Best Kept Secrets

by Tracey S. Phillips

  CHAPTER 45

  CARYN

  The sun shone brightly, melting ice on the edges of the pavement and lawn. Caryn could see her breath in the early winter air. A week before Thanksgiving, pumpkins and fall decorations sparkled with the glaze. With her back to the lobby entrance, she stood in the parking lot of the Rapture at 86 West Hotel and heard Mack jogging to meet her.

  “Caryn, you okay? Sorry about last night. The neighbors stayed late.”

  Caryn didn’t answer. Her breath puffed lingering clouds as she folded her arms across her heart. No room for access.

  “I said I’m sorry.” With his hands entrenched deep in his pockets, Mack waited.

  She was angry. Since when does Erin take precedence over my needs?

  “I don’t understand why you think your brother did it. I’m sure the break-in wasn’t personal. I think it will be okay,” Mack said.

  She didn’t need his feather fluffing. She was no injured bird. She was angry and didn’t want him to lift her back up. The urge to take it out on something or someone was a powerful aphrodisiac. Hands balled into rock-hard fists, Caryn stepped away from Mack.

  Mack looked down at his feet. In a low whisper, he asked, “Since when do you have a brother?”

  Caryn turned with a fist in the air. “Since I was born, asshole.”

  Mack backed away. “I didn’t know. How would I know? You never talk about him.”

  “I don’t talk about him because I haven’t seen him.” Aware she could be caught in her deception, she added, “I don’t see him. What do you think? I’m hiding it from you?”

  Mack looked her in the eye, doubtful.

  “My brother is no longer in my life and there’s a reason for that.”

  “I’m sorry. Look, no one is judging you here. Come back inside, okay? Stop making a scene.” Mack surreptitiously looked behind him.

  Caryn knew he worried what people thought of him. He’d been careful to conceal their relationship. Arguing with her outside the hotel might ruin his image. And his marriage. She didn’t care.

  “Erin’s not working the bar till five o’clock today. Come in and have a drink. I’m buying.”

  “No thanks.” His lame offer didn’t appeal to her.

  “I won’t let it happen again. I promise,” he said. The apology would have had more impact if he had groveled on his knees.

  Caryn paced, crunching through the layer of ice near the curb, releasing the water that ran beneath it. “Erin doesn’t bother me. It’s the fact that you don’t care what’s going on with me.” She let her voice carry.

  “Then tell me what’s going on.” Hotel patrons glanced their way. He lowered his voice to a raspy tone. “Can we go inside?”

  “The police asked me questions about him.”

  His eyebrows drew together. As he peered at the hotel entrance behind them, he asked, “What on earth for?”

  She threw a hand in the air. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She would not tell him the dull saga of Ekhard and Suzanne.

  “Then help me. What is going on?”

  “I found him! I found my fucking brother! I know where he lives! You don’t understand what that means!”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I’m here for you if you need me.” Mack patted Caryn’s back through her black wool peacoat.

  To Caryn, it felt icky. She slithered away from him. “Don’t.”

  Frustrated, Mack animatedly shook his hands in the air. “Then what do you want from me? I don’t know what you want from me. Is it a good thing you found him? Is it a bad thing? I’m drowning, Caryn. Help me out.”

  Mack could never understand the relationship she had with Ekhard. And Caryn didn’t really care about his acceptance. But at the same time she was afraid she was losing Mack too. Because of that fear, rage bubbled just under the surface. To abate it, she wanted—no needed—Mack to come back to her.

  Looking him directly in the eye for the first time in a week, she said, “My brother, Ekhard, is a murderer.”

  CHAPTER 46

  CARYN: 22 Years Ago

  Their laughter penetrated the bedroom walls. Caryn wouldn’t have minded except that Ekhard wasn’t getting anything done. With Suzanne around, he hadn’t completed any of his college applications.

  “And when she stood up, there were smashed potatoes on the back of her skirt.” Caryn had listened to the whole story Suzanne told.

  Eks laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. They were in Ekhard’s room with the door closed. From what Caryn could tell, they weren’t getting any homework done. And she wasn’t either. Now she was fuming mad.

  Caryn slammed her pencil down on her painted white desk. It had become quiet in his room again, but every time Caryn thought she could get back to work, they started in again. Like now.

  “Eks, I have to get a good grade or my dad is going to kill me,” Suzanne said.

  Yeah right, Caryn thought. Our dad used to kill Ekhard on a regular basis. She couldn’t count the number of times her brother had nursed a black eye or swollen jaw.

  Ekhard told Caryn that he felt sorry for Suzanne. It was his reason for doing her homework for her. Three or four evenings a week they spent together, hanging out, doing her homework, or just talking. When she wasn’t visiting, Eks took care of Dad. His health was declining and he needed a slew of medicines. And he could never remember what or when because of the bourbon. Now Ekhard was falling behind. His grades were suffering, and Caryn knew how important it was to him to get into college.

  “You need a beginning, a middle, and an end. All the facts are here, but the report needs more organization.” Ekhard explained to Suzanne.

  “I get that, but I’m no good at writing. It gets jumbled up in my head.”

  Everything gets jumbled up in Suzanne’s little head, Caryn thought.

  He said, “I know. That’s why I’m helping.”

  She was a junior and still didn’t know how to write a paper. Caryn didn’t think Suzanne would get it now. Ekhard was wasting his time.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  Caryn turned her head. She wasn’t getting any homework done either. Their voices carrying from the other room were distracting her.

  “Let me fix my pants.”

  “I’ll fix them for you.”

  Pants? This was the last straw. Caryn would not allow her brother to get that stupid girl pregnant. He had more important things to do with his life. Suzanne would ruin it for him if she stuck around. If Mom was here, she’d make sure he got his work done. And if Dad wasn’t drunk, he might care about it too. Without parental supervision, it was up to Caryn to draw the line.

  Caryn stood up so fast her desk chair tipped over. She rounded the corner and stomped down the hall to her brother’s room, where the door was closed. She didn’t stop to listen or knock before blasting into the room. The door slammed against the wall, making a round hole where the doorknob hit the wall.

  Suzanne shrieked. She was on her knees in between Ekhard’s legs. His pants were down around his ankles.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ekhard’s eyes were as round as quarters.

  “What are you doing?” Caryn was livid. “You’re not going to fuck up your life for this,” she waved an arm toward Suzanne.

  Ekhard said, “It’s none of your damn business what I do!” While Suzanne wiped her face on her sweater sleeve, Caryn decided she’d deal with the problem herself. She reached for Suzanne’s head and grabbed a handful of hair.

  Suzanne screamed, “Stop it! Let go!”

  But Caryn would not. She pulled her by the hair down the stairs then threw her on the floor. On her hands and knees, Suzanne cried out, “You bitch!” Her hands rubbed the top of her scalp.

  Caryn had lost her patience. She opened the door and violently shoved the protesting girl out onto the stoop. Then she slammed and locked the door. Muffled screams came from outside in the yard as Suzanne howled and complained.

  “What’d yo
u do that for?” Ekhard asked from the top of the stairs.

  Caryn spun around to face him. “She’s toying with you, Ekhard. Can’t you see that? She is playing you like a guitar. Don’t you have enough to do with your own homework and taking care of Dad? Graduate high school. You have to, so you can get a job.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later Suzanne was back at the house. Around her neck hung a silver and pink pendant. A heart. Caryn knew that Ekhard had given it to her. Since Caryn’s tantrum, Suzanne had avoided coming over, though Caryn still saw them holding hands in the school hallway between classes. He had told Caryn that Suzanne was coming over and threatened to beat the shit out of her if she did anything this time. He’d done it before, fought Caryn. He’d gripped her index finger and snapped it all the way back like Mom used to do.

  In their kitchen, Suzanne helped with dinner. She made spaghetti sauce from scratch and garlic bread to go with it. Ekhard sat at the table trying to get caught up with homework. Next to him, Caryn helped him balance Dad’s checkbook while he finished his college essays.

  “What’s she doing here?” Caryn asked.

  With her gaze narrowed, Suzanne looked up from stirring the pasta, “Don’t come near me, bitch.”

  Ekhard put a hand up to stop them both. “She’s here to do my calculus homework.”

  “Beauty queen can do math?” Caryn crossed her arms and glowered at the shiny pink pendant dangling at Suzanne’s throat.

  “At least he’ll have something to turn in,” Suzanne said defensively.

  “I can do your calculus. And I’ll get you a better grade.” Caryn pointed past her brother at the sheet Suzanne had left on the table. “That one’s wrong. This one, the answer is …”

  “Stop it, Ceecee. I don’t care about the grade.” Ekhard put his hands on the table.

  To Suzanne, Caryn said, “Why don’t you go home to your perfect life and your perfect parents?”

  “What’s your problem, anyway?” Suzanne asked.

  “You’re using him,” Caryn said.

  “Forget it Ceecee,” Ekhard stood up and walked over to his girlfriend.

  Caryn closed the checkbook and slammed the pen down on the table. “You’re using him to get back at your football-player boyfriend. Becky Lewis says so all the time.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suzanne said.

  Caryn couldn’t sit still anymore, so got up from the table and confronted them in the kitchen. Jabbing her finger into Suzanne’s bare shoulder, she said, “Ekhard does all your homework for you. You won’t be able to graduate without him.”

  “Shut up, bitch.” Suzanne cowered behind Ekhard. “You touch me again and I’m calling the cops.”

  Looking around for something to throw, Caryn lightly grabbed the nearest object, a small plate with a sauce-covered spoon in it. She flung plate and spoon into the corner. As it shattered, Suzanne covered her face with her arms, elbows pulled together to form a shield.

  Ekhard grabbed his sister by the arm. “Stop fighting! Stop it, Ceecee! Leave her alone!”

  Caryn huffed and stomped out of the kitchen, retreating upstairs to her room.

  CHAPTER 47

  MORGAN

  In the parking lot, Morgan jogged to catch up to Stan Williams. “Stan, wait.”

  The wiry detective looked back without stopping. His long strides and fast pace indicated he was ignoring her.

  “Stan.” Morgan ran—four parked cars behind him and closing.

  Stan approached his yellow Dodge Charger with a black racing stripe down the center and pulled out the keys.

  Morgan jogged up to him. “Hey, Stan, how’s it going?”

  He turned on her. “What do you want, Morgan?”

  Her red blouse was heaving as she caught her breath. “I wanted to talk for a second. I meant to stop by and see you earlier today, but you were out.”

  Stan’s hand rested on the car door handle. “Morgan Jewell wanted to see me? Has the space-time continuum completely shifted? Or was your body abducted by aliens and replaced by a sexier you?”

  “It’s about work, Stan.”

  Stan removed his hand from the car door and looked at his watch. “I’ll give you one minute.”

  Morgan jumped right in. “I wanted to ask if you’d give me access to one of your old cases.”

  “Depends. Which one and how much does it mean to you?”

  Morgan faltered. Stan would think this was a crazy idea. So she came right out and said, “The Jenny Delacourt case.”

  Stan guffawed. “That old case?” He shook his head. “Wait. Why do you want it?”

  When Morgan didn’t answer, he said, “Oh, I get it. You think it’s related to your murder victim in Danville.”

  “I want to interview Jenny.”

  Stanley’s lips spread into a devilish grin. “Sorry. Like you’ve said to me so, so many times before, ‘not a chance in hell.’”

  Morgan looked down at her feet. She had expected this. “You’re joking, right? Jenny could have the answers I’m looking for. She lived through it. If I can get her to talk, she might be able to ID my murderer.”

  “That case was finished and filed six—was it really six years ago? Jenny Delacourt was a wreck then, and she still is. Her boyfriend beat her to within an inch of her life. He scared the shit out of her, but she’ll never turn him in. Seriously, if you think her case has something to do with your silly—”

  “Is it that you don’t see the connection? Or you don’t want to give me the case?”

  Detective Williams had worked at Metro Homicide for most of his life. He never took promotions. He seemed to enjoy his job well enough but had no compulsion one way or the other to advance. For thirty years he’d been in the same position, and he liked it that way. Morgan wondered why. He must have had some reason for not retiring to the desk.

  “Tit for tat, Morgan. You’ve never given me the time of day. So you’re on your own.” He turned his back on her and slid into the car.

  She stayed next to the car as he started it up and rolled down the window. “Thanks, Stan,” she said sarcastically.

  “You’re very welcome, Detective,” he sneered. He put the car in reverse and backed away.

  To catch a killer you have to think like one. And she wanted to interview Jenny Delacourt.

  * * *

  Morgan hopped in the rented Toyota, hoping to catch up to Stan in his yellow Charger. She planned to follow him—to explain her very important reasons for wanting the interview with Jenny. She’d seen him turn left out of the parking lot and, luckily, spotted the bright-colored vehicle about a block ahead. He was stopped at a light, in the left turn lane. He’s headed north, she thought, to the interstate.

  Her car, an innocuous gray color, would be less easy to spot—if he was watching out for her. Nevertheless, Morgan remained several car-lengths behind him once they got on the four-lane loop around Indianapolis. On the Interstate, they drove for forty minutes through slow rush-hour traffic before Stan exited on 56th Street on the west side. He continued back toward town, then turned right into an apartment complex.

  Morgan kept her foot on the brake, remaining back so he didn’t spot her vehicle. Recalling what she knew about Stan, he lived in a two-story house on Indy’s north side—a house that was way too big for a single man. Years ago she’d been invited there with the rest of the homicide division when he hosted a holiday party. As he showed off his designer kitchen and complained about the size of the mortgage, she and Donnie had wondered how he could afford it on their salary.

  After parking, he got out of his car and locked it. Morgan parked far enough away to watch without being seen. When Stan knocked on the door of one ground level apartment, a thin dark-haired woman answered. Long, pretty hair framed her round cheeks, but she seemed displeased to see him. In the doorway, they argued momentarily. She pushed him away. Stan turned, looking furtively behind him before forcing his way into her apartment.

  The
door closed.

  While waiting, Morgan looked up the address in a database on her cell phone. The apartment was owned by Stan and leased to a woman named Chaybree Wallace. Morgan looked for more information about Chaybree, and it turned out that she had a police record. Chaybree had been arrested four times for prostitution in the last five years. She was only twenty years old.

  The last time she was arrested, Morgan remembered, was during a sting operation run by Stan. He and another detective had closed in on the operation by going undercover as the “johns”. Morgan thought now that it was probably a job he’d enjoyed. Six women and two men were arrested for prostitution when they broke the case. Chaybree’s sentence had been lowered to a class A misdemeanor—her fine of five thousand dollars had been paid off by an un-named party.

  An hour passed before Stan came out of Chaybree’s apartment walking tall. The sun had gone down but streetlamps dotted the complex with big yellow circles of light. When he pulled out of the complex in his Charger, Morgan didn’t follow him. This time, she went to Chaybree’s door and knocked softly.

  “I don’t got time for more of your shit!” A woman hollered from behind the closed door.

  “Chaybree, I’m a friend,” Morgan said with gentle concern.

  About a minute passed before Chaybree opened the door and peeped out with one eye. “What do you want?”

  Morgan didn’t flash her badge. “I know Stan. I know he’s an asshole.”

  “How do you know him?”

  Reluctant to let Chaybree know that Morgan was a cop, she nodded imperceptibly and admitted that she worked with him.

  Chaybree let her in, keeping her gaze to the floor and one hand over her left eye. No lights were on in the cramped entryway. She closed the door and left Morgan’s side, walking to a living room lit by one lamp. The young woman wore tight white shorts and loose low-cut top. To Morgan, it looked like pajamas. She flopped onto an oversized couch and tucked her legs underneath. Her left hand still covered her eye.

  Morgan sat across from her in a wooden chair with a loose back. Her gaze remained full of concern for Chaybree. “Did he hit you?”