Secrets Never Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  But Morgan didn’t let it go. “How badly was he injured?”

  The sheriff waved off her question. “It was minor. Mr. Jones was just a drunk.”

  A few heartbeats of silence passed.

  The sheriff dropped the pen and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Warren County is putting divers in the water, using sonar, and dragging parts of the lake, but that water is damned deep. If a body was properly weighted, it might not turn up for a very long time.”

  “Have they found the boat?” Lance asked.

  The sheriff nodded. “Yes. Sonar picked it up. It’s sunk about two hundred feet offshore. It’ll take a while to salvage it. They sent a diver down. There was no body on board.”

  Lance said, “This killer is CSI-savvy. He didn’t leave prints or DNA behind at Paul’s murder scene. This one will be no different.”

  “Why didn’t he make any effort to cover up his activities?” Morgan asked. “He didn’t scrub the floor. He didn’t bother to look for the fingers.”

  “It wasn’t his DNA,” Lance speculated. “He wasn’t concerned about it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have time,” the sheriff added. “I have one more piece of news for you.”

  Morgan held back a smart comment. Had the sheriff decided to share with them again? She didn’t fully trust him now.

  “The teenage boy in the morgue has been identified as Dylan James. He’s nineteen and lived with his parents near Deer Lake. His parents reported him missing Tuesday. He was supposed to be staying over at his girlfriend’s house, which is about a mile from home. But they got into a fight, and he decided to walk home. His girlfriend had picked him up, so he didn’t have his car. The girlfriend isn’t sure what time he left her house, but he never made it home.”

  “Superficially, he looked like Evan,” Lance said, his voice quiet.

  The sheriff nodded, grim. “They were both dressed in jeans, sneakers, and black T-shirts.”

  “That’s the standard teenage uniform.” Morgan blinked hard, trying to clear her tired eyes.

  Colgate shuffled a few file folders on his desk and removed two photographs. One was of Evan. The second was another older teen with the same coloring and similar features.

  Lance glanced at the photos and sighed, his chest heaving once.

  Morgan scanned the images. “They would be easily confused in the rain and dark.”

  “Or it was a coincidental accident,” the sheriff said.

  “You can’t still believe Evan killed Paul?” Morgan asked. “Not after we found Brian’s severed fingers?”

  The sheriff’s face flushed deep pink. “We have no evidence that Brian’s situation is related to Paul’s murder. Coincidences happen.” The sheriff folded his arms.

  “Two of them?” Lance’s voice rose.

  Morgan was too damned tired to argue with the bullheaded sheriff. She sat straighter and dropped her empty coffee cup in the trash can next to his desk. “If you don’t have any more questions tonight, we’d like to go home and get some sleep.”

  “Go.” The sheriff waved them off. “But if you find any more information, I want a call immediately.”

  Morgan nodded once, but she was careful not to make any verbal promises. They left the sheriff’s office and went out into the sticky evening air. Morgan lifted the neck of her blouse away from her body. “Could it get more humid?”

  “Not without the air being liquid.” Lance glanced at the sky. “There’s another thunderstorm coming.”

  “Maybe it will break the heat.” Morgan hopped into the Jeep.

  Lance slid behind the wheel. “Home?”

  “Yes. We both need sleep. We can’t function if we keep going at this pace.” Morgan glanced at Lance. Would he be able to sleep? “I know you’re worried.”

  “We are running out of leads. Maybe some sleep will help.” Lance turned the Jeep toward home.

  “One thing I’ve been thinking about,” Morgan said. “If the fingers belonged to Brian, then he’s not our killer. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t a cop, maybe another deputy, either active or retired.”

  “That would explain how the killer gained entry to Paul’s house.”

  “Paul let him in.” Morgan rubbed the back of her neck. “Would Paul have let Kirk in?”

  “Maybe.” Lance steered the Jeep through an intersection. “Kirk is Evan’s father. Tina said that Paul liked to take care of her. Maybe he thought he could talk Kirk out of being an asshole.”

  “I think that’s a permanent affliction.” Morgan smiled.

  “Seems like.”

  Twenty minutes later, thunder rumbled and rain began to fall as they parked in front of the house. Morgan whipped a travel umbrella out of her bag. Opening the car door a few inches, she stuck it through the gap and pressed the button.

  Lance shook his head. “Is there anything you don’t keep in that bag? You’re like Mary Poppins.”

  They’d watched the movie four times when the kids had been sick.

  “I like to be prepared.” Morgan stepped out of the Jeep. Shoving the door closed with her foot, she jogged to the front porch and unlocked the door. Lance followed her inside.

  The house was dark. She’d called home hours before to let everyone know they’d be late. Morgan set her umbrella by the door and removed her shoes. Lance left his wet boots by the front door too. They walked with quiet steps down the hall. She opened the girls’ bedroom door and poked her head into the room. All three kids were asleep. Morgan eased the door closed and continued to the bedroom that she now shared with Lance.

  She washed up, put on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. Lance had changed into his pajama bottoms and doubled his pillows. Bare chested, he reclined against the headboard, looking at his phone.

  Morgan slid into bed. “Anything important?”

  “No.” Lance plugged the charging cord into his phone.

  Morgan did the same. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “Let’s sleep now. We’ll worry tomorrow.”

  Morgan knew he was saying that for her benefit. She was the one who slept when she was depressed or stressed. Lance was the opposite. But she was too tired to argue. She rolled closer and closed her eyes. Remembering his vanishing act the previous night, she threw a leg over one of his to make sure he didn’t disappear.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lance cracked one eyelid. He felt like he’d just closed his eyes. What was that smell?

  “I frew up,” a tiny voice said in the darkness. Sophie stood next to the bed, her face teary. The unmistakable odor of vomit wafted from her.

  “Poor baby.” Morgan climbed out of bed on the other side. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Where did you get sick?”

  “In my bed.” Sophie sniffed.

  Morgan took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom.

  The mattress shifted as Lance stood. “Got it.”

  He left the bedroom and headed down the hall toward the girls’ bedroom. The stench turned his stomach. How were the other two kids sleeping through this? He stripped the bed and carried the dirty sheets and mattress protector to the washing machine. After tossing them in, he returned to the girls’ room, sprayed the mattress with Lysol, and found a pair of clean pajamas. He knocked on the bathroom door. Morgan opened it, and they made the exchange. They’d performed the same ritual a dozen times the previous week.

  He’d learned many things in the past three months. Teamwork was essential in parenting. With three kids and two adults, he and Morgan were down a man. If their family were a hockey team, they would be trapped in a never-ending power play in the kids’ favor.

  When the washer was running, he returned to the bedroom and donned a T-shirt, intent on giving Sophie his spot in the bed and sleeping on the couch.

  Sophie and Morgan emerged from the bathroom, the normally happy, rambunctious child sedate and miserable enough to break his heart.

  Instead of climbing in bed with her
mother, Sophie leaned on his legs and wrapped her arms around his thigh. “Can I sleep with you and Mommy?”

  He lifted her into their bed and put her between them. “Of course.”

  Her face was flushed, and she seemed much too small to be that sick.

  He touched her forehead. Her skin felt hot. “Fever?” he asked Morgan.

  “Yes.” She went to the bathroom for a cool, wet cloth and the thermometer. “I don’t want to give her anything for it just now.”

  “Right.” Lance had learned the hard way not to give a vomiting child anything to drink unless you were sure they were done vomiting. Children’s purple liquid medicine was nearly impossible to scrub out of a beige carpet.

  Morgan ran the thermometer across Sophie’s forehead. “One hundred two.” She fetched a stainless steel mixing bowl from the kitchen and tucked it next to Sophie. “Just in case.”

  They barely dozed for the rest of the night. Sophie was sick several more times. When dawn filtered through the blinds, Lance scanned her face. She was sleeping, but except for the unnatural flush of her cheeks, her face was so, so pale. The hollows around her eyes looked sunken.

  He nudged Morgan, who had dozed off sitting up against the headboard. “I don’t like the way she looks.”

  Morgan roused instantly. She reached for the thermometer on the nightstand and took the child’s temperature. “One hundred four.”

  “She’s too listless.” Lance’s chest tightened. Worry knotted in his gut. This was his first bout with a seriously ill child. Neither Mia nor Ava had been this sick. “This isn’t normal, is it?”

  Morgan was already out of bed. She tossed her pajamas into the corner and slipped into jeans. “No. We’re taking her to the ER.”

  Lance exchanged his pajama bottoms for a pair of pants lying on the chair. He jammed his bare feet into his running shoes and scooped Sophie into his arms.

  “I’ll tell Grandpa.” Morgan stepped into her dog-walking sneakers and hurried from the room.

  “We’ll be in the car.” Lance headed for the hallway.

  Sophie stirred in his arms and murmured, “I want my bwankie.” She was not the type of child who lugged any special object around. Normally, she was too busy to be bothered.

  “OK, sweetheart.” Lance ducked into the girls’ bedroom and grabbed the kitten blanket off the floor. Luckily, she had not puked on it.

  He tucked it around her, gave Mia and Ava a quick scan to make sure they were all right, and left the house. Morgan flew out the front door as he buckled Sophie into her car seat in the minivan. Lance saw Morgan’s grandfather standing at the storm door, leaning on his cane, wearing his bathrobe.

  Morgan got into the back seat with Sophie. Lance drove the minivan like a patrol car and had them at the entrance of the ER in under fifteen minutes. He pulled up in front of the sliding glass door. Morgan carried Sophie inside, and he parked the car. He jogged across the parking lot, dread gearing up inside him.

  He rushed inside and spotted Morgan at the desk, talking to a nurse. Her tote hung from the crook of her arm, and Sophie was draped over her shoulder. Lance hurried over. The second Sophie saw him, she leaned away from her mother and held both arms out to him. He took her in his arms and held her close. Her body felt light and small, and he could feel the heat her body generated through her thin cotton pajamas.

  Lance rubbed her back while Morgan talked with the nurse and filled out forms.

  “Come right back.” The nurse led them through the double doors and into a small room. More nurses arrived. Lance moved to place her on the gurney, but she clung tightly to him. He tried to gently pry her loose.

  “It’s OK, Dad,” the nurse said. “She can sit on your lap.”

  Lance’s heart skipped at the word Dad, but he didn’t correct her. He sat on the gurney with Sophie in his arms while the nurse took her vital signs.

  The pediatrician who bustled into the room was a young, slender woman with a warm smile. She wasted no time and examined Sophie in a few minutes while Morgan detailed her symptoms.

  “There’s a stomach virus going around,” the doctor said. “It’s been brutal on the littlest kids and babies.” The doctor turned to the nurse next to her. “Go find Laurel. Tell her I need her.”

  The nurse nodded and left the room. Morgan’s face was almost as pale as Sophie’s. With the vision of a big needle and a screaming child in his head, Lance hugged the little girl tighter. While they waited, the doctor opened a laptop computer mounted to the wall and typed some notes.

  A few minutes later, the nurse returned and began gathering supplies. “Laurel will be here in two minutes.”

  “She’s dehydrated, so we’re going to start an IV.” The doctor looked up from her typing at Morgan, then Lance. “Do either of you have games on your phone? Something colorful and possibly noisy would be best.”

  Neither Lance nor Morgan did.

  “Then while we wait, one of you should download a game. Candy Crush will do nicely.”

  Lance pulled out his phone, started the download, and set it aside.

  The doctor crouched to Sophie’s level. “Sophie, do you know which hand is your left one?”

  Sophie lifted her left hand.

  “Wow. You are smart. Not many three-year-olds know that.” The doctor turned Sophie’s hand over and traced a finger along a vein. She straightened. “OK. I have a plan to make you feel better. Do you want to hear it?”

  Sophie gave her a tiny nod.

  “We’re going to give you something called an IV, so we can give you medicine without you having to drink it.” The doctor’s tone was soothing, but she did not talk down to the child. “You’re going to have to be just a little bit brave, though. An IV is a needle.”

  Sophie cringed away from the doctor.

  “I know it’s scary, but I promise the medicine will make you feel a whole lot better, and as soon as your tummy settles, you can have a Popsicle.”

  “A gwape one?” Sophie asked in a tiny voice.

  “We have grape and orange and cherry flavored,” the doctor said. “Do you think you can be brave?”

  Sophie hesitated, then her chin dipped once, but her lower lip quivered. Lance tightened his arms around her.

  Another nurse walked into the room. She wore pink scrubs with puppies and kittens all over the top.

  The doctor gestured to the newcomer. “Sophie, this is my friend Laurel. She is the very best at giving kids IVs.”

  “Do you need me to move?” Lance asked.

  “No.” The doctor shook her head. “She can stay right where she is.”

  Lance picked up his phone and showed Sophie how the game was played. The bright colors and jingling sounds proved a solid distraction. The tech numbed Sophie’s hand, raised a vein, and inserted the IV. Sophie whimpered and pulled at her arm as the needle slid under her skin.

  “Hold still for one more minute, sweetie.” The tech worked fast, testing the line and hooking up the ports. She taped a clear covering over the site and used plenty of tape to secure it. “All done.”

  “That hurt.” Sophie laid her head on Lance’s chest.

  “I know, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair. “You were very brave.”

  And too weak to put up much of a struggle.

  The nurse hung bags of fluid from the IV stand and connected the lines to the IV. She spoke softly to Morgan. “We’re giving her fluids and medication for the fever and nausea.”

  Morgan nodded. Her face was tight, and she clutched her tote bag in her lap as if it were a child.

  Lance felt a pang of guilt. “Do you want to hold her?”

  Morgan smiled and shook her head. “She wants you.”

  Sophie sighed, and her body relaxed. Lance leaned against the elevated head of the gurney, put up his feet, and arranged the child so they were both more comfortable. The way the nurse hovered suggested she too was very worried, which did not ease Lance’s anxiety.

  The minutes ticked by. Sophie fell asleep, an
d Lance spent the next hour watching her breathe, afraid to blink.

  Morgan rose and touched Sophie’s forehead. “She feels a little bit cooler.”

  “Finally.”

  She nodded. “You’re really good with her.”

  “I was afraid of seizures from the fever.”

  “I’m impressed. I didn’t know about febrile seizures until I had kids.”

  “I’ve been reading that parenting book you left on the family room table.” Lance’s face flushed with heat. “I’m taking this stepdad thing very seriously. I often feel very clueless.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Staring down at her daughter, Morgan gave a small smile. “You’re a natural. You love them, and that’s what really matters. You love them enough to read a book on parenting.”

  “I have a lot of catching up to do. Jumping into parenting with no experience and three kids is taking the fish-out-of-water metaphor to a whole new level.”

  Morgan brushed Sophie’s hair out of her eyes. “Sophie clearly thinks you’ve got this, and so do I.”

  All Lance wanted was for Sophie to be all right.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sharp tapped his foot and waited for Olivia to spill her news. Her call had been cryptic, with a summons to her house he’d obeyed far too quickly.

  Olivia lowered her mug of tea from her lips and placed it on the kitchen counter. “I have the most interesting news.”

  Sharp didn’t like Olivia’s emphasis on the word interesting. “Go on.”

  “While in the midst of his inquiries, my contact received a request from Joe Martin. He wants to meet with us directly.”

  “How did Joe know we were asking about him?” Sharp knew the answer before the question left his lips. Joe knows everything. Sharp brushed goose bumps off his forearm. This whole situation was going to give him hives.

  Olivia lifted a bare shoulder, reinforcing his assessment. She wore dark jeans, a sleeveless blouse, and yet another pair of skinny-heeled sandals. What was it with this woman and the impractical shoes?

  Her phone vibrated, shimmying on the countertop.

  “Excuse me. I need to take this call.” Picking up her cell, she walked toward the patio door. “Make yourself at home,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s some black bean and sweet potato stew in the fridge if you’re hungry. We’ll likely miss dinner.”