Killing Secrets

by Dianne Emley

  “So where are you going? How long are you going to be gone?”

  “I can’t tell you where. I’ll be gone a couple of days at the most.” Nan hated telling her daughter one more time not to worry, that they’d get through this and be fine, so she didn’t.

  She sensed that Emily felt the same way, so Em said the words that never grew old and never lost their impact: “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, sweet pea.” Still clutching her daughter’s hands, she brought them to her lips and kissed them. She put Em’s hands back onto her lap and got up. “See you soon.” She quickly turned so Emily wouldn’t see her blinking away tears and she silently prayed that it was true.

  Chapter 47

  Nan drove to Jim Kissick’s house in Altadena, taking backstreets, feeling ill at ease being this close to Pasadena, even though if the PPD had put out a BOLO for her, it would extend across L.A. County and beyond.

  Automatic timers had turned lights on inside his historic craftsman bungalow, which he had spent many happy hours restoring. She drove down a narrow driveway to a detached garage in back. When she passed the back corner of the house, a bright motion light clicked on, illuminating the garage door and shining into the backyard on the other side of a cedar plank fence. It wasn’t unusual for coyotes, raccoons, and other wildlife to trip the motion light. Jim had it positioned so it wouldn’t shine into the windows of his neighbors, the Winters. Nan proceeded quietly, not wanting to wake them. They watched over Jim’s home and garden whenever he was gone. They knew Nan, but it was best if no one saw her there. It would be especially difficult to explain why she was wearing a blond wig with a hoodie pulled over it.

  Nan parked the Acura in the driveway turnaround. She grabbed the black quilted coat she’d borrowed from Kaitlyn and a flashlight and got out of the car. The motion light was attached to the side of the house near the back door, above her reach. She swung the coat, reaching as high as she could, and managed to hook it over the light. After a few seconds, it shut off.

  Using the keys to Jim’s house that she kept on her key ring, she unlocked and opened his back door. The pre-alarm sounded a high-pitched warning. She punched in his code at the alarm keypad on a wall beside the door to the basement. She stood in the kitchen, lit only by moonlight that shone through the windows, and looked at the neighbors’ bedroom windows. They were still dark. She exhaled with relief.

  She walked from the kitchen into the dining room and then the living room with its river-rock fireplace, not lingering, wanting to hurry and get on the road, but also not wanting to leave any room for sorrow to leach in. She and Jim had enjoyed many happy times in this house. Every room brought memories, but the dining room was her favorite spot. There they’d shared intimate dinners for two, talking into the night, sometimes seriously but often not, at his Shaker walnut table and chairs. It had also been the center of gatherings of family and friends, who had spilled throughout the house and into the backyard. Passing the inviting couches in front of the fireplace, she felt a pang as she wondered if they’d ever nestle together there again in front of a fire, finishing the last of their wine. She wondered if she’d ever be in a place of safety, when she was running away from danger instead of headlong into it. She would sometime—she and Jim had talked about when they’d retire—but that wasn’t happening anytime soon and certainly not now. She pushed away the memories and kept moving.

  She kept some clothes in a guest-room closet and toiletries in the guest bathroom. She grabbed a tote bag of hers and started packing for a road trip. Thinking through possible scenarios of how she’d be living over the next few days, she packed a bath towel, a washcloth, and a new bar of soap.

  In the third bedroom, which Jim used as an office, she pulled a hard copy of Lonesome Dove, one of his favorite novels, from a bookshelf and removed the two hundred dollars in cash in twenty-dollar bills that he’d hidden inside it. He also kept about a hundred dollars in an envelope in the back of a desk drawer that they sometimes dipped into to pay for last-minute pizza or Chinese food delivery.

  His gun safe was in his office. She unlocked it and took a shotgun, two boxes of shells, a semiautomatic pistol, and boxes of cartridges that would also fit her Glock. She and Jim knew everything about each other’s homes and lives. She didn’t feel badly about taking his things. He would want her to. That was their understanding. They were a safe haven for each other—anytime and under any circumstances. She needed to contact him, but not now.

  She took other supplies: a sleeping bag, a pillow, a blanket, and a Garmin GPS. She carried everything into the kitchen, making several trips. In a drawer beneath a counter, she found spare sets of keys for his cars and his garage clicker. She held her breath as she pressed the clicker to open the garage door. Shortly after Jim had bought the house, he’d torn down the tiny single-car garage that had been falling apart from termite damage and dry rot and had built a two-car garage in the same craftsman style as his house. He’d installed a wooden door to maintain authenticity in the restoration of his historic home. The garage door swung up in a single piece and didn’t make a huge noise, but the Winters would immediately recognize it and be alarmed, knowing that Jim was on the East Coast.

  She’d grabbed the keys to Jim’s forest-green, 1992 Chevy Bronco. The other car in the garage was a white Ford F-150 four-door long-bed pickup truck—his cowboy truck. The Bronco was less showy and she could more comfortably sleep in it if she had to. Jim had bought the Bronco new, loved it, and maintained it to perfection. He’d named it Jolene.

  Nan hadn’t intended to drive the borrowed Acura farther than Jim’s house, her first stop. In spite of Wes and Kaitlyn’s vow to keep silent about Nan’s activities, Nan suspected that Kaitlyn would cave in if the authorities came knocking. Just like in the old joke, all they’d have to do was threaten to take her credit cards.

  Moving quickly, Nan loaded her supplies from Jim’s house into the back of the Bronco and added her things from the Acura. She put the insulated bag Kaitlyn had packed with food, drinks, and blue ice onto the front passenger seat. After securing Jim’s house, she backed the Bronco into the driveway and moved the Acura into the garage. She ran to get her coat from where it was covering the motion light, having to jump high to flip it off. Back inside the Bronco, she closed the garage door and backed the Bronco down the driveway.

  She cruised down the quiet street, not wanting to attract attention, and headed for the closest freeway on-ramp. It would take her over eight hours to drive to Sparks, Nevada.

  Chapter 48

  Nan ate one of the excellent sandwiches Kaitlyn had made and drank a Dr Pepper as she drove north on I-5. She’d seen a supply of Dr Pepper in Kaitlyn’s pantry, just like Nan used to keep when she and Wes had been married. Dr Pepper had been Wes’s favorite since high school. The sugary, caffeinated soda had perked Nan up, but she was dangerously exhausted. She wanted to drive farther before she rested.

  There was a route she could have taken that led through the mountains but it was treacherous and left little opportunity for escape if she were spotted, so she decided to stick with the interstate. She didn’t think she’d been followed but she couldn’t be sure. She passed Six Flags Magic Mountain, traveling with steady traffic through the Santa Clarita Valley, but when she hit the Tejon Pass and started heading up into the Tehachapi Mountains, cars dropped away and she was traveling with big rigs and other long-distance travelers trying to stay alert on the stretch of highway that traversed the spine of California. As the elevation in the pass rose, she hit fog that grew heavier the higher up she went. The fog unnerved her. Traffic slowed and cars and big rigs came up on her, seemingly out of nowhere.

  She became convinced that she was being followed. She pulled behind a big rig that was slowly making its way up the steep grade. Before long, the driver in the car behind her made an abrupt and angry lane change, passing her and disappearing into the mist.

  After she reached the summit, the highway steeply descended, the fog
mercifully lifted, and she entered the flat agricultural expanse of the San Joaquin Valley. She got off the freeway at a traveler’s roadside oasis of gas stations and convenience restaurants. The Bronco was running on fumes. Before pulling into a gas station bay, she put on a wide-brimmed sun hat over the sweatshirt hood and blond wig she’d worn while driving and added Kaitlyn’s big sunglasses.

  Inside the gas station store, she gave the cashier what she estimated was enough cash to fill the tank, keeping her chin down to hide her face from the surveillance cameras. On a display rack were disposable cell phones and prepaid phone cards. She grabbed two phones and two phone cards, tossed them onto the counter, and paid for them in cash.

  While washing her hands in the women’s room, she looked at herself in her disguise. In spite of Kaitlyn’s and Emily’s opinions that she looked hot as a blonde, she chuckled at her reflection, thinking she looked ridiculous and suspicious. Nobody she’d encountered at the gas station had given her a second glance. Maybe they were accustomed to seeing women on the lam passing through in the wee hours of the morning, or maybe she didn’t look as silly as she thought.

  She pumped the gas. Back inside the car, she turned on the Garmin and was happy when it quickly connected to a satellite. She could use the search function to find a place to sleep. It was too risky for her to stay at a motel. She might be able to avoid showing a photo ID but maybe not. Sleeping in the Bronco in a mall parking lot or along the side of a road wasn’t a great idea either. Patrolling police and security guards could demand ID, run it, and find the BOLO that she was pretty sure had been issued for her. A campground or RV park was the best option and they’d have bathrooms and showers. From the options the Garmin found, she headed for one on the outskirts of Coalinga that appeared to be a family-owned place. She reached it in less than an hour and found an empty concrete pad between two large RVs where she parked the Bronco. The office was dark. She’d pay after she had an hour or two of sleep and claim her purse had been stolen if they asked for ID.

  She set up the cell phone she’d bought, her burner phone, and used it to call the service provider, giving them the code on one of her prepaid phone cards to buy voice minutes and texting. She gave the customer service rep a fake name and email address.

  Once her phone was live, she texted Jim: Hi. Cherry cheesecake is good.

  They’d never set up a code word, but “cherry cheesecake” had become a standing joke between them ever since he’d made one some time ago and she’d gone nearly orgasmic over it. He’d know she was telegraphing that she was okay. She trusted Jim with her life, but she didn’t want to involve him in what she was doing, putting him in the position of having to either rat her out or lie.

  She texted Wes that she was fine and that she’d be in touch later.

  She called her home phone and entered the code to access her messages. There was a message from Sergeant Early: “Nan, come into the station and do what you need to do to straighten this mess out. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing. You took what should have been a simple inquiry, Ashton’s murder, and made it much worse for you. There’s a BOLO out for you that you’re wanted for questioning. Call me and let’s talk this over.”

  Now Nan had confirmation about the BOLO. She deleted Early’s message. She trusted Early, but she didn’t trust the guy who was pulling the strings. Above all, she needed to make sure that Emily was safe, and she couldn’t do that if she was sitting in an interview room or maybe even a cell.

  She shut off the phone’s power. She’d throw it away later and activate the second phone she’d bought.

  She folded down the Bronco’s rear seat, moved the guns and bags to one side, and spread out the sleeping bag. There wasn’t enough room for her to stretch out all the way. She stripped, glad to take off the clothes she’d been wearing for ages, and put on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms from her tote bag. She climbed into the sleeping bag, plumped the pillow, and put her Glock under it. She was asleep nearly the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Not long after, her eyes shot open. Her heart began pounding and she struggled to breathe. She had an overpowering feeling of dread that Emily was in danger.

  Chapter 49

  Emily had been sleeping fitfully in her bedroom on the second floor of her dad and Kaitlyn’s house. Horrible, bloody images flooded her mind. Some she’d witnessed—Mrs. Keller and Jared. And some she only imagined—Ashton lying in an alley with a bullet in his head and her mom hurt or dying who knows where. She’d left the TV on in her room with the volume low and tuned to the classic movie channel. Her mom loved to watch old movies, especially when she was having a hard time sleeping. Em’s eyes fluttered open and she caught scenes from a black-and-white movie that was on. A man and a woman in elegant 1930s evening attire were in a fancy sitting room, pacing like caged cats as they had an intense argument. The man lunged at the woman. She somehow got a pistol and reflexively fired, shooting him several times while he backed away and finally crumpled onto a divan.

  Emily cringed and ducked beneath a fluffy comforter up to her eyes, feeling sick and disgusted and wondering if life ever changed. She felt short of breath. She stuck her hand with the remote out from under the comforter far enough to click off the TV and wished she had the e-book she’d been reading. It occurred to her that her iPad was still in a side door pocket of her car. Her mom had made her turn it off along with her smartphone, but in the crazy running around after they’d fled Pasadena, her dad had taken her phone and her iPad had been forgotten. She wouldn’t dare get on Facebook or Twitter or text or email but she thought it would be okay if she put the tablet on airplane mode and opened the e-book.

  She was in the middle of Dune by Frank Herbert. She was not a science fiction fan but Ashton had been rabid about it and had amassed a cherished collection of sci-fi hardcovers and paperbacks. He had been astonished that Em didn’t read sci-fi and had dismissed her protests that she’d read all the Harry Potter books, that they were fantasy. Ashton had said that Dune was a sci-fi classic and an excellent place for her to start. He’d been annoyed that she wasn’t finding it compelling but she was dutifully reading it. Now she thought she might feel Ashton in the words of this book he’d loved. She sought comfort anywhere.

  She got out of bed and slid her feet into fuzzy slippers. Woofster raised his head from his bed, which little brother Kyle had insisted should stay in Em’s room while she was staying there. The dog sleepily blinked.

  “Sorry, puppy,” Em said. “At least one of us can sleep.”

  The dog yawned, got to his feet, and stretched with his paws out in front and his rear end in the air.

  Going into the en suite bathroom, Emily grabbed a robe that had a leopard print in black and lime-green from a hook on the back of the door. Tightening the robe’s sash, she opened the door to her room and looked both ways down the hallway. All the bedrooms were on the second floor. She’d scored one of the corner rooms. On the left were a couple of guest rooms followed by Kaitlyn’s craft room in one of the other corners. To the right, near the staircase, were the adjoining bedrooms of her two half brothers with a bathroom between them. Her father and stepmother’s suite was behind double doors at the end of the hall.

  The house was silent. Emily and Woofster padded down the curved wooden staircase carpeted with a runner in shades of red and gold. She crossed the high-ceilinged foyer and entered the great room, which led to the open kitchen. Off the kitchen was the butler’s pantry, where she found her car key in a dimpled copper catchall tray on a counter. She passed the door to the dining room and continued down the hallway that ended at the door to the garage. She punched in the security code to turn off the house alarm and went into the garage, holding the door open for the dog. She walked past cars until she reached her BMW. She unlocked it and sat in the driver’s seat. Woofster put both front feet on the car door jam and wagged his tail, thinking they were going for a ride.

  Sitting in her car brought tears to her eyes. Only a few days
ago she and Ashton had gone to the Arroyo, where they’d kissed under a full moon. She thought of how sincere he’d seemed, he’d been, when she’d met him at the coffeehouse and he’d begged her to forgive him for being so dumb when he didn’t call 911 and her mom as soon as she’d passed out. He’d told her that he loved her and she’d said that she forgave him and she loved him too. Then that scary Nacy Dena had shown up and now Ashton was dead.

  She started crying. She wondered if she’d ever stop crying. She hated her life. She hated how these awful things kept happening to her and her mom. She knew it wasn’t her mom’s fault and that her mom was only trying to do the right thing. Still, she was mad at her mom for taking off and leaving her here, and she was really scared for her mother.

  Emily reached across the passenger seat and grabbed her iPad from the door pocket. Suddenly, she felt light-headed and out of breath. Her heart began racing and she started to perspire while at the same time she felt ice-cold. She became consumed with the feeling that she was about to die. A tiny, rational voice in the back of her mind reached her through the chaos and said: You’re having a panic attack. She’d never had one before but she’d witnessed many that her mom had suffered. She wheezed for air and saw spots in front of her eyes. Blackness crept in. She was vaguely aware of Woofster’s front paws on her thigh through the open car door.

  The dog licked her hand while she sat frozen, struggling to breathe. Clutching her iPad on her lap in her right hand, she unsteadily reached out her left and grabbed a handful of Woofster’s fur on the back of his neck, comforted that the dog was there. Woofster raised himself up farther and began licking the side of her face. She kept her hand hooked around his sturdy neck. At last, her vision cleared and her ragged breath began evening out. She sensed the oxygen flowing into her lungs and entering her bloodstream, but there wasn’t enough of it inside the garage. The air felt heavy and close, like a smothering blanket. She needed fresh air.