Buried Secrets

by Kate Anslinger

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Grace shot them a smile and walked toward her office, leaving them to stew in their boredom. She remembered working the control room in a small town. For the longest time Grace had wanted to move on to bigger and what she thought at the time were better departments like Boston, but then she realized she had a whole pool of criminals within the town lines of Bridgeton. She just had to stumble across the right ones, and she didn’t have the advantage of having the rest of the department helping her solve crimes.

  Before Grace could even sit, she was pressing the keys to wake up her computer. She slid into her chair and started tapping her foot as she waited for the old, department-owned PC to present the Google search page. Knowing Miriam was active in the community, she would start by searching for associated groups and boards.

  Grace started by punching in Miriam Haskell, this time adding Bridgeton, MA to the search. It didn’t take long for a long list of results to pop up. As Grace expected, several events tied to the PTA landed on her screen: “Bridgeton Elementary School PTA raises funds in Christmas bake sale,” “PTA takes first place in ‘Most Adorable’ category of 4th of July parade,” “PTA hosts dance party for elementary students to raise funds.” Miriam’s name was included in each article covered by the local paper, along with a photo of her smiling proudly alongside a gaggle of little kids. In every photo, Kloe was pictured in front of her grandmother, Miriam’s hands resting gently on the little girl’s delicate shoulders. As Grace analyzed the photos of Miriam and Kloe, she wondered whether part of Miriam thought Kloe was a replica of the daughter she lost. Maybe she moved here to secretly re-invent her life and pretend nothing happened and nothing was lost?

  So far, Grace knew that the woman, tattooed with grief, uprooted Scott from the North End of Boston when he was six years old. What she didn’t know was why she picked Bridgeton. Why this town out of all the towns in the state, or in the country, for that matter? Did she really summer here when she was a kid, or was that just what she told Scott? She scrolled down the long list of Miriam’s PTA news appearances until she finally found something different, buried below all the school activity.

  Local woman brings bowling back to Bridgeton

  August 21, 1992

  Miriam Haskell is no stranger to the town, but until recently, she was a stranger to the Bridgeton Yacht Club. That all changed, when Haskell formed a women’s bowling league. For years, the town’s only yacht club has been home to the men’s bowling league but never a women’s league until Haskell took the lead and made it happen.

  “I just felt it was the right thing to do,” Haskell said. “It’s only fair that the women have a league, and we had more than enough women interested in joining, so it was a win-win.”

  Because Haskell proved to be an expert at spearheading the league, she was asked to be on the board of the annual sailing gala. She has taken on the responsibility with great pride, guiding and directing the board with equal parts ease and direction.

  “Miriam is a force to be reckoned with,” said Commodore Sean Walcott. “She has the energy and drive the event needs to keep everyone and everything on track. We couldn’t have done this year’s event without her.”

  After Grace read the article, which seemed to have been photographed, scanned and posted on the local newspaper’s site, she narrowed her search to “Miriam Haskell, Bridgeton Yacht Club,” and found several more articles dating from 1992 until just last summer. Grace wondered how detectives did their jobs before the Internet allowed for a surge of information with the simple typing of keys and clicking of a search button. She knew that the details of Annabelle’s case would be hard to find since it happened in the early eighties, but there was always hope of a scanned document uploaded to a site. She tried Annabelle Haskell first, and when she found nothing related to the little girl, she switched her search to Annabelle Caverly. Much to Grace’s surprise, the face of a little girl almost identical to Kloe popped up on the screen. The only difference Grace could distinguish off the bat were the teeth. The gaps between Annabelle’s two front teeth were easily recognizable even on the black and white print. Below the grainy photo was a brief synopsis of Annabelle’s disappearance and a quote from Boston’s Chief of Police.

  Annabelle J. Caverly was last seen at the New England Aquarium September 27, 1985. Her mother, Miriam Caverly, and brother, Scott Caverly, were with her just moments before she disappeared. If you see a child who fits Annabelle’s description, please contact the Boston Police Department at 617-846-1913. When she was last seen she weighed 40 pounds and was 41 inches in height. She has long, dark brown hair and blue eyes.

  “In all my years on the force, I’ve never encountered a child being abducted in broad daylight like this. In other cases, the child has been found immediately after the kidnapping, but we have limited evidence in Annabelle’s case and her whereabouts. We are certainly doing everything we can to track down this little girl and give some sort of reassurance to her family,” said Chief Vincent Caraglia.

  Amongst all the other confusion in Grace’s head already, she picked up on the fact that Miriam’s last name was Caverly. For whatever reason, Miriam had changed it to Haskell after Annabelle went missing. Questions surrounding Scott’s father bounced around in Grace’s head, ricocheting off one another as she thought of possible solutions. Was the father a suspect? But, if he was, then who is Stephen Cassidy and why is he connected to this?

  Just as her eyes were starting to squint from overuse, Grace’s desk phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, McKenna, look, I know you’re off duty and all, but we got our only free officer doing a detail for a party down at the yacht club tonight and we just got a call about some drunk causing trouble at The Spray. Any chance you can…”

  Before Grace could make an excuse to not respond, she bolted upright, ready to work. Even the newbies at the station knew she rarely refused to work, even when she was technically not on the clock.

  “I’ll head over,” Grace said as she made her way toward her office door. Remembering that her screen showed all things Miriam-related, she turned around and cleared it, erasing any evidence of her private search.

  “Sounds like it’s another drunken fight over there,” Officer Lanza shouted between ball-bounces.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Grace said without looking over at the control room. She pushed through the glass door and made her way down a side street that conveniently joined The Spray with the police department. By the time she arrived, it was only about 4:00 PM, which meant the bar stools were already filled with hunched-over drunks, some still managing to hold conversations while others were already starting to nod off between slurred words. One man managed to lift his head long enough to show that he heard Grace walking past the bar, but his eyes then drifted beyond her with a stare that appeared to be focused on the paneled wall marked up with messy scrawl from past patrons. Among the many signatures the wall had collected over the years were used pieces of gum pressed between the wooden creases.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, who called this time?” Marty’s voice rang out in a crusty growl as she popped up from behind the bar and saw Grace walking past.

  “You tell me. Just got a call that there was an issue over here.”

  “Who called the police this time?” Marty shouted to her many regulars, most of whom looked like they were quite incapable of dialing a number at that point.

  “Got a report of a fight down here.”

  “Well, that’s every day with these fools, but I haven’t seen anything yet today, might be one of those kids pranking you…it is summer and these kids around here ain’t got nuthin’ better to do. While you’re here, can I get you a cold one, detective?”

  “No, I’m good, I better get back to work,” Grace said as Marty’s eyes examined Grace’s casual outfit, assessing her off-duty attire.

  “I just happened to be at the office when the call came in.”

  “I didn’t sa
y a thing.” Marty raised a hand and slammed her palm onto a beer bottle she had pressed beneath the edge of the bar. The cap slipped off effortlessly and fell to the floor on the other side of the bar, joining the many others from just over the past hour. “But it’s good for the mind every now and then to take a day off, you know.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” Grace said with a smirk. For as long as she’d worked in Bridgeton, she never knew of any other manager or person in charge at The Spray. The bar was a one-man show, Marty handling the books, the bar and the battles that broke out. As far as Grace knew, only one other employee worked in the kitchen dishing up the limited options and occasionally clearing off tables. Marty lived and breathed this bar, maybe because she knew she wouldn’t have a chance in hell of getting away with half the things she did if she were in a bigger town. And she most certainly didn’t want to risk hiring staff that could potentially get her shut down by the state.

  “Hey, I didn’t say I had to practice what I preached.”

  Grace laughed as she slid her hand across the bar, instantly regretting it when a sticky substance stuck to it. She took one look around the bar and saw an equal mix of men and women mostly over forty with a few young hipsters sprinkled here and there. One young couple stood out in the crowd, looking far too sober and educated to blend in. The girl’s long, shiny, brown hair swung side-to-side effortlessly as she walked to pull the darts out of the board she’d aimed for. Innocence sparkled in her eyes as she returned to her boyfriend with a full smile while mocking her own attempts. He had skinny jeans that greeted a pair of black boots and a black band T-shirt, showing off a far edgier side than the girl’s more polished appearance.

  Grace, watching the girl take a tiny sip of whiskey, was surprised by her choice of drink. The boy reached for his can of diet coke sitting on a tall, wobbly bar table. Surely this was still one of the only bars that still served soda in a can.

  “I’m gonna head out the back door, if you don’t mind,” Grace said as she looked around the bar one last time.

  “Be my guest.” Marty waved a hand toward the screen door that led to the back alley.

  Just as Grace pushed the door open, she saw a man leaning against a stack of upside-down milk crates. He looked up from his phone, greeting Grace with a set of crinkled eyebrows, before he turned away and darted down a neighborhood street.

  “Hey!” Grace marched toward the street he turned down, nearly tripping over the milk crates. “Hey!” she shouted again as she kicked a crate out of the way and jogged in the guy’s direction. The closer she got to him, the more he picked up his pace, and Grace knew he was trying to escape her for some reason.

  “Hey! Stop, I have a question!” she yelled as her jog turned into a sprint to catch up to him. She was stalled by a couple of boys on roller blades barreling around another street corner, making her press her body up against a fence as they raced past, unaware that they’d nearly clipped her feet. She launched into a sprint again, pumping her arms rapidly until the guy stopped suddenly, causing her to crash into his backside. He turned around. Grace fully expected to be pummeled with visions of a crime; instead, she was greeted by a set of kind, greenish-blue eyes.

  “Hey!” Grace shouted, spurred by her pumping blood and lack of oxygen from the impromptu sprint.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Well, you can start by telling me why you were running away from me.”

  “Well, I tend to run when being chased.” A smile stretched across the man’s lips, bringing his eyes even more to life and igniting a personality Grace hadn’t expected. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “Maybe…” Grace gestured toward a bench that outlined a baseball field across the street from where they stood.

  “After you, I promise I won’t run again.” He extended a hand toward the bench.

  “Thank you.” Grace felt a droplet of sweat down her back when she sat on the metal bench. “So, are you going to tell me who you are?”

  “Jayson, Jayson McNeil.”

  “Grace McKenna.” Grace reached out a sweaty hand to shake his.

  “I know who you are.”

  “Let me guess, you read the local newspaper, or wait…you have a kid in the school district who knows me or…wait…”

  “Neither. Let’s just say I’ve been following you for years.”

  A wave of fear overcame Grace. She had been face-to-face with criminals who fit Jayson’s clean-cut persona, his perfected outside appearance, only to find they had dark secrets lurking under the exceptional exterior. Just because she hadn’t seen haunting visions in his eyes didn’t mean that he didn’t have crime in his future.

  “I made the call to the police station.”

  “Okay, you don’t look like you’ve been in a fight.” Grace examined his crisp Under Armor shirt, freshly pressed gym shorts, perfectly shaved bald head, and jawline that framed his face like an Abercrombie model.

  “I wasn’t. I was trying to get your attention—or someone’s attention. I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention for years. I knew you were a detective and I saw what you did with the Waterford case, so let’s just say this isn’t the first prank call from the bar I’ve made. I guess I thought that if the police spent more time down here…”

  “Alright, what is going on? I don’t know you, you know me, and you obviously have something you want to tell me. Is this a drug thing? ‘Cause we have a hotline where you can report suspicious activity. You really didn’t need to call in a prank, we all know crazy shit goes on in that bar…”

  “Stop. I’ve been holding on to something for, well, most of my life, and it never bothered me as much as it does now—since my son was born.” He looked straight ahead, seemingly sidetracked by the group of boys playing catch in the field. Grace’s eyes diverted to his left hand, where she saw a wedding band. He looked like he was about Grace’s age, which always made her feel like she was far behind on the timeline of life.

  “Okay, go on.” Grace had no idea what this guy was telling her. Surely, he had something to get off his chest.

  “I love my son more than anything in the world. Before he was born, I never knew how much you could love someone, you know.”

  Grace didn’t know; she had no idea what it was like, but she nodded in agreement.

  “If someone, if someone ever took him from me, I’d kill them. I would murder them and I wouldn’t think twice about it.” Grace could see a fierce anger pierce his eyes as a layer of tears changed them from a shade of pale blue to that of a sea green. “I always said that blood comes first, and it does, but there are certain circumstances where you have to side with what you feel is right and you have to somehow make a wrong right, even if it may be too late.”

  “Jayson, if you committed a crime, we can get you help if you confess, and it might not be as bad as you think. Do the right thing and confess to whatever it is you need to confess to.”

  He shook his head, defeat visible in his now-sagging shoulders and hunched back. He looked down at the bench, gripping the edge and leaning back until his body was in the shape of a C.

  “No, it wasn’t me…I…I remember her. This little girl. She had dark brown hair, and she was younger than me. I remember her feet being so small. She wore a pair of pink jelly shoes. I only know what they are called because I see kids wearing them now. But it was so long ago, it’s hard to remember everything, and I blocked it out all these years. And then my son was born and it all came back, and I’ve been just so overwhelmed with guilt and pain.”

  “Jayson, what happened? Tell me.” Grace, doing the math in her head, knew exactly whom he was talking about: Annabelle. Jayson looked around her age—Scott’s age. Scott was six when he and Miriam moved to Bridgeton. So many puzzle pieces moved around in her head but none of them clicked into place; instead, they all bumped against one another in a confusing mix of images.

  “My mother—she’s in that bar. She’s in that bar every single day. Has been for as long as I
can remember. She’s sick. But she is my mother, and I could never get past that. Until now, until I see my own wife holding my son.”

  Even though a million questions raced through Grace’s head, she let him talk.

  “I never understood how someone could take a child from someone else, but those feelings became so much more heightened after, Julienne, my son, was born.”

  “Did your mom do something?”

  “She did something terrible. And I did something terrible by not telling anyone all these years.”

  “Just start out by telling me what she did, Jayson.” Grace felt compelled to grab his hand, to coddle him during the reliving of the experience.

  “I was so little I don’t remember it all. I just remember that one day, this girl showed up in our lives. She was younger than me. And then one day, she was gone. At first, I thought my mom was babysitting a friend’s kid or something because she did that from time to time. She was actually somewhat normal back then, or at least I thought.”

  “Do you remember what happened before this girl showed up? Think hard, Jayson.”

  “Yeah, we were at the aquarium.”

  Chapter Ten

  Grace was so floored by the new information at her fingertips that she didn’t even know how to process it. Jayson McNeil had been trying to get Grace to the bar for years, hoping she would somehow realize his mother was a criminal. The last thing he remembered before the little girl, who Grace was certain was Annabelle, was being at the aquarium with his mother. He said he remembered being by the turtle tank and talking to a guy with longer hair. He remembered the guy walking the little girl with the long dark hair to his mother as they were getting ready to leave the aquarium for the day. He remembered seeing the little girl’s face stained with tears and red from crying so much. She was with them for one night, then suddenly she was gone. His mother had dropped him off at school one day, and when he came home the little girl was no longer there. When he asked about her, he remembered his mother saying that she had to go home, and she was a friend’s daughter she’d watched as a favor while the parents went out of town. There were a lot of missing pieces from Jayson’s memory due to the large portion of time between the day at the aquarium and today.