Nothing Sacred

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “She was alone?” David asked, wondering if Edith was confused. “I would’ve thought she’d take a friend with her.”

  “I guess she asked her best friend, Shelley, to go, but Shelley had obligations at home. You know, her mother’s in that house all alone with those four kids now that her husband ran out on her….”

  David continued to listen, but not as attentively as Edith deserved.

  Several times in the past few weeks he’d driven by the place outside town where he’d seen Shelley coming from the desert the month before. He’d seen no sign of her, or of any other kids hanging out there.

  He’d hoped that perhaps the girl had taken more heed of his warning than she’d appeared to.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  And more importantly, If Shelley hadn’t been with Monica three weeks before, where had she been?

  And with whom?

  “BAD DAY AT WORK?” David asked as Martha climbed into the Explorer that evening. She’d had a glass of tea, freshened her makeup, thought she’d covered up the effects of this latest in the never-ending string of challenges that had become her life.

  Apparently she’d failed in her attempt to look better than she felt.

  And Marks knew so much already, she just couldn’t work up the energy to pretend otherwise.

  “I had a call from the high school this afternoon.”

  Martha was almost ashamed at the relief she felt as he drove her away from home. Her four children were there. Getting their own dinner. Doing their homework. Ignoring each other. And she couldn’t believe how much she wanted to get away and leave them to it.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Running a hand through her hair she tried to remember how long it had been since she’d had it cut. Pretty soon, instead of short, sassy and windblown, it was going to look shaggy and unkempt. “It’s not.”

  “I’m guessing it has something to do with Shelley.”

  Martha sighed. “Right again.” Martha felt sick at heart. She could handle every single thing she’d been handed. She could make every bit of it better—if the damn universe would just slow down enough to give her a chance to fix one thing before she was handed another.

  “She’s cutting school.”

  “Damn!”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to use that kind of language.”

  “No.” He nodded, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. “Probably not.”

  Martha sighed. “I know Marybeth, the school secretary—”

  “Is there anyone in this town you don’t know?”

  “Of course,” Martha retorted, immediately defensive on behalf of her town. She’d always resented criticism from other people who scorned its sheltered way of life. Hearing herself, she gave him an apologetic look. “But not many.”

  With a quick sideways glance, David sent her an understanding grin. How did the man always know what she was trying to say even when she hadn’t managed to say it?

  “Anyway, according to Marybeth, Shelley’s been bringing an unusual number of notes to excuse her from class. Because none of my kids have done anything like this before, she didn’t think much of it at first.”

  “I take it you didn’t send any notes?”

  “Nope. Not one doctor or dentist appointment for that kid all semester, but according to the school she’s had six. There was something about a root canal—and preliminary work that had to be done to prepare for it. And then a stomach disorder that turned out to be stress but needed an upper GI before that could be determined.”

  “The kid’s imaginative.”

  “Marybeth thinks, and I agree, that she had help. Shelley didn’t write these notes herself.”

  “Does the secretary know who else is involved?”

  “Well, there’s one other student whose absences almost always coincide with Shelley’s.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s Whitney Hines.”

  “Yes, apparently Whitney’s suddenly gone into counseling, and since her therapist is in Phoenix, she frequently has to leave school early.”

  “I’ll just bet Mr. Hines was a friendly guy when he found out about that.”

  “Marybeth hadn’t phoned him yet.”

  Over and over again the conversation with the secretary had been playing in Martha’s head. Nothing made sense to her anymore. Not the direction from which she’d come, nor the one toward which she was traveling.

  “So why did the secretary call today? The number of incidents?”

  Martha leaned an elbow on the console between them, energized, restless and weary at the same time. “Today, my sweet daughter excused herself from school to visit her stepmother, who’s visiting in Phoenix for only one day. Marybeth knew better than that.”

  “The arrogance of youth,” David said, shaking his head. “Gets them every time.”

  Martha muttered, “You know, I’m not sure what’s bothering me more at the moment—that she’s cutting school or that she used that woman as her excuse.”

  Signaling a lane change, David glanced over at her. “My guess is neither.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Whatever she’s doing when she cuts school.”

  Martha hoped it was hanging out at Whitney’s house reading magazines about boys and chewing gum. Or, as a worst-case scenario, shopping at the mall in Phoenix. She was going to kill Shelley, though, if she found out the latter. Or at least ground her until she was eighteen.

  Maybe even make her sit next to Tim at the dinner table, too.

  Tears pricked Martha’s eyes. How in hell had her life come to this? She’d given the best she had to her marriage and to her kids, taking for granted that life might throw them some curves, but they’d live happily ever after in Shelter Valley.

  “So what happened once you got the call?” David’s words were not quite welcome, as they brought her back to her chaotic life.

  Brought her back to the fact that hope served no purpose but to bring unending pain at its demise.

  “I went home to find out what Ellen knew, and Shelley was already there. She was in her room, apparently studying. I called through the door, just to be sure she hadn’t pulled a fast one on Ellen, but I didn’t go in. There wasn’t time to have it out with her then. I told her to stay home tonight. To which she replied that she’d planned on it.” With shoulders growing heavier by the second, Martha continued, “I’ll talk to her either when we get home tonight or tomorrow after school.”

  “If she stays in school.”

  “Oh, she’ll stay. Marybeth’s going to make certain of that.”

  A couple of miles flew by. The sun was setting over the desert, shedding a golden glow over a breathtaking array of cactus flowers. Spring had always been Martha’s favorite time of year, with the desert in bloom, not only a signal of winter’s end but also proof that a land most assumed to be barren had hidden beauty and life.

  This year she saw the flowers as little more than a lie. False hope that all was not barren. When, except for those few brief weeks, barren was exactly what it was.

  David’s arm joined hers on the armrest. Close but not touching. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  It wasn’t going to be good either. She could already tell.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I DON’T WANT TO, but I can’t figure out a way to justify keeping the information to myself.”

  Great. She’d hooked up with a preacher who had a conscience. Would life never cut her a break?

  “Then tell me.” She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. “We’re on another wild-goose chase, right?”

  “No.” With the shake of his head, his arm brushed hers. “Although, of course we might be, but that’s not it.”

  “What then?” Against her will she looked over at him, her heart sinking when she encountered the seriousness of his expression.

  “Shelley didn’t go to San Diego with Monica Wilder.”

  “Yes, she did.” There simply
was no other option.

  He kept driving. “No, she didn’t.”

  “What makes you say that?” For a guy who was supposed to make people feel better, he was failing miserably. First he’d called to tell her that her older daughter had been raped. And now her second child was not only lying to her but disappearing for weekends, as well. Who knew what that would be about? Whatever it was, Martha was fairly certain she couldn’t take it.

  “I visit Edith Walton once a week—”

  “Monica’s grandmother.” Oh, God. It was legitimate.

  “She said that Monica had invited Shelley to go, but Shelley told her she had obligations at home. Apparently Monica had a horrible time, bored stiff spending the weekend with her parents.”

  “Have you ever met Monica’s parents?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you understand Monica’s boredom,” Martha finished dryly. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. At all.

  But she didn’t think screaming—or worse, crying—was appropriate at the moment.

  Not surprisingly, David didn’t reply. Except to say, after a long silence, “I’m sorry.”

  Her arm was touching his on the console now. The contact was a good thing. She didn’t know why; she was probably beyond figuring it out, or caring. She just knew it was.

  “Where do you think she went?”

  The possibilities were endless, most of them too horrible for her to contemplate.

  He glanced at her quickly, due to the heavier traffic as they drew closer to Phoenix. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “If there’s something you know, then I expect you to tell me. Period.”

  “About a month ago, I was driving on the outskirts of town and saw Shelley coming out of the desert with a group of kids.”

  A group of kids. Martha had been mentally traveling in far worse circles.

  “What were they doing?”

  “Laughing, eating chips, heading to their cars, I guess, though I didn’t notice any.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “I called out to her but she pretended not to hear.” David’s arm pushed against hers as he paused, and Martha wasn’t sure if the movement was accidental or on purpose. She accepted it either way. “When I asked her about it later, she basically told me to mind my own business.”

  “Sounds like my Shel.” Martha sighed. “So why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

  He shrugged. “From what I hear, kids head out to the desert a lot, have picnics, mess around.”

  “They do.”

  “I couldn’t assume this was anything different.”

  “So why are you telling me about it now?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Because you know it was something different.”

  “I don’t know.” David shifted, changed driving hands. Martha’s arm felt the chill of the car’s air. It wasn’t a welcome feeling.

  “But you suspect.” She watched him carefully.

  “Not enough to start running to parents like some tattletale. I’ll never develop trust among the young people that way.”

  “What about their parents?” She didn’t withhold any of the anger she was feeling. “Their trust doesn’t count?”

  “Of course it does.” His arm was back. She was pretty sure it wasn’t a mistake this time. “I talked to Shelley. I told her that if she came to me, I was honor bound to keep whatever she had to say confidential, but that if she didn’t, the next time I saw or heard anything I was going straight to you.”

  That was something. Not enough. Not in light of everything she’d found out that day. But it was something.

  “Martha?”

  “What?”

  “If I’d come to you a month ago, and you’d gone to Shelley, and she’d told you they were just hanging out, drinking soda, eating chips, you would’ve believed her, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And do you think, for one second, that no matter what was going on, she’d have told you anything else?”

  God, Martha hated it when he did that. “No, I guess not.” She wanted to be able to say yes. But she couldn’t.

  “So the only thing that would’ve resulted from telling you would be my loss of Shelley’s—and probably the other kids’—trust.”

  “I guess.”

  “At least this way, there was a chance that I’d prove my trust by keeping silent, and she’d come to me with whatever was really going on. She knew her older sister already trusted me. Was it too much to hope she might, too?”

  If one believed in hope. “Probably not.”

  They’d reached the outskirts of Phoenix. “There’s more.”

  “I had a feeling there might be.”

  So bring it on. She was in control. She’d handle it. Somehow.

  “When Shelley came over the hill, she was hanging on to the arm of a kid I’ve never seen in Shelter Valley. He’s certainly never been at church.”

  “Hanging on to him like ‘help me get up this hill ’cause I’m tired,’ or hanging on to him like ‘I have to touch you or I’ll die’?”

  David’s arm moved against hers. If she’d been hanging on to his arm, Martha wondered on some distant level, which statement she would choose to describe herself?

  Definitely the first.

  Not that she’d ever asked for help climbing a hill in her life. She was definitely not the clingy, helpless type.

  But then, her daughters weren’t, either. She’d raised them differently than that.

  She knew his answer before he gave it. And still felt the impact of his words in the center of her stomach.

  “The second,” he said.

  “What did he look like? Her age? Younger? Clean-cut? A scholar—the nerdy type? Please tell me you think they were studying out there.”

  “His hair was purple, hanging around his face and shoulders, dirty-looking.”

  She just couldn’t believe it. She’d never realized a heart could break without any outward signs at all. “And he was wearing a pocket protector, right?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “Leather and chains.”

  Cold, filled with dread, Martha had a feeling that the weekend Shel had been gone, she hadn’t been reading magazines and talking about boys.

  “She’s sleeping with him,” she said with resignation.

  “Unless we’re lucky.”

  “You think they’re doing more than that?” she asked.

  “Like drugs, for instance?”

  “Maybe. I guess.” Did she have drugs in her home? Right now? That Tim might find? Or sweet little Rebecca?

  “Probably.”

  Yeah, she’d thought so. In the good news department, the preacher was batting 0 for 4.

  MARTHA WAS IN NO FIT state to stand around and look natural when they pulled up at the Lincoln dealership. But she’d manage to do what David asked of her. She had no idea why they were there, or what he hoped to accomplish that Greg had not, but she knew better than to ask. For now. For now, she had to focus until Ellen’s attacker was apprehended. Somehow she felt that if she could only get this one battle behind her, see good prevail and justice done, then the rest of her life would fall satisfactorily into place.

  Somehow it wasn’t going to be too late.

  Not for Ellen. For Shelley. No matter what had happened to her girls, they were still the sweet innocent little beings she’d brought into this world. She could still remember so vividly how their faces used to shine at the end of each day, as they babbled every thought in their heads, telling her all their joys and little triumphs.

  Martha was going to clean up this whole mess. See their faces shine again. She was. Because she was in control. She could do this.

  “YOU WANT ME TO test-drive a car?” Martha asked David half an hour after they’d arrived at their destination. He hadn’t seen anyone he knew, or recognized any actions that seemed out of the ordinary. But something inside him—whether intuition, guardian an
gel, or wishful thinking—was telling him pretty compellingly that he needed to be there.

  “Yeah,” he told his companion, glad now that he had her with him. The sun had gone down; darkness had fallen. If something was going to happen, it would be soon. “Have you ever driven a Town Car?”

  “Are you kidding? I was thrilled when I got my Ford. It was the first new car I ever owned.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know how a luxury car drives, in case you come into a fortune and want to buy one someday?”

  “If I ever come into a fortune, I’m—okay, okay, yes, I’d like to know how they drive, just in case.”

  She was a smart woman. Mouthy as heck, but smart.

  And, David was finding, mouthy wasn’t all bad. It kept a guy on his toes. And it kept a woman afloat in choppy waters.

  The more he got to know Martha Moore, the more he admired her. Mouthy or not.

  “Take your time with it,” he told her now, walking back toward the salesperson who had first approached them. “That’ll give me an excuse to wander around here without arousing suspicion.”

  She leaned a little closer to him on the brightly lit lot. “What are you expecting to find?”

  Brows drawn together, he looked down at her. She’d had a hard day, deserved some kind of response, but—

  “I know, I know,” she said, walking off ahead of him, “no questions.”

  So she wasn’t that smart. She’d just about had the answer she wanted. Instead, David had a view of her shapely bottom in a pair of jeans, of which he was suddenly quite fond.

  IT WASN’T UNTIL AFTER Martha’s test-drive and they were in a little office cubicle, listening to a sales pitch, that David suddenly sat straighter in his chair. Until that Lincoln had shown up in Shelter Valley, giving him the name of the dealer, there’d been no way for David to check out his hunch that a business he’d known of many years before hadn’t gone under as he’d been told, but had only moved homes—and had acquired at least one new owner.

  While Martha listened to the salesman, David watched a transaction take place with which he was hauntingly, sickeningly familiar. A man entered the dealership. Easily in his mid-fifties, with graying hair in an expensive cut, the man wore a handmade tweed suit and five-hundred-dollar leather shoes that made just the right creaking sound as he walked. Brushing aside a couple of hopeful salespeople, he seemed to know just whom he wanted to see. Although he didn’t speak to anyone, he appeared to have no problem finding the man he sought. He handed over a small card. David couldn’t see it clearly, but he’d bet his life it bore a black insignia.