“Aw, you know I can’t come to Indy right now. We’re getting the baby room ready. I’m painting and Dierdre picked out a crib.”
Morgan forgave him. Deirdre was seven and a half months pregnant. “How is Deirdre?” Without turning on a light, she set the cell phone on her bedside table and pressed the speaker icon.
“Deirdre’s good. She’s still going to yoga every morning. She’ll bounce back from this quickly. Yesterday she said she can’t wait to get her old body back.”
Surprised by this, Morgan said, “I thought she loved being pregnant.”
“I think she’s ready for it to be over.” He laughed. “But she’s got two months to go.”
Morgan realized how little she knew about pregnancy. “Yoga? Is that okay for the baby? Isn’t she supposed to be resting?”
Jeremy laughed. “Have you met my wife? Rest isn’t a word in her vocabulary.”
His laughter had made Morgan smile. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Mo.”
“Mom said you’re not moving back to Bloomington. Why not? You can’t be working, not with …”
His reminder drew Morgan’s gaze to her bandaged left hand. “I’m not working yet. Yet is the key word here,” she said with lifted eyebrows.
“How is your hand?” Jeremy asked with the sensitive, probing tone only a sibling can muster.
“Better.” A recent surgery had reset four bones in her hand and wrist. But until the tissue healed, doctors didn’t know how her mobility would be affected. At least it was her left hand, not her shooting hand. Naturally, the thought drew her mind to images of other crushed hands: Hallie Marks’s, Jenny Delacourt’s, and Fay’s.
“I’m proud of you, Mo. You’ve mastered your trade. Remember when this started?”
“How can I forget?” I’ll never forget Fay. I’ll never forget how we betrayed each other, how much I loved her, or how jealous I was of Larry.
“And you’ve come a long way.” Jeremy hesitated. Morgan sensed he wanted to say something she didn’t want to hear. “I think you should quit. Get a desk job. Open a deli. Do something that doesn’t involve police work, guns, and crazy people.”
“A deli? I can’t cook. That’s your dream job. And besides, crazy people are everywhere.” He doesn’t realize …
“Oh, right,” he admitted.
“It’s cute how protective you are, big brother.”
“I’m serious,” Jeremy said. “Mom and Dad agree, you are very lucky. You could have been killed.”
“I’m not quitting, Jeremy. I’ve applied for a position with the US Marshals.” And I have a debt to Fay that I can never repay. Morgan cradled her left hand. The surrounding bandage was a soft, football-sized pillow.
“Doing what?”
“Finding missing people, escaped convicts, wanted criminals.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Jeremy said.
“Probably will be.” Morgan knew too well what it took to hide from a broken past.
Jeremy chuckled. “Okay, Mo. I’ve got to get some sleep. Deirdre and I will come visit this spring with little Dylan Brianne.”
“She’s a girl?”
“She is.”
“I’m going to love her!”
“I love you, kid,” Jeremy said.
“Call me again soon.”
As Morgan hung up, she couldn’t imagine ever estranging Jeremy. Life without him would be lonely and difficult, she thought. She wondered if it had been that way for Caryn.
CHAPTER 63
MORGAN
“Thank you,” Morgan said as Bill Rafferty passed her with a smile on his face and his arms loaded up with two heavy boxes. He placed them in the bed of a Ford F150, Morgan’s new pickup truck. Rob had taken great care of the roadworthy vehicle. And because she liked driving it, he sold it to her and bought a newer model.
“There isn’t much left,” Bill said. The bed of the truck was half full. A bookshelf lay on its side supported by three boxes of books, a small antique desk, and two black garbage bags full of clothes. “Are you hanging in there?”
Bill jogged back toward the house with the energy of a much younger man. After he and Adrienne returned, and while cleaning up shattered china and glass, they decided to sell the house.
“I wish I could help,” Morgan said. With her left splinted hand cradled in a sling, she looked up at the trees bursting with green leaves. Three bushes in front of the Raffertys’ brick house hung heavy with lilacs. The light-purple blooms filled the fresh spring air with their fragrance.
“Do you want this too?” Adrienne asked, following Bill with a tall floor lamp. Ready for a workday, she wore her silver hair bundled in a knot at the back of her head.
“That would be great.” From her heart, Morgan said, “Thank you for setting me up with so much furniture.” She had said thank you often and frequently, but it hadn’t been enough. Gratitude for her Indianapolis family filled her heart to the brim.
Adrienne stopped to catch her breath. “Oh, when this place sells, we won’t need any of it. I’m glad you can use it.” A spry, birdlike woman, she spoke fast. “The apartment we’re moving to in Florida is fully furnished. We don’t need all this stuff! And as they say, ‘You can’t take it with you.’”
Morgan gave her friend and stand-in mother a hug. “Thanks for everything.”
“We will miss you, Mo. You must come visit us in Florida. I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk Bill into driving that far north.”
“But Wisconsin is beautiful in the summertime.”
“Hold that thought. We can’t say goodbye just yet.” Adrienne raised her eyebrows with a knowing smile, then walked back to the house.
Morgan was excited about the move to Wisconsin. Though it was far from her family, she had always loved visiting her brother on the isthmus in Madison. She was finally ready to put more distance between her and Bloomington too. She had paid her dues and come to terms with her past. And as part of her new life, she wanted to spend time around water. Fay had loved the water.
“How’s this?” Rob stepped out into the yard with a cushioned chair from the living room. He set it down in the grass beside where Morgan stood next to the “For Sale” sign. “Take a load off.”
“I’d rather take a load to my truck,” she admitted.
“You can’t do that. We won’t let you.”
“I know.” Morgan’s hand itched under the splint. Until it healed, she had limited use of it. To date, two surgeries before had set broken bones with pins. The third, to remove the pins, the doctor had promised, would be the last. Morgan wouldn’t play guitar with Bill again, but that was no big loss. Bill had said so too.
Fay wouldn’t play the piano again either. When she raised her hand to protect her face from that rock, it took the blow. Morgan thought three fingers were broken with that hit. But that wasn’t the blow that had killed her.
“We’ve got this covered for you.” Rob took Morgan by the shoulders and pressed her back into the chair.
“Timing could have been better.” She waved her left hand.
“Could have been worse.” He looked over Morgan’s shoulder. “Gretta! Gretta, come here, girl!”
In the next-door neighbor’s yard, Gretta had made friends with a small, fluffy teddy-bear mix.
“She’ll miss you.”
“I don’t think so,” Morgan said. “In fact, I’ll bet Allie has all the right kinds of treats.”
A sweetheart, Allie had moved in with Rob. They were perfect for each other. Allie loved children and animals, and she wanted the same things Rob did. The same future.
“Where is Allie, anyway? I thought she’d be joining us.”
Rob looked down the street. “She had to work today, but she’ll stop by before you go.”
“I hope so,” Morgan admitted. “Plus, I want to tell her to take care of you. She’s got something special, Rob. I mean that from the depths of my heart.” The words sprinkled regret onto the growing pile of emotions . She o
wed Rob everything. If it hadn’t been for him, Morgan would be dead.
In the days following the attack, Morgan found out that, as she entered the house, she had dialed Rob’s number right before Caryn attacked her. He had tried returning the call, but because Caryn had smashed her phone after knocking her unconscious, Rob got nothing but dead air. He grew worried and asked friends in patrol to meet him at her house. The officers arrived just in time to hear the glass hutch shatter. Phone lines had been cut, and no one responded to their pounding on the front door. They entered with guns raised. When Caryn shrieked and threw the hammer, Rob shot her.
Helpful throughout her hospitalization and subsequent surgeries, Rob made himself available. But Morgan kept her distance. This chapter of her life had ended. Though a great friend, Rob wasn’t the person she wanted to settle down with. She wanted adventure, and he wanted to get married and start a family.
Morgan loathed leading him on. So right before Christmas, and just in time for the IMPD Christmas party, she told Rob it was over. He’d seen it coming, and he gave her space. By mid-January, he and Allie were dating again.
“What have you got in here? Bricks?” Bill joked. He and Adrienne hustled past with more boxes.
“Thanks, Bill,” Morgan said.
Birds in the grass flew upward when a brand-new green SUV parked behind the Ford truck. Donnie, no longer wearing his arm sling, stepped out of the passenger side, his daughter Etta from the driver’s side. The surgery to replace his shoulder joint had been successful.
Tall and as thin as a runway model, Etta bounced across the lawn. “Hi, Morgan.” She waved, then bent to pet Gretta who, with a smile and wagging tail, greeted everyone.
Morgan pushed herself out of her chair. Excited and nervous, she didn’t want to sit. “How was the track meet, Etta?”
Etta shrugged and tossed her long braids to the side. “I don’t know.”
“She did great!” Donnie, the proud papa, answered. “Beat her own record in the hurdles by two and a half seconds.”
“Congratulations!” Morgan said.
“How can I help?” Etta asked.
“I have a few more marked boxes upstairs,” Morgan told her.
As Etta danced into the house, Donnie gave Morgan a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll miss you, Mo.”
“Hey, no goodbyes. Not yet,” she said. The surge of emotion tickled her nose and curled her lips as a tear caught in her eye. The weight of her decision might bury her alive if she let it. But a sense of purpose floated over her misgivings, just as it had after Fay’s death.
Thinner, Donnie shifted to the other foot. Hours of rehab had inspired him to go to the gym more often, and it had paid off. Morgan knew the slower pace at work was exactly what he wanted so he could be with his girls.
Rob, standing nearby, asked, “How are you? Enjoying the new job, Lieutenant?”
Donnie patted Rob on the back. “Being lieutenant is not boring if that’s what you mean. Though at my age, boredom is welcome,” he admitted.
“I know what you mean,” Rob said, looking up at the sky. “Someday …”
Morgan hoped things would work out for him with Allie.
“Adrienne and Bill are doing all the work. I’d better go help them.” Rob returned to the house.
“Thanks, Rob,” Morgan called after him.
“So. Are you ready for this?” Donnie asked, with a nod toward her bandaged hand.
“Wisconsin?” Morgan asked.
“Yes. Going undercover is never easy. You’ll be cut off from your family and friends.”
“I don’t mind.” The psychiatrist had been right about PITS. Morgan needed more than ever to get away from people. She still wasn’t sleeping. Medication didn’t help, it just made her feel groggy in the morning. “I need a vacation anyway,” she told Donnie.
“This’ll be no vacation! Lieutenant Detective Callen Roth from the Madison violent crimes unit has told me how dangerous he thinks Honey Drake is. You’ll be living under her roof.”
“I know. I was briefed.” Morgan wanted to stop him from worrying but didn’t know how to achieve that. They’d been friends for too long. “Are you going to be my contact back here?” She asked.
“Only when necessary. You’ll be working for the Madison PD from now on.” Donnie shook his head. “If I could have sent someone else, I would have.”
“It’s ok, Lieutenant. They requested me.”
Donnie gazed across the lawn, searching for something. “You’re perfect for the job.”
Morgan thought his eyes teared up. So she took the compliment silently.
“Heard back from the Marshals?”
“I’ve heard the process is long,” she explained. “My friend Keith Broderick put a recommendation in for me, but all I can do is wait. It could be another twelve to eighteen months before I hear anything. In the meantime, this undercover work will look good on my resume.”
“The training …” Donnie said, lifting his eyebrows.
Morgan shook her head. “I know about U.S. Marshals training.” Too loudly, she defended herself. “Eighteen weeks of sheer physical hell. I’ll have to be in my best shape. And I’ll have to be healed.” She waved her splinted hand.
“Okay. As long as you’ll be ready.” Donnie stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked up at the lilacs.
“I’ll be ready.”
Trustworthy, dark-brown eyes gazed into Morgan’s. “If anyone can do it, you can, Mo. I have faith in you,” Donnie said.
She knew he was saying he cared.
“Thank you, Donnie. That means a lot.” She hugged him. Of all her friends, she’d miss Donnie the most.
The threat of tears having passed for now, Morgan beckoned Donnie inside to check that nothing important got left behind.
With a strong odor of new carpet, the Raffertys’ charming home had been reduced to a shell, as most of the furniture had been sold or given away. The rest was scattered or piled in the living room for their upcoming garage sale.
“Careful with that,” Donnie said to Etta as she brushed past them with a boxed coffeepot.
Today’s unopened mail sat on the kitchen counter. Morgan picked through it. In between a cell-phone bill and a Netflix DVD, she found a thick envelope from Victoria Ramsey.
“Look at this.” Eager to see what was inside, Morgan tried, unsuccessfully, to rip it open with her teeth.
“Give me that.” Donnie took it from her and dug a knife out of a nearby drawer. When he slit the envelope open, a get-well card and a stack of pictures fell out. Donnie helped sort them. “Who’s it from?” He handed the card to Morgan.
“It’s from Fay’s mother.” She opened the card. Inside, Vic had written:
Dear Morgan,
It has taken me years to come to terms with Fay’s death. Now I know that I held her much too close. When my husband died, I tried—too hard—to keep Fay from leaving me. I should have known she’d fly from the nest eventually. I just didn’t know she’d grow those wings so early. Her fate was sealed. Now, I can’t blame you for her death. It’s in the past, and it’s time to move on. Please take these photos as a small remembrance of her. She’d want you to have them. Thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter.
Victoria
With one hand, Morgan spread the photos across the countertop. The first picture, from Senior Prom, was of Fay and Morgan standing on the grass outside her parents’ house. In a slinky blue prom dress, Morgan’s arm was around her taller friend. Fay’s white dress reminded Morgan of how innocent Fay had been. It also reminded her that she had wanted to marry Fay.
“Is that …?” Donnie asked.
“Fay.” Morgan nodded.
The next was a shot taken in front of the IU Student Union. Another with their orientation backpacks. Many photos from the Kodak 110 camera were blurry, but not in Morgan’s memory. In the back of her mind, she heard Fay’s giggle as if she were standing in the Raffertys’ kitchen.
From the botto
m of the stack, Donnie pulled out a picture of Fay and a brunette girl, a younger Morgan Jewell. Their happiness then was reflected in their smiles. The background to the last photo on the reel of film was dark. It had been late at night when the photo was taken beside Jackson Creek. Their faces were close to the camera and off-center.
And Morgan remembered holding a jagged, heavy rock in her hand.
DISCUSSION GUIDE QUESTIONS
1. Many people develop crushes on their best friends. For Morgan, Fay was the closest and best friend. What would you do in that situation? Would you reveal your feelings or keep quiet for fear of making things awkward?
2. One triggering event in Morgan’s life changed her entire life path. What has or what would alter the course of your life? Not necessarily connected, if someone close to you passed away, would you move on or hang your life on figuring it out?
3. Caryn and Ekhard didn’t have a stable home environment. Is it nature or nurture that made them the way they are?
4. They say you can’t choose your family. Morgan’s adult relationship with her brother is vastly different than Caryn’s relationship with Ekhard. How has your relationship with a sibling help form who you are today?
5. Several characters play a role in Fay’s death. Who do you think is most to blame?
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Tracey S. Phillips is a serial artist. She grew up in Indianapolis and is the daughter of an artist and granddaughter of a pianist, teacher, and honored supporter of the musical arts. Somewhere along the road, she married her best friend and became the mother of two children. She has a successful career teaching piano lessons. Best Kept Secrets is her first novel.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Tracey Strohm Phillips
All rights reserved.
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