by Zoe Carter
The cry of a frightened child
Maisey thought her nephew’s christening party would be the perfect chance to reconnect with her sister, Sarah Taylor-Cox. But Maisey has spent years running from the past, and seeing her estranged family is stirring up long-suppressed memories, memories that are slowly tormenting her and forcing her to question everything she thought she knew.
Not only that, Sarah seems a far cry from the calm, controlled sister who always used to protect her. What is really going on behind the closed doors of the Taylor-Coxes’ Hamptons mansion?
Part 4 of 6: A riveting new installment in this darkly compelling psychological thriller
Take It to the Grave
(Part 4 of 6)
Zoe Carter
Also available from Zoe Carter
and Harlequin
WHEN SECRETS KILL
Exonerated for the murder of her boss and mentor, reporter Lauren Riley takes over the Townsend Report—and uncovers the secrets buried under the idyllic facade of Thornwood Heights.
Thankful her sister, an NYPD detective, came home to investigate and free her, Lauren is determined to start fresh. She has a bad history with the wrong men, making the wrong decisions, and this is her chance to begin again—to help others. Especially the strong, sexy Trevor Gallagher. The former soldier is desperate to find his sister—a young woman who has disappeared just like so many before her. Lauren is the only one who cares. Together they stand up to the powerful families and the police in Thornwood Heights. But when danger threatens Lauren, they realize secrets will kill…
Available now!
Contents
Previously in Take It to the Grave
Chapter 1: Maisey
Chapter 2: Sarah
Chapter 3: Maisey
Chapter 4: Sarah
Previously in TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE...
Maisey is desperately worried about her sister, Sarah—there’s something very wrong in her marriage, and the way she clings to her new baby doesn’t seem...normal. But theirs is a family that has already experienced more than its fair share of tragedy—together, can the sisters find a way out of the dark shadows haunting them?
Maisey
I ran faster, harder, the impact of my feet on the hard-packed sand jarring my knees, my hips, but I ignored it, slamming my feet into the surface. I’d stood there, in Sarah’s room, cradling the limp, unresponsive body of my baby half brother.
“I think I’ve killed the baby. You have to save the baby.”
My arms swung at my sides, my legs pumping—faster, faster—and my thighs, my calves, each muscle group burned. I remembered the frantic pleading in my voice. I remembered watching my sister take charge.
Sarah quickly checked Frankie’s pulse, in his wrist and then his neck. My sister knelt over the unconscious toddler as I stood anxiously just inside the doorway, and she pinched Frankie’s nose, breathing into his mouth. Sarah finally looked up. “I’ll sort it, Maisey. Don’t worry. It will look like an accident. You’re not in trouble, though, okay? Go back downstairs, and pretend to be asleep.”
Relief made my legs shake, and I nodded.
My cheeks are wet now, and my legs were mimicking the tremors of that afternoon so long ago as I pushed myself to the limit, sprinting along the beach.
I walked quietly out to the backyard, and lay down on the chaise longue, not too far away from Alice. I leaned back, closing my eyes, the sun beating down on my face, my chest, my legs, those cicadas still buzzing in the background. The normal sounds of a summer day, yet so grating. I heard the back door open, heard my sister walk, ever so quietly, down the path. I held my breath, my lips curling inward, my eyes itching, as I heard her step into the pool area. Then I listened as Sarah crept back up to the house, and then I jolted at the bloodcurdling scream. I sat up and whirled around as Sarah flew out of the house, the sounds from her voice so alien, so unfamiliar.
“Frankie, oh, my God, Frankie!”
My blood turned to ice in my veins as Sarah kept screaming.
And then I heard our next-door neighbors’ screen door slam open.
I lurched, bending over as my stomach heaved, and I vomited on the beach, the hot tears streaming down my face.
I told you not to look. Lucy’s voice was angry, harsh.
How could you keep this from me? I wailed in my mind, the sound echoing against the walls of my skull. I took a couple of steps, then fell to my knees, my stomach still twisting, although there was nothing left to bring up.
That’s my job, Maisey. To protect you.
I braced my hands on the sand, clenching my fingers and making little furrows, gasping for breath. Cold sweat broke out on my brow, and my chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath. I shook my head.
Not this. I killed my brother! The realization was like a knife to my gut, a bullet to my brain. Cold. Hot. Pain. Remorse. I was bombarded from all directions. How could I do that?
How could you not? Lucy queried.
I coughed, still feeling the burn of stomach acid in my throat, and I blinked. Darkness was edging my consciousness. Lucy was stepping in.
Oh, God. Not again.
“Maisey? Hey, are you all right?”
Lucy froze. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, and blinked, then hastily brushed the tears off my cheeks before turning to look up at Caleb. God, how humiliating. He glanced up and down the beach.
“I was out for a walk when I saw you here on the beach,” he informed me. His momentary distraction gave me enough time to take a deep breath and try and regain some of my composure. I hadn’t expected to see him here. Hadn’t expected to see anyone here, or anyone to see me feed the fish with a very inelegant puke session. God, I needed Lucy. S.T.A.T. Sitting here on my weak and shaky knees, next to a puddle of bile... What would Lucy do? I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, and let Lucy step in.
I tilted my head back, and Lucy chuckled with just the right amount of regret and derision. “It looks like I may have eaten a bad prawn last night. Or oyster.” Sarah and Warwick had put on a seafood feast last night that would have fed that little Thai village. Lucy grimaced good-naturedly, and I rose to my feet, ignoring the tremors and locking my knees to prevent me from falling down again. I brushed my hair back from my sweaty forehead, pushing it behind my ears and bringing it back to a semblance of control.
Caleb smiled with sympathy and passed me a bottle of water. “Oh, thanks,” Lucy responded warmly, and took a swig. I rolled it around in my mouth, trying to swish out any remaining bile, and then I leaned over and spat it out.
“Oh, wow, that’s so classy. Sorry, I probably look like shit.” Lucy chuckled, low and throaty.
Caleb shook his head. “Nah, Maisey, you look great—as always.”
Unbidden, a secret, adolescent thrill coursed through me, and Lucy laughed, head back, eyes sparkling and flirty. Despite the horror of my memories, despite the sickness I felt inside, I was able to brush that aside, with Lucy’s help, and surrender to this interlude with Caleb, my life preserver, the salvation of my sanity.
We walked in silence for a moment, our shoes making that soft squeaky sound on the wet sand. Calm washed over me, a soothing balm to my terror of a moment ago, and I let the rise and breach of the waves, the gentle breeze curling around us, the soft colors of a stunning sunrise, soothe my heart, my soul, my mind, and I let the seed of contentment flourish in me. Lucy stepped back. Leaving me with Caleb.
Caleb shoved his hands in the pock
ets of his shorts. “I miss you guys, you know?” His voice was low, husky. “Life just wasn’t the same after I left. The army—the army was so different,” he commented, and gave a chuckle, but his smile held a tinge of regret. “I really wish I hadn’t lost touch with you and Sarah.”
I nodded. “We missed you, too. When you were home...” I paused, then took a deep breath. “When you were home, those times were so good. I only have the fondest memories. It was special,” I admitted. “My favorite memories, really.” I smiled, although it felt a little wobbly, so I had to call on Lucy for help to keep me strong.
Don’t let me lose it.
Don’t worry. I’ve got you.
I still wanted to talk with Caleb, though, still wanted to be as real as I could allow myself to be, with anyone. Caleb knew me. Trust, unfamiliar, nearly forgotten, unfurled in me like a flower opening to the warm glow of the sun.
“So, tell me, what are you doing now?” I gestured to his leg.
He grimaced. “I’m slowly getting there. I was commissioned out of the army with this injury, so now I work in IT.”
“Computers?” I asked, impressed. “Wow. Smart guy. What exactly do you do?”
Caleb smiled. “I design and manage a number of websites for clients. Systems integration, that sort of stuff.” He shrugged. “It pays well enough.”
I glanced at the sand. “You bought Mom a house.”
He grinned. “There’s plenty of room if you ever want to visit.”
God. Lucy and I were both warring over feeling excited by the invitation, or horrified.
“Seriously, think about it. Do you have to rush off after Elliot’s christening? Why don’t you come visit for a while?” He leaned forward. “I promise to run interference between you and your mom if you need it.”
I hesitated.
Don’t do it, Lucy warned.
But it’s Caleb.
And your mother.
But it’s Caleb, I repeated. He knows me. And he’s dangling this carrot of a homecoming in front of me. My memories of Caleb are all positive. The one guy I could be completely honest with.
“When Mom went to prison, and you finished school and moved back home...” I shook my head. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t completely ready to trust him with what was going on inside my head. It was hard to do that, to let someone in after all these years of closing everyone out.
How do you think he’d feel about me?
Shut up, Lucy.
Or about what you did to Frankie.
I shook my head, then saw Caleb was watching me curiously. I ignored Lucy’s muttering in the background, and focused on Caleb. “It meant so much, being able to talk to you, to know there was someone there who had my back. You have no idea how important that was,” I said quietly.
What am I, chopped liver? I shook my head, pushing Lucy to the back of my mind.
“You know, it was the simple things that made such a huge difference.”
Caleb grimaced in self-derision. “I didn’t think I did that much.”
I chuckled. “Hey, you have no idea. Do you remember when we used to go to the movies, or the beach?” Like normal kids. It had been such a beautiful little escape, going out on these little excursions that got us out of the house and surrounded by people, as though it was a natural, regular thing to do.
Lucy’s smile’s broadened. “Oh, my God, I had the biggest crush on you.” Lucy giggled, a sound that so successfully melded self-deprecation and coquettishness that even I was impressed. Only Lucy had the courage to admit to something so deeply personal without embarrassment.
“What?” Caleb wrinkled his face in amused disbelief. “You had a crush on me?”
How could he not know that? How could he not see what a fantastic guy he was, how special? How I had trotted around after him, stars in my eyes.
“Of course, but I thought I was too young for you,” Lucy joked. I didn’t think that, but I told myself that’s the reason Sarah caught his attention, and not me. It made his oblivious rejection just a tinge more bearable. “I always hoped you and Sarah would marry actually.” I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes, to catch his reaction. Did he still love my sister? Did he still pine for her?
Lucy kept the smile on my face, but it was hard, admitting that, thinking about that. Alice had been in prison, Frankie was dead and Caleb and Sarah were the only people I could really connect with—and they’d only had eyes for each other. We would go out to watch the latest movie at the local cinema, and I’d talk about the movie, but then catch them staring at each other, as though a wealth of meaning was being exchanged right under my nose, and I was clueless to it. Excluded. More and more, I began to feel like the third wheel, the hanger-on, the one who had to be tolerated when they’d actually prefer to be alone with each other. The one who didn’t matter. Fortunately, Lucy was there to make me feel less lonely.
Damn straight.
Shut up. You hid Frankie from me.
For your own good, Maisey.
I still couldn’t believe it. How could I hide something like this from me?
I’d so wanted to talk to my sister about what had happened to Frankie—and the fact that Alice was put away for it. God, there was so much confusion, so much guilt, and nowhere and nobody to talk to about it, to unload...to just unpack it and sort it out and make some sense from it. Lucy tried to, admittedly, but it always felt disjointed, like building a jigsaw puzzle only to find you were missing some critical pieces that would help form the full picture. Every time I tried to snatch a moment with Sarah to talk about it, she’d shut me down. “Put it behind you.” “Put it in the past.” “For God’s sake, don’t worry about it, Maisey, and just have fun.”
I used to wonder what was wrong with me; if Sarah could do it so easily, why couldn’t I? It was easier when we were all together, and we had something to do, but when Sarah and Caleb went off together and I was alone, well, that was the hardest time. Being alone with my thoughts and nothing to distract me. My conscience was a bitch to me, and it was difficult to hide from the self-righteous whinger. I couldn’t even talk to Alice. Peter rarely organized a prison visit. I didn’t have my mom around. I certainly wasn’t the apple of Peter’s eye. I remember wishing that Alice could be like a normal mom. I used to fantasize about her holding her arms out to me, embracing me, hushing my tears and soothing my fears... Yet she was now unreachable. I remember wishing I could bring Frankie back, along with every torment that came with him, just so I could have my mom back, too.
“You wanted me and Sarah to get married? Oh, that would have been terrible.” Caleb laughed, and Lucy was grateful for the distraction he provided, and for the fact that he thought marrying my sister would have been terrible.
He waved his hand as he shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no. We were great together as kids, sure, but...” He pointed to the majestic residence that was now plainly visible against the lightening sky. “There is no way I could give her that.” Caleb shrugged. “That’s not my thing, you know? I want something...different. Something a little more genuine. A home, not a house. Friends, not guests.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean,” I said, feeling just the slightest bit naughty, as though it was a betrayal of my sister to talk like this behind her back—but it felt wonderful to find a sympathizer, a person with a similar view of the extreme, almost pretentious display of wealth we were now surrounded by. It was like peeking through a window with a friend and sharing a giggle at the ridiculous decor and lifestyle within. Conspirators sharing a secret, that’s what we were; and I didn’t realize how long I’d gone without that kind of connection.
No matter how brief or shallow it seemed, it was real enough for now.
Again, I’m right here.
Shut. Up.
“Oh, hey, do you remember that time Sarah and I snuck in to watc
h you in that school play?”
“Oh, God, do I ever,” I said, covering my face briefly to hide my embarrassment. Of course I remembered that play. Some well-meaning teacher had steamrolled me into it. It was my most awkward, painful stage. Alice was in prison, everyone knew what had happened to Frankie, that my mother was locked away for it. I became that freak, the one with a mom behind bars, the one whose brother had drowned in the backyard pool. At the time, I couldn’t really discuss it with anyone, and it was probably the one thing I wanted most to talk about, so wasn’t really interested in talking about anything else. Watching some TV program, or picking out the hottest jock on the field, all seemed kind of juvenile in comparison to the heavy crapstorm in my head. I became one of those loners in the cafeteria, head down, pushing around the apple wedge that was slowly turning brown... Thank God for Lucy. She kept me company.
It’s nice to be appreciated.
My teachers had begun to notice. They couldn’t really do anything, though. I mean, I spent most of my time studying, doing homework—my grades weren’t slipping, I wasn’t skipping homework. There was nothing to actually show that I had a problem. At least, that’s what Peter said at the teacher-parent interviews when the staff at the school raised it with him. As far as he was concerned, there was no problem.
“Mrs. Jeffries made me do it.” Lucy chuckled again.
“Uh-huh. Come on, I remember you used to be quite the little actress, always putting on these shows for Sarah and me...”
“That was just for you two. But Mrs. Jeffries twisted my arm.” At that point, it had sounded so tempting, especially when an adult was actually praising me and complimenting me about my acting. I found my own little escape in that play.
I walked on that stage, and suddenly I was someone else. I wasn’t Maisey, that girl whose mom was in prison. I was whatever I needed to be to make people laugh, or cry, cheer, gasp. In that first play I was Lucy from Peanuts, and being gently bullied into participating in that performance had been a blessing in disguise. We loved the experience so much, we decided to keep the name.
