No Safe Secret

by Fern Michaels

  “I only wish you’d died that night. I’ve prayed for it all these years. And something else, you nasty piece of work. I am glad that our mother is dead. I hated her, almost as much as I hate you. I ought to do the world a favor and put you out of your misery this very second!” Rage burned deep in her gut, and she wanted to hurt this worthless piece of humanity—no, that was too good a word for him, this worthless piece of whale crap.

  “You came back thinkin’ you’re gonna get my disability check! Ain’t no way, whore. It’s deposited directly in my account every single month.” He smiled at her as though he had just offered her Donald Trump’s wealth.

  “Disability? You think that’s why I came back to this godforsaken hole? You’re out of your mind. Apparently, you’re not getting enough of that oxygen to your brain, but wait, do you actually have a brain?”

  She pulsed with an anger so deep, it shocked her. Words she’d never thought she knew came out of her mouth. “Did you ever learn to read anything besides Hustler? Oh wait, you didn’t need to read Hustler, you just looked at the pictures!” She couldn’t hold back any longer. She leaned forward and spat in his face, then kicked the wheelchair so hard it rolled across to the opposite side of the porch. But she wasn’t finished. Not caring that she’d have to touch his filthy skin, she gripped Ace in her left hand as tight as she could; then, with her right hand, she swung as hard as she could, her fist landing on his filthy mouth.

  “Get off my property before I call the cops. They hear you’re in town, they’ll be coming after you like flies on shit, sissy!”

  She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. “Call them now! Go on, do it! I want you to call them. Tell them what your damned sick friends did to me on prom night! CALL THEM NOW!”

  “Get outta here, you whore!”

  “Is that all you can do is call me a whore? You must have me mistaken for our mother! She was the whore! Or don’t you remember? You sicken me. When I leave here, I am calling the police! I’m going to report the crime that I should have reported twenty-one years ago!” She turned to leave but decided she wasn’t finished yet.

  She walked the few steps to where he sat. She reached inside his filthy shirt pocket, took his cigarettes and lighter out, and smashed them in his face. “I hope you die and go to hell, and choke on our mother’s ashes, which I am sure are still smoldering in the pits of hell!”

  She looked at the rage on his face and slapped him as hard as she could. “That’s for ruining my life!”

  He screamed at her then, but she ran down the ramp and to her car so fast, she had no memory when she looked up and saw she’d arrived at the church. Her hands shook so badly, she wished for a drink to calm them. Ace was in his bed, sleeping, and she had no memory of placing him there, either.

  The church. Her second-to-last stop before she left.

  Pastor Royer.

  According to the sign out front, the one that announced the times for Sunday service, he was still the pastor.

  Good, she thought, as she kicked open the Mustang’s door. She grabbed Ace and headed for the entrance. If the present was anything like the past, and she felt sure that it was, the good pastor would be in his office planning this Sunday’s sermon.

  She practically ran down the sidewalk leading to the church entrance. Father Wink would not approve of the thoughts she was having. She’d have to say so many Hail Marys, she would die before she finished. Never in her thirty-eight years had she felt such rage, even when Tanner hit her. She’d been afraid of him but hadn’t felt rage, only hatred and resignation.

  She had been afraid her entire life. Today she was putting those fears to rest, burying them, and she made a promise to herself: she would never allow another human being to mistreat her again.

  “Can I help you?” a female voice called out from behind the piano.

  “No, Bobbie Lou, you can’t. What you can do is find Pastor Royer for me.”

  “Why, he’s busy plannin’ the Sunday sermon and can’t be disturbed. Who are you, anyway? And how do you know my name?”

  Molly felt the woman stare at her from behind the piano. The woman could see her, but Molly couldn’t see the woman, though she recognized Bobbie Lou’s nasally voice. She wanted to holler and cuss but had enough respect not to do so in a church.

  “Go. Get. Pastor. Royer. Now. Do. Not. Say. Another. Word. GO!” she screamed, putting emphasis on her last word. Bobbie Lou saw her and raced down the aisle. She would’ve laughed had the situation not been so revolting.

  Seconds later, Pastor Royer, with a shaking Bobbie Lou cowering behind him, walked down the long aisle.

  “You have scared my pianist, young lady. I’m asking you to leave peacefully. If not, I will have to call the authorities.” He sounded just like he used to. His high-pitched voice sounded like that of a female. She remembered the Sundays when she would help clean up and replace the hymnals, and a few times she would hear some of the well-known church ladies making fun of his voice. One had said she suspected he was homosexual. Well, she thought, they could put that thought to rest because she was here in the flesh, and somehow, she just knew she wasn’t created by immaculate conception. More like no contraception.

  “Call them,” she said in a voice so commanding she surprised herself. “And when you do, I want you to explain to them why the pastor of their church, the only church in Blossom City, is a phony and a pervert. Tell them all about your private life, Pastor.”

  He looked at Bobbie Lou, his beady little eyes reminding her of a rat’s. “Bobbie Lou, give us a moment.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Molly spoke. “Pastor, I have a question—”

  “May the blessings of—”

  “Shut up! I neither want nor need your blessing. Especially not your blessing. You have already given me more than enough.

  “Now, I said I have a question, and I want an answer when I am through speaking. I don’t want to hear a word out of that hypocritical mouth of yours until I finish what I came here to say.”

  His mouth opened, and Molly walked toward him, her right hand raised. “Don’t speak until I tell you to!”

  His mouth moved up and down like a puppet’s, minus the voice.

  She sat down in one of the pews because her legs were shaking. “Pastor, please.” She waved her hand in front of her. He stared at her, but did nothing. “Sit!”

  He dropped to the pew so fast, he stirred up a small breeze, causing a page in the hymnal to flutter. Coward, she thought.

  She didn’t say anything, but waited. She wanted him to feel the fear, to second-guess what was about to happen to him. Molly took a deep breath, and for show, she ran her hands up and down Ace’s spine.

  “Meow.”

  “Good kitty,” she said, in a voice that was worthy of a starring role in a horror flick.

  “I suppose you’re wondering who I am and why I’m here,” she said in her horror-movie voice.

  He shook his head up and down but didn’t say anything. Good.

  “Remember that little girl, Maddy Carmichael?” She watched for his reaction. His face turned as white as the wafers Father Wink offered up at Mass.

  He nodded.

  “She used to clean up after church services. Do you remember that?”

  He nodded again.

  “And you paid her twenty dollars. She tried to refuse, but you always insisted it would be stupid of her to refuse.”

  She didn’t speak for a few minutes. She watched him, never took her eyes from his. He turned away.

  “Now listen to me. You’re a deadbeat dad. You married my mother, who just so happened to be a whore”—she held her hand up to prevent him from interrupting—“and you married her. When she gave birth to twins, you divorced her, deciding you’d devote your life to a higher calling. Well, Daddy, I’m that higher calling, and I have a proposition for you. Actually, it’s more of a demand, but either way, you have no choice. Just like I had no choice when I had to work three jobs, study, and hope f
or a better life, only to have all of my hopes and dreams destroyed by your son. My brother. My twin brother. The boy with the golden eyes.

  “Mother loved him, never me, but the past is prologue. Now, to the future. You are going to resign as pastor of this church, effective immediately—”

  “I can’t do that—”

  Molly pointed her finger at him. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking. You can and you will. I am not leaving this church until you’ve written a detailed account of your life. When I have that, I’ll make sure it’s published in every newspaper in the state of Florida. Then I want you to take all the money you’ve saved and donate it to a children’s home. I also want to know about Marcus’s accident.”

  “He was in a car accident on the highway . . . a few months after graduation. His friends died.”

  “Tell me their names.”

  He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Don’t look at me that way, Daddy. I am Maddy Carmichael, or should I say Maddy Royer. And if need be, I’ll insist upon a DNA test. It’s not fun to be at my mercy, is it? Now go on, tell me the names.”

  “Ricky Rourke, Dennis Wilderman, and Troy Bowers.” He hung his head.

  Then she hadn’t killed anyone! Nor had she been the cause of Marcus’s accident. That lying bastard. It was another car accident that got them. It was as though fate was gunning for them, as they escaped that night only to be killed shortly thereafter. But there was still Dr. Kevin Marsden. She would see that he was prosecuted to the full extent of the law, that he would lose his license to practice medicine and end up in jail.

  “It’s time we head to your office, so we can get started on your memoir.”

  Three hours later, she left the church with exactly what she had come for. As soon as she returned to Goldenhills, she would send his story to all the newspapers in the state, just as she had promised him she would do. She’d also made him sign an agreement stating he wished to donate all of his savings to an orphanage.

  She had one more stop to make before she left town. It wasn’t far from the church, and she was glad. She was so emotionally drained from the rage, she thought she would pass out. Maybe her life would have been different had she done this years ago, but it is what it is, and she was making changes that would affect her and Kristen for the rest of their lives.

  The Blossom Hill Cemetery was just down the road from the church. It was the only cemetery in town. Or it had been twenty-one years ago, and as with most other things in this town, she was sure that hadn’t changed either.

  Sure enough, there it was in the middle of a dried-up field without a single tree. Florida’s scalding sun probably cremated the bodies as soon as they were in the ground.

  She knew she sounded horrible, but she didn’t care. A lifetime of hurt and anger was being expunged today. Almost. Now to get this over with. She parked the Mustang at the cemetery’s entrance. It wasn’t large, so she knew it wouldn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. She left Ace in the car with the windows down and the air conditioner running full blast.

  Three rows down, under the next-to-last marker, she found her mother’s grave. She looked down at the brass marker, the engraved letters stating her name, date of birth, and date of death. She wanted to feel sad, a sense of loss, but she didn’t. Molly couldn’t force what wasn’t there, and for that she was sad. She’d come here with the intention of telling her mother exactly what she thought of her, but as she stared down at the small marker, Molly decided she just wasn’t worth it.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Craig and Rodriguez stayed at the McCann house, taking statements from the doctor and the two boys. Bryan didn’t expect to learn anything more than what he already knew, but it was enough.

  As soon as he was back at the station, he put the wheels in motion. He immediately called Pinky’s. “This is Detective Whitmore, Goldenhills Police Department. One of your guys picked up a fare on Riverbend Road a few days ago. I need to know where they dropped her off. This can’t wait. Yes, I’ll hold.”

  Sometimes being a cop got things done. Today was one of those days.

  Pinky’s came back on the line. He grabbed his pen and wrote down the address. All Night Fitness. He grabbed his badge and gun, and within twenty minutes, he was showing Molly McCann’s picture to a young girl at the juice bar.

  “That’s Ms. M. She’s been coming here forever. Is she in trouble? She’s super nice. I’ll get the owner—she can tell you more than I can.”

  Bryan was greeted by a woman a few years younger than he, and she would give Craig a run for his money in the muscle department. She introduced herself as Becky.

  He showed her a picture. “That’s Ms. M. She’s been coming here for over ten years. Just once a month or so. She in trouble?”

  “No, nothing like that. Actually, her husband has reported her missing, and, of course, we’re following all leads.”

  Becky shook her head, her short brown hair moving from side to side. “I had no idea she was even married. I thought she was a career woman. She’d mentioned something about her job not allowing her much time at the gym. I hope she’s okay. She’s a very nice lady.”

  “Yes, so it seems. Did she ever meet anyone here? A man? Woman? Did she ever bring her daughter?” Bryan continued his questioning.

  “This gets more surprising by the minute. I never saw her with anyone. She kept to herself, attended a few classes when she showed up. She would always get a smoothie and tip the gals, even though it’s not required. I figured her as a class act. No clue she had a daughter, or even a husband.”

  “It seems Molly kept to herself.”

  “Her name is Molly?” Becky asked, though it was more a statement than a question. “We all called her Ms. M.”

  “Do you remember the last time she was here?” Bryan knew this was the most pivotal question, as this could turn his investigation around, either way.

  “I do because she left here pulling an old piece of luggage behind her. And she was walking. I thought that beyond odd because for the last five years or so, she always drove a Mercedes. A silver one. Again, she was a class act. It was two days ago.”

  So she’d taken a taxi to the gym. Why here? Why not a hotel? A spa? Something a woman does when she’s pissed at her husband.

  If she hadn’t met someone here, there had to be another reason. All he had to do was find it. For some strange reason, he felt it was his special duty to bring this woman home, safe and sound. Not that he didn’t feel this way about all the citizens he’d sworn to serve and protect, but there was something that nagged him about this case, and right now he couldn’t put a finger on it, but he would.

  “Becky, this is going to sound insulting, and I want to apologize before I ask this question. This is a super cool place, and if I didn’t have a home gym, I’d join in a heartbeat, but I do, so let me just spit it out. Why would Molly, Ms. M., come here if she were trying to escape or get away? Why not a hotel or a spa? A friend’s house? You’re a woman, so help me get inside her head.”

  “If I had to wage a guess, I would say she came here to empty her locker.”

  Bingo!

  “Excellent. I had no clue gyms provided lockers other than the usual kind where you bring your own lock and just find what’s empty or convenient, and switch out every time you go to the gym. Is that what we’re talking about here?”

  “No. We have permanent lockers. You want to see?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  He followed her through a maze of fitness equipment, past the smoothie bar, then to another room. Becky had a ring of keys around her arm, one of those rubbery bracelet styles that could double as jewelry. “First, you have to have a key to get into the room.” She unlocked the door. “For a monthly fee, you can have a permanent locker, and while we have a few clients that choose this method, Ms. M., Molly, was the only member who has had a locker from the very beginning of her membership. We use keys, not combination locks. A bit more secu
re.”

  Here comes the hard part, he thought, but he was a police officer, it was his duty. “Can you open her locker? Or would you require a court order? I know it’s an invasion of the client’s privacy, but this could be serious. As in life-or-death serious.”

  Becky took a few seconds to consider his request. “I don’t need a court order. I’ll open it for you, but I don’t think you’ll find anything inside. She emptied the locker when she left.”

  “You saw her do it?”

  “Not exactly. I couldn’t swear that she emptied out everything, but I saw her coming in, and I saw her leave. Given the fact that she’s missing, I’m just assuming she came here to remove something important. Just a guess, though.”

  “Let’s have a look inside,” he said.

  “I’ll have to check her locker number in the office. Give me a minute.” Becky whirled out of the room, returning a couple of minutes later.

  “It’s 524.”

  Again, she fingered through her keys, and when she found what she was searching for, she slid the master key into locker number 524.

  The door opened without any resistance.

  “Can I?” he asked. “Just in case there is evidence.” She nodded and stepped away from the locker. Bryan peered inside the locker, which was much larger than one would normally expect. There were two hooks, but nothing was hanging from them. He felt around, and there was nothing there.

  “The top shelf,” Becky said.

  Bryan stretched to see what she was referring to. There was a small metal shelf, its depth about five inches. Enough to store a handbag, or something else. He reached in and was stunned when his hand felt something. He hadn’t really expected to find anything since Molly had made a special trip here just to remove the contents from this locker, or that’s where his thoughts were leading him. He pulled a brown paper bag from the shelf, careful to use the tips of his fingers just in case this had to go to the print lab.