Buried Secrets

by Kate Anslinger

  “Hey mom, what’s going on?”

  “I locked myself out of the house, I was looking for the key.”

  Grace remembered all the times Ellen had given her a hard time about the key being in a hiding spot that was too obvious. Instead of confronting Ellen about her inability to find the key in its obvious place, she helped her up and guided her inside. Without any argument, Ellen allowed Grace to put her in Grace’s own bed, where Grace could watch over her for the night. She gathered the pillow and blanket Ellen always slept with at Grace’s and tucked her in, then kicked off her own shoes and slipped under the covers beside her. Without a struggle, Ellen seemed to drift off into a peaceful sleep and was maybe even having dreams where she had her memory back. Grace reached across the bed and held her mother’s hand. She looked at Ellen, the woman who had been her guiding light in life, her opposite in a lot of senses, and the woman so full of life she could pull the sun down from a nighttime sky. Grace could see the life leaking out of Ellen. A tear escaped Grace’s eye, carving out a path along her cheek before landing on the bed. Tomorrow, she would call that doctor Mark had recommended after they’d both had a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  The beauty of working in Bridgeton was that it was only a few train stops from the city. If you hopped on the train that carved its way through the outskirts of town, you could get off in the heart of Boston and experience all that the city had to offer. Grace always opted for public transportation when given the opportunity, and today was no exception. Armed with her expert detective skills, she made sure to wear the casual type of outfit someone would wear while going sight-seeing for the day. A pair of light-colored skinny jeans hugged her legs, greeting a pair of navy-blue flip-flops designed for walking. Trying to avoid the dark tones she typically wore on the job, she donned a bright pink, flowy top that she accessorized with a chunky necklace that rested on her collarbone. Her hair was pulled up into a top knot, and she made sure to pull down a few loose tendrils to add to her unpolished look.

  The panels on the station exit opened just in time for Grace to walk through with elevated arms. Raising her arms slightly had become a habit long ago when she used to come into the city every week for a police officer training. She always raced through the exit as fast as she could, afraid it would close in on her. Along with the many visions that circulated in Grace’s mind were the oddball fears and strange phobias. She still had a fear of stepping on sidewalk cracks ever since her best childhood friend, Matt, had recited the rhyme, “You step on a crack, you break your mother’s back.” And if she ever found a penny on the ground tails-up, she would walk right past it, afraid of bringing bad luck into her life. Heads-up coins were another story; those were always picked up and pocketed. And then there was the routine she had: kissing Brody on the head 13 times before bed, nothing more and nothing less; otherwise, she thought, it would bring bad luck. Instead of taking the escalator, Grace opted for the stairs to get to the upper level that exited out to the hubbub of the city. Mark had always lectured her on squeezing in exercise when she could, and while she was working on increasing her activity levels, she knew that she wanted to exercise as much as a sloth. Mark even strapped her wrist with a FitBit so she could track her steps and report back to him, as if she was his pet.

  As soon as Grace stepped out onto State Street, the horrid scent of the train station was replaced with smells associated with the city of Boston.

  Summertime brought in tourists from all over the world seeking the city’s best seafood flavors and Irish pubs that lined the streets and boasted the best pints. A cluster of people holding souvenir-filled shopping bags crowded around a tour guide telling the history of The Black Rose, a historical Irish pub well-known among locals for the best pints of Guinness. They looked at the tour guide with serious awe, as if they were about to step into the White House and meet the president. The Black Rose was one of those institutions that made a customer feel as if they were cast into a different world upon opening the tavern doors.

  Grace turned and started walking in the opposite direction of the iconic bar and passed a Duck Boat Tour holding eager tourists, capturing photos of the many historical buildings. One older couple held out a selfie stick and smiled proudly for the photo they’d inevitably share on Facebook later. The tour guide was talking about Faneuil Hall and, as if trained for the role, made sure to drop his r’s and maintain that Boston character, making the passengers feel they were really getting their money’s worth. More tourists were lined outside the Trolley Tour Guide station that was conveniently located on the corner of the intersection that joined the street that opened up to Faneuil Hall and the street that led to the aquarium and a few major hotels. Grace waited until she was cleared to cross the busy intersection and walked quickly across the street, swinging her work satchel as if she was just another young professional working in the financial district.

  Rightfully so, the area outside the aquarium was bustling with activity, spilling over from the other tourist sections of the city. Grace saw three young girls trying on Boston Red Sox hats at one of the many souvenirs stands that priced the items far higher than the Internet did. She remembered Mark telling her about a trip he took to California once and the ridiculous fortune he spent on a shirt from the Hollywood strip. “It simply said ‘Hollywood’ in black print, but it cost me $48,” he said. “I know I could’ve saved a lot by buying it online, but it’s the thought that ‘Hey, this shirt actually came from the real-life Hollywood strip, where real-life celebrities walk around.”

  “Do real-life celebrities actually hang out in Hollywood or do they stay in the confines of their home avoiding the paparazzi?” Grace had asked.

  The line outside the aquarium was shockingly short for a summer day, and Grace suspected the tourists had opted to save their sea creature-viewing for a less-than-perfect day, considering the lines for the whale watches and Boston Tea Party trips were so long they spilled beyond Central Wharf and onto the streets.

  After about ten minutes, a teenage boy in a small booth collecting money and handing out tickets greeted Grace. Without looking up, the boy asked Grace how many tickets she wanted.

  “Just one.” She slipped her credit card through the small window and cringed when she read the prices. Nearly thirty dollars for a quick trip to the aquarium, and she wasn’t even there to scope out the sea life. Normally she would pull out her badge to gain free access, but she needed to be as incognito as possible on this case. As far as the aquarium staff was concerned, she was doing research for her graduate degree, although she hadn’t quite sorted out what she was getting this master’s degree in yet.

  As soon as Grace was inside the aquarium, she was moved along with the herd of people, mostly moms with kids trying to get the little ones out of the house for the day. Several strollers bumped her heels, and one little boy tried grabbing onto her leg before he realized she was not his mother.

  By the time the mass of guests got through the turnstiles and funneled out to the various sections of the aquarium, Grace had picked up on a variety of conversations from various languages, showcasing the many cultures that lived in and visited the city daily. She had a goal of meeting someone, anyone who knew the man in her visions.

  Assuming he worked here if he was in the confines of the fish tank, Grace presumed he was a diver or a marine biologist studying sea turtles, although the mish-mash of visions really only left her with a multitude of questions. She followed the path that circled the fish tank in the center of the aquarium. Getting lost in the greens and blues of the sea water made Grace feel as if she herself was submerged underneath the ocean, searching for her way out.

  A stingray glided across the tank’s glass wall as if it was attempting to walk alongside Grace. Although its mouth was turned upward in a smile, its eyes looked smudged and teary, reminding Grace of the masks of comedy and tragedy, a clear representation of how she felt in her mind, torn by her visions and the other part of her life that was
regular police work.

  In the sea-like cave, Grace felt one with the animals, which is why she didn’t startle when she came face-to-face with a massive sea turtle who looked at least a hundred years old. The sea turtle swam off effortlessly as several colorful fish darted from one wall to the other at varying speeds. And then suddenly, he came back and stopped, staring at her through the glass, as if challenging her to figure out the mystery. It was in this moment that Grace knew this was the same sea turtle she’d seen when she looked into Miriam’s eyes. Its mouth carved out in a perfect upside-down V, and its nostrils were two round holes like a pig’s. He propelled his front arms and surfed away before circling back around to be front and center with Grace again. She stopped walking and simply stood in front of the turtle, who hung in the water. Crossing her arms across her chest, Grace silently challenged the turtle to stay so she could take in the age spots marking the chunks of skin spilling out of the shell. She guessed this turtle had been here for years, and its beefy stature reflected a lifetime of being fed regular meals by dedicated aquarium employees.

  “They seem like they can read your mind, right? Look into your soul.” An older man wearing a navy-blue golf shirt seemed to appear from nowhere, blending into the many shades of blues that filled the building.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure,” Grace said, turning her head slightly and catching a glimpse of the man’s white hair, a fluffy cloud amongst the backdrop of the sea.

  “This guy is my favorite. He’s been here longer than I have.”

  “Really? Do you work here?” Grace noticed the aquarium logo on his shirt.

  “Oh no, just volunteer… Well, I shouldn’t say ‘just.’ After all, I did receive a coin for being a volunteer for several decades. I guess that means that I’m just really old.”

  “Not as old as him, I’m sure?” Grace asked, taking in the man’s name tag. “Tim, I’m G-Gabbie. Nice to meet you.” She extended a hand, prepared to get on Tim’s good side since she would have a lot of questions for him.

  “Nice to meet you, Gabbie. And no, I can confidently say I’m not as old as this guy. His name is Walter, by the way.”

  “I can see that, he looks like a Walter. So how long has Walter been roaming the tank?”

  “Well, this aquarium opened its doors in 1969 and good ‘ole Walt has been here since, and I know he wasn’t a young buck when he first arrived, so he’s older than me, maybe not by much, but he’s older than me,” Tim said pointing a finger up proudly.

  “So, who usually takes care of him? I mean, are there any staff members who are his dedicated care taker or is there a team that tends to him?”

  “Well, we’ve had a few over the years… You know aquarium life isn’t for everyone, so employees…they don’t always last long, you know. Some go on to do ‘real’ marine life work,’” Tim made quotation marks with his fingers, revealing hands marked up with cuts and scabs. The sight reminded Grace of her mother and all the random bruises that had been showing up on Ellen’s body.

  “There’s this snobbiness in the aquarium world…like biologists start out working at an aquarium just to gain experience and then they up and leave to go onto ‘bluer seas,’ if you will.” Tim threw up another set of quotations marks before continuing. “But if you ask me, why would you ever want to leave this place? It’s safe, we have a constant influx of new animals, and you get to educate young minds. Speaking of, heck, I gotta go. I gotta announce the dolphin show in five minutes and greet the audience members.” Tim looked up from his watch with kind, blue eyes hooded from age.

  “Wait, so who worked with Walter when he first got here, like, back in the 70s?” Grace pressed, trying to keep him engaged.

  “Oh, well, we’ve had a lot of different ones, but I remember we had a good run with this one guy back then…” Tim’s eyes darted around as if searching for the name. “Um, he was… Oh, I forget his name, we used to call him ‘surfer’ because he had longer hair and he was always walking around in his wetsuit. He talked like a surfer too, like he wasn’t from here. He was very California, surfer-like. He used to even do that hang-ten hand thing. Nice guy, may have been a bit of a grass smoker, but nice enough.”

  “Do you remember his name? I’m working on a project for grad school and I’d love to talk to someone who knows about sea turtles.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’d be your guy to talk to…hasn’t been here in years. In fact, he just up and left one day…”

  “Tim, are you chatting again? You’re late for the show.” A woman around Tim’s age approached, patting him on the shoulder and tapping her watch.

  “Yes dear, I’m coming…this is what happens when you volunteer at the same place as your wife.” Tim and the woman both erupted in laughter and bumped shoulders like teenagers in on the same joke. “Hey, wait, Betts…do you remember that surfer guy who used to work with the turtles? Remember, we used to all tease him about his ‘dude’ talk...”

  “Stephen, Stephen Cassidy…I always remembered his name because I never told you this, dear, but I had a terrible crush on him. Of course, he was much younger than me, but a lady can look, can’t she?” Betts let out a shrill laugh.

  “You little devil!” Tim pulled her into his side and the two walked off practically as one.

  Stephen Cassidy. Grace said the name to herself, stamping it on her mind.

  “Goodbye, Walter.” She gave the turtle one last look, knowing he knew much more than she did.

  ***

  “Stephen Cassidy,” Grace said on her way to her car at the train station. She walked fast, fueled by adrenaline from her new find. She pushed the ear plugs deeper into her ears, a common gesture when she attempted to walk and talk on the phone. Her ears were oddly small, and one of her biggest struggles in life was finding ear buds that fit.

  “Okayyyy,” Mark said in response.

  “Stephen Cassidy is the name of the guy in my visions. He’s the one who worked at the aquarium. Well, I just got confirmation that there was a worker there years ago who fits the description of the guy in my visions.”

  “Gosh you sound like such a cop when you talk like that. Thirty more seconds, you got this.”

  “Are you training someone right now?”

  “Yes, I’ve got a few of your co-workers over here for team training.”

  “Mark! First of all, you shouldn’t be answering the phone during your sessions…that’s so rude. Second of all, you gotta keep this quiet. My co-workers are the last ones who should hear this conversation.”

  “Simmer down, no one is listening to this conversation. They are too busy trying to catch their breath. Oh, and they say hi…” Grace could hear some forced, out-of-breath greetings in the background from her fellow officers.

  “Okay but I’m still getting off the phone with you. I’ll talk to you tonight. I think our plans may have changed. You up for an adventure instead of staying in?”

  “Always. My last client is at three, so I should be home—I mean, at your place by four.”

  “Stay in Bridgeton. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Ohhh…this is getting interesting. Small town action on a Saturday night… Where are we going—the Spray?”

  “Not even close.” Grace laughed at Mark’s humor. The Spray, the biggest dive bar around, made other small-town dive bars seem like luxury dining in comparison. The very narrow clientele consisted of town drunks and underage drinkers who had the means to present less-than-perfect fake IDs to the only employee there. A woman named Marty had been on staff at the bar for as long as most townies could remember. A jack-of-all-trades at the town staple, she kept the drunks coming back with her lack of rules at the place. One guy had brought his cranky, old black lab to the joint for years, even though dogs were not permitted in places that served food. Marty didn’t care. She also didn’t care when kids didn’t look close to 21. While newbies on the police department made it a point to try and take down the illegal activity in the bar, Marty had a deep-rooted connection to t
he police department that few officers actually knew the details of. Grace had guessed Marty had a close relative on the force years ago but stopped inquiring; she knew she would never get to the root of it, and truth be told, Marty was harmless. In the handful of interactions Grace had with her, Marty was always offering her free drinks and pushing the bar’s greasy french fries on her.

  “Oh, and one more thing: can you find out anything you can about Scott and his family, especially his mother? Details about…”

  “Yeah yeah yeah…I was a cop before too, I know how the investigation process goes. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Shhhh! Again, quiet in front of them! Oh, and on another note, can you share that doctor’s contact info with me—the one for my mom?”

  “Sure thing. You’re doing the right thing by getting her help, Grace.”

  Before Grace could determine where their adventure would take them, she had to find out a little bit about Miriam and where she hung out in town. As if on autopilot, Grace drove toward the station. She slipped out of her car briskly, threw her bag over her shoulder and marched to the glass doors that sealed the station. Since it was mostly rookies working on the weekends, Grace wasn’t worried about anyone questioning why she was there on a Saturday. Her co-workers had gotten used to seeing her there at all hours and stopped questioning her obsession with work a long time ago.

  She could hear a ball hitting a wall repetitively as she neared the control room. “Yes! I got 27 bounces! Beat you, sucka!” the voice of Officer O’Brien erupted from the series of radio beeps and routine calls from the patrol officers.

  “Another busy day in town, huh?” Grace slid up to the counter that joined the hallway and the control room, where Officer O’Brien and Officer Lanza were in a heated game of wall bounce.”

  “It’s deadville in here, McKenna,” O’Brien said. “I want some action.”