, what’s so funny?”

  “Oh, something that just came to me.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was nothing,” Jessica said.

  “Mom . . .”

  When she got home, Ted’s dark-blue BMW was in the driveway, and parked on the street, right in front of the old house, was a black Chevrolet sedan. A client? God, she thought, that’d be great, get everyone’s mind off last night and the screaming that had taken place early this morning, when Emma and Craig had finally returned.

  Jessica suddenly yawned. God, she was so very, very tired.

  The rain had drifted off to drizzle, and before Jessica could get her door open, Emma had grabbed her knapsack—after tossing the empty Gatorade bottle onto the rear seat—and raced inside, going past Ted, who had opened the door.

  Jessica stepped out and went around the rear of the Sentra and up the stone steps, and Ted, his face almost the color of the steps, opened the door wider.

  Standing next to him was a young man wearing a dark-gray two-piece suit, white shirt, and blue necktie. His face was slightly round, he had a pug nose, and his brown hair was closely trimmed. In his left hand he had a soft leather briefcase. In his other he held out something small with a gold shield in the center, and Jessica couldn’t look at it, could only hear the man’s strong voice.

  “Mrs. Thornton?” he asked. “Detective Doug Rafferty. Warner Police Department. I need to talk to you and your husband about your children.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was a flash of movement as Emma went upstairs to the safety of her bedroom, and Jessica was glad to see her daughter retreat. A moment passed, and now she was on a couch, sitting next to Ted, with no memory of how she had gotten there. The police officer—no, a detective, which was much worse, meaning that he already had suspicions that had brought him here—sat in a nearby chair. He took out a small notebook and pen from his jacket. His leather briefcase was at his feet.

  Jessica’s hand was now in Ted’s, and he squeezed it gently, and Jessica was surprised at how reassuring it felt.

  “Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Thornton, I—”

  Ted held up his free hand. “Please, let’s not be so formal. Ted and Jessica, okay?”

  A slight nod. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  Ted said, “Can we get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine,” the detective said. “But I’d like to get one thing out of the way. You’re married, but Mrs. Thornton, you kept your maiden name?”

  She said, “No, that’s the name of my first husband. Who’s deceased. When Ted and I got married, it just seemed easier to leave everything the way it was.”

  “Got it.”

  Ted said, “Again, we want to help. Anything you need.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Rafferty said. He slowly flipped his notebook open, and Jessica tried to keep her breathing slow and even. She didn’t want to show this man any fear, any concern. He was a slim, okay-looking guy, but his presence overwhelmed the living room. He was the Man, the Law, and in those hands flipping open the notebook was the power to wreck this family.

  If there was anything there.

  If.

  He looked up. “I’m working the Sam Warner case.”

  Jessica said, “That’s so awful. How are his parents doing?”

  “As poorly as you would expe
ct,” he said, his voice low and surprisingly bland. “What I’m doing now is getting some background information, trying to fill in some blanks, get an idea of Sam’s life beyond just being a high school senior and being active in sports.”

  “Our children,” Ted said. “You said you had questions about them. Why is that?”

  Rafferty’s face seemed to flush. “Well, I guess I was getting ahead of myself. I misspoke when I said children. I just want to talk to you about one of your kids, not both of them.”

  Oh, God, Jessica thought. What if it’s Emma? What if he was here because of her girl? Had the police found out more about where the two of them had been last night, despite what Emma had said about the cell phones?

  Fifty-fifty.

  Half and half.

  Up and down.

  Craig and Emma.

  Rafferty said, “Ted and Jessica, I have some questions about your son. Craig.”

  Jessica squeezed Ted’s hand and Ted squeezed back, but inside Jessica was joyful, something she dared not tell her husband. It wasn’t Emma!

  Rafferty looked down again at his notebook. “Ted, what can you tell me about the relationship your son had with Sam?”

  “Craig?” Ted asked, surprised. “Craig and Sam Warner? I don’t think they had any kind of relationship at all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. They didn’t move in the same circles.”

  Rafferty flipped a page. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I talked to Mary Casey, the guidance counselor at Warner High School. She said that Craig came to visit her four times after incidents with Sam. Incidents of bullying.”

  Jessica turned to Ted. Bullying?

  “Ah, well, I don’t know anything about that,” Ted said.

  “Ma’am? You?”

  Jessica spoke clearly. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “I see,” the detective said. “Well, those instances were also reported to Assistant Principal Bob Hale. He’s responsible for disciplinary action at the high school. Do you know Mr. Hale?”