Sound of Secrets

by Darlene Gardner

  "Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call. It was wrong of me. I stopped in a town on the way to Miami Beach and it was so..." She stopped and groped for a word that wouldn’t be a lie. "...enticing I decided to stay for a while."

  "As long as you’re fine." He trailed off. Cara could sense he wanted more answers, but he wouldn’t ask. Richard was gentle, patient and undemanding. Everything she wanted in a husband. Everything Gray DeBerg wasn’t.

  The conversation continued in the same harmless vein, with Cara relaying innocuous details of her trip, such as the way the beach looked under a starry sky, and Richard asking her to please keep him furnished with a number where he could reach her.

  It wasn’t until Cara hung up that she realized she hadn’t even considered telling him about her strange visions of Skippy Rhett.

  The phone rang again, and she reached for it, sure Richard was calling back to tell her something he’d forgotten. The muffled voice that came over the line wasn’t Richard’s. Cara couldn’t even tell if it belonged to a male or female.

  "Leave Secret Sound while you still can."

  "Who is this?" Cara demanded. All she got for an answer was a dial tone. She stared at the receiver in amazement.

  Somebody had threatened her. It was bizarre, especially considering that the person had disguised his or her voice in the amateurish way portrayed in movies and television shows.

  It sounded as though somebody had placed a cloth over the phone and deliberately made their voice sound creepy.

  Cara slammed the receiver back down on its cradle and immediately picked it up again, punching in the number of the front desk. She recognized the voice that answered the phone as belonging to the woman who had checked her into the hotel three nights before.

  "This is Cara Donnelly in room 123. Did you just connect a call to my room?"

  "Why, yes, ma’am. It was your second call of the night."

  "That’s the one I’m interested in. Did the caller give you my room number or ask for me by name?"

  "By name, I think. Is something wrong?"

  "Do you have caller ID?"

  "Why, no. I don't think so."

  Cara swallowed her frustration. "Did you recognize the voice?"

  "The voice? No, but now that you mention it, it did sound a little funny. As though the caller was suffering from a cold. Are you sure there isn’t something I can help you with, ma’am?"

  "No, there’s nothing," Cara said and rang off. For a moment, she sat on the bed, thinking about what had just happened.

  Had Sam Peckenbush resorted to more direct threats? And, if he had, why? Why would her inquisitiveness threaten him? Assuming Sam had kidnapped Skippy Rhett all those years ago, it didn’t make sense that he would then run the boy over with his car and stick around to face the police.

  Maybe somebody else wanted her gone from Secret Sound. Maybe. Cara almost laughed. She couldn’t think of anyone who did want her to stick around. Gray had warned her against asking more questions, and Karen Rhett had been openly hostile. Although Curtis Rhett had provided information, he hadn’t been exactly friendly.

  It was ludicrous, though, to think any one of those three people had threatened her with an anonymous phone call.

  Cara scowled. Somebody had threatened her. Although it could have been Stoney Gillick, a recent addition to her list of non-admirers, she didn't think so. She thought the caller wanted her to stop asking questions about Skippy's death.

  Something hot and primal coursed through her, and she was surprised to realize it wasn’t fear. Adrenaline charged her movements as she pulled on her shoes and picked up her purse from the bed.

  Somebody was trying their best to keep her from the truth. She wasn’t about to let them scare her off.

  Skippy had initially reached out to her from the darkness in front of Sam Peckenbush’s station, and she couldn't shake the feeling that's where she'd find the key to the mystery.

  She left the hotel, got in her car and went to see if she could make Skippy appear to her again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Gray was heading home after a night of basketball and pool when the report of a hit-and-run came over the police radio in his car.

  His euphoria dulled over his success in persuading the owner of the Dew Drop Inn to donate his old pool tables to the community center when he purchased new ones next month.

  It disappeared completely when he heard the location of the accident: The stretch of road in front of Sam Peckenbush’s service station.

  Cara.

  Her name slammed into his mind and robbed him of breath. He had nothing on which to base his terrible hunch of the victim’s identity besides a sick feeling in his gut.

  Something odd was going on with Cara, and, somehow, it involved Sam. After the way she’d confronted Sam with her suspicions that morning, it didn’t take much imagination to believe that Cara had been prowling around Sam’s station, trying to figure out whatever it was she needed to know.

  It wasn’t much more of a stretch to believe that a car had hurtled out of the night and ended her life.

  Barely cutting his speed, Gray executed a reckless U-turn across the double-yellow line of the two-lane road. He pressed down hard on the accelerator and headed for Sam Peckenbush’s place, praying all the while he was wrong about what had happened there.

  The flashing red lights atop the police cruiser of the deputy on duty cast an eerie glow over the scene as Gray pulled into the service station. He hazard a glance at the street, expecting the light to provide him with a brief glimpse of a body. It was empty of life.

  His gaze ping ponged back to the patrol car, which was pulled alongside another vehicle: Cara’s little green Mazda. The breath stilled in his lungs at the certainty that she had been the victim. He wasn’t able to exhale until he caught sight of her leaning against her car, talking to his deputy.

  He put his car in park, hopped out and hurried to Cara’s side. His eyes ran over her, noting the dazed look on her face and the dozens of small cuts that crisscrossed her bare arms and face. She wore the same yellow dress that had made her look so sunny when they’d talked to Sam that morning. Now it was streaked with dirt.

  "Earl," he barked at his deputy without taking his eyes off Cara. "Call for an ambulance, and do it now."

  "Oh, for Pete’s sake." Cara reached out and grabbed the deputy's sleeve before he could head to his patrol car. "Don’t listen to him, Earl. I’ve already told you I don’t need an ambulance." Her eyes met Gray’s. "How many times do I have to tell you that I am not going to a hospital?"

  "Are you sure?" Gray took a step closer, and this time she didn’t back up. "You might have internal injuries you don’t even know about. The dispatcher said it was a hit and run."

  She seemed to compose herself before she answered. "It was more like a hit and miss. I got these cuts when I dove into the bushes to get out of the way."

  Even though her voice was brave, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Gray took another step toward her, blocking her vulnerability from the deputy’s view. "Go on and get out of here, Earl," he said. "I’ll take care of this one."

  "You sure, boss? It’s no problem for me at all. I already checked the road, and there aren’t any tire marks to speak of, so I’m figuring this guy didn’t brake. I was going to take Miss Donnelly’s statement next."

  "I said I’ll take care of it," Gray repeated in a tone that invited no argument. He didn’t turn, but knew from the sound of a car pulling away a few seconds later that Earl had listened to him this time. He waited long enough for Earl’s taillights to disappear before he gathered Cara into his arms.

  For an instant, her body tensed and he thought she'd pull away. Then he felt her relax, and she laid her head against him so that her face rested in the crook of his neck. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet against his skin. He even thought he felt the sweep of her eyelashes.

  The panic in his gut turned to something else, something fierce and protecti
ve that urged him to tear into anyone who tried to hurt her. He cradled the back of her head, enjoying the soft feel of her hair against his rough palms, and waited for her tears.

  It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t going to cry, and admiration filled him at the way she refused to back down from whatever the world threw at her. Still, he didn’t make any attempt to release her. She’d had a scare — hell, he’d had a scare — and the thump of her heart against his chest went a long way toward reassuring both of them that she was all right.

  He would have kept on holding her, breathing in the faint scent of strawberries that he figured came from her shampoo and enjoying her soft woman’s body against him, if she hadn’t stiffened and anchored her hands against his chest. She pushed just hard enough that he was forced to release her.

  "You sure you’re all right?" he asked, feeling bereft.

  She nodded, but she looked out at the street instead of at him. He wanted to take her chin in his hand and force her eyes to meet his, to acknowledge the intimacy they'd shared instead of withdrawing from it.

  "The car only tried to hit me, Gray. It did miss."

  At her words, Gray tensed. The cop who was always inside him came instantly back on duty. "Are you saying somebody tried to run you down?"

  Cara nodded, and a suspicion hit Gray so ugly he immediately thrust it away. He nodded toward his car, only then noticing he’d not only neglected to close the door but left the engine running.

  "We’re going to sit in my car," he said, putting a hand at her back and ushering her forward, "and you’re going to tell me what happened from the top. Don’t leave anything out."

  Gray listened as dispassionately as he could while Cara relayed the story, barely refraining from shaking her when she told how she’d headed out after getting the threatening phone call. As he listened, he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was leaving out a large chunk of the story. Still, he didn’t stop her until she got to the part where she’d dived for the bushes.

  "Is that why the car missed you?" he asked.

  Cara seemed to give his question careful consideration before answering. "I can’t say for sure." She rubbed her brow. "It was strange, but the car seemed to swerve away at the last minute."

  "And you can’t tell me anything about the car other than it was big and dark-colored? Maybe black?"

  "I can tell you Sam Peckenbush was probably driving it."

  "Sam drives a red pickup truck."

  "And owns a service station where people leave cars of all types to be worked on. I’m telling you, Gray, he has something to hide."

  "Is that why you went off into the night after getting a threatening phone call?"

  Her eyes flashed at him. "You don't have to raise your voice."

  He swiped a hand through his hair. He wanted to rail at her for putting herself in danger and then squeeze from her the reason she’d come here tonight. He couldn't do it. She was emotionally, if not physically, exhausted, and her cuts required tending.

  "Here's what's gonna happen," Gray said slowly. "I'll follow you back to your hotel, wait while you pack a bag and get you somewhere safe."

  The interior of the car was dark, but he could still pick up the strain that pinched her features. "You believe I’m in danger, then?"

  The moment he admitted to himself that he did, his heart lurched. Too many accidents had befallen Cara since she'd come to town, and he feared somebody he loved was behind them. He didn’t answer her question, because he couldn’t say aloud what he prayed would turn out to be false.

  "I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay at the hotel after that threat.”

  "I don’t know where else to go. I doubt one hotel is safer than the next." She raised her chin. "And leaving Secret Sound is not an option."

  "There’s a detached garage behind our house with an apartment above it. My dad’s been trying to rent it since it became vacant a few weeks ago. You can stay there. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s in passable shape. We'll put some clean sheets on the bed and figure out the rest tomorrow."

  "All right," she said, and only then, as the relief hit him, did he recognize how much he’d wanted her to agree. She got out of the car without another word. He watched her walk to her Mazda, and nothing in her gait even hinted at the trauma she’d endured.

  Gray pinched the bridge of his nose, because he’d been lying to himself. He didn’t want to squeeze Cara for the true reason she was in Secret Sound.

  What he really wanted was for her to trust him enough to confide in him.

  Cara settled into a chair in the garage apartment's small kitchen across from Gray, grateful her limbs hadn't started shaking in delayed shock. She'd washed the myriad of small scrapes crisscrossing her flesh, and a first-aid kit lay open on the table between them.

  "I can’t thank you enough for doing this," Cara said.

  "It’s nothing," Gray murmured while removing cotton balls and antiseptic from the kit. Her praise seemed to embarrass him, which she found oddly endearing.

  "It’s a lot more than nothing. It’s going above and beyond the call of duty. It’s being nicer to me than anyone’s been since I arrived in Secret Sound." Tears stung the backs of her eyes. "You didn’t have to let me stay here tonight."

  "The alternative was staying in your hotel room with you. No matter how much that appealed to me, I didn’t think I could talk you into it."

  He smiled at her then, the first genuine smile he’d given her. The corners of the sexy mouth that had kissed her so soundly lifted and tiny laugh lines materialized around his eyes. The gray seemed to disappear from his eyes until they appeared as blue as the sea. She felt as though she were floating without a life jacket.

  She smiled back and knew she wouldn't confess the truth. "No. You couldn't have talked me into it."

  "Maybe I’ll have better luck when you know me better." He lifted his brow rakishly before dabbing antiseptic onto the cotton balls with large, capable hands. "Hold still while I do this."

  She'd used her forearms to break her fall, localizing the cuts. Gray bent over her, concentrating intently enough that the tip of his tongue parted his lips. A sweet ache started low in her belly, and she almost groaned.

  As the antiseptic touched the scrapes, Cara instinctively reached for his wrist and her fingers wrapped around his warm flesh. Gray stopped dabbing as if he, too, felt that surge of heat. Energy crackled around them as he stood over her, connected to her by the suddenly fierce hold. The moment spanned out as they stared at each other, and then Gray drew her attention to his mouth by licking his lips.

  "Am I hurting you?" he asked huskily.

  She wanted him so badly in that moment that the ache grew worse, so that it was almost pain. She couldn’t tell him that, so she shook her head.

  "Good,” he said.

  The blue of his eyes was flecked with gray and encircled by a ring in an even darker shade of gray. Faint stubble covered his lower face, and his nose listed slightly to one side, cementing her suspicion that it had been broken. She would have reached up and traced the little bump in the center if he hadn’t asked her a question. "So, did you talk to my father-in-law today?"

  The hand around his wrist dropped, breaking their connection as surely as if someone had sliced through it with a knife. She remembered Bergie saying Gray had been married before. She hadn’t known until this moment whether he’d been widowed or divorced.

  "Suzy Rhett was your wife," she said, stating a fact rather than asking a question. Why hadn't she picked up on it before? "Curtis said she died of leukemia when she was only twenty-four."

  "It’ll be eight years next month," Gray said, and Cara thought she heard a crack in his voice. She shouldn’t ask the next question, but she couldn’t help herself.

  "Did you love her?"

  He dabbed at the cuts on her face, keeping his features impassive. Cara balled her fists so she wouldn’t inadvertently reach out and touch him again.

  "A lot of people l
oved Suzy," he said after long moments, which Cara thought was a curious way to put it. "Especially Curtis. Are you going to tell me what he said?"

  He'd deftly turned the conversation back to his original question. Cara didn’t mind. As much as she wanted to hear about Gray’s relationship with Suzy, she wanted even more to know the circumstances of Skippy’s kidnapping.

  "Why didn't you tell me Skippy Rhett was kidnapped?"

  She wanted him to say he hadn't known. He shrugged, deflating her hope. "It didn't seem relevant."

  She bit her lip to keep from lashing out, reminding herself he couldn't know why she considered that piece of information vital. His father hadn't told her, either.

  "Will you tell me what happened?" she asked.

  Gray dropped his hand from her face and backed up. He crossed the room, threw the used cotton balls in the wastebasket, returned to the kitchen table and recapped the antiseptic. All the while, her request hung heavily between them.

  She started to think he wouldn't answer. After all, he'd warned her not to stir things up by asking questions. But she'd thought, hoped, they'd progressed to the point where he could trust her, if only a little. He shut the first-aid kit, his shoulders rising and falling in a silent sigh.

  "I don’t know much," he said finally. "If I remember right, Skippy was at the park when it happened. There was a ransom demand. Reginald Rhett, Skippy’s father, got the money together and paid it. The next thing anybody knew, the little boy ran in front of Sam's car."

  "Why didn't the Sun report the kidnapping?"

  "The way I understand it, the Rhetts were afraid for Karen's safety. A lot of people knew what happened to Skippy, of course, but the Rhetts didn't want to take a chance that history would repeat itself with Karen."

  Cara chewed the inside of her cheek while she digested the information. "So the kidnapper was never found?"