When Secrets Die

by Lynn S. Hightower

  “Would you all please not talk about me like I’m not in the room? I’m right here at the table.”

  Mr. French held up a hand. “I’ll tell you exactly what evidence we have. We have the evidence fed to us by Amaryllis Burton. Who told us, Ms. Marsden, that you had had two children who’d died of SIDS, and that you were using your son’s illness to try and get the boy’s father to marry you. She told us that you had confided in her. That you’d told everyone you and Mr. Roubideaux were married to pressure him into actually marrying you.”

  Emma opened her mouth, but Franklin patted her shoulder and told her just to listen.

  “And then the video arrived in our office. Of you in the parking lot. And it seemed—”

  “Don’t go into that,” I said. “We get it. Basically, Amaryllis Burton accused Emma of what she herself was doing. Was Amaryllis involved in the other accusations?”

  French looked at Tundridge.

  “Was she?” I asked.

  “He won’t answer that,” Syd said flatly. “He’s worried about lawsuits.”

  “He’d better worry,” Emma said.

  Janine squeezed her hand.

  I went to the conference room door and opened it. Spoke to the deputy posted right outside. “Can we get some food brought in? Lots of carbohydrates, coffee, and maybe a few tranquilizers?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  They brought us hamburgers and sandwiches from Virgil’s Restaurant, including cardboard cartons of the best little skinny french fries I’d ever eaten. I made sure everyone had food in front of them before I picked up a can of Coke. Dr. Tundridge was opening a bottle of water, but he put it down and looked at Emma Marsden.

  “For what it’s worth, Ms. Marsden, I’m sorry.”

  “Dr. Tundridge, you made four million dollars off my son, and then you accused me of killing him. Drink your water, eat your hamburger, and do not the fuck talk to me again.”

  I had a chicken salad sandwich. I tried to concentrate on that. We were short catsup packets, so I ate my fries without. I was going to strangle McKay next time I saw him.

  We all watched the clock on the wall. The sweep of the second hand was mesmerizing.

  Two hours and five minutes after I turned off the cell phone, it rang. Everyone jumped, and I flipped it open.

  “Joel?”

  “We’ve got the wrong house,” Joel said.

  “What?”

  “It’s the wrong house. Amaryllis Burton owns this house, but evidently she’s rented it out to someone else. She’s not here.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “Some place in Pigeon Forge. Venetian Way. I’ll get back to you when I know something else. Got to go.”

  I looked up at the faces around the table.

  “They’ve got the wrong house,” I said.

  Everybody started talking, but Janine Russell was the loudest.

  “What’s the name of the street they’re on?” she asked me.

  “Venetian Way.”

  “That’s not it. It was Country Place. Country Place Way. Charlie asked me to look it up on MapQuest for him. It was in Sevierville, not Pigeon Forge.”

  Syd Tundridge shook her head. “No, Amaryllis told me her house was in Pigeon Forge.”

  Janine raised her voice. “Charlie told me he was going to Country Place.”

  I held up a hand. “Quiet, for God’s sake. Look, the house Amaryllis Burton owns is in Pigeon Forge, but it’s been rented out. She’s not there. She must be at that Country Place Way.” I looked at Janine. “Do you by any chance—”

  “Let me think, let me think. Yeah, yeah. Twenty-seven twenty.”

  I picked up the phone. Joel didn’t answer.

  Janine stood up. “I’m out of here.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, I do. My husband has been gone all day. Something is really wrong with him, and don’t ask me how I know, I just know. You go on ahead and call the FBI, but I’m going there, and I know the way.”

  “I’m going with you,” Emma said.

  “I’ll go.” Tundridge stood up. “I can reason with Amaryllis. She … respects me.”

  Syd rolled her eyes. “He’s right, though. She’ll listen to him.”

  “Nobody’s going,” I said. But I was wrong. We all went. Even the dogs.

  Amaryllis lived in a subdivision that had the river on one side, and the mountains on the other. Some of the houses had big lots and great views, and the ones on the periphery backed up to farmland. Some of the homes already had Christmas lights. Definitely a local thing.

  There were streetlights, but we were a ways out of the city, and the darkness seemed heavy. At the very end of the subdivision was a small horseshoe of houses with tiny yards and half driveways. Amaryllis Burton’s house was on the far corner. Her turquoise Nova was in the driveway.

  The FBI was on the way, but they were stuck in traffic behind all the RVs. We were supposed to sit tight and stay put. Instead, we’d come up with our own plan.

  While I walked to the front door, Mr. French and Marcus Franklin were heading around to the back of the house. Emma and Janine had flattened themselves up against the side of the house near the street. There were no windows there. Syd stayed at the cars with the dogs—our FBI liaison. Dr. Tundridge walked just a step behind me, as we’d planned.

  The house was a split foyer. There were no bedroom lights on, and the living room light was off, but there was a glow from the back. Probably the kitchen.

  I looked up and down the street. Lots of lights on in most of the houses. People were home from work, having dinner. I could see the bluish flicker and glow of television screens.

  Amaryllis Burton had a flowerpot on her front porch, sprouting dead petunias, but no welcome mat. Tundridge followed me up the five front steps and rang the doorbell. I could hear it echo through the house.

  No one came. I looked around while I waited. There were two garage doors with no windows, and someone had run into the one on the right and left a big dent. There was no sign of Charlie Russell’s silver Nissan. I looked at Tundridge. He took a breath and patted me on the shoulder.

  “We’ll be fine,” he said. The bedside manner.

  The front door opened suddenly. There was no screen door, and Amaryllis Burton stood no more than six inches away. It was so weird to see her, after everything that I’d found out, that I caught my breath. She frowned when she saw us. I was a shock to her too.

  “Dr. Tundridge?”

  “Hello,” I said. “Lena Padget—you remember me, don’t you? The lady detective?”

  “Of course,” she said. She was holding a dish towel down by her side, and she fumbled with the top button of her denim jumper. “What are you doing here?”

  “My dear Amaryllis, the sample you left me was perfect.” Tundridge sounded smooth. He was right. She more than respected him.

  I smiled. “You’ve got what we want, Amaryllis. We’ve come to negotiate.”

  For a minute I thought she was going to block me, but she changed her mind and moved back a little, and Tundridge and I went past her into a tiny foyer that had a staircase that led up to the living room and down toward the garage. I went up. The house seemed strangely quiet. No television. No music.

  “Nice house,” I said. “Oh, I see you’re working in the kitchen. You want to go there, or should we sit in the living room?”

  I flicked the light switch on. That was the signal to everyone outside. Amaryllis Burton was in.

  I sat down on the couch. “Well, Amaryllis. You have what Dr. Tundridge wants.”

  Amaryllis sat down across from me in a recliner. “But why are you here?”

  “Dr. Tundridge has talked to Emma Marsden, and they’ve worked out a deal.”

  Tundridge sat in a rocking chair, facing Amaryllis. “Ms. Marsden has agreed to give me … access to her daughter in exchange for dropping the Munchausen’s accusation.”

  I crossed my legs. “I’m h
ere representing Emma’s interest, Amaryllis. We know you’ve got Blaine here with you. I wanted to go straight to the cops. Dr. Tundridge has convinced me that it would be better for everyone if we don’t involve the police. It looks like we all have something to lose if things get official. You’ll go to jail for kidnapping, Emma will have to deal with Child Protective Services, and Tundridge will get a shitload of bad publicity.”

  Amaryllis Burton blinked. “Dr. Tundridge, you and I have a deal.”

  He smiled at her. “So it was you, then, who sent me the e-mail and the sample?”

  Amaryllis frowned. “I—I think you should both leave now.”

  Dr. Tundridge looked gravely at Amaryllis. “You must know how important my research is. I’m willing to agree to terms, Amaryllis. But it will have to be a one-time thing. One payment, then we all go our separate ways.”

  “I want half of what you got from the pharmaceutical company,” Amaryllis said. The pupils of her eyes looked huge. “Two million dollars.”

  “I don’t have it,” Tundridge said. “I paid off the loans on the clinic. But I did bring one hundred thousand dollars in cash, and I have it with me in my car.”

  Amaryllis stood up suddenly and looked out the window.

  “I’m in the RAV, not the Volvo,” Tundridge said. “The money is in the front seat.”

  “It’s not enough,” Amaryllis said. “It won’t last. You got millions.”

  “That’s for research,” Tundridge told her.

  “Give her your house,” I suggested. Syd had filled me in on the way over, about how much Amaryllis hated her, how much she envied her.

  Tundridge glared at me. “That’s ridiculous.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was acting or annoyed. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous. She’s got a point. You made four million dollars, and I’m not going to let you put my client’s daughter at risk because you’re cheap. Give her the house in Heartland and your car, and make it legal. Put them in her name, and pay them off first—” I glanced over at Amaryllis. “You don’t want any liens. Amaryllis, you get the house in Heartland and the Volvo and the cash.”

  Tundridge winced. “Okay. The house, the cash, and my wife’s car. I’m keeping the Volvo.”

  “She gets the Volvo,” I said.

  “No. I want Syd’s car.” Amaryllis stood up. “Go get the cash and the title. Right now, as good faith.”

  “Then we get Blaine,” I said.

  Amaryllis didn’t answer. I wondered if Blaine was still alive. I did not like the feeling I got in this house.

  “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I jumped up and headed down the hallway, moving fast. I heard the recliner creak and Amaryllis moving behind me. I noted a bathroom off the hallway but kept on going, and behind me, the hall light went on.

  There were three bedrooms. The doors were shut on all except the one on the left, the master. I took it in immediately, the doorknob and plate unscrewed, the door swinging open.

  “Don’t—”

  I turned on the light. The bed was unmade. The window was open, the screen popped out. The bedclothes were tangled. It smelled as if someone had been sick in here. I saw vomit on the floor. And shoes. Two muddy platform shoes.

  Amaryllis faced me from the hallway. “What are you doing?”

  The sound of the front door slamming open made both of us jump. Footsteps beat like drumrolls in the hallway, and the room was suddenly swarming with large men and women bulked out in navy blue flak jackets that had “FBI” stenciled on the back. Amaryllis raised her right hand suddenly. The agent who grabbed her thought she had a gun, but when she dropped the towel, I saw that it was a syringe. It hit the floor and rolled under the bed.

  I heard the sound of garage doors going up, the thundering of more feet on the stairs. Amaryllis had gone very limp, rag-dollish, weirdly smiling.

  I looked up and saw Joel in the doorway.

  “I left you a message,” I said.

  Joel led me out into the hall, but it was crowded with agents. “This way,” he said, pointing. He bent close to my ear, whispering. “You should have seen them all trying to cram through the front door.”

  We heard the ambulance, and two minutes later saw the pulse of light from the window. It was followed by police cars, and the small street began to fill with neighbors. I followed Joel out of the back kitchen door, and around to the front of the house.

  The garage doors were open.

  Charlie Russell’s silver Nissan was parked on the left-hand side, trunk open. Blaine Marsden was on her feet, wrapped in a blanket and enveloped in hugs from Emma and Marcus Franklin. One of them was crying, maybe both.

  The ambulance crew was bringing out a stretcher, and they bypassed Blaine Marsden and headed straight for the open back door of the car.

  Janine, Russell was crying. McKay bent close to her; he looked like he was reassuring her.

  “Janine?” I said.

  She heard me and looked up. “He’s unconscious, but alive.” She brushed tears away and gave me the thumbs-up.

  McKay pointed a finger at me. “Stick around. You and I need to talk.”

  “You can thank me later,” I said, and looked at Joel. “I don’t like his tone.”

  “How about I take you home?” Joel said.

  “Sounds good.”

  “We just need to make one quick stop, if you’re not too tired.”

  “What, are we out of milk?”

  “No. But I saw a jewelry store on the way in that has one-hour sizing. And then I thought we might go celebrate at the Fox and Parrot. McKay can find us there, if he wants to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I watched the court listings for months but never saw any sign of a divorce filing between Syd and Theodore Tundridge. The last time I passed the Tundridge Clinic, they were building a new addition.

  Charlie Russell and Blaine Marsden made full recoveries with the assistance and care of Dr. Theodore Tundridge, who was, after all, an expert on liver toxins. Marcus Franklin moved in with Emma and Blaine in the house in Athens and planned to commute to his job in Frankfort until Blaine graduated from high school. The last time I talked to Emma Marsden, she and Franklin were planning a wedding and trying to talk Great-Aunt Jodina into living with them.

  Judith said yes to Rick, and they flew to Jamaica and got married on the beach. They showed up at our door with their big news and were incensed to learn that we had beaten them to the altar.

  Four days after we got back from Tennessee, just after dark, Joel and I drove into the Kentucky countryside near Versailles to the Pisgah Presbyterian Church on Old Frankfort Pike. Someone had lit candles, and I could see them flickering in the windows when we drove up.

  The minister was young and broad-shouldered, and he had a friend with him—a girlfriend, I thought, from the way they smiled at each other. She was there to witness the ceremony and sign our marriage license. She sat in the front pew, until we invited her up to the pulpit with us. The girlfriend turned the sanctuary lights off so we could have the ceremony by candlelight.

  I wore a white sheath silk wedding dress, elegant and simple, and Joel wore his best suit. We’d stopped at a florist to buy roses just that afternoon, and the girl behind the counter had put together a spur-of-the-moment bouquet.

  The minister had a nice voice, and he was unhurried and clearly pleased to be marrying us. Joel and I said our vows in the flickering candlelight, and in just a few minutes we were man and wife.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to Patricia Patrick for technical advice and medical insight.

  To Jon Brock, for his wonderful stories.

  To Alan, Laurel, Rachel, and Rebecca, for all the usual reasons.

  And last but not least to Robert, for enough reasons to fill another book.

  About the Author

  Lynn Hightower grew up in the South and graduated from the University of Kentucky, where she studied creative writing with Wendell Berry and earned a journalis
m degree. She is the author of ten novels, including two mystery series, one featuring homicide detective Sonora Blair and the other featuring private investigator Lena Padget. Flashpoint, the first Sonora Blair mystery, was a New York Times Notable Book. Satan’s Lambs, the first Lena Padget mystery, won the Shamus Award for Best First PI Novel. Hightower has also written the Elaki series of futuristic police procedurals, which begins with Alien Blues.

  Hightower’s novels, which have been translated into seven foreign languages, have appeared on the Times (London) bestseller list and have been nominated for the Kentucky Literary Award, the Kentucky Librarians First Choice Award, and the Mary Higgins Clark Award. She teaches at the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program, where she was named Creative Writing Instructor of the Year in 2012. The author lives with her husband in Kentucky.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2005 by Lynn Hightower

  Cover design by Andrea Worthington

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-3753-2

  This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  180 Maiden Lane

  New York, NY 10038

  www.openroadmedia.com

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