Secrets She Knew: A Secrets and Lies Suspense Novel

by D. L. Wood

  “She sat right down in my hospital room, with me holding that brand-new baby in my arms and said, ‘Sasha, I need you to remember something. You are gonna love this baby more than life itself. Your whole world is gonna change because of this baby and it can be real easy to lose sight of yourself when that happens. Because children are wonderful, but they are hard. There are joys and disappointments, mountains and valleys. And hardest of all, someday—someday this child will leave. And so it’s important, it’s crucial for you to remember that while this act of being a momma is your mission—and it’s the most important mission you can have, and you should be a momma of excellence—it’s not your identity. It’s what you’re doing. It’s not who you are.’”

  “What’s the difference?” Dani asked.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And?”

  “She said, ‘If you allow this child alone to define you, then when parenting gets hard or you think you’ve failed, or when he grows up and leaves—you will be left struggling and confused and wondering what the point of you is. So define yourself by something greater. Something unchanging. Someone unchanging.’” Sasha’s gaze drifted from the window to Dani, her eyes full of warmth.

  “Build it upon a rock?” Dani offered discerningly.

  Sasha’s lips puckered in a tight smile. “You were listening today.”

  “And you think that’s all it takes.”

  “I think that you aren’t Jennifer’s case or any case you handle. Sure, what happened shaped you, but it isn’t the whole of you. And when it’s gone, you’ll still be here. But I think you’re smart to ask the question, because whether it’s Jennifer’s murder or the next one you handle in Boston, it’s really easy to confuse what you do with who you are, and inevitably that will leave you unsatisfied and chasing after meaning. You don’t think I worry about what my life will be like once my babies are gone? Once the job I’ve done for twenty-something years shifts into something completely different?”

  “So what do you do? How do you deal with it?”

  “I do what my momma told me. I trust that I am who God says I am—His child, who is well-loved, working out his plan for me—part of which is to be a momma of excellence to Alana and that crazy four-year-old boy out there,” she said, pointing to Trent, spinning in wild circles on the grass. “Those truths do not and will not change. Ever. And I take great comfort in that.”

  “Hmm.” Dani turned back around to the sink, picked up the towel and began drying a bowl. “You know, I didn’t hate being there today.”

  “Maybe you should try out a service in Boston.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Sasha dropped the last dirty pan in the sink and began scraping it with a scrubber, knocking shoulders with Dani. “I think Momma would say that’s a really good idea. And,” she paused dramatically, “you know who else wouldn’t hate it?”

  Dani stopped drying. “Who?”

  “Bailey King. He was there today,” Sasha said with a smirk, delivering the news as if it were a secret she’d sworn not to tell.

  “Where? I didn’t see him.”

  “You’d already gone outside with Trent. He came with his parents. Said he saw you from across the room, and that he talked to you last night, but you got away before he had a chance to spend any more time with you.”

  “We were catching up when…well, I got the information that opened up the case. I kind of just moved on through the crowd.”

  “Well, apparently he didn’t move on. He was hinting around about getting your number.”

  “He was?”

  Sasha nodded. “But I told him you were already spoken for by a certain police detective here in town.”

  Dani’s face flushed with heat. “You didn’t!”

  Sasha laughed wickedly. “Of course I didn’t.” She grinned widely. “But I wanted to. I saw you and Chris out there on the porch the other night. You don’t need some old fling stepping in to confuse things.”

  “Sasha, I’m serious. You have got to stop trying to set me up like this—”

  “Are you really gonna stand there and tell me you don’t like Chris?”

  “No, I’m…yes, he’s nice and he’s been great and—”

  “And he’s handsome.”

  “Yeah, he’s handsome—but look, this is ridiculous. I don’t live here.”

  “Just a matter of geography, girl. I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you and you might think that he’s a detective helping out on a murder case, but I’m telling you, that murder isn’t the only thing he’s working.”

  Dani rolled her eyes. “Just hand me the pan, already.”

  Sasha held it out to her, freshly rinsed and citrusy, when Dani’s cell phone sounded. She pulled the phone from her pocket, her heart skipping a beat as she read the name “Chris Newton” on the caller ID.

  24

  The door to Chris Newton’s condominium swung open, and he stood in the entryway, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, grinning ear to ear.

  “You made it. Come on in.”

  “Of course, I made it! I’m dying to hear all about it,” Dani said, brushing past him, immediately bathed in the heavenly scent of rosemary, roasting meat and something buttery. “Are you…cooking?” she asked, slightly confused as she walked farther inside. The space had an open floor plan, with the living room and its U-shaped leather couch separated from the kitchen by a huge island that contained the sink on one side and a high countertop on the other, with seating for four on wicker barstools. She stepped toward the bar, spotting gleaming pans on the stovetop and a light in the oven.

  “Nothing gets past you, Detective,” he said, winking.

  “You really didn’t—”

  “Have a seat,” he told her, nodding at the nearest barstool as he moved behind the island. “There’s roasted almonds in the bowl there, if you’re hungry, and that glass of ice water’s for you.” He pointed to a tumbler on her right. “Unless you want wine or something—”

  “No, water’s fine,” she said, dropping her purse on the floor beside the stool and sliding onto the seat.

  He slid a pan of rolls into the oven behind him, then turned to face her. “Well, I couldn’t meet you until now, and now is dinnertime and I couldn’t exactly take you out in public to talk about this, so I thought—dinner at home.” He squinted, a hint of concern behind his eyes as he appraised her. “Should I not have? Was this a bad idea?”

  The truth was, she was still full from lunch and was really too excited to even think about eating. But he had clearly gone to a lot of trouble, and what’s more, done so after what must have been a jam-packed, exhausting day. “No, of course not, it’s fine,” she said, plastering on a grateful smile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. When you said you had news but you couldn’t tell me over the phone I figured you’d just launch right into a rundown when I got here.”

  “No way. This is big! Huge. Deserves a proper celebration,” he said, stepping to the oven again and bending over to examine its contents through the glass. “Another twenty minutes or so, I think,” he said. “I hope you like Eye of Round roast.”

  “Love it.” She tapped her foot on the barstool’s cross-support, thinking that any second he was going to start divulging details, but instead he continued shuffling around the kitchen—stirring the simmering green beans, pouring boiled potatoes into a colander—just piddling when there was so much she wanted to know—

  “Okay!” It burst from her like water from a dam breaking. “Spill it already!”

  His eyes flicked up from the potatoes, his face charged. He was messing with her. “You sure you don’t want to wait until—”

  “Tell me!”

  A victorious smile split his handsome face. “We got him.”

  “What!” she exclaimed.

  “We got him. Dead to rights. You were right, Boston. It wasn’t Beecher.”

  She gripped the countertop. “Tell me everything.”

  His face pursed in a ti
ght smile, he dumped the potatoes back into the pot, set it on the counter and picked up a handheld masher, pounding away as he spoke. “I called the Chief last night—he wants you to come in first thing tomorrow to give a statement about the attack, by the way—”

  “Yeah, yeah—but what happened?”

  “I gave him the rundown about what happened at your place and what you found out. He spoke to Kendall on the phone this morning. Despite what she may have told you, it sounds like Rheardon crossed a serious line with her. I’m talking felony. One with a long statute of limitations.”

  “Nooo…”

  “Yes. We took her statement at the station, then got in touch with Rheardon who, surprisingly, was more than happy to meet us, at his home, on a Sunday afternoon. We walked in, read him his rights—only as a matter of procedure, of course—”

  “Of course.”

  “—We made nice, chatting briefly about his work history, experiences at the school, this year’s football chances—and then hit hard with the loaded questions. ‘Have you ever had an inappropriate relationship with a student,’ etcetera, etcetera, leveraging the shock factor—”

  “Sure—”

  “And then we point-blank asked him if he remembered Kendall St. James—Kendall Barnes, back then.”

  “And he denied everything.”

  Chris stopped mashing and slowly shook his head. “The opposite. He completely broke down. Bawled. Like a baby. Fell to his knees, even. Couldn’t stand. We had to help him to the couch.”

  Dani’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not kidding. The guy completely caved. Told us all about Kendall, and at least a dozen other girls he’s had relationships with over the last thirteen years.”

  “I can’t believe it.” A lightness rushed through her, an odd swirling sensation in her brain, the synapses firing, but not connecting, struggling to process that these words being spoken were actually truth.

  “And the guy wouldn’t shut up. Said the guilt’s been killing him—tormenting him. That he can’t stop himself but he’s too much of a coward to turn himself in or get help. He actually thanked us for catching him.”

  “And what about Jennifer?” Her heart beat faster.

  Chris picked up a stick of butter from the counter and tossed it in with the potatoes. “We didn’t ask him yet. We wanted to get him pinned down on the other charges first, didn’t want to scare him off with murder talk.”

  “So then, how do you know it was him and not Dr. Beecher?”

  He pointed the masher at her. “We asked him if he had any items—any trophies or evidence—that he kept from these girls, anything that connects him to them. It was a long shot, but the guy’s in a sharing mood, you know? We figure maybe he’ll just volunteer it.”

  Dani nodded.

  “And if you can believe it, he says, ‘I’ve got photos, notes. Mementos even—hair bands, clips.’ So, he shows us this box at the top of his closet, full of stuff. We stopped right there and called in the evidence team. Took them a half hour to get there, but when they finally did, while we’ve got him cuffed in the front room, they do their thing—and that’s when they found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “At the back of the closet shelf—a thick lock of hair, blond, about three inches long, tied together with a white ribbon.”

  Dani wasn’t sure whether she was going to be sick, or start crying in relief. “Jennifer’s hair.”

  “We’re having it compared to Jennifer’s samples right now, but—”

  “It’s hers,” Dani said, knowing with every fiber of her being that it was true.

  “I really think so. We’ll have to wait for the DNA results to be sure, but we checked it against the autopsy photographs. It’s a perfect match.”

  Dani’s chest heaved as she expelled a trembling breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Her face was hot and she could feel tears beginning to gather. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. “Sorry, I just…it’s been so long.” Her self-restraint gave, and she choked back an escaping sob. “I can’t believe it’s really over. Oh…Dr. Beecher. If this had only happened a week ago—” Another heavier sob cut her off, and she began shaking, her shoulders folding in.

  “Hey, hey!” Chris soothed, coming around the island to gather her up in his arms. “Come on now, this is good news. Great news!”

  She didn’t care that she had known him less than a week. She didn’t care that she was a police detective and should be stronger than to break down because of a case. All she cared about was that he was someone to share the weight she had been carrying. Someone who understood.

  She looked up at him, her eyelashes wet, and blinked. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he said and, tipping her chin down, kissed her forehead gently and rested his cheek against it. “You’re perfect.”

  A peculiar, faint alarm went off in Dani’s head, an inexplicable sense of…wrong rising up in her belly. Dani pulled back gently.

  He eyed her warily, as if realizing something was amiss. There was disappointment in his gaze as she broke the connection and looked down at the counter, picked up her glass and sipped.

  What is wrong with me? she asked herself in the uncomfortable quiet that followed. I like him!

  Don’t I?

  Then, like the hazy playback of a movie, her conversation with Bailey King at the reunion scrolled through her mind, the muscle memory of the instant, magnetic attraction she had felt for him tickling her insides, and suddenly she knew. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Chris. It was just that there was someone else to consider. Her interaction with Bailey had been short, but electric, and something she wanted to explore, because even for those few minutes, she had experienced a very real sense of connection. And for her, that was rare.

  She wasn’t one for stringing people along, or allowing misconceptions to persist for convenience’s sake, and that’s what it felt like was happening here with Chris. This felt too intimate for where she saw them at this point. It was her fault, losing it like that, but she wouldn’t do it again. She liked him too much to make more out of their relationship than it was at that moment. It was too much too fast.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Chris asked.

  “What? No, no,” she said, looking up and smiling. “You’ve been such a good friend to me while I’ve been here, Chris—”

  At the word ‘friend,’ his mouth turned down. “I was hoping that maybe you’d consider being more than that. I know you live way up north, Boston, but that’s not insurmountable,” he said, his eyes darkening in intensity as he locked onto hers.

  “No, it’s not. But…Chris, we just met. I’m not saying no, I’m just saying—”

  A frantic knock sounded at the front door, followed by a double ringing of the doorbell. A flash of impatient annoyance passed across Chris’s gaze, then he strode from Dani to answer the door.

  “Officer Newton, I need your help—I’m so sorry to bother you—” A woman in her early sixties in a loose T-shirt and leggings stood in the doorway. Her gaze flitted to Dani then back to Chris. “I see you’ve got company, but it’s my neighbors again. They’re fighting and I think I heard glass shatter. Can you come? I’m worried someone’s hurt in there, but I don’t want to call 9-1-1 again.”

  Chris sniffed loudly, his hands on his hips. “Sure, Beverly. I’ll come check it out,” he said, his voice low and impassive. But when he looked back at Dani, his eyes were pleading. “I’ll just be a minute, okay? Will you stick around till I get back?”

  “Of course, I will! I’m not going anywhere,” she answered, her heart pinching at the thought that she had made him question whether she would stay. She didn’t want to leave. She just wanted to slow things down.

  At her affirmation his face lightened a bit, and he followed the woman out into the hall.

  Alone in the condo, Dani took another sip of water. She
breathed in deeply.

  We found him, Doc. We found Jennifer’s murderer.

  Regret punched her insides, thinking about how bad the timing was, how they had only missed freeing him by days. Sure, it would’ve taken some time to get him out of prison, but with DNA evidence and a confession, which they were sure to get with the lock of hair, it wouldn’t have been long.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, raising her gaze to the ceiling. “I wish I’d been quicker with this.”

  But she knew he wouldn’t have been angry about it. A man like that, especially a man with the kind of faith he had found, would have just been glad that the truth had finally come out. That his children would know their father was innocent.

  I promise, they’ll know. The whole world will know. I’ll make sure of it.

  The smell of something burning tore her from her thoughts. She sniffed, zeroing in on the oven.

  “The rolls!” she exclaimed, and jumped off the stool. Flinging open the oven door, she saw that the bottom edges of the rolls had begun to blacken. She spun in a circle, looking for a pot holder, but instead spotted a towel atop a cutting board. She grabbed it and cried out, yanking her hand back.

  A shiny chopping knife had been resting beneath the towel, hidden from view. It had opened a long slice in the skin along the inside of Dani’s ring finger on her right hand. Blood began to seep from the cut, slowly at first and then copiously, drops hitting the floor. She grabbed the towel again, wrapped it tightly around the wound, then used it as a holder to remove the pan from the oven. After dropping the pan on the counter, she slammed the oven shut and pulled the towel back to examine her finger. The moment she removed the pressure, the bleeding increased. She rewrapped it.

  Bandages, she thought. Knowing the bathroom was the likely spot for them and wanting to avoid bleeding on anything else, she ignored the incredible invasion of privacy this was going to amount to and sprinted down the hallway leading to the rest of the condo. When a search of the hall bathroom turned up no bandages, she reluctantly continued to the bedroom at the end.

  Bingo.