An inhuman scream emerged from the inky-black sky, and Cara fought through the familiar terror to search for the source of the noise.
As always, she heard the flapping of the great bird's wings before the eagle drew close enough for her to see with the naked eye. It lowered its knifelike talons, poised to snatch her from all that was dear and familiar.
The soles of her feet seemed glued to the ground, her limbs dragged down with weights too heavy to bear. The eagle circled overhead, gave its piercing cry once more and then swooped. Still she stood there, too frightened to move.
"Run!"
She’d heard it so often by now that she readily identified Skippy’s youthful voice, and she searched frantically for the little boy. He was ahead of her in the field, his now-familiar freckles standing out against his pale skin and shaggy black hair in the moonlight. The air above her stirred, and she heard again the deceptively soft flapping of wings.
"Run!" Skippy yelled again before turning and fleeing himself. His command gave her the strength to follow him through the field.
Ahead of her, Skippy ran as fast as his short legs would carry him. Behind her, she could sense the eagle getting closer. Somebody sobbed, a great torrent of tears, and she realized it was her.
She blinked, trying to clear her eyes, so she wouldn’t trip and seal her fate. The field came into focus, but something was wrong with it. In an instant, she identified what.
In the past, the field had always been a vast expanse of green, without beginning or end. Now she saw its edge and it bordered the street in front of Sam Peckenbush’s service station. Skippy didn’t seem to notice that the danger now came at him from two directions. He headed straight for the street, his arms and legs pumping furiously.
She wanted to yell at him to stop, but the eagle pursued, ready to tear into them with its talons. Skippy stopped once at the shoulder of the road to gaze at her imploringly. Then he turned and ran into the street. She heard the car approaching, felt the eagle's wings stir the air and screamed.
"No," she sobbed. "No. No. No."
"Cara." The masculine voice didn't belong to Skippy but to an adult who sounded almost frantic with concern. "Cara, wake up, sweetheart. It’s a dream. Only a dream."
Her eyes felt as though they had been sealed shut. She opened them with a great effort. The dim light of dawn shone through the open blinds, enabling her to see a bare-chested man propped up on his elbow, hovering above her.
Gray. The field with the eagle at her back and the little doomed boy in front of her disappeared, and she was back in bed with Gray after making life-affirming love.
"It’s more than a dream." She sat up, taking some of the bedcovers with her to ward off the cold chill of conviction. Perspiration soaked her body, her heart hammered and her voice shook. "It has to be more than a dream."
He leaned against the backboard of the bed and drew her to him with one strong arm. She laid her head on his shoulder, felt him gently stroke her hair and waited until she felt calm enough to tell him about the menacing eagle that had invaded her dreams for as long as she could remember.
"Is it a bald eagle that you see?"
She shook her head. "It’s brown with a golden wash over the back of its head and neck, and its tail is faintly banded. I looked up the different types of eagles once, and I’m fairly certain it’s a golden eagle."
His exhaled breath rustled her hair. "Sorry to tell you this, sweetheart, but we don’t have golden eagles in the south. They’re fairly common out west. It’s not often you see one even in the northeast."
"I wish somebody would tell that to the eagle in my dream," she said, trying a feeble joke. He didn’t smile, and neither did she. "I’ve had the same version of that dream a few hundred times. Always before, I was alone. It’s only since I came to Secret Sound that it’s changed. Now Skippy’s with me, and he’s as terrified as I am."
"Do you think that has any significance?"
Cara swallowed. "Maybe it means I’m losing touch with what’s real and what isn’t."
Gray gently squeezed her shoulder. After a moment, he said, "Or maybe it means we’re getting closer to the truth of what really happened to that boy."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tyler sat next to Gray on the cool grass beside the newly paved basketball court. Their bodies were in nearly identical positions, their knees bent, their heads bowed slightly forward while they sucked in oxygen. Beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads to the ground.
"What do you think, Ty?" Gray looked sideways at him. "Are the other players getting younger or are we getting older?"
"Since those kids could walk after we finished, I’d reckon they’re pretty darn young." Tyler flopped back onto the grass, linking his fingers behind his neck as he stared up at the sky and stretched his tired legs. "But just because you’re ready for the rocking chair doesn’t mean I am."
"Who says I’m ready for the rocking chair?"
"You’re an old man, Grandpa. Way older than me."
"I’m five months older than you."
"Still counts. On account of my legs being younger, they have more spring. That’s why my jump shot has that pretty arc that sails right over your head and into the basket."
"Oh, yeah. Well, I got a theory of my own. The younger the mouth, the more bullshit it has."
Tyler laughed. "Lucky for you I can bullshit. We’d never have gotten a loan from the bank to do all this stuff otherwise."
With a sweep of his hand, Tyler indicated the pair of smooth, crack-free courts. "Jeez, Gray, wasn’t the turnout tonight great? Ten kids. That’s the most we’ve ever had."
"It’ll be even better when we get that clubhouse built," Gray added, and Tyler heard the enthusiasm in his voice.
About thirty yards past the courts, the site the construction workers had begun to prepare was nothing more than a pile of dirt. Tyler could see beyond it to a gleaming new building that would act as a haven for Secret Sound’s teens. Judging by his expression, so could Gray.
"Better for the kids, yeah," Tyler said. "No doubt about that. Any thoughts on how we’ll pay the mortgage?"
"A couple of resourceful guys like us can come up with some fund-raisers. We'll be okay for a while if we set up a reserve fund with the donations we already have."
"I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that." Tyler anchored himself into a sitting position, no longer feeling the least bit weary. "I tried calling you at home a couple of times today but couldn’t get you."
"I was at the office all day."
"On a Sunday?"
"I had a lot of catching up to do," Gray said.
"You mean that reporter with the pretty brown eyes and prettier legs has been taking up your time and keeping you from your paperwork." Tyler expected confirmation but got a heavy sigh.
"What's wrong?" Tyler asked. "I thought you liked her."
"I do like her, maybe too much," Gray said. "You know me, Ty. I'm not good long-term material."
"No reason you have to think long term. She's passing through town, right? Enjoy today and let tomorrow take care of itself."
"I wish it were that easy. Cara's not the free and easy type." Gray blew out a breath. "But enough about that. We're talking business, not women. So tell me why you called. As long as you don't say the donations have already run out."
"I can't track down the donations."
Gray’s brows drew together. "I thought you said the community relations department was handling them. Didn’t you pick up a cashier’s check last week?"
"A check for twenty grand," Tyler confirmed. "I thought it was from a bunch of separate donors. Last night I found out Karen donated every red cent of that money."
"If she did," Gray said, twisting his mouth, "then what happened to the donations Dad wrote about in his column?"
"That’s my question. Seeing that it’s Sunday, I haven’t been able to do much digging. I did call Cindy Lou Baxter at home. She said the only money that came through
the community relations department was from Karen."
"The rest of the money’s got to be somewhere," Gray mused.
"What’s to say that somewhere isn’t in somebody’s pocket?"
"You think Cindy Lou stole the money?"
"Whoa, there. I wasn’t talking about Cindy Lou. Why, I remember Cindy Lou found my wallet once in high school. I got it back with all the money inside."
"How much was in there, Ty? Five bucks or six?"
"Don’t be a smart aleck. The point is that Cindy Lou was honest enough not to take the money that was there."
"It’s easy to be honest when your take would only be a couple bucks. But Cindy Lou’s husband is out of a job and she has three little kids to feed."
"I still can’t believe Cindy Lou’s pocketing our money," Tyler said. "Maybe we’re jumping to the wrong conclusion and the money’s been misplaced. Or maybe somebody else at the paper has run off with it."
Gray grew silent. Tyler studied him, knowing that look. "Gray, what did you think of?"
"Nothing useful. I’ll ask my Dad tomorrow if he has any idea where the money’s gone.” Gray must have noticed Tyler's probing look, because he continued, "It’s just that some mighty strange things have been going on around here, that’s all."
"Strange? How so?"
Gray blew out a breath. "Cara, well, she's been asking questions that are making somebody nervous. Seems somebody in town doesn’t want her around. I thought it might be Stoney Gillick because he yelled some ugly things at her when she was with me on a call. When I questioned him, Gillick acted like he didn't know what I was talking about."
Although Gray’s words were matter-of-fact, Tyler picked up on a thick undercurrent of worry. He obviously had something intense going with the reporter and he’d assigned more significance to Karen’s prank phone call than it deserved.
Tyler inhaled deeply. "I can trust you, can’t I, buddy?"
"With your life," Gray answered. "Why?"
"I know something that maybe could ease your mind." Tyler plunged ahead, assuring himself he wasn’t betraying Karen, but unburdening Gray. She hadn't done anything criminal, after all. "If you're talking about that phone call Cara got last night, I wouldn't worry. Karen made it."
"What?"
"Karen called Cara and told her to leave town, on account of how Karen thinks she feels about you. It was a harmless prank. Cara doesn’t have anything to worry about."
"Did Karen tell you this?"
Gray angled his body forward. His features were tense. He wasn't acting like a friend who had been told a confidence, Tyler thought irritably. He was acting like a cop.
"Yeah, she told me. She’s mighty embarrassed by it, too. So don’t go getting it into your head that you’ve got to ask her about it."
"I do have to ask her about it," he said gravely.
Tyler gave a short, unbelieving snort. "Oh, no you don’t. This was just you and me talking. I told you so you’d know that lady’s not in danger from one frigging prank phone call."
"There have been more than phone calls, Ty. Cara thinks somebody drained the fluid from her car's power steering so she'd have an accident. Right after she got the phone call, a car tried to run her down."
"And you think Karen did all that?" This was unbelievable. Tyler leaped to his feet and paced from the grass to the cement of the court. "God almighty, Gray, you’ve known Karen as long as I have. She’s a little mixed up, sure, and I know you’re angry at her for what she blabbed about Suzy. But she’s a good person. She’d never try to kill anybody!"
"This has nothing to do with Suzy." Gray's voice was tight. "The person who tried to run Cara down drove a big, dark car. Isn’t Karen’s Lincoln Continental black?"
A picture of the jet-black luxury car he had driven the night before flashed before Tyler’s eyes. He extinguished it. Karen hadn’t done anything more harmful than make an ill-advised phone call. That knowledge went as deep as the marrow of his bones.
"Plenty of people in Secret Sound drive big, dark cars," he bit out.
Gray slowly unfolded his long length from the ground and scratched his head. "How many of them called Cara and threatened her?"
Tyler looked heavenward for help. The lights of the basketball court shone in his eyes until he saw spots. He brought both hands to his suddenly spinning head. "I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Karen didn’t do this, Gray. You can’t honestly believe she did."
"A cop is trained not to reach a conclusion until he has all the facts."
"For Christ’s sake, if that isn’t a bunch of shit, I don’t know what is! What is this Cara to you, huh, Gray? How can you side with her against someone we’ve known all our lives?"
"I’m not siding with anyone. I have to check out what you told me. I have to question Karen. Surely you can see that."
"You son of a bitch." Tyler couldn’t hold back the curse. "Damnit, Gray. I told you that in confidence. I thought you were my fucking friend."
Gray recoiled as if he'd been struck. "Being your friend doesn’t excuse me from doing my duty as the police chief of Secret Sound."
Tyler crossed to where Gray stood and shoved him hard. Gray stumbled and almost fell. Gray had been a brawler once, ready to fight at the slightest provocation. He did nothing to protect himself. His eyes looked stunned. Tyler balled his right hand into a fist and stared at his friend for long, tense moments before uncurling his fingers.
"What’s she gonna think when you come asking about something you have no right knowing about, huh?" he asked bitterly. "What’s Karen gonna think of me then?"
"Cara’s life is more important than what Karen thinks of you," Gray said softly and, Tyler thought, defiantly. Then he turned and walked away.
Tyler stood alone in the middle of the spanking-new basketball court, looking about wildly for something to hit. The nearest solid surface, the pole holding up the basketball hoop, was too far away. So he swung at the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The rain fell like a fine mist while Cara descended the stairs of the garage apartment. She looked up at the early morning sky and tried not to indulge the notion that Skippy Rhett was crying because she hadn’t yet figured out what happened to him.
She paused at her car, conflicting emotions tugging at her. She wasn't in the mood for a babysitter. Neither was she stupid.
Following one slim lead after another, she'd tracked down former Secret Sound police chief Bob McKay to a central Florida town about two hours away. She’d been able to convince his caretaker to give her an appointment.
If Cara left now, she could get to Sunnyvale by nine. Except it would be childish and counterproductive to go alone. Gray had an acquaintance with the former police chief and she didn't.
She started up the walk toward the DeBerg house, determined not only to swallow her pride and ask for Gray's help but to keep him from guessing that her heart ached.
It wasn't as though he'd led her on. He'd told her upfront he couldn't promise her forever, and she'd claimed to be fine with that. She couldn't really blame him for not wanting to get serious. She was a woman who saw ghosts, and he didn't believe in them. He hadn't said as much. She knew it all the same.
Still, her hopes had been high the day before. It had become clear that Gray had enlisted his father to watch over her while Gray tackled mounds of neglected paperwork. Bergie had not only taken her to church services and brunch, he’d given her a tour of the newspaper and a sail on his boat.
Gray's show of concern for her welfare had touched her. At first. As day blended into night and night into morning without any sign of Gray, reality had set in: Gray might want a lover; he didn’t want to love.
That should be okay with Cara. She'd leave Secret Sound behind when all this was over, and Gray would stay. They led lives hundreds of miles apart that had intersected only by chance. Thoughts of forever were ludicrous, especially because she was the only one having them.
The rain made the keys slick, and they
slipped from her hands onto the wet pavement before she reached the back door of the DeBerg house. When she straightened from picking them up, the door banged open.
A coffee mug in one hand, Gray hurried toward her, his uniform unbuttoned and flapping open in the wind, his hair mussed. She glimpsed hard pectorals and tried to shut her mind to the night they'd shared.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Why are you up and about so early?"
His strong-jawed, puzzled face filled her vision. She could smell the rich aroma of coffee and see the burnished hair on his muscular chest.
"I have an appointment to see Chief McKay at nine. He's in Sunnyvale. I hoped you'd come with me."
"You found the chief?" He sounded flabbergasted.
She nodded and concentrated on his question rather than the fact that he hadn't swept her in his arms and kissed her. She was a fool to have hoped he would just because this was the first time they'd seen each other since he spent the night.
"Your father gave me an address and phone number. They were out of date. I worked the phones until I found him."
"I'm impressed," he said.
"Don't be. I caught a lucky break at the nursing home where he'd been a patient. The nurse who answered my call was the same one who referred the chief to a private caretaker. She gave me the caretaker's number."
"And the caretaker gave you an appointment?"
She nodded, her eyes falling to his bare chest. She looked quickly away before the urge to touch him became irresistible. She didn’t want to find him irresistible.
"Why didn't you tell me this last night?"
She'd planned to tell him when he came to her. Instead she’d fallen asleep waiting for the knock on the door that never came.
"I fell asleep." She didn't bother to add that had been well past midnight, after she'd finally accepted he wouldn't knock. "So, will you come?"
He frowned. The rain was coming down harder now and ran in rivulets down his face. The drops striking the roof awning over the back porch made a violent, angry sound. "Is something wrong? Look, if it's about us—"
Sound of Secrets Page 19
