I Have a Secret (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and should be recognized as such.

  First edition April 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Cover Design Copyright 2012 © Reese Dante

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978- 1475190816

  ISBN-10: 1475190816

  For updates on Cheryl and her books:

  Blog: cherylbradshawbooks.blogspot.com

  Web: www.cherylbradshaw.com

  Facebook: Cheryl Bradshaw Author Page

  Twitter: @cherylbradshaw

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, etc.) without the prior written permission and consent of the author.

  ALSO BY CHERYL BRADSHAW

  Black Diamond Death, (Sloane Monroe Novel #1)

  Sinnerman (Sloane Monroe Novel #2)

  Sloane Monroe Series Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

  Stranger in Town (Fall 2012)

  Whispers of Murder, a novella

  Author praise for Black Diamond Death, Sloane Monroe Series, Book #1:

  The writing and editing are excellent, the characters are interesting, and the plot kept me hooked. The balance between action and detecting worked perfectly. The main character was a masterpiece.

  --Edward G. Talbot, Author of New World Orders

  The tone reminded me of Robert B. Parker's novels, so if you're missing the likes of Spenser and Sunny Randall, I'd say that Cheryl Bradshaw looks to be a worthy successor.

  Highly recommended!

  --Chris Stout, Author of Days of Reckoning

  For an author's first book, Black Diamond Death (A Sloane Monroe Novel), is one that drew me in with the prologue. I've downloaded the next one in the Sloane Monroe series, Sinnerman, because I enjoyed the first book and I have the feeling I'm going to find an even better novel with the second one.

  --S. Warfield, Vine Voice, Top 500 Reviewer

  Author praise for Sinnerman, Sloane Monroe Series, Book #2:

  Only once in a while do you come upon a novel that sweeps you literally off your feet. The pot-boiling tension in this story is out of this world. Cheryl Bradshaw can write like the pros did at the Turn of the 20th Century. This is an instant classic. Absolutely sensational indisputably.

  -- Glen Cantrell, Author of The Resume

  Bradshaw writes a great thriller, with likeable characters, and a taunt timeline that keeps you reading way past lights-out.

  -- Robin Landry, Vine Voice, Top 500 Reviewer

  This book is dedicated to the many friends I attended Tehachapi High School with during the years of 1989 to 1992, with special consideration to my own class—1991. I’ve never forgotten my roots, and this novel is a tribute to that.

  And also to Justin:

  “I am successful today because I had a friend who believed in me,

  and I didn’t have the heart to let him down.”

  Abraham Lincoln

  To Stephen King for giving me permission to quote you in my novel. You had me at Carrie, and have kept me there throughout the years. I appreciate your willingness to extend even the simplest courtesy to me. Long live the King!

  My husband Justin for always asking me how long it will be until the book is done—definitely a driving force.

  To the Tehachapi Chief of Police, Jeff Kermode, for answering my homicide questions. And to John Pitko, Eric Harris, and Greg Hewgill for answering my historical questions.

  Many thanks to my new editor, Janet Green, my fabulous beta readers, Becky Fagnant and Amy Jirsa-Smith, and my fantastic formatter, Dafeenah Jameel. Also, a big shout out to the best cover designer since sliced bread, Reese Dante.

  To my friends and family for your continued support.

  And finally to Mumford and Sons. Timshel, is the theme song for this book.

  “It's not me who can't keep a secret. It's the people I tell that can't.”

  -Abraham Lincoln

  Doug Ward stood on the ship’s deck and gazed across the calm waves of an evening sea. The cool ocean breeze brushed past his face and clung to it like little particles of mist, but he didn’t seem to notice. The scotch in his hand was his fifth of the night, or the sixth or seventh—he couldn’t remember. Most nights he drank until he passed out, and tonight would be no exception. He’d drink himself into oblivion if it meant never hearing another one of his classmates sing the karaoke version of M.C. Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.”

  Twenty years had passed since anyone called him “Douggie”, but tonight he’d heard it shouted from every corner of the stuffy room that contained him. All he wanted was to get away from it, so he left the crowd at the costume party behind to sing their hearts out while he pondered the long list of life’s regrets in solitude. Rounding out the top five was his decision to take the high school reunion cruise in the first place. But there was little he could do about that now. Two more days, he thought, and this trip will be all over.

  Doug’s memories of high school had faded through the years until he hadn’t remembered much of anything. It all seemed like the blur of someone else’s life, as if the experiences he recalled weren’t really his anymore. He had flashes of memories here and there, but only one solid enough to stand the test of time. And that was the one he’d tried his hardest to forget, but no amount of alcohol would ever drown it out. Not completely.

  Often times Doug thought about what he’d change if he could go back in time and do it all over again. He envisioned himself at the fork in the road and often thought about what it would have been like had he chosen to go in the other direction. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone through life with all the nightmares that plagued him, or the secrets that gnawed at his insides like a thief in the darkness trying to find his way out of a dense, black fog surrounding him on all sides.

  “There you are,” a voice said behind him.

  Doug rotated his body around and faced Trista, his wife. She looked exquisite in her black satin vampire gown that hugged every curve of her petite frame. Her cocoa-colored hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and her lips were stained the perfect shade of red. It didn’t matter how many years had come and gone since they’d married, she still remained the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I just needed a moment alone,” he said.

  “Everyone is looking for you,” she said. “They want to know what happened to the life of the party.”

  He rattled the ice cubes in his glass around and shook his head. “You know I haven’t been worthy of that title for a very long time.”

  She shrugged. “You can’t help how people remember you, Mr. Prom King. And I thought you should know your queen is getting lonely in there without you.”

  Doug managed to crack a smile. He hated to disappoint her. “I need a few more minutes, okay? And then I’ll come in.”

  Trista wrapped her arms around him, stared into his eyes and whispered, “I’ll be waiting,” and then she brushed her lips across his and turned and went back inside.

  Doug winced when she touched him. Not because her affections were unwanted, but because he knew how much he’d let her down over the years. He hadn’t lived up to the man he should have been—not as a husband, a father, any of it. And yet she stayed while he wasted away. He knew he didn’t deserve her, and that made him feel even worse.

  So many times Doug tried t
o pick himself up again, for his wife and their kids. But no matter how many twelve-step programs he went to, it always ended the same way, with one eyeball staring down the bottom of a bottle until he’d finished every last drop. Most nights he woke up in his bed not knowing how he got there, and he’d turn and gaze upon Trista who was snuggled up next to him. In those moments of serenity he vowed the next day would be different. But when the sun rose and brought a chance to start anew, he was too weak and couldn’t get out the door without at least one drink.

  Doug turned back and stared out to the sea again, but the night had bathed the sea in black, and he couldn’t see much of anything anymore besides the mirrored glow of the moon across still waters. He sighed; it was time to go back inside.

  Beside the door a shadow emerged and gravitated in his direction. Doug hunched over to get a better look, but his eyes played tricks on him, and everything was a haze. “I’m coming in now, sweetie.”

  The figure halted. Doug squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but the image in front of him was still a blur. Several seconds went by and neither moved. He shook his head back and forth at a rapid rate and tried to jolt back into reality. And then it occurred to him—whoever lurked there seemed too tall to be his pint-sized wife.

  “Is that you, Candice?” he said. “Because I’m still not interested. I love my wife. You have to stop this—right now.”

  The figure shook its head but did not speak.

  Candice was known in high school as the girl all the guys slept with, and being told no wasn’t part of her limited vocabulary. Doug had resisted her for most of his senior year until one night when she showed up on his doorstep. It was like she knew he’d been left all alone. With his parents gone and Trista away at cheer camp, Candice pushed her way into his house. Doug tried to say no, he wasn’t interested, but Candice tossed her head back and laughed while she unfastened the belt on her jacket, grabbed both sides and spread it all the way apart. Doug gasped. She was stark naked. She let the jacket drop to the floor and took her pointer finger and curled it back toward her. That was how she always got her man. She had the best body of any girl at school—one that none of the boys could resist—and she knew it.

  Since the first day of the reunion cruise Candice had stalked him, showing up at the same excursions he was on with Trista and making obscene gestures whenever Trista glanced the other way. The mere sight of her made Doug’s insides feel like they were on a continual roller coaster, and he just wanted to get off. On the second night, Candice had even cornered him in the hallway and slammed him up against one of the guest rooms. Doug had more than his fair share of drinks that night, but he’d managed to shove her off him before he stumbled down the hall to his cabin where Trista was waiting.

  And now, there they were. Doug stared at the figure, sure it was Candice. She stood, silent, like she was waiting for something. What kind of game is she playing now…he thought? “It is you, Candice, isn’t it?”

  The figure shook its head and accelerated toward him, and for the first time in years, Doug wished he was in control of all his faculties. The figure wore a long black robe with a mask that looked like they’d just attended a masquerade ball with Marie Antoinette. Doug reached for the mask, but his hand swept the open air, not catching anything in its grasp.

  “Who are you?” he said. “And what do you want?”

  The masked person displayed a long, shiny object. Doug panicked. He tried to lunge to the side, but instead he stumbled backward, and the knife plunged into his chest. Doug’s drink tipped from his hand and fell overboard into the icy depths below. Before he had time to react, he felt another sharp pain to his abdomen, and then another. He wanted to fight back, but he was drunk and helpless. The third jab cut deep, slicing straight to the heart, and as the life drained from his body and the blood spilled out, staining the deck below, he managed to utter one single word: “Why?”

  The figure withdrew the knife from Doug’s body, pulled him in close and whispered a single word—the last one he’d ever hear: Revenge. He pressed his hands into his gaping wounds and slumped over, trying to stand, but it was too late. Within seconds, Doug Ward was dead.

  If someone had asked me a year before whether I’d attend my twenty year class reunion, I probably would have said no. And yet, there I was, clad in a 1920’s flapper costume with a smile welded on my face mingling with people who, for the most part, I no longer recognized. At first it was weird to see everyone, but as the week went by I realized I was glad I’d made the decision to relive the youthful bliss of my high school days.

  The idea of taking a cruise to commemorate the anniversary appealed to everyone, about seventy percent of our graduating class showed up. And they were as shocked to see me as I was to be there. I looked around the room, staring into the diversity of faces. Some familiar, some I hoped to never see again, and others looked back at me like we’d been friends all our lives, and yet, I had no idea who they were.

  Giovanni nudged me. “You were here a minute ago, where have you gone?”

  I turned to him and smiled. “Just thinking about how nice it is to be here—with you. And everyone else, but mostly you.”

  He leaned forward and our lips met. It didn’t matter where we were when he kissed me or how often. I always got lost in the extra few seconds—the ones that turned a regular kiss into something much more meaningful.

  “If you keep kissing me like that, we’ll have to go back to the room,” I said. It was hard to determine what I found more attractive—the kiss or his vintage suit reminiscent of the days of Al Capone.

  Going back to the room appealed to him. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “I never thanked you for coming with me,” I said. “It’s nice to have you here.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. I’ll always make time for you.”

  “All right everyone,” a voice shouted through the overhead speakers, “time to break in this dance floor for the evening.” The woman made a swooping motion with her free hand. “Gather around people, don’t be shy. Can we get our old prom king and queen out here to lead the way?”

  To my left was Trista Ward, voted best everything a person could be voted for in school: Best dressed, best looking, most popular. She set her glass of champagne on the table in front of her, spun around and frowned. “Doug was out on the deck a bit ago, let me grab him.”

  Several minutes went by with no sign of Trista or Doug. The music rattled on and on to the beat of an empty dance floor until Candice Flaherty stepped up. She pushed her way through all the costumed bodies, stepped forward and seized the microphone. She whipped her half-naked body around and faced the crowd. “Since those two lovebirds have decided to make us wait, how about we get the first dance started with the runners up?”

  Someone in the crowd laughed and one person shouted, “Wouldn’t that be you?”

  “And Stephen…yes.” Candice cupped her hand over her forehead and peered across the crowd. “You out there, Stephen? Don’t be shy, now. I saw you earlier. Where are you hiding?”

  “She’s ah, an interesting one, isn’t she?” Giovanni said.

  I smiled. “It’s probably not hard to see why we were never friends.”

  Stephen, who stood a few feet away from me, stepped forward with a look on his face that said he was more than happy to acquiesce her request. His wife, on the other hand, crossed her arms and huffed loud enough for the entire room to hear. Stephen faced her. “It’s just one dance, honey. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  She replied, “It’s not the dance I’m worried about…it’s that woman. She looks like she accepts singles on a stripper pole for a living!”

  Stephen shook his head, “You have no reason to worry. She’s just an old friend,” and with that, he walked over and took Candice’s outstretched hand. Other couples followed suit, and after a moment Paula Abdul’s “Rush, Rush” blared through the speakers.

  I glanced at Stephen’s wife. Her arms were fo
lded so tight she looked like she was being prepped to do time in a straitjacket. She glared at Candice like she wanted to glue her to the pavement on the freeway and commandeer the diesel truck that steamrolled over her trampy body.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “Candice flirts with all the guys, but she doesn’t usually get anywhere. They all know what she’s like.”

  She shrugged me off. “Yeah? You sure about that, because I’ve seen the way she’s looked at your man all week.”

  “How’s that?”

  She winked. “Like he’s next in line on the Candice-go-round, if you get my meaning.”

  “I’m not worried,” I said.

  She scoffed. “Honey, you should be.”

  Giovanni raised a brow and excused himself to refresh our drinks.

  “Trust me when I say if Giovanni is interested in a woman like Candice Flaherty, he’s got no business being with me,” I said.

  She shook her head and laughed and stuck her hand out. “I’m Rita.”

  “Sloane. Nice to meet you.”

  “So, I take it this is your reunion then?”

  I nodded.

  Rita grabbed her drink from the bar and took a generous swallow of what appeared to be a Long Island iced tea. A drink I never touched myself for fear I’d lose every sane thought to ever cross my mind. “Did you go to school with my Stephen?”

  I nodded, again.

  “I’ve always wondered what he was like back then,” she said.

  “Same guy he seems to be now,” I said. “Nice. A little quiet, but a good guy.”

  “Still is…what about her?” she said with her finger pointed in Candice’s direction. “What was she like?”