Dead Girls Don't Keep Secrets

by Ames B Winterbourne

  “You really do love him,” I state. I don’t know much about their relationship, but Ryder seemed to really hate his father after finding out he cheated on his mom. I wonder if he’s always hated the sheriff, or if it’s just a recent thing. I don’t think the hate runs both ways. The sheriff truly loves his son, even though he isn’t his own. He wants to be with Ryder, and he’s a tad bit antsy. He may be stonefaced, but his hands are shaking.

  “He’s my son,” the sheriff says, like it’s obvious any parent would worry about their child unconditionally. Until hours ago, I thought the same thing, but now I know a doting father murdered his daughter in cold blood. “I may not be his biological father, but I raised him. He’s my child. I didn’t have to be his father. I wanted to be.”

  And that’s that. There’s no argument or anything else to say. He’s definitely not what I expected. From everything I’ve seen over the last few days, the sheriff has been distant with his son. He’s strict and hotheaded, but even when he spoke of Ryder while interrogating me, there was a loving tone in his voice that couldn’t be mistaken.

  When we get to the station, the sheriff takes me into the interrogation room and begins his questioning. Unlike last time, he’s a little nicer as he listens to what went down.

  During this questioning, Dad shows up. He demands to know where I am, and I hear his hollering all the way into the interrogation room. The sheriff doesn’t even argue when he lets my dad barge into the room, just as I’ve finished telling him about how I shot the mayor.

  Dad’s franticly crying. He mutters, “You idiot child” over and over again as he holds me in his vice grip and kisses the top of my head repeatedly.

  He even thanks the sheriff, but refuses to let me continue talking to him. Thankfully, the sheriff’s all too understanding. I think it might have to do with the fact that he fidgeted throughout my questioning and is eager to leave. From what I gather, it’s unlikely Ryder’s mom is at the hospital, so it’s understandable why he’d want to be there. I wonder what Ryder would think of that.

  Dad won’t let me stay long enough to see if there’s any news about Ryder and his condition. The last time I saw him, he had just finished kissing me—thoroughly, might I add—and when I pulled away, his face was drained of color, his skin gray. Then, he collapsed, and I screamed until a paramedic came in and pushed me aside to tend to him.

  The car ride home with Dad is quieter than the one with the sheriff, but I’m more on edge. My dad’s rarely ever silent, so I know I’m either in deep trouble, or he’s totally freaking out on the inside. When we get home, we sit at the kitchen table and he makes me a nice hot cup of coffee. It’s nearly six in the morning.

  “So, you want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?” Dad eyes narrow at me.

  I don’t tell him I’m still a little woozy from the drugs Jessica stabbed me with, or that I have a head injury. At the scene, I tried to downplay the dried blood that knotted my hair as someone else’s. I was too consumed with worry for Ryder that I didn’t even tell anyone I had been drugged or smashed in the head multiple times, though I have a feeling they knew. The mirror in the interrogation room showed me that my eyes were super dilated and large bruises and cuts were sprinkled all over my face. The only reason I’m able to function at this moment is solely due to adrenaline.

  “Do you know how dangerous that was?” Dad yells. “You could have died!”

  I’m mesmerized with the contents of my coffee mug. It’s the one I painted for Dad when I was little. Scribbled across it is my four-year-old attempt at writing Best Dad Ever, but the Be looks more like an eight and the E more like a squiggly three.

  “I know how dangerous it was,” I reply. “But I had to know. I couldn’t trust anyone. It was all on me.”

  “All on you? All on you?” A vein in his forehead pulses.

  Even though he has every right to be mad at me, I feel just as mad at him. All the lies he’s fed me over time are at the forefront of my mind.

  “Yes, it was all on me. I needed to find out the truth about Mom, and I’m glad I found out. She didn’t kill herself. You were right all along. You may have gotten your closure at some point, Dad, but Mom’s death has haunted me for years. I was the one who found her body first. I was just a little kid, but those images will torment me until I’m old and gray and on my deathbed. I needed to know everything, and what I found out was that my father, the man I trusted and who raised me to always search for the truth, lied to me about everything. Mom was a prostitute, and she had many lovers over the years. Ryder’s mom was her best friend, and Mom dumped her after the woman was raped because she thought she was dating the sheriff behind her back. Mom wasn’t the perfect housewife you’ve always made her out to be. She was troubled and desperate … at least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself over and over again, so the very idea that she enjoyed that kind of stuff doesn’t pop into my head at all. But what I really want to know, Dad, is your side of the story. Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me about Mom? I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  Dad takes a moment before he hangs his head in shame and lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t need to know everything, Lake.”

  That sets me off. “I need to know. I don’t think I can just go back to being an oblivious teenager, whose only focus is school. I need this, and I think you need this, too. So, tell me, Dad, what happened? Why did any of this happen?”

  He sniffs, and turns away for a moment before he looks over at me. Then, he gazes right into my eyes. “Your mom was a good person. She was a caring mother and a loving wife, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have her faults.

  “Before we met, she had lived a bit of a crazy life. Though we grew up in the same town, we’d never really interacted with each other before. She was the prom queen, dating the football linebacker, and I was a bookworm who ran the school newspaper. To be honest, I never even looked at her as anything out of the ordinary.” He chuckles, reminiscing. “When we started college, she and I were in the same psychology class. She was different than the perfect girl in high school. She was wild, didn’t seem to have a care in the world. To be honest, I loathed her … at least, until I came across her and a fraternity member fighting. Not fighting, but struggling. He said something along the lines of, ‘I paid for your time. Don’t back out on me now, slut.’ I could have just walked away, but she looked petrified, so I went after the guy. He wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be and went down with one punch. I took her back to my place and helped her clean up. She was quiet for some time, but then admitted she was scared for her life until I showed up.”

  He gazes at his own coffee mug and intakes a sharp breath before continuing. “She told me her parents cut her off when they found out how wild she was. She told me she’d been selling herself to pay rent. Right then and there, I knew I couldn’t let her do it anymore, so I offered her my spare room and helped her get a job at the bookstore I worked at. At first, she refused to let me help her, but after I talked some sense into her, she decided to take it.

  “It was about a year later, our junior year, when we started dating, and a year after that your brother was born. We got married right out of college. Her ex-boyfriend, the sheriff, wasn’t too pleased that the girl he once loved was dating a geek like me, even though I was more successful.” Dad pauses for a moment and gives me a small smile.

  “When you were about nine, we were having money problems. This is all before your father became a big-time author. I told her we’d be fine, but she didn’t listen. I had to go away a few times, scoring a freelance job as a travel writer, and whenever I came home, she looked miserable. We fought a lot, and I knew something was definitely wrong when she started to lose weight. At first, I thought she was sick. Her best friend from high school, the sheriff’s wife, had reentered her life, and they were spending a great deal of time together. I thought nothing of it. Then, I came home one
day to find her in bed with another man, my best friend at that.”

  I feel like I’ve just been socked in the stomach. The realization that this actually happened, that my mother broke Dad’s heart makes me want to throw up.

  “I threw him out and threatened divorce, but she begged me not to for our children. She said she had been doing it for us, for money. I made her promise never to do it again, but I’d been going out of town more and more, and I knew she was even more worried about our family and me. I knew she’d end up prostituting herself out again.”

  I close my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. When I open them, Dad’s takes in a deep shaky breath before he continues.

  “I came home from a trip after I found out my book was going to be made into a movie, only to find condoms in her bag. I knew what she had been doing. We fought, and I threatened divorce again. But she told me she had a plan to get us money. She knew something she shouldn’t know, and she was going to extort the person. She thought if she did that, we wouldn’t ever have to worry about money again. I tried to talk to her about it, to tell her we didn’t need to worry, but she was determined. I told her she was crazy and that she shouldn’t get involved with blackmail. We fought, and I left that night on another trip, dragging my assistant with me this time. After about a week, I got the call from your brother …” Dad’s eyes glisten with tears of guilt. “I never thought she’d kill herself … I never thought I wouldn’t see her smile again. I didn’t believe it, and I knew someone had to kill her, but I just didn’t know who. It was all my fault, and I became a shell of who I was for months. The sheriff ruled it as a suicide, and when I told him it couldn’t be, he accused me of killing her then. I argued, but he ruled it as a suicide anyway.” He’s full-out sobbing now and I want to run to him, hold him, but when I start to move, he holds his hand up to stop me. “I forced myself to believe for years that it was suicide, even though I didn’t believe it. It depressed me, made me feel hopeless and at fault. And now … now that I know everything, it feels worse. For years I blamed myself, and I still do, especially since I left and didn’t stop her.”

  “Dad,” I say. He wails louder. All I want to do is hug him and tell him everything’s going to be all right. I ignore his hand to hold me back and get up anyway.

  I hold my father as he cries on my shoulder, his tears soaking my already blood-soaked shirt. “You didn’t kill Mom.” My own tears flow out of me. “You loved her. You did everything for her. It’s not your fault.” I have to make him see. Dad’s the type of person who doesn’t mind taking all the blame for other people’s problems. He wants to protect those he loves the most. I have to make him understand he did everything he could. I understand now why he thought keeping it from me was protecting me. “It’s the mayor’s fault. He’s the one who killed her. He was the one she was planning on blackmailing. He raped Ryder’s mom, and Ryder is his son. He killed his own daughter.”

  Even though I tell him the truth, Dad only cries harder. He takes his glasses off and throws them onto the table as he presses his palms to his eyes. He looks older, frail, and consumed with despair. “Dad,” I whisper softly. “It’s not your fault.”

  He raises his head to where his eyes meet mine and clenches his jaw. “I lost your mother, I can’t lose you, too. And you … you went and did such a stupid thing, and I don’t know whether to be mad at you or just thankful you’re okay.”

  I feel like a terrible person. Though I know what I did was important, that it makes a difference, in turn, I’ve hurt the most important person in my life. “I’m sorry, Dad, but if it weren’t for me, the mayor would have gotten away with it all. I couldn’t let him do that.”

  His breath shakes, but his eyes are dry. He presses his hand to my cheek and kisses my forehead. Dad’s my rock, and I’m his. He pulls away from me, trembling, and stands from the table. “You’re grounded.” He doesn’t sound mad anymore, but he’s dead serious.

  “Okay,” I say. I’ll take whatever punishment he doles out.

  “Until graduation.”

  “No arguments here.”

  “And I don’t want you seeing Ryder Frost again.”

  I flinch and shake my head. Maybe days ago, I would have continued to nod and agreed with whatever punishment he handed me, but I can’t promise him that. Not after everything that’s happened. “No, I can’t do that.”

  “And why not?” He sounds miffed. “He was the reason for all of this.”

  “He’s also the reason I’m alive right now. He saved my life. And … he’s my friend.” I don’t know what exactly to call our relationship, but I know it goes beyond friendship.

  “Friend? Are you sure that’s all he is to you?”

  I close my eyes and envision Ryder’s face as he fell to the ground after the gunshot. “He’s more than a friend.” I expect the words to sound foreign, like it’s all just a dream, but my voice is firm, and the meaning behind it true.

  “I was worried you’d say that.” He heaves in a breath in defeat. “Even if you’re a couple, there won’t be any real dates. You’re still grounded.” Though it’s a relief Dad’s giving in, I’m shocked.

  Then, what he says truly registers. I take a seat and twine my fingers together, placing them in front of me. “There’s something I have to tell you,” I say in all seriousness. “The condition he gave me to help me find the killer was to go on a date with him. But it’s only a single date.” I try to soften the blow.

  “Little bastard,” Dad mutters. He curls his lip, as though doing so will change what has to be done. Before I know it, his lips form a half smile. “You should be glad I love you.” He rolls his eyes. “One single date … but on my terms.”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Does my grounding start this minute … or is it possible I can go to the hospital to see how Ryder is doing? Before you say no, he did get shot protecting me.”

  Dad gives me the stink eye for a moment before he says, “Fine, your grounding starts tomorrow.” He looks down at his watch. “Visiting hours start at seven. But I want you to rest for a bit. Maybe go in the afternoon. Or never.”

  “Dad,” I playfully admonish. I stand up from my spot and my vision blurs. All the adrenaline that’s made me seem fine is finally leaving my body. I fall back into my chair. “Can I take a nap or something?” My mind spins. “I didn’t mention it, but the mayor and Jessica drugged me, probably broke a few ribs, and hit me over the head like a bajillion times. I most likely have a concussion. To be completely honest, I’m kind of shocked I haven’t blacked out by now.”

  “What!” His eyes bulge as he hollers.

  “Just like slightly drugged and concussed.” I attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Slightly drugged and concussed?” He isn’t buying it.

  “Well, the drugs kind of wore off right before the mayor tried to rape me, but—”

  “I’ll kill him—” he shouts, flaring his nostrils.

  I hold up my now-shaking hands. “Before you get yourself in the cell next to that bastard, I want you to remember that Ryder saved me.” I attempt once again to make Ryder out to be the good guy.

  “We’re going to the hospital.”

  “To see Ryder?” I’m actually hopeful. The drugs may still in my system, or maybe I’m delusional. My head begins to pound.

  “To get you medical attention.” He says it like it’s obvious.

  “Oh.” Well, there goes my nap.

  Chapter 20

  I’m admitted to the hospital for exhaustion, dehydration, lacerations to my face, wrists, and legs (which the paramedics wrapped up, but blood’s been seeping through the bandages), broken ribs, and a concussion. I’m not allowed to see Ryder since he’s in surgery. During this time, Dad tells me my aunt’s been arrested for human trafficking. Let’s just say, I’m pleased to hear it, though grandparents aren’t so happy, and neither is Dad.
When my grandparents heard about it, they bought two one-way tickets from Miami to California to save their bed and breakfast … because they care more about that than their own sleazy daughter. I don’t feel guilty about it at all, really.

  After a week of recuperating in the hospital, the doctors finally release me and tell me I can see Ryder. I’m excused from school for two weeks to recuperate. Though I’d normally be eager to get back to learning, I’m okay with staying out of the public eye. From what Dad says, unlike the little media attention that surrounded Felicia’s death, even CNN is all over this serial murder case thing.

  My nerves are getting the best of me as I approach Ryder’s room. Before I walk in, I hear the sheriff’s voice from doorway.

  “You are still in big trouble.” He doesn’t sound mad, even though I assume it’s how he intends to sound.

  “I know,” Ryder says. I imagine him hanging his head in mock shame.

  “Your mother is a mess. She’s been worried sick about you. She says she’s coming tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” Ryder’s voice takes a soft tone, something I’ve never heard him have around his father.

  The sheriff’s quiet for a moment before he says, “You know, even though you aren’t biologically mine, you’ve always been my son. I remember the day we brought you home from the hospital.”

  “Geez, not that story again.” Ryder laughs, and so does the sheriff.

  “You were so tiny and quiet … that was, until I went to change you. Your aim was perfect. That pee hit me right in the eye, and you burst into tears while I was cursing. Your mother couldn’t stop laughing and said, ‘He surely is your boy, he has great aim.’ That’s when I knew that, even though you weren’t mine biologically, you were my son.”

  “It’s all about pee with you.” Ryder snorts.

  The sheriff just chuckles. Once the humor trails off, Ryder clears his throat.

  “You know, for the last two months, I’ve resented you.” Ryder sighs. “You were so busy all the time. I knew you were screwing around on Mom, but I couldn’t bear to tell her, so I just felt angry all the time.”