The Third Secret

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “There’s medication I can take. If I respond well to it, and many women my age do, I could go into remission. There’s no healing the tissue that’s damaged, but it could stop any further damage.”

  “So you could live a normal life span?”

  “Yep.”

  “And if the medication doesn’t work?”

  “Then we consider a transplant. With a family donor, and my good health, my chances of success are excellent. And the best thing is that a healthy liver regenerates. Which means that whoever donates would still have a full liver.”

  Patricia was certainly not without donor options. “Ron wants to talk to all the kids and have tests run now, have them all think about the idea, and see if anyone’s willing to donate should the need arise.”

  “They’d all be willing,” Erin said confidently. Heck, she’d be willing.

  “Personally I think Ron’s rushing things a bit. It’ll be at least six months, and probably longer, before we know how well the medication is going to do. There’ll be plenty of time to worry about donors after that. But that’s my Ron. He needs to make sure his family’s ducks are all in a row.”

  Yes, he did. Which was part of the reason Erin was there.

  “Are you scared?” Erin asked.

  “Nope. I’ve been richly blessed in my life, Erin. And I’ve suffered great loss, too. What’s meant to happen is what will happen. And those who are left will go on.”

  True. And yet… Erin wasn’t as accepting. She wanted more say in what would happen. At the same time, maybe she’d done the right thing, coming to Patricia. It sounded as though Noah’s mother could handle more than her family gave her credit for.

  Which included moving on past Noah’s death.

  Still, telling Caylee’s news wasn’t for Erin to do.

  “Now, what did you need to speak with me about?”

  “Your liver, mostly,” Erin said. She’d had to know. For herself. And before she could speak with either Ron or Caylee again.

  “Something else is bothering you.”

  Was she that transparent? Or had she become enough of a daughter that Patricia’s maternal intuition had kicked in?

  “I loved your son more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Ever. In my life.”

  She hadn’t planned to mention Noah. This concerned Patricia. And Caylee. And Ron.

  But it also concerned Erin’s place in the family. And the position two members of this family had put her in.

  “I know that, dear.” Patricia’s eyes filled with pain. But with compassion, too.

  “And this family. You’re all my family.”

  “You bet we are. You’re as much one of my children as anyone who sits at our table.”

  Or at least as much as any of the spouses of her biological children were, which was enough for Erin.

  “That means the world to me.”

  “And to us.” Leaning forward, Patricia took Erin’s hand in both of hers. “Love knows no bounds, sweetie. And family isn’t about birth. It’s about heart.”

  Erin’s throat was so tight she could hardly speak. “I never knew that until I came here.”

  Patricia sat back and Erin started to breathe again. “You don’t talk much about your own family. About growing up in Detroit.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Noah said your mother died when you were a little girl.”

  That story was as good as any. “I never knew her,” Erin said.

  “And your dad never remarried. Never had any more kids.”

  “Nope.”

  “He was an autoworker, right?”

  “Right. A floor supervisor.”

  “But he worked first shift so he could be home with you?”

  All things she’d told Noah. All things he’d repeated to his family when Erin wasn’t around. But she’d known he’d told them about her.

  “Most of the time,” she said now. “When I was really little he worked second shift. He hired a woman to stay with me, but I was asleep most of the time she was there. And that way he had all day to be with me, to raise me. And he was home in the middle of the night to scare away the bogeyman.”

  Her father had told her that. Every night before she went to bed—even when she’d grown into a more independent teenager. He’d told her, as he kissed her good-night, that he was there to chase away the bogeymen.

  Until he hadn’t been.

  “What’s bothering you, Erin? I’ve never seen you look so serious. So…worried.”

  She’d never felt so worried. Not for herself. Not in many, many years.

  “I don’t want to lose you all. I don’t think I could bear that.”

  “You aren’t going to lose us.”

  If she misstepped with Caylee, Ron would do what he had to do in order to protect his family. And if she became Ron’s puppet, she’d lose the respect of Caylee and eventually her siblings.

  And if she…

  “Noah’s gone,” she said.

  “Yes, sweetie, he is.”

  “And I…”

  “You’ve met someone.” Patricia sounded…less peaceful than she had when they’d been discussing her liver disease. Almost as though the idea was one Patricia was familiar with, had worried about.

  “No!” Shocked, Erin stared at the older woman. “Of course I haven’t. Come on, this is Temple. Who would I meet?”

  “You work in Ludington as often as here,” Patricia pointed out.

  Well, that was true. And she knew a lot of people the Fitzgeralds knew nothing about. People who knew nothing about them, either.

  “I’m not seeing anyone, I swear.” The picture of Rick Thomas that came to mind was an intrusion. One she didn’t welcome. Or need.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I… If I’m going to be a real and true member of this family, I have to be myself.”

  “No one expects you to be anything else.”

  “What I mean is, my life has to be part of the mix.”

  “Has someone said something to you? Done something? Because if they did, they’ll have Ron and me to answer to. We are the heads of this family. And if we say—”

  “No.” Erin cut Patricia off. “No one’s said or done anything. You all love me far more than I ever thought possible. I love it here. I love all of you. It’s just that…I have to live a full life. My life. So do all the other kids.”

  Namely Caylee. Being a Fitzgerald child was wonderful. Miraculous. And also extremely difficult.

  “You’re absolutely right about that,” Patricia said. “It’s what we’ve told all our kids, from the time they were little. They didn’t have to be in Scouts or dance or sports, and they didn’t have to work at the hardware store, unless they wanted to. But they had to get good grades. And to work at something. To love and care about one another and others outside our home. And to grow up to be contributing citizens in the good Lord’s world.”

  Patricia’s comments gave Erin a natural segue to her real question. “And if that meant being called away from Temple?”

  Patricia’s horrified frown was more in line with what Erin had been expecting when she’d pictured this conversation in the shower that morning. “You’re moving?”

  “No, I’m not moving, Patricia. Not ever. I love Temple. And my house. And all of you. I’m happy here. But if I wasn’t and I did have to move…I’d still want to know my home was here.”

  “And it would be.”

  Erin felt only marginally better. Which didn’t make sense.

  She nodded. Got ready to leave. And said…

  “And if…someday…I meet a man—not that I have—a man who, you know, attracts me?”

  “Then you must explore the possibilities,” Patricia said.

  “Even if that means he takes Noah’s place in my life?” What was she saying? She was practically kicking herself out the door when she’d just spent the past half hour making sure she was fully inside.

  “We’ll cross that bridge
when we come to it,” Patricia said. And Erin was reminded of her earlier statement about those being left going on. “He might have a family of his own to bring you home to.”

  So it was as she’d feared. Her place at the Fitzgerald table was conditional. As long as she stayed true to a man who’d been gone for four and a half years, she could remain a member of the only family she’d ever really had.

  And if she betrayed Ron and maybe Patricia by encouraging Caylee to follow her heart?

  What then?

  19

  Rain threatened on Friday, but held off, allowing Rick to take the walk he’d planned. Another person might have enjoyed the balmy sixty-five degree Michigan weather, the fresh air in his lungs. Rick barely noticed.

  He got far enough away from any place that could be bugged and dialed the scrambled phone Sarge had given him. He had to get Sophie when she was just waking up. He needed her sober.

  “Hi, angel, you awake?”

  “Tom-m-m?” The rustle of her sheets brought to mind an image of the whitewashed four-poster bed with its mirrored canopy.

  Rick had seen his own likeness, buck-naked and hard with desire, reflected on that ceilinged frame, but suspected the mirrors were really there for Sophie’s own pleasure—when she was in the bed alone.

  “How was breakfast?” Without fail, no matter what else she had going on in her life, or who she might have snuck into her room for the night, Sophie met her husband in his suite of rooms for breakfast at seven o’clock every morning. After which she went back to bed. Or sometimes just to bed, depending on the night before.

  “He was in a surly mood,” she said now.

  “I’m sure you took care of that.”

  “Of course.”

  Sex with her much older husband might bore her to tears, but Sophie knew how to earn her keep.

  “I did it while he was sitting at the table and thought of you the whole time.”

  A car passed, and then another. Rick was walking on the edge of a two-lane state route without sidewalks.

  “What about his breakfast?”

  “The eggs got a little cold. He didn’t seem to care.”

  A field to his right had recently been mowed. The trees across the road, on his left, were another story; anything or anyone could be hiding there, lying in wait. Or just watching.

  “And?”

  “I told him Carla’s brother was coming for a visit.” Hernandez Segura believed Tom Watkins was half brother to a friend of his wife’s. If he’d done any checking, which Rick was sure he had, he’d have found verification of the identities in question. What he didn’t know was that Sophie’s friend Carla existed only on paper.

  Sophie thought lying to her husband, getting “Tom” an in with her husband, had all been her idea.

  But then she thought meeting Rick on the beach one night had been fate, too, instead of the carefully orchestrated event that had actually taken place.

  “What did he say?” Rick asked.

  “To let Carla know that if you wanted work, to get in touch with him.”

  Two scenarios immediately occurred to Rick. Either his cover in the business of illegal arms distribution was still intact. Or Hernandez Segura was inviting Rick to his own execution.

  “That means you can stay for a while, lover. Longer than last time. I’m wet just thinking about you….”

  “Tell me…” Rick dropped his voice, his gaze constantly on the move, aware of every movement of every leaf in his vicinity.

  The sexy words dripping from Sophie’s tongue were better than any 900-number. Rick missed half of them. And disregarded the other half.

  “I’m hard enough to burst,” he told her, completely by rote.

  “Do it now, baby. Do it for me.”

  “Ah, baby.” Crossing the road, darting in between trees, he put just the right amount of breathlessness into his voice. “It’s good…mmm…so good.”

  A dark blue SUV sped by for the second time. Rick stopped, his back against a tree, and waited.

  “Tell me about your hand on your cock, lover. Tell me what it’s doing.”

  Rick could play the part if he had to. When he was actually with Sophie he could get hard and spill himself. Today, he didn’t have to.

  He just had to talk the talk. Which he did adeptly enough to satisfy Sophie.

  “Mmm. That was good, lover.” Sophie’s accented husky tones filled his ears. Not his senses. “How long’s it been for you?”

  Rick wasn’t sure he remembered the last time. It certainly hadn’t been memorable.

  “Too long, Soph. I need you. More than you’ll ever know…” That tiny sliver of truth gave credibility to the lies.

  “Then come to me, Tom.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “You better be. I want you naked and spread.” Sophie liked to be handled.

  “Tom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hurry…”

  Erin didn’t like unexplained absences. Not in her clients. And not in deputies’ names on reports, either. Maybe she was making something out of nothing. She’d looked at the Cook/Thomas case files so many times she could be overanalyzing. Or maybe she was missing something.

  In her office on Friday afternoon, she listened to her instincts and called the sheriff’s direct line.

  “Erin, how are you? I ran into Ron at the store this morning and he told me about Patricia. I guess they’re telling the rest of the kids this weekend, but he said you know.”

  “That’s right.” Erin’s nerves began to settle just a bit as she relaxed back into her chair. Sheriff Johnson and Ron Fitzgerald had graduated from high school together and remained friends in all the years since. Through the sheriff’s divorce. And remarriage to a woman half their age. Through elections and hard economic times.

  Through the invention of the internet and the subsequent change it’d brought to small-town life. No one was secluded anymore. Not really.

  The sheriff had been the one to tell them about Noah. He’d been there. Had watched Noah run in…and then saw the building collapse.

  He’d delivered the eulogy at Noah’s funeral.

  “I saw her this morning,” Erin said slowly. “She says she’s going to be fine.”

  “Ron said the same,” Sheriff said. “Still, kind of a shock to think of Patricia sick…”

  Erin wanted to ask if Ron Fitzgerald had mentioned his youngest daughter to his friend. Mentioned that she’d won a full scholarship to Yale. News most parents would brag about.

  But she didn’t ask. She didn’t need the sheriff pressuring her to talk to Caylee, too.

  “I, um, I’m calling on a business matter,” she said instead. “I’m going over the Cook case, and I noticed that Bruce Halloway isn’t listed as present during the search of the Thomas residence.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “He wasn’t there?” Bruce Halloway was a hometown deputy.

  “No. He was on another call when the warrant came through.”

  “Something bigger than the search of a possible murder suspect’s home?” First-degree felonies didn’t happen often in Temple. A murder right in their town? Everyone who’d even thought about being a cop would’ve been in on the investigation one way or another.

  “Listen, Erin.” Sheriff Johnson lowered his voice. “Halloway’s going through a rough spot right now. He’s involved with some woman in Ludington. His wife found out. Left him. Took the kids. I’ve been cutting him some slack.”

  “So he wasn’t at work the day Charles was murdered,” Erin said.

  “You guessed it.”

  “Do you know where he was?”

  “Home. Drunk.”

  “Is he getting help?”

  “Yes. I gave him a choice. Either get help or lose his badge. Permanently.”

  Erin thanked the sheriff and hung up, not really feeling any better, even with answers.

  She and Noah used to play cards with Halloway and
his wife, Michelle. Life was just plain hard all the way around.

  Ben Pope called a few minutes after Erin left the office on Friday afternoon. She took the call, anyway; it let her procrastinate a little longer. Sometime that day she had to return Caylee’s phone call. Erin might not know how to handle the situation with Caylee, but she did know that ignoring the girl’s messages was wrong.

  Flipping open her phone, she said, “Erin Morgan.”

  “I found the guy who sold Cook the gun.”

  “Could he tell you anything?”

  “Cook wanted a gun for his own personal protection. Something powerful enough to kill with one shot, even if the shot wasn’t straight to the heart or the brain. I guess the guy didn’t trust himself to get it right.”

  “Sounds like he was planning to shoot first.”

  “He was scared.”

  “Do we know what he was scared of?”

  “Nope. Not a clue.”

  “Was it job-related?”

  “He didn’t say. But I can tell you this. From everything I’ve learned, Cook wasn’t the aggressive type. He didn’t go looking for trouble. But if he was pushed, he was no coward.”

  The description fit what Erin had heard about him. So what had scared the man so badly he felt he had to arm himself?

  Charles Cook had only just bought the gun, so whatever had frightened him was fairly recent.

  Erin hoped to God the source of Charles’s fear didn’t have anything to do with her client.

  “Thanks, Ben,” she said aloud.

  “There’s more.” The man’s voice held no intonation at all. He sounded too much like Rick Thomas for Erin’s comfort. “The yacht, The One That Got Away…”

  “Yeah?”

  “There was an explosion at sea. Caused by a gas leak.”

  “What about the people on board?”

  “No one seemed to know who’d taken the boat out that day. Apparently many people had access to it, but they were all accounted for.”

  “What about missing persons reports at the time?”

  “Miami police looked into it. Didn’t find anything.”

  “And the owner?”