Buried Secrets

by Kate Anslinger

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” Christie’s eyes greeted her empathetically, as she placed a manicured hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I’m so big these days I’m completely unaware of the amount of space I take up.”

  “No worries, you are fine, I was too busy looking at the stain on the front of my shirt,” Grace said, sizing up Christie’s baby bump. Evidently Christie was one of those women with warped opinions of themselves because her bump was the shape of a perfectly round watermelon with no excess fat. Grace had heard a woman at the parade meeting telling Christie she was all belly, so she kept that line in her head for future encounters with pregnant women, assuming it was a compliment.

  “You’re Detective McKenna, right? You were at that parade meeting earlier.” Christie gestured toward her husband, Scott, who looked uncomfortable in his conversation with a man who looked near his age. “Scott, come here. I want you to meet someone… This is that detective I was telling you about.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Grace extended her hand to Scott, who grabbed it a little too firmly. She wondered if Miriam had told them about the incident from earlier that morning, and maybe now was the time to get some information on the woman.

  “It’s a pleasure.” Scott wrapped one arm around Christie and started fiddling with loose change in his pocket with his free hand. “So, are you fighting crime at the gym tonight?”

  If he had been anyone else, Grace would’ve taken his remark as sarcastic and borderline rude, but Scott bookmarked his question with a genuine smile and pale blue eyes tainted with sadness.

  “No, I’m actually dating the owner and please call me Grace,” she confessed. She was still new to sharing tidbits of her love life with people, even though most of the small town kept updated on the goings-on between her and Mark.

  “Oh.” Scott used his pinky finger to smooth his right eyebrow, taking his arm off Christie. He set both hands in his pockets and rocked back on both heels. “Well, I hear he’s a nice guy.” A slight giggle erupted from his mouth as he darted his eyes toward Christie.

  “Oh, will you stop it, Scott!” She said between bouts of giggles. “It was years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, did I miss a joke?” Grace interjected.

  “Christie and Mark were high school sweethearts,” Scott leaned in toward Grace and mocked a secretive whisper. “I think they may have even been prom king and queen together.”

  “Yes, my very jealous husband is correct: Mark and I were high school sweethearts, as were half of this town,” she said. “And that’s because you were too cool to date me back then.”

  “Really? Well, I will have to give Mark a hard time about that one,” said Grace. “I’m pretty sure he still has his yearbook on display in his house too.”

  “Oh, that’s a great read, Grace, I think they also got ‘best dressed’ together,” he joked. “You’ll really love the matching tight-rolled jeans that they sported for the photo.”

  “Oh stop,” Christie said as she threw her head back in a fit of giggles. She had an infectious laugh and soon Grace was giggling right along with her. The three were in on a little secret, which was a perfect way to get them comfortable discussing Miriam.

  “And I definitely wasn’t too cool to date you… You were far too young for me back then and you know it. I was outta that school before you even got there and laid eyes on Markyyyy,” Scott teased.

  “Well, I will definitely have to bring this up to Mark.” Grace prepared herself for the big leap she was about to take. “So, you’ve lived here your entire lives then, I assume?”

  “I have. Born and raised and third-generation,” Christie said, her brown eyes beaming with pride. People really were proud when they could announce that they were considered a lifelong resident. It took a long time to reach that status in Bridgeton. The townies joked that you had to have at least two generations before you could call yourself a ‘local.’ Any less than that and you were considered an outsider.

  “And what about you, Scott?”

  “I came here by way of the North End back in 1988 when I was a just a kid.”

  “Wait… You married an outsider, Christie?” Grace kept up with the humor even though she was digging deep.

  “I did. Can you believe it? My dad wasn’t too happy about it, but after a while he became accepting of Scott and now the two are like father and son.” Christie wrapped her arm around Scott’s elbow and pulled him in. For a moment, there was silence, as if the two were thinking deeply about the same thing.

  “So, what made your family move to Bridgeton of all places?”

  “Well, back then, crime was really picking up in the city and my mom wanted to move me and my…. I mean, wanted to move me away from any place where I could potentially get in with a bad crowd. She had summered in Bridgeton as a kid, back when people had summer homes on the beach.”

  Grace picked up on the stumble in Scott’s words and while she was confused, she knew she was getting somewhere.

  “So, you were raised by a single mom too?”

  “They split just before we moved to Bridgeton.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that; divorce is never easy.” Grace was trying hard to force herself from prying further. She could see the pain in his eyes overtaking him and putting him back into a state of grief even though it was so many years ago. Grace’s curiosity was piqued—what exactly happened between Miriam and his dad?

  “Excuse me, would you mind if I get a group photo of you guys?” a woman approached them at the worst possible time with a massive camera dangling from her neck. “Mark hired me to capture some moments from tonight’s event.”

  “Of course he did,” Grace said, knowing her boyfriend went all out when he was into something. As if they were long lost friends, Christie, Scott and Grace huddled together and smiled for the photo before they were pulled into separate conversations. Christie and Scott got thrown into a gaggle of Christie’s friends and their husbands while Grace was tapped on the shoulder by Denise Dwyer, the town safety monitor who managed to find Grace at every major event as if she had some type of sense for sniffing her out. She was always talking to Grace about ways to make the town safer. Last week it was her demand for crosswalks at every single intersection, even in the small terraces cars rarely turned onto.

  “Grace!” Denise shouted her name as usual, always on a timeline to get her agenda in. “So, you know the soccer field over on Ridgeside Way?” Before Grace could acknowledge her question, Denise continued. “I think it’s time we put locks on the fence that surrounds it. I see little kids always trying to get in there and heaven forbid a little one runs into the netting and gets tangled up.”

  “I’ll talk to the chief about that, Denise.” Grace kept her cool even though she so badly wanted the woman to explain exactly how a toddler could get tangled up in a soccer net as if they were a kitten getting wrapped up in a ball of yarn. This wasn’t surprising, considering some of Denise’s other demands.

  “Thanks, Grace, I really appreciate that.” Denise started to grab Grace’s arm—her way of trapping her in the conversation—but luckily, Grace was saved by Mark pulling her away.

  “Hey.” He pulled her into his office just a few steps away. “Thought I would sneak in two minutes with you before you left. I have a feeling this grand opening is going to go a little longer than planned.” Mark sat down in the chair behind the modern, white desk and motioned toward the glass door looking into the lobby area. Inside, a few middle-aged women giggled excessively as they competed in a pushup contest, their lips tainted with red wine.

  “Yeah, looks like it, I’m gonna head out and get home to Brody anyway,” Grace said as she eyed the motivational poster on the wall behind Mark. A quote reading “You’re only one workout away from a good mood,” served as a reminder for potential gym members and clients. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’m getting my hair done.”

  “Wait, what?” Mark asked, clearly surprised by the rare occurrence. “Since when do you get
your hair done?”

  “Thought it was time for a change,” Grace smirked as she tugged at a strand of hair, the raw ends sticking out between her fingers. While she admitted to herself she could use a little cut and some highlights, she wasn’t about to tell Mark that she was using the appointment as a way to spy on town gossip.

  “I guess,” Mark giggled before a serious look passed over Grace’s face. “But for real, I just wanted to thank you. I couldn’t have done all this without your help and support.” Mark waved a hand around the office enhanced with purple décor. Grace had suggested the color after she had read somewhere that the combination of calm blue and fierce red created the purple tones associated with power and ambition. Always a sucker for a good sign, Mark was instantly attached to the idea and the two spent countless hours scouring the net on their laptops for purple décor and office items. That was how they usually spent time together: in the comfort of Grace’s home with Brody, the dog now considered both of theirs, even though the distinction had yet to be made. They both knew it and with every passing week, Grace found her house slowly accumulating more and more of Mark’s things. It started with a toothbrush, then a phone charger that permanently resided in a living room outlet, followed by Mark’s favorite Bridgeton sweatshirt and a pair of earplugs he used for sleeping. After about two months of dating, Grace offered him one of the drawers in her dresser. It was a huge step for her, but she couldn’t stand to see him schlepping his stuff back and forth every night and living out of the bag in his van. She knew asking him to move in was right around the corner, but along with that came admitting that she was in a committed relationship, which was never easy to the woman married to her career.

  “Don’t get all sappy on me now,” Grace said just as the noise in the lobby increased as the women had moved on to jumping jacks, their breasts bouncing out of their low-cut shirts and hair whipping in all directions. “Go celebrate and have fun with your groupies.”

  “Not before I get a kiss from my favorite groupie.” Mark jumped up and pulled her in. He settled his hands on her cheeks and planted a purposeful kiss on her forehead.

  “I’m proud of you.” She let herself get pulled into his embrace, where she felt her body melt. She was in a cloud of his scents, a mix of sporty deodorant, the mint gum he obsessively chewed at all times, and the white, buttoned-down shirt freshly dry-cleaned for the occasion. Grace knew he wouldn’t last long in his suit; he wasn’t made for such business attire. As soon as the ribbon was cut, he’d slid his jacket off and had already started to rid himself of the shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top unbuttoned far enough that the T-shirt underneath was clearly visible. Grace knew being in that outfit was killing him and that he so badly wanted to change into gym clothes or at least a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt. She reached up and pulled his chiseled chin toward her, feeling a slight hint of stubble, before she parted her lips and left him with a kiss that would tease him until he got home later that night. Accepting the kiss and pulling her body closer, Mark’s excitement was evident.

  “Do I really have to get back to my groupies?” Mark asked, his arms still wrapped around Grace as he looked out the glass door at the scene unfolding before them. Rob, a flamboyant group fitness instructor, was dirty dancing with a couple of the older women from one of his classes. “So… do you think I hired the right staff?”

  “I think you hired the perfect staff, and I think these members will keep coming back, if the entertainment has anything to say about it.” Grace pulled Mark’s hand and led him back out to the crowd. “Are you coming over tonight or are you staying in town?”

  “I’ll be home, but don’t wait up for me.”

  Grace wasn’t worried about Mark making the commute from Bridgeton to where she lived in Cabotville, since she’d never seen him drink more than a half a glass of wine. True to his career choice, Mark believed his body was his temple and was very careful about what he put into it. Alcohol dehydrated and slowed his metabolism too much and according to him, sugar should be categorized as a drug all by itself. Meat had been out of the question ever since his younger sister, Rain, convinced him it was cruel to animals. Without being annoying about it, Mark managed to have supplies of countless energy and never had to be under the influence to have a good time. Grace was lucky if she could convince him to take Advil when he had the rare headache.

  As soon as Grace released Mark’s hand, his groupies and staff started chanting his name and he was somehow absorbed by the crowd. Grace could see Barb’s halo of red frizz in the group; the woman was never one to turn down an invitation to party.

  “Bye, Gracie, we will take good care of him.” Rob took a break from dirty dancing and pulled Grace into a bear hug before he stepped back and assessed her from head to toe. “Girl, you have got it going on.”

  “Thanks, Rob, but I’ll never look as good as you.” Grace winked and slipped out the front door.

  Chapter Four

  Grace steered her Jeep along the beach road that led out of town. The sea pulled in a gentle tide strong enough to be heard with open windows and just loud enough to calm her mind, which was moving as fast as a steady storm. Flashes of the man’s face crashed into questions over Miriam’s innocence. Grace found herself trying to piece together reasons why the older woman, who appeared so very virtuous, would harm someone.

  By the time she made it home, Grace’s mind was fully tattooed with possible solutions to how and why Miriam was a cold-blooded murderer. The light by her front door cast a glow on the steps that joined the house and the brick path stemming from her driveway. For a moment, Grace felt a sense of calm as she breathed in the summer air. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and braced herself for Brody’s greeting as she opened the door. Like the perfect blend of colors on a painting, his black fur served as a backdrop to his pink tongue, which hung limply out the side of his mouth. Before Grace could even step onto the tile in the entryway, Brody was circling her, his rump shaking left to right as he wiggled his burly body, completely unaware of his massive size.

  “Hey, Baby Boy,” Grace let her bag slide down her shoulder and onto the floor, as she got eye level with Brody and massaged his ears. He stood up and gave one quick shake of his head, which was enough to make a giant dribble of drool fly across the hall, landing right on the handle that led to the nearby closet. Grace made her way to the kitchen for a paper towel when a loud creak stopped her in her tracks. Knowing all the squeaks and creaks in the old house, Grace was overcome with panic when she knew the noise didn’t come from her own feet. She instinctually placed her hand where her holster normally was, but she had already removed it at the station. Instead she slowly slid a wrought iron rod from the chimney tool set placed haphazardly in the hallway. She had conveniently placed it there hoping it would remind her to get rid of it, as she never used her fireplace. The sound of metal hitting a surface sent more panic down her spine, heating her core so much she could feel dampness under her arms. She turned the corner into the kitchen, bracing herself for what she was about to see, breathed in deeply, and took her next step. When she opened her eyes, she was simultaneously filled with relief and frustration. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen island absentmindedly spooning cereal into her mouth, in deep thought as she stared at the back of the Cheerios box, oblivious to Grace standing just feet away.

  “Mom!” Ellen jumped from her chair and sprang to life.

  “Jeepers creepers, Grace! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Ellen looked over at Grace, her eyes like two green saucers and her body rigid.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “Eh, I couldn’t sleep at my house. It’s so noisy there and the smell of all those old people…blech.”

  “Mom, it’s a 55 and up community…you’re 62,” Grace, relieved, set the rod down, leaning it up against the wall. “And I told you that you could move in here.”

  Grace filled a glass with water and chugged it while she stood at the sink, her back to Ellen. After
she had fallen on more than one occasion, Ellen moved into a partially assisted living community at the doctor’s request and much to her own chagrin.

  Knowing how stubborn her mother was and how little she accepted help from others, Grace asked her to move into her own house repeatedly. But, Ellen McKenna would never take help from her daughter, the one she’d single-handedly raised and worked countless hours for to make sure she had what she needed. While Ellen was only in her sixties, she looked older, having faced a life burdened by challenge after challenge. Just over the past year, the skin on her face had started to sag even more and she lacked that quick wit she had always been known for. Grace knew something was wrong when Ellen started to complain about a different pain nearly every day. She wasn’t a complainer, but lately she started having aches and pains that limited her normal activities and she went from every kind of lesson the community center offered to staying home with books and her knitting instead. It was like she had aged 15 years over the last 365 days.

  “Did you put the key back in the right place this time?”

  “Yes dear, under the stone by the front steps. But, isn’t that even a little too obvious? I’d think being a cop, you’d be aware of these things,” Ellen slid off the seat, made her way to the sink and started cleaning the bowl with so much attention that it seemed she was lost in the motion of the sponge circling the bowl.

  “Well, you try to move it every time you sneak into my house anyway, so by now a robber will never be able to find it,” Grace remembered the various places Ellen tried to re-hide the key and she still wasn’t sure if the woman was trying to be clever or if she really did forget where the key belonged. She had been so forgetful lately and just not herself. Just months earlier Grace had trouble keeping up with Ellen dancing around the house on New Year’s Eve, her limbs reaching and bending as she showed off the new moves she’d learned in her yoga class. Since then, she’d stopped going to yoga and could barely walk a few feet without getting out of breath. Not to mention the random acts of forgetfulness. As far back as Grace could remember, Ellen had been quick-witted and sharp, but lately she was having trouble retaining the simplest things.