Grave Secrets

by Trout, Linda

  “What do you remember about the night your husband died?”

  Sara blinked. “Wh—what?”

  “Were you there?”

  She leaned back in the chair, gathering her composure. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?” Now that she was home, she could let her guard down, collapse into a puddle and have a nice little meltdown before pulling herself back together to face the next chapter of this nightmare, formerly known as her life. At least she would if he’d just kindly go away.

  Not in the mood for an audience—or company—she glared at him, then pointedly looked toward the door.

  Daniels stood his ground, the planes of his face hard and unyielding, reminding her again of a statue.

  “If you won’t leave, then at least sit down.” She gestured toward the sofa. He relented and took a seat, perched on the edge at the far end.

  He cleared his throat. “I realize this has been an upsetting morning for you—”

  She was tempted to throw her head back and scream. The man had no idea!

  “—but I need details of the night your husband died.”

  “Why?”

  He sat silent a moment; a pained expression briefly crossed his face before he masked it. Finally, as if he had to drag the words out of his own mouth, he said, “It’s part of the investigation.”

  Which didn’t tell her anything.

  “You figure it out.” Perhaps she shouldn’t be so sarcastic, but she couldn’t help herself. Living up to Jason’s standards of presenting a gracious image to the public took more effort than she could manage. The entire time they’d been married, she’d followed her husband’s less than subtle requests. But now her world was upside down, and she was slowly losing the last shreds of her sanity.

  “Mrs. Adams.”

  Sara sighed. Anything to get rid of him. “We’d gone to the annual Christmas party at the club. He had a heart attack and died. End of story. Now will you go away?”

  Coming back to the brightly decorated house after Jason’s death had been hard. Harder than she’d ever thought possible. The only way she had gotten through the ordeal had been to focus on her daughter, and by counting on her grandmother’s strength. She clung to both of them as if they were lifelines. Which, in a way, they were.

  She’d contacted the company they’d hired to decorate the house and had the decorations taken down the next day. Sara couldn’t bring herself to open any of the gifts Jason had bought her and had stored them in the attic. The ones she’d bought him, she’d given to the homeless shelter. At least someone would be able to use them.

  They held Jason’s funeral on a bitter cold day two weeks before Christmas. As she left the church, she heard “Jingle Bells” blaring from a passing car. Ironic that she’d always loved the holidays, yet now that time of year had become her saddest. If Sara had thought her life couldn’t get worse, finding Kaycee missing proved her wrong. Only her determination to find her baby kept her going.

  A pain stabbed her in the gut as she clutched the stuffed rabbit more closely. Her baby’s first Christmas and Sara had no idea where she was, who spent the time with her. All the gifts Sara had bought were stored in the walk-in closet in the nursery. A closet she never opened. She thought she’d had that section of her heart walled off enough to not be caught unawares. Wrong.

  “Were you with him the whole time?”

  His question jerked her back to the present, and her resentment of his intrusion on her private life intensified. “Of course not. I was doing my job, mingling with the other ‘important’ businessmen’s wives. I wasn’t getting drunk on eggnog, if that’s what you’re implying.” She had stopped drinking alcohol of any kind the minute she’d found out she was pregnant. And since she nursed Kaycee, drinking after giving birth wasn’t an option, either.

  That meltdown was inching its way up her spine, ready to claw its way out. She desperately wanted to be alone.

  “So you weren’t by his side when he had the attack?”

  She thought back to the night in question. “No, I was on the phone with my grandmother. She’d watch—watched Kaycee, and I’d checked in to see how the baby was doing.” It had been the first time she’d been away from her child and she’d hated every minute of it. She’d wanted to go home much earlier, but Jason had insisted they stay. She’d given in, like she always did.

  She’d loved him, but over the years she’d spent countless empty hours alone, always waiting for him to return home. That tragic night, however, she’d been close by and was able to reach his side before his final breath. She took comfort in the knowledge the last thing he’d seen was her face. Pain pierced her heart as she realized her daughter wouldn’t remember her father. Or me either, for that matter. If only she could get her back. If only…

  Shaking off the images, she straightened her shoulders and stared him in the eyes. “Now, Mr. Daniels, you will tell me specifically why you’re so interested in my husband’s death.”

  ****

  Morgan’s first impulse was to tell her he asked the questions. Then chuckled to himself. He liked the woman’s direct approach. Sitting ramrod straight, she looked as if she’d break into a thousand pieces with the slightest touch. With little makeup, her skin had a hollow appearance…drawn…gaunt. Her deep blue eyes, bright with unshed tears, drew a person into them.

  He glanced at the large portrait of a solemn couple hanging behind her above the fireplace mantel. Like everything else in the house, the picture was made to impress. The Adamses were in a formal pose standing next to each other, but not quite touching. Her conservative but snug light blue dress showed off curves hidden beneath the baggy clothes she wore today. She’d lost weight. Even her blond hair had less shine to it.

  Now she stared at him, her chin high, lips tight. Despite what she’d experienced over the last hour, the woman didn’t back down.

  “This is quite a place you have here.” The house was huge. Of course, all of the homes in the exclusive south side neighborhood were massive.

  She glanced toward the entryway with the marble floor, crystal chandelier and the five foot wide winding staircase. Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, pushing her breasts up, she turned back to him. “Is that why you’re here? To find out how big this house is? If you’re in the market, I can recommend a realtor.”

  He tilted up a corner of his mouth. “Not my style. Besides, I doubt your neighbors would appreciate someone like me moving in next door.”

  Pink quickly stained her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

  “I didn’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Daniels. I—I simply thought…”

  “What?”

  He’d never consider living in anything this large and outlandish. Couldn’t pay him to, in fact. As a PI he’d dealt with more than his share of people from this side of town who wanted to know what their spouse was hiding from them. Or wanted something hidden from their spouse. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with this lifestyle. Nice and quiet was more to his liking. He had all he needed.

  Except to redeem himself, the reason he’d started all this.

  She fidgeted with her hands a moment before she stilled. “You answer my question first.”

  He resisted the urge to snort. “Fair enough. I’m looking into the death of Andy Ford.” He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

  “Andrew? He was CFO of our company for a short while before his death. He seemed to be a very nice man.” Her brows furrowed. “Why are you investigating his death?”

  “The family asked me to look into it is all.” Which wasn’t the total truth, but not an outright lie, either.

  Glancing at the stuffed rabbit, she relaxed her shoulders. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  If it’ll keep you talking. “Sure. That’d be great.”

  She gracefully stood and headed down the long hallway. The well-worn toy she’d had a death grip on sat as rigidly in the chair as the woman had. If Morgan didn’t know better, he’d swear the rabbit was watc
hing him. A cold sweat slammed into him.

  What the hell?

  Chapter Two

  Morgan glanced around the room. Nothing warranted the unease he felt. Weird. Squaring his shoulders, he shook off the feeling and followed Sara. The sway of her hips in her baggy pants instantly took his mind off the odd sensations. Skinny as she was, the woman still had some nice curves. The image of her in the picture flashed across his mind. A few more pounds to fill out those pants, strain against her tailored top…

  Jerking his mind back to business, he mentally assessed the layout of the interior. Teak and mahogany furniture, Oriental rugs, crystal vases, rare paintings. The husband’s medical claims business must be pretty good.

  He’d assumed she had help to take care of the house, do the cooking and cleaning. After all, most people who lived in this neck of the woods had live-in help. This place, though, was as quiet as a graveyard. If anyone else was here, they sure knew how to remain invisible.

  He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, taking note of the large center-island, industrial size stove, dual ovens, double-wide refrigerator, butler’s walk-in pantry, crystal and china sparkling through the glass doors, marble countertops. The place was designed to see a lot of activity.

  Morgan preferred a much smaller setting. This place was too perfect, too clean, and lacked any warmth or personality; more of a showcase than a home. Briefly, he wondered why she stayed in this mausoleum all by herself. Unless that was what she preferred. Could be a motive for murder if the hubby didn’t like living there. She wanted to maintain a high-class profile, he preferred low key. Morgan ran scenarios through his mind.

  Filling the pot with water, she poured it into the coffeemaker, then stretched to get cups out of the cabinet. Her pants pulled taunt across her skinny butt in the process. The petite blond in front of him was none of the things he normally preferred in women. Tall, feisty redheads full of spirit with more of everything were more to his liking. So why did Sara Adams intrigue him?

  Bypassing the delicate cups, she settled on sturdy mugs. “How do you like your coffee, Mr. Daniels?”

  “Strong enough to bring a person out of a coma.”

  She laughed, the sound almost brittle. “I’m afraid this won’t be to your liking. Do you take anything in it?”

  “Black will do.” He moved farther into the room. “Fancy layout.”

  She glanced around the area. “It’s adequate.”

  Now he laughed. “Is that what you call it? Adequate? You could feed the Fifth Marine Division in here.”

  She turned her back to fiddle with the sugar bowl. What didn’t she want him to see in her expression?

  Moving to the pantry as the coffee’s aroma filled the room, she placed several Danish rolls on a plate, setting them on the island countertop.

  Morgan lowered his frame onto one of the tall bar stools, appreciating the fact he didn’t have to find room for his long legs in a cramped space under the counter.

  “Where’s the rest of your family?”

  She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  “I take it you don’t have any family in the area. Otherwise they’d be with you.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  He could all but see the layer of frost settling over her. “Exhuming your husband isn’t an everyday occurrence. I’d think you’d want someone there for support.”

  “Then you assumed wrong, Mr. Daniels.” Tight lipped, she poured his coffee, then set the mug and a plate with a fork none too gently in front of him before taking the seat opposite him.

  “Mrs. Adams, you were married to a prominent member of the community. You live in an exclusive neighborhood where I assume you would have a staff of servants at your disposal and pretty much know everyone who lives here. Yet you seem very much alone. Why is that?”

  “How I live is none of your business.”

  Her expression hard, he could still see the pain in her eyes. Or was it loneliness? Perhaps desperation for other human contact? Why else would she invite him for coffee when she’d asked him to leave earlier? He felt lower than a skunk, but he couldn’t stop.

  “True. But I’m not far off the mark, am I?”

  She sat there, staring him down.

  As the clock ticked off the seconds, he found himself getting lost in the blue depths of those eyes. His gaze drifted to her lips and suddenly had the urge to reach across the counter to stroke them, to run the pad of his thumb over them to see if they felt as good as they looked. He ignored the impulse.

  To his surprise, he blinked first. “Do you still entertain?”

  “It’s only been six months since my family was taken from me—”

  That was an interesting way of wording it.

  “—and having a party certainly isn’t a priority or a desire.”

  She poked at the Danish she’d placed on her plate with the fork, leaving the pastry in a pile of crumbs, belying the controlled exterior she projected.

  He leaned on his forearms, placing him even closer; softened his tone. “Where’d you meet Jason?”

  Maybe because of his familiar use of her husband’s name, maybe for other reasons, but her mouth dropped open before she shuttered her features. Not before Morgan noticed a bit of wariness cross her face, though. Good thing he was watching her closely; otherwise he would’ve missed it.

  “College.”

  He leaned back, taking a more casual pose. “So you’re a Sooner fan?”

  “I never said we went to OU. We attended Loyola.”

  “New Orleans?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Chicago.”

  Test one, A-plus. “Let me guess, you were a Liberal Arts major.”

  She didn’t blink. “Double major. Liberal Arts plus Business with a minor in Marketing.”

  Was that the reason Jason had been so attracted to her in the first place? He hadn’t exactly been at the top of his class. Partying was more his style. However, he’d managed to turn his image around once he’d taken over the family business. Sara, on the other hand, had pretty much carried a 4.0 with a double major to boot. Morgan had made a point of doing a background check on both of them after Andy’s death.

  As she slid off the stool, she tucked her arms around her waist, then moved to the back door. Jaw set, she leaned against the door jamb as she stared into the yard. Finally, she faced him.

  The tough façade of a moment ago gone, she asked, “They’ll tell me, won’t they? About the baby, I mean?” She looked lost, defeated.

  “Yes, ma’am. Reece—Detective Cannon—will be in touch as soon as he can. In all likelihood, they’ll put a rush on the tests, but it’ll still take some time.”

  Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath. “I see. So I’ll be contacted by the police?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded in acceptance, then cocked her head. “Wait. You said you were looking into Andrew’s death.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So why are you here? I don’t know anything about his death. I wasn’t even there.” Suspicion etched her features.

  “I’m on retainer with the General Rating Insurance Company.”

  “What?” She stared, slack-jawed. “I thought you worked with the police.”

  “I do work with them, but in this case my employer is the insurance company.”

  “Oh.” The lost look was gone, replaced by one of a trapped animal. She withdrew into herself as if she were building a barricade to keep him out. Why? Was his first instinct on track and she was somehow involved in her husband’s death? He had to find out. He’d let people down who mattered to him one too many times.

  This time he intended to make it right.

  Or die trying.

  “As you know, both men had large policies with the company.”

  Comprehension finally dawned on her. “You’re investigating Jason’s death, too.”

  Morgan didn’t bother responding.

  “Why are they looking into his death? Ther
e weren’t any problems before. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have paid out on the policy.”

  At the time, they didn’t think you might have murdered him, either. However, it was his job to get to the truth, so he took a different tact to keep her off balance.

  “Do you think there’s a connection between your husband’s death and your child’s disappearance?” Up until they’d found the infant’s remains, the thought of her baby’s disappearance being connected with the husband’s death hadn’t occurred to him. He’d only been looking at Jason Adams in conjunction with Andy’s death.

  She blinked those deep-ocean blue eyes, the ones that made him feel as if he’d been sucker punched from the moment he’d first seen her. With her fair skin, light blond hair and slight build, all a man wanted to do was protect her. Not rake her over the coals. Which was exactly what he’d do.

  “Wh—why in the world would you think that? There couldn’t possibly be a connection, could there?”

  Morgan forced his expression to remain neutral. He liked to move when trying to unravel a puzzle, but there were times when he had to remain perfectly still. Like now. Maybe she was an innocent party. Or maybe she was an excellent actress. Right now he couldn’t be sure of anything.

  “No reason. It was just a stray thought.”

  “Oh?” She didn’t look like she believed him.

  “After this morning’s, um, discovery, I wasn’t going to go into this. But, if you really want to continue…”

  “Say what you have to say.”

  Morgan scrubbed a hand across his chin, the stubble rough against his fingers. There were too many coincidences. And he didn’t believe in them. First, the owner of the company dropped dead, then just a few months later, the new CFO—and Morgan’s best friend since first grade—had died under similar circumstances.

  Now a dead baby was found in Jason Adams’ grave. When they’d found the bag in the grave, Sara had seemed genuinely upset. She could have been acting when she’d looked as if she’d seen a ghost, then passed out. But he doubted anyone was that good. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, she’d gone limp, then had begun to slide out of his arms.