Storm of Secrets

by Loretta Marion

  “Upstate New York.” Daniel took the jar of peanut butter away from me, possibly to ensure I didn’t dig in again, especially with the finger that Whistler had just licked clean. Then he began to make a second sandwich. “The most useful part was that Stendall attended the Bridgewater Academy. Same prep school where Savage teaches.”

  “Did the parents know Christopher?”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting.” Daniel waved his sandwich at me. “The mother was doing all the talking until I asked that question. When she repeated Savage’s name, the stepfather took the phone from her and said, ‘That’s a closed chapter.’ Then he disconnected, and they’ve not answered our attempts to call them back.”

  My willingness to give Christopher the benefit of the doubt was challenged with this bit of information. Had the relationship between Christopher and Tyler gone beyond teacher–student? Why had the stepfather reacted so heatedly, and why was he refusing to talk about it? “Do you think there’s a connection between Tyler Stendall and the sealed documents?”

  “Not sure. My contacts at the Bureau got a New York judge to review the contents. He’ll allow the file to be unsealed, but only if Savage signs off on it.” Daniel finished off his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his hands. He drained the glass of milk, took it to the sink, and rinsed it out. “With the caveat that it cannot be used for any purpose other than to prove or disprove his involvement in the missing Kleister boy case.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Won’t know until we see it. There’d be a good deal of redaction, I’m sure. We’ll just have to hope that whatever’s left sheds light on Savage’s character—for good or bad.”

  I sat quietly for a moment before offering a suggestion. “Look, Christopher trusts me more than he does you or Brooks. Let me try to convince him to do it.”

  Daniel drummed the table but didn’t say no.

  “If you take him down to the station, all he’ll see are the holding cells,” I continued. “It could backfire. He might refuse to let you open the file.”

  “You’ve got a point. Let me pass it by the chief.”

  He took his phone into the library to confer with Brooks. When he returned, he gave me a thumbs-up. “Okay. It’s your game.”

  I pulled out my phone and sent Christopher a text and received a quick response.

  “He’s walking Gypsy and will be back shortly. You probably shouldn’t be here when he gets back.”

  “You’re right. Call me when you have his answer.” Daniel pushed back his chair and grabbed his keys. I considered it a good sign. He couldn’t be too worried about the guy if he was willing to leave his fiancée in the company of someone he’d compared to Ted Bundy moments earlier.

  “What if he says no?”

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “No,” I lied. “I’m your best bet. I just wondered what Plan B was.”

  “I believe we’ve gone well beyond B at this point. Maybe Plan F?” Daniel looked defeated.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Tomorrow Brooks will announce a change in status from search and rescue to search and recover.”

  My stomach heaved at the thought. “Do the Kleisters know?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I don’t envy Brooks having to tell them.” Helene was barely holding it together as it was. How would she survive this blow?

  “Nor do I.”

  “Wishing you were taking a tour group out instead of all this crap?”

  He tilted his head. “Sure do.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Christopher and I were sipping lemonade on the front porch.

  I decided it was best to take the direct approach. “I’m aware there are sealed documents from an incident early in your teaching career.”

  “And how would you know that?” He reached down to give Whistler some pats.

  “It’s a small town. And given my connections to local law enforcement … I’m a bit of an insider on the Lucas Kleister case.”

  He didn’t say anything but fixed me with a cool stare, green eyes mirroring my own.

  “The file is an unknown, which casts suspicion on you. My understanding is that a New York judge has reviewed the file and will allow it to be unsealed if you give your permission.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “It could be beneficial to you.”

  He stared out toward the bay for an uncomfortable moment before looking at me directly and asking, “Do you think I’ve done something to Lucas?”

  How to answer this? “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “Maybe not, but I’d still like to know.”

  “I don’t have any reason to believe you did,” I said carefully. “I also don’t possess any information to convince me you didn’t.”

  “At least you’re not trying to play me.” He returned his gaze to the bay.

  “Why would I try to play you?”

  “As you said, you have close connections to law enforcement.”

  I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know you at all. But from the brief interactions we’ve had, my gut tells me you couldn’t have harmed a child. That’s why I think you should unseal the documents.”

  He wiped the sweat from the glass of lemonade before taking a gulp. The silence between us was awkward, and I was prepared for him to leave. But he surprised me when he spoke.

  “There was a disciplinary action brought against me early in my teaching career.”

  I stayed silent and didn’t prod, hoping the best strategy was to allow the man to tell his story at his pace.

  “I was young and green, barely out of the chute as a teacher. But I made up for that inexperience with idealism and enthusiasm. I was going to form minds and mold characters.” He laughed cynically. “However, I was completely ill-equipped to counsel a student with personal issues. The problem was, I was blinded to that fact by unfounded confidence. As a result, I made a foolish mistake.”

  I waited.

  “Look, what I did was reckless, but it was only to protect a student from a difficult situation. I’d been trying to do what I thought was right, only it turned around on me.”

  “What was the accusation?” I prepared myself for the worst.

  “Inappropriate behavior and sexual misconduct with a minor.” Not much worse than that for a high school teacher. “It was a false accusation,” he quickly added.

  “If you were exonerated, why were the records sealed?”

  Again, those cool green eyes locked onto mine. “To protect the student.”

  “A student had a crush on you and, when spurned, made up a story?” I ventured a guess.

  “It wasn’t the student who filed charges. It was the parents.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “It also wasn’t a female student.”

  Ah-ha.

  “The kid confided in me that his stepfather was verbally and physically abusing him. He ran away from home, and I let him stay with me for a few days until we came up with a plan. But then the you-know-what hit the fan.”

  Pieces of the puzzle were starting to click into place in my head. “You couldn’t persuade him to go to the police?”

  “His stepfather was the police.”

  I wondered if that was why Christopher seemed so defensive around Daniel and Brooks.

  “Was this student Tyler Stendall?” Why not go out on that limb too?

  Christopher’s astonished face was answer enough.

  “How do you … how would you know anything about Tyler?”

  “An educated guess.”

  “Based on what?”

  “He signed a release form when you two went sailing last week. The police have been trying to contact him, but he isn’t answering his phone. His parents didn’t react well to hearing your name. Have any idea where he might be?”

  “It was such a mistake coming here,” Christopher said, resting his weary head onto his hands. “Ghosts from the past sho
uld not be disturbed.”

  It appeared we Mitchells weren’t the only ones haunted by their past.

  19

  Renée

  New York ~ One year ago

  “Bless me father for I have sinned.” Although Renée had long ago abandoned her Catholic faith, she hoped to find comfort in the holy sacrament of confession. She was surprised to find no confessional booth but instead met with a priest in what was called a Reconciliation room. She had waited for the long line to dwindle so she could be the last to make her confession.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  When Renée didn’t speak, the priest asked her, “How long since your last confession, my child?”

  “Forty years.” She met his eyes. “I’m a little rusty at this.”

  The priest smiled kindly. “Is there a particularly troublesome sin you’ve committed?”

  “I’ve lied to my family—a very big lie—about who I am and what I’ve done.”

  “Is what you’ve done a mortal sin?”

  A sob escaped as she nodded. “And now God is punishing me. With brain cancer.”

  The priest waited for her to regain her composure. “Are you prepared to confess that sin today?”

  She shook her head.

  “I would counsel you to trust in God’s mercy.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve wasted your time.”

  As Renée stood to leave, the priest took her hand. “Let us say the Prayer of Contrition together.”

  Afterward, he told her, “Your penance is to tell your family about this secret you’ve been keeping. God will forgive you.”

  “But will they?” she asked, knowing the priest could not answer.

  It was a slow walk home, during which Renée came to a decision. Telling her husband and son the truth would serve no useful purpose other than to relieve her burdened conscience. But in doing so, she would be burdening her family. She could not do that to them now. They had enough to deal with in the coming months as she went through chemotherapy.

  When she returned to the apartment, she removed Vito’s envelope from the secret compartment of her jewelry box, where she’d kept it hidden for decades.

  “This will be my penance,” she whispered. It was time to face the truth, however awful it might be. She opened it, creating a deep paper cut in the process and spilling a drop of blood on the envelope. Being superstitious, she dabbed it behind her ears as her mother would have done.

  After reading the shattering contents, she flung her wretched self across the bed and wept for hours. It was a release of all the emotions that had remained bottled up since her meltdown with Vito. She understood that the cancer was her just punishment. It first took her brother, who had battled the devil for many years. Now she would await her own death sentence. If there was a God, she prayed it was a merciful being.

  * * *

  Boston ~ Late 1960s

  Renata had been surprised to find Mrs. Welles sitting with Catherine Ferris in the courtyard when she brought the children out for some fresh air. It was a school holiday, and they’d been frozen in front of the television since breakfast. The Ferris twins were now ten, and her son Antonio had just turned five. They acted like siblings, squabbling at times but mostly loving and playful with one another. Today they were getting along famously and ran to the outdoor play set.

  “Renata, come say hello.” Catherine pulled out a chair for her to join them.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Renata said, trying to calm herself. “You look very well, Mrs. Welles.”

  “As do you.” The woman looked at her appraisingly. “You have really come into your own.”

  “Our Renata here is now taking courses at Massachusetts Community College.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Her former employer seemed genuinely pleased. “What are you studying?”

  “Mostly practical courses, accounting and clerical.”

  “I’ve also encouraged her to take some design classes. Renata has an artistic flair. I’ll have to show you some of her watercolors.”

  “I have to think of the future,” she said, though pleased by the compliment. “The children soon will be too old for a nanny, and Catherine will find a better use for our rooms.”

  “I will hate to see you go.” Catherine smiled fondly.

  “My, how progressive. On a first-name basis, are we?”

  Renata felt her cheeks grow warm. Although Mrs. Welles had been her protector during a difficult time, she still considered Renata a lowly employee.

  “Don’t be so archaic, Marjorie,” Catherine scolded, as only a close friend could. “Renata has become a good friend to us.”

  Just then, Antonio ran up with blood dripping from his nose.

  “Oh no, another one?” Her son was prone to nosebleeds. Renata pulled some gauze from her pocket, always at the ready.

  “He must have his father’s eyes.” Marjorie Welles smiled, noticing the boy’s startling blue eyes.

  It was true, Antonio had inherited Phillip Welles’s eye color, which popped stunningly against his light caramel skin and the bronze hair he’d inherited from Renata.

  “Let’s get the bleeding to stop,” Renata said, taking Antonio inside the house, hoping Mrs. Welles wouldn’t recognize any other familiar traits.

  From the kitchen, she heard Mrs. Welles say, “Phillip used to get horrible nosebleeds as well. We had him tested and learned it was a genetic disorder. Not hemophilia.”

  “Von Willebrand disease?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. Of course, as a doctor you’d know about it.” Mrs. Welles said. “It was Type One which is the mildest form, and eventually he seemed to outgrow it.”

  Renata had stopped breathing and prayed. Please, please, please, Catherine, don’t mention that Antonio recently tested positive for Von Willebrand disease. She was grateful when she heard the conversation turned to other topics, but only let out her breath once Mrs. Welles finally left. Although surely Catherine herself would now connect the dots to Antonio’s paternity.

  Later, when the children were doing their homework, Catherine sought her out.

  “Join me for a cup of tea?”

  The two women sat quietly until Catherine asked, “Did Phillip rape you?”

  Renata shook her head. “It was consensual.”

  “But he did take advantage of you.” It was not a question and was uttered in disgust. “I’m not betraying my friendship with Marjorie by telling you that Phillip has earned something of a reputation for his behavior.”

  This resurrected the memory of Phillip’s expulsion from the private school in New Hampshire. Renata wondered if he’d gotten another girl in trouble.

  “Does he have other children?”

  “I don’t believe so. I’m aware of at least one other pregnancy.” Catherine looked away and said, “It was terminated though.”

  “He never knew I was pregnant. He’d left for England before I even knew for sure myself.” Now she wondered, what would she have done if Phillip had pressured her to end the pregnancy? A shiver passed through her at the thought of how hollow her life would have been without Antonio.

  “Do you think Mrs. Welles suspects that Antonio is Phillip’s child?”

  “I don’t know, but it won’t take long for her to start piecing it together. Marjorie Welles is a very intuitive lady.”

  Renata agreed, which worried her greatly, but Catherine tried to reassure her.

  “It’s unlikely she’d do anything about it. The Welles care very much about appearances.”

  As kind as Mrs. Welles had been to her in the past, Renata’s own intuition was telling her not to trust the woman.

  * * *

  New York ~ One year ago

  Before beginning her cancer treatments, Renée found an excuse to travel to Boston for a visit with her sister. She decided to treat herself to a night at The Four Seasons and invited Isabella to join her, but her sister declined, making
Renée feel guilty about the indulgence.

  “Why don’t you stay with me? It will be like old times, when we were girls and shared a room,” Isabella offered instead.

  The thought of spending the night at a convent made Renée uncomfortable, but she finally relented and was pleasantly rewarded to learn that Isabella lived in an apartment. It was modestly furnished, but sunlight filled the cheery and welcoming living space. French doors opened onto a small terrace, making it feel more spacious. The bedroom had two twin beds, just like the room they’d shared as young girls in Italy.

  “Why did you move out of the convent?” Renée asked.

  “I wanted to live in the neighborhood I serve.” Isabella was a trained social worker and had recently taken a position at a community services agency. “Let me make us some tea.”

  Over tea and scones purchased at a nearby bakery, Renée told Isabella about her diagnosis.

  “I wanted to see you before I began treatment. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to travel again.” If she’d ever be able to travel again. “First a surgery to remove the tumor and then radiation. After that, the doctors will assess to determine the next steps.”

  “Dio ti guarisca.” [“May God heal you.”] “You must let me come and be with you.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” When her sister made a disbelieving face, Renée added, “I promise.”

  “I will pray for you.”

  They were sitting together on a loveseat and Renée reached over to take her sister’s hand. “I opened Vito’s envelope.”

  The two sisters stared at one another before Renée crumpled into tears. “It was cowardly to run away. I should have stayed to face the consequences. Instead, I left Vito to bear the burden.”

  “You mustn’t think like that,” Isabella murmured. “You were so young.”

  “That’s no excuse.” She blew her nose.

  “You couldn’t have known what would happen that day. Or afterward.”

  “Then why is your God punishing me?”

  “How have you been punished?” Isabella took a rare stern tone. “You have much to be grateful for. Haven’t you had a good life? Did God not bring to you a devoted husband? A son you have raised to be an honest and brave grown man?”

  Renée had never introduced her husband and son to her sister, but she’d kept Isabella updated through the years since their reunion, a distant witness to all the joys and challenges of Renée’s life.