Though unresponsive, Morgan listened.
“Whether you like it or not, the ghost of Fay Ramsey isn’t going to appear and change your life. And the truth is, I don’t expect you to want to change this situation.” He flipped the basket and started filling it with dirty clothes. “I mean you’ve got a pretty sweet deal here. Mom and Dad love you. They’ll let you stay here forever like this. You don’t have to go to school or get a job. No one expects anything of you.”
This is bullshit. Morgan sat up and sniffed back the tears. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” she said, reaching for the headphones.
“No.” Jeremy stood, towering over his sister. He stopped her from putting on the headphones and went on, “I’m not leaving you alone. I figured a way out for you.”
Morgan shrank, looking up at him. “What?” She pushed back her hood a little, revealing her tear-streaked face and matted, dirty hair.
“It won’t be easy. Count on that. There isn’t a simple solution. My way will be harder than hell.”
Her gaze locked on his. Jeremy was serious.
“Whatever.” Morgan pulled the Walkman into her lap. To shut him up and shut him out, she was about to put on the headphones when Jeremy reached for the kitten notebook.
“Hey!” Morgan wasn’t quick enough to stop him. “Give that back!”
He pulled it away from her, then sat back down on the bed. His glare dared her to come take it away. But Morgan didn’t have the energy to stand up and fight. He opened the small spiral notebook to examine the contents.
On the first page, Morgan had written:
Who Killed Fay
Who Killed Fay
Who Killed Fay
Past that, page after page of handwritten notes filled more than half the book. There was a hand-drawn calendar, a timeline that marked the whereabouts of Morgan’s friend for the whole summer of ’95. There were lists of phone calls she had made, and even several photos.
Morgan sat up and held out her hand, fingers flicking. “Give it back.”
Jeremy threw it to her. “There is something you can do.”
She folded the notebook closed and placed it inside a cluttered drawer. “What?”
“Mom told me you’ve called the homicide division at the police station downtown. She told me you call every day.”
“She’s such a liar.” Morgan winced, but it was true. Sometimes she called homicide two or three times a day. She needed to know if they had found the killer. She wanted someone, anyone, to be arrested for Fay’s murder.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. And I say we because I’m going to help you.”
Jeremy laid out a plan to clean Morgan up and get her functioning. Then he’d help her sign up for classes at Indiana University, where she had already been accepted. The university had a criminal justice department and classes in criminology and psychology. The first goal was a degree and, in the future, a job as a police detective. “We’re doing this together,” he said.
The idea had merit. Since Fay’s death, Morgan had spent weeks ciphering the facts around Fay’s last days. And though she hadn’t solved the puzzle yet, Morgan had loved every minute of the process. It was the one activity that made her feel alive. “You’ll help me?”
“Yes.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” She had many unspecified doubts. Though it sounded difficult and impossible, his idea awakened something inside her.
Jeremy stood, picking up the filled laundry basket. “Do you want it to work?”
Morgan trusted her brother. They had always been close. She could tell him things that she didn’t want to tell her parents, and since he was three years older, he almost always had fitting words of wisdom to share.
If he would help, she’d make the effort. And though it felt like a hard road to tread, someday she could track down her friend’s murderer.
She followed Jeremy to the laundry room.
“Do you want it to work?” he repeated.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” A weight lifted from her shoulders. For the first time in four months, Morgan looked forward to something.
CHAPTER 27
CARYN: 6 Months Ago
Weeks crawled by before Caryn had a plan. She needed to see Ekhard to prove that their childhood had been real. Otherwise, why did he parent her and coach her into independence? He never went back to college. Instead, he had stayed with her, working two jobs till she graduated from high school.
On the day of her graduation, Eks had dropped her off. In her cap and gown, standing in the parking lot of the event center, she had no idea what he meant by goodbye. Caryn had always thought they would take on the world together. But what he had said was: “You thought this was your day? You’re wrong. Today is my day, and I’m going to celebrate. Until next time. I hope we meet in hell.” He had laughed a crazy, Jack Nicholson laugh. “Good luck with your life, Ceecee.”
She remembered it like it was yesterday.
Theo was dead by then. He died the fall of her sophomore year, when she was sixteen. By then, Eks had barely taken one semester of college but had to drop out. That year, he listed the house and sold it. They moved into a small apartment near Fall Creek on the west side of Indy. The money from selling the house paid the rent. Eks cooked and cleaned and worked his butt off, making sure Caryn applied to colleges. She was brilliant at math, and with Ekhard’s coaching she received a scholarship to IU.
He had guided her every step of the way.
On the way to Lafayette, Caryn stopped for a large cup of coffee, then took the loop to I-65 northbound. Traffic was stop-and-go, with eighteen-wheelers intercepting her path. Once in the city, she parked in front of Baker and Baker’s, the small accounting firm in a strip mall on the west side. Five employees worked at the firm: David Baker and his wife Cheryl, Ann Grayson, Matthew Milkey, and Nathaniel Johnson, also known as Ekhard Klein.
If she went inside, he’d recognize her. That was the point, wasn’t it? After so much time, how would he react to seeing her?
Unsure, she watched, and waited. No traffic came into the parking lot. Next to the accounting firm was a darkened sandwich shop. At 9:07 AM it was too early for them to be open. On the other side, one lone employee sat still as a statue inside a mattress store with the lights on.
Caryn’s coffee had gone cold, but she finished it anyway. Clouds cleared from the sky, and as the sun beat down on her dark-blue car, it warmed the inside. As she unfastened her seatbelt and struggled to remove her jacket.
A car pulled in beside her and parked. The driver, a man in his late fifties or sixties, got out and walked into the accounting firm. The door closed behind him.
It was now 9:43. She waited five more minutes, which seemed like an hour, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Caryn had nothing to lose. She had to see him. She had to say hello to her long-lost brother.
* * *
“May I help you?” The middle-aged redhead looked up and adjusted her pale-gray blazer.
“I’d like to see Ek … Nathaniel Johnson.”
The redhead checked her calendar and shook her head. “He’s busy this morning.”
Caryn spun a quick lie. “My name’s Martin. Patricia. Patricia Martin. I called for an appointment, but they couldn’t fit me in. I have the day off today. I don’t have time tomorrow.”
The receptionist flipped through pages of her calendar. “Mrs. Baker is available today.”
“Mr. Johnson has spoken with me on the phone. I can take my business elsewhere.” Caryn pretended to leave and turned to go.
“Wait. It looks like he’ll have a few minutes between meetings this morning. Let me call him.” The receptionist picked up her phone.
“You do that.” Caryn crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Mr. Johnson, can you fit a new client in? Ms. Martin says she spoke with you?” The redhead pursed her lips. “Thank you, I’ll let her know. Please have a seat,” she said to Caryn after hanging up. “Mr. Johnson will be with you i
n a few minutes.”
With her arms still crossed, Caryn turned away from the desk. The waiting room in this strip-mall accounting firm was tiny. The furniture looked like it had been stolen from a 1986 garage sale. Two chrome-legged chairs, upholstered in a greasy-gray weave, were arranged on either side of a heavy wooden table. On the light-oak-paneled wall was a lavender print in a silver frame. In the picture, white and pink feathers and pastel-colored halos surrounded a Native American Indian chief.
Caryn sat down in the chair without a bent leg, and when the phone rang, she eavesdropped.
“Baker and Baker, how may I help you?” The receptionist wrote something on her pad. “Please hold for a moment.” Click. “Cheryl, it’s Gary Protheimer calling again … Okay … Sure.” Click.
Caryn dug through her purse and found the pair of horn-rimmed glasses she’d swiped from the lady at the coffee shop. Neatly arranged on the table was a stack of family magazines, one inviting readers to learn about raising triplets. Next to the stack sat a purple vase stuffed with mismatched, fake flowers that appeared to have been dragged through the parking lot.
It was a lame disguise, but she donned the glasses and pretended to read the article on triplets. The glasses made everything blurry. She looked over them at the picture of a mother wearing a pink T-shirt holding perfectly coiffed infants, one with a pink headband, one in a blue ruffled dress, and one wearing a frilly yellow top.
Down the hallway and out of Caryn’s sight, a door opened, and the voices of two men rumbled. “I’ll get those receipts to you later in the week. I’m sure the quarterly payment stub is in a file at home. I’ll have Shannon send that tomorrow. Thanks, Nate.”
Caryn strained to see around the corner as the men walked toward the waiting room.
“Sounds good, Charles. Hey, are you going to be at Quincey’s tonight?”
That voice. Caryn recognized her brother’s voice and sweat broke out under her shirt and around her neck.
“Not tonight. I have to stay home with the kids. I promised Mary. She’s got some jewelry party to go to. Probably spending last week’s income. You know how it is.”
Ekhard/Nathaniel laughed as they rounded the corner from the hallway. Caryn saw his cheese-eating, smiling face and looked back down at the magazine.
“I know. Women, right? Can’t live with them …”
How would Ekhard know anything about marriage or parenthood? Faker. What a phony. Caryn grew the courage to look up again and stared right through his dandy little act. That wasn’t the real Ekhard Marcus Klein.
Her heartrate nearly doubled in speed at the sight of him. The Ekhard she knew didn’t appear to have gained any weight. He was about five feet ten and weighed maybe 150 pounds. When he was younger, he had looked wiry. Now he appeared starved, malnourished, and sickly. His dyed dark-brown hair thinned around his temples.
The client patted Eks on the arm. “How about Saturday? Happy hour? The IU game will be on. It’s a late one this week.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. See you then.”
Ekhard shook the man’s hand and glanced over at Caryn as she looked away. Did he recognize me? she wondered. How will he react to seeing me? Had Ekhard become like their mother? Unpredictable and violent? Or was he an angry drunk like their father? Neither option filled Caryn with hope. It was that random chance that terrified her most.
When the client had gone, Ekhard stepped toward the receptionist. Caryn’s fingertips quivered with the anticipation of his inviting her back to his office. Then what? She hadn’t planned that far ahead.
“Mr. Johnson, Ms. Martin is here to meet with you.” The receptionist whispered something to Ekhard.
Caryn kept her chin tucked in and lifted the magazine up to hide her face. She felt Ekhard eyeing her.
“Give me a few minutes to file Charles’s paperwork. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he disappeared down the hallway, Caryn had seen enough. She wasn’t ready to face him. She had no idea how he would feel about her coming here. The uncertainty of his reaction terrified her. She knew what he was capable of. Dropping the magazine back on the table, she ducked like a bunny out the door.
She drove fast. Matching her vehicular speed, her internal wheels spun like a combustion engine on methamphetamine. To think she had idolized Ekhard as a teenager!
All this time, eighteen years, four months, and twenty-seven days, her past had stayed with her, a bundle of dead, useless limbs. In the worst-case scenario, the past manifested as a cancer eating her from the inside out. It was likely, considering how things had been going. Her life sucked. Steady job; nothing exciting there. Steady boyfriend; married to another woman for Chrissake. Lord knows there’s nothing thrilling about that.
Since Ekhard left her she had wanted to prove him wrong. And now … now Caryn had a choice. She could use this new information about Ekhard, her brother, to turn her life around. She could use the knowledge to move her life forward. Back then, he’d said she was just like her mother. But Mom abandoned us. I won’t abandon you, brother, because I am not my mother. I will not abandon you, Eks. Like Mom did. And like you did to me.
Caryn laughed out loud. She could put a positive spin on all of the negative shit from her childhood. She could make a fresh start. The plan was clear, and it included her brother. They grew up together. They shared the same history.
They also shared secrets.
CHAPTER 28
MORGAN
In a coffeehouse near the Indiana Office of Accountants Morgan’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Caryn Klein’s blond hair. She occupied a small, round table filled with her computer and personal effects. Morgan leaned over her, a tiger hunting prey, and said, “You’re a hard woman to connect with, Ms. Klein.”
The presence of police officers in the coffee shop evoked uncomfortable stares and nervous shifting from a few patrons. Not from Caryn, though, who answered, “I work on location all over the state of Indiana.” She didn’t look up from her computer.
“We’re aware of that.” Morgan’s fingers grazed the tattered notebook in her jacket pocket. “This is my partner, Detective James.”
Behind her, Donnie flashed his badge.
Caryn’s hands remained poised over the keyboard, her eyes on her computer screen.
“We want to ask you a few questions,” Morgan stated. She noted that Caryn wore an orange sweater and black slacks. Her shoulder length blond hair was not dyed like the shorter hairs found in Hallie’s bed. Did Ekhard have blond hair too?
“You have questions about my brother?” Caryn’s focus remained on her laptop.
Morgan gently pushed the laptop closed. “We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Caryn grimaced. “Of course.” She seemed reluctant but tucked the laptop into the case and set it on the floor by her feet.
Morgan pulled out the chair where Caryn’s purse rested. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.” Caryn moved stiffly when she put her purse in her lap and wrapped her arms around it. A shield.
To be friendly, Morgan scooted the chair closer to Caryn’s and leaned forward on her elbows like she was getting the gossip from an old friend. “Does Ekhard live in Indianapolis?”
“We had a stressful childhood. My mother left us when I was ten. My dad died before I graduated high school. And Ekhard left me the day of my graduation.”
“That’s awful,” Morgan said, noting the sad expression on Caryn’s face. But when Caryn reached for a tissue it seemed overplayed.
Donnie hovered behind Morgan with his hands folded in front of him and said, “You must have been fifteen when your dad died.”
Caryn’s expression was blank when she said, “Fifteen and a half.”
“My daughter Annabel is fourteen.” Donnie said. “I can’t imagine her without parents. And my older daughter isn’t equipped to survive on her own. How did you do it?”
“We did what we had to do,” Cary
n said.
Morgan expressed condolences and then said, “You and your brother must have been very close.”
“On the contrary,” Caryn said. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
With the notebook in her hand, Morgan’s pen spun like a whirling dervish. “You had a falling out?”
“We did.” Caryn sat back and crossed her arms. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”
“Suzanne Aiken,” Morgan said. “You may remember her from high school.” When Caryn shook her head Morgan added, “She was a cheerleader, and she dated your brother.”
“Maybe that jogs your memory,” Donnie added.
Morgan thought she could get more out of this witness if Donnie wasn’t towering over them. She turned around. “Hey, Donnie, can you get me a pumpkin spiced latte with extra whipped cream?”
“Uh …”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Okay.”
Morgan watched Donnie walk to the register, then turned back to Caryn. Leaning forward as if she had a secret, she told her, “The parents are seeking closure. You understand, Caryn. Is it okay if I call you Caryn? Or do you prefer Ceecee?”
“No one calls me Ceecee.”
Morgan weighed the response. Irritation? Something was bothering Caryn, and now she was holding back. “Okay. Caryn then.” Morgan wrote that Caryn might have lied about the nickname. “That’s an unusual name.”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Caryn asked, chafed.
“Can you remember a few details about Suzanne? Since your brother dated her, I thought you could tell me about their relationship. I know it’s been a long time since then.” Morgan held her pen at the ready.
“Twenty years …” Caryn stopped short of saying something else.
Morgan’s brow furrowed. Is that how long since she’s seen him? She wrote, “20 years” in her notebook, then made a note to find out.
“Or something like that,” Caryn said.
“Something like that.” Morgan drew in a breath. Later she’d look up the dates to see if they matched.
Donnie returned to the table. “Did you want regular or soy milk?”
Best Kept Secrets Page 12