Secrets She Knew: A Secrets and Lies Suspense Novel

by D. L. Wood

  “I tried to call you back as soon as I got the message, but you didn’t answer, so—”

  “Chris,” she interrupted, leaning toward him, “I found out who Jennifer’s stalker was.”

  Chris’s mouth dropped slightly, forming a compressed “O.” “That’s the something big you stumbled onto?”

  She nodded. “It came out at the reunion. The girl Jennifer mentions in the diary, the one that she confronted about the man she calls “the creep”—that girl was her best friend Kendall.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  “I was randomly asking people about what Jennifer had written, if the things she said meant anything to them. I…um, eventually ended up talking to Kendall,” she said, purposely skipping the part where she realized that Peter was the boyfriend, and that he had directed her to Kendall. She proceeded to recount her entire conversation with Kendall for him, including the woman’s shock over learning Jennifer had confronted the man Jennifer had called the “creep.”

  “…and that’s when she just broke. Confessed that she was the girl Jennifer had originally confronted about him.”

  “So, who was he?” Chris asked.

  “Lyle Rheardon. Our sophomore English teacher. He was new then, just out of college, only six or seven years older than we were. She didn’t mention him when the police questioned her in connection with Jennifer’s murder, because she didn’t know about Jennifer confronting him, and had no reason to believe Rheardon had a problem with Jennifer or a reason to hurt her. She didn’t connect the two at all.”

  A grim look stole over Chris’s face. “Rheardon’s the high school principal now, since last year.”

  “I know. Kendall told me.”

  “So, Rheardon was having a relationship with a student—”

  “Students, according to what Jennifer wrote in her diary about the other girl at the theater. It’s what made her finally threaten to expose him.”

  “That’s a pretty good motive for murder.”

  “That’s what I’m saying! It’s a reason, Chris. A real reason for the D.A. to look at someone other than Dr. Beecher.” A band tightened around Dani’s chest, her throat suddenly raw. “Even if it won’t help him now, it could clear his name. It could change everything for his children.”

  Chris leaned back, biting his lip before he spoke. “Is Kendall willing to talk to the police?”

  “She is. She’s completely sick about it, thinking that if she’d said something back when Rheardon was involved with her, she could’ve stopped him from seeking out other girls. Could’ve maybe even stopped Jennifer’s murder.”

  “Kendall was what, fifteen, sixteen then? She can’t carry that blame.”

  He was right and a pang of sympathy for Kendall reverberated through Dani. She knew all too well what it was like to carry guilt from a young age. She had carried so much of it herself after finding Jennifer, for being the person who had in effect set in motion the events which ultimately led to Dr. Beecher’s conviction, and then being completely powerless to do anything to help him, something she had spent the rest of her life yearning to do. “Self-blame is hard to shake. Even when you know it really wasn’t your fault.”

  “You realize, that with this kind of allegation, no matter what they may think about a possible connection to Jennifer’s murder, they’re going to want to talk to Rheardon. It’s a separate issue,” Chris said. “These are felonies we’re talking about. Even if they can’t connect him to the murder they’ll consider prosecuting him for those alone—if there’s anything to prosecute.”

  “What’s the statute of limitations on something like that here?”

  “Depends on what happened exactly. But if he did have a relationship with any of those minors, he’ll be in real trouble.” Chris’s eyes narrowed. “Could it have been Rheardon who attacked you tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  Chris pulled out his cell phone, tapped on it and waited as a photo slowly materialized. He held the screen out to her. “Was it him?”

  The man in the photo on the Skye High School website was in his mid-thirties, sandy-haired with a narrow face and cheerful eyes. He was nice-looking, though not strikingly so. The head shot was only from the chest up, but it looked like he was hefty, maybe a weightlifter, with a bit of a wrestler’s build. She had only seen flashes of her attacker in the struggle, and he had been wearing a ski mask, but it was possible. “Maybe,” she finally said. “His face was covered and it all happened so fast. I didn’t get a good look. It’s hard to tell from the photo, but I can’t rule it out. This guy was strong and Rheardon looks like he would be. Maybe if I heard Rheardon’s voice? But, I’m pretty sure the guy was doing his best to disguise it, so I don’t know if that will help.”

  “I don’t want you staying here alone. Whoever it was might come back. Come with me. I can take you to Sasha’s place if you want. You’ll be safer there.”

  While she appreciated the concern and the undercurrent of chivalry, she had no intention of leaving. She was perfectly capable of protecting herself, the events of earlier notwithstanding.

  “Thanks, but I’m not being chased out of my own home. He surprised me once, but not again.” She pointed to her pistol on the coffee table. “I’m armed. I can handle it. What I want to know is, where do we go from here?”

  Chris eyed her silently, possibly considering whether to fight her on the issue. His posture was rigid, as if her insistence on staying was bordering on annoying him—like she was a petulant child refusing to do what was best. But eventually, after narrowing his eyes skeptically and exhaling in disgruntled surrender, he moved on. “I’ll talk to the Chief. Get the ball rolling. We’ll reach out to Kendall and, ultimately, talk to Rheardon if there’s enough to go on.” He stood. “I’ll keep you posted as much as I can.”

  She rose too. “Thanks. I mean it. You’re the only one who’s supported me on this. It means a lot.”

  He smiled, reached out, and squeezed her arm. “Look, if you still have a copy of the diary, it might help for me to take it back to the Chief since the D.A. has the original. And it wouldn’t hurt if I got the file back from you too,” he said, his eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah, of course. They’re just in here,” she replied, waving for him to follow her into the kitchen.

  She halted abruptly in the doorway, an icy knife cutting through her. The diary and the file, both of which she had left on the table before heading to the reunion, were gone.

  “What is it?” Chris said, coming up behind her, peering over her shoulder.

  She extended a hand outward, pointing. “They were right there on the table. He must’ve taken them.”

  Chris pushed by her and circled the table, as if double-checking, then stood still, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. The file from the Chief was just a copy, right? And the diary we can request from the D.A.’s office. I doubt they’ve turned it over to Jennifer’s parents already.”

  He’s right. The Chief has the original file and the D.A. has the original diary. And there’s even another copy of the diary at the prison.

  Which means this makes absolutely no sense.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “If other copies exist, why would he bother taking these?”

  Chris didn’t have an answer.

  Five minutes later, after trying and failing once more to convince Dani to go with him, he had driven away and Dani had locked herself inside the house. She snuggled into her father’s chair, a fleece blanket tucked in tightly around her, her cold pistol resting in her lap waiting beneath her ready hand.

  22

  Dani yawned quietly, quickly throwing up a hand to hide it from the others in the row of chairs. She wasn’t fast enough, though, and Sasha, sitting on her left, her four-year-old between them, shot her an amused look. Dani wrinkled her nose abashedly, and Sasha let out a soft, good-natured snort, before turning forward again.

  What am
I doing here?

  Dani honestly couldn’t remember how Sasha had twisted her arm into coming to services that morning. It had sort of vaguely been in the plans from the beginning—tag along with Sasha’s family to church followed by a full lunch at Sasha’s that afternoon. But after a long, sleep-deprived night in her father’s chair—she’d only gotten a couple of hours at most—she had decided to cancel. Sasha had, of course, beaten her to it, calling at eight o’clock with one of the kids bawling in the background, to remind her that they would be swinging by to get her at nine. She refused to hear any grumblings about not coming, and also demanded Dani provide a full explanation of her rushed exit from the reunion once they had a chance to talk. Too tired to argue, Dani had pulled on a pair of dark casual pants and a cream top with lace trim and met them with a travel mug of extra-strong coffee when Sasha’s minivan had pulled into the driveway.

  Dani glanced to her left to take in the little family: Trent, then Sasha with her arm around him, and beside her, Willett, holding their wriggling daughter, Alana. It was the perfect family portrait. Something she had hoped to have with Finn, but never would. Even if they had stayed together, she doubted they would have ever sat in services like this. Finn had never had much to do with religion. And though she had grown up going to church—just down the street from here, in fact—after finding Jennifer she had simply lost all interest. Her parents continued going, but she fought them every Sunday, dragging her feet and bellyaching, until finally they just gave up.

  A sudden increase in the pastor’s volume snagged Dani’s wandering attention. The energetic forty-something with auburn hair was tall and imposing, but with a kind, welcoming face, and at the moment was talking about building a house on a rock.

  “…This world is unstable. This world is ever-changing.” His enthusiastic words reverberated through the sanctuary, a wide room divided by two aisles into three sections, each with two dozen rows of chairs. The place was packed, but the microphone affixed to the acrylic podium carried his voice to every ear. “The only thing you can count on in this world is that you cannot count on the things of this world. But the wise man builds his house upon the Rock. Because the Rock is stable. Unchanging. And though the world falls away, the Rock remains.”

  His words pricked a memory from her youth. A song about a wise man and a flood. A tune rattled around Dani’s brain.

  The wise man built his house upon the rock.

  The wise man built his house upon the rock.

  The rains came down and the floods came up.

  But the house on the rock stood firm.

  She had not thought of those words in years.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t believe. It was just that after finding Jennifer Cartwright, God simply hadn’t made sense any more. She couldn’t reconcile it. Because the only thing that had made sense was that someone should be able to make it right—at least make sure that Jennifer’s killer was brought to justice. But that hadn’t happened. No one had made it right and instead, an innocent man had gone to jail.

  That reality had forever altered the course of Dani’s life, because the tragedy had consumed her. This need to have the murder solved, to have the person responsible pay and Dr. Beecher cleared—that need had become her obsession, a burning ember deep within her that had never gone out and, if she was honest, had fueled her ever since. It had, in so many ways, been the foundation she had built her life, her identity, on.

  She had become a police officer because of that murder, because of a need to never, ever, let something like that happen again. Not that she regretted her choice. She loved being a police detective. But, if she was honest, sometimes she did wonder what she might have become if she had never ventured over to the honeysuckle that day. Before that day, she and Dr. Beecher had often spoken of her becoming a doctor. If she had never found Jennifer, is that the path she would have taken? How else would her life be different?

  These weren’t new notions. More than once her counseling sessions with Dr. Joline had exposed the fact that Jennifer’s murder was the driving force behind her decisions and focus, the proverbial dog forever nipping at her heels. But sitting here now, on the brink of possibly solving the case that had been her reason for everything, a curious thought occurred to her.

  If it is solved—what then?

  If this latest lead panned out, if Rheardon proved to be the killer, what did that mean for her?

  I would be thrilled. No question.

  But what about the aftermath? What would happen if the subtext of her entire adult life simply was no more? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it.

  No more wound, deep and dark, always raw and seeping, never healing. No more unanswered questions. No more guilt over being the one who started it all, then left it unfinished.

  Case solved. Burden lifted.

  Free.

  But there was…something else too. Lurking behind the promise of freedom was another, less welcome outcome. Startled, Dani’s eyes flicked open.

  Emptiness. Absence. A hollowed out place where purpose ought to be.

  She realized she was holding her breath and expelled a quiet hiss of air, letting her shoulders drop.

  It wasn’t unheard of—detectives chasing a difficult case for years and years, then finally solving it, only to discover that its resolution left a black hole behind. These were dangerous things, these black holes, especially if one chose to fill it with alcohol or overwork or other destructive vices. Shifting in her seat, Dani tightened the muscles in her stomach.

  This is crazy. You’re being crazy. There are other murders to solve. Other people to save. If you solve this one, you’ll just move on to the next.

  Because there would always be another.

  23

  Dani and Sasha stood over the sink in Sasha’s kitchen, Sasha washing and Dani drying the larger items and non-dishwasher-safe utensils. The boys and Amy had prepared lunch and now were playing outside with the kids while Sasha and Dani tidied up. The minute the others had gone out the door, Sasha had pressed Dani for details about her sudden departure from the reunion.

  “All I can tell you is that there’s been a break in the case,” Dani said, drying a glass baking dish, now empty of the lasagna that had been devoured at lunch. “I can’t say any more. But I really think this might be it.”

  “Did you call Chris about it?”

  Dani cut her eyes at Sasha. A tiny grin curved the corner of Sasha’s mouth. “Why would you ask that?”

  Sasha shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

  “Welllll…” Dani said, drawing the word out, “yes, I did.”

  “I knew it!”

  Dani put up a hand to stop the mental train Sasha was about to jump on. “But only because he’s a detective and the only one who’s offered to help me in this,” Dani quickly defended, deciding to leave out any of the more…interesting details.

  She could only imagine what Sasha would think if she knew how Chris had wanted to come to her rescue last night, insisting that he deliver her to Sasha’s after the attack. But Dani hadn’t told Sasha or the others about being assaulted in the house. She didn’t see the point in worrying them, and they never would have let it go. She would go in and make a report about it first thing Monday morning, although it was likely Chris had already told the Chief by now.

  She hadn’t heard from Chris since last night, which wasn’t really a surprise. If he was working the case, he would have had his hands full all day. Still, she was a little disappointed to not have gotten even the tiniest update.

  Surely by morning he’ll get in touch with news about their progress—progress toward finally solving Jennifer’s murder.

  This thought returned Dani to her earlier ruminations about life after Jennifer Cartwright.

  “Sash, I’ve been thinking,” Dani said, as Sasha handed her a dripping wet cookie sheet that had been used to bake garlic bread. She ran the soft yellow-and-white-striped cotton towel over the metal sheet. “What happens—as in, w
hat does it mean for me—if this works out and Jennifer’s case is finally solved?”

  Sasha turned toward her, her eyebrows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Dani rehashed for Sasha the mental hoops she had been jumping through during the service. She pivoted, facing away from the sink, then leaned against it. “My whole life has been built on this murder. On this injustice. At some point, I don’t know, I think it became a part of me. A part of the fabric of who I am—worrying about it, yearning for it to be solved, defining my years here and my years after, my choices. I’m not sure who I am without it there in the background, fueling the purpose driving me. If it’s solved—when it’s solved—that purpose disappears.”

  “It doesn’t disappear. It’s fulfilled. You’ve worked hard to have it solved properly and if it is, then you’ve succeeded.”

  “I know, but…what if everything I’ve built wasn’t really about me, but was about this…this thing in my past? And if that’s true, what happens when it’s gone? What if the life I have isn’t really the life I wanted or needed? What if it’s just the one I created as a reaction to what happened to me thirteen years ago?”

  Sasha looked down at the suds in the sink. Dani breathed in their clean, lemon scent that energized the air as she waited for her friend to answer. After a few seconds, Sasha looked up, stared out the window over the sink at her family playing in the yard, and smiled.

  “Did I ever tell you what my mother said to me right after Trent was born?” she asked, her eyes not straying from the scene outside.

  “No, not that I remember.”