Christie leaned back in her chair, opening the conversation. “What about you? Do you think you will ever have babies?”
It was the question Grace always dreaded but was asked often ever since she was in a relationship.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Grace paused, looked around as if she was confessing her darkest secret. “The truth is I don’t know if I’d make a good mom.” Just like that, her biggest fear was laid out on the table for the world to see. It was the first time she had said the words out loud, and their weight suddenly lifted after all these years of holding on to them.
“Trust me, no woman—at least no normal woman—doesn’t have doubts about being a good mom before they have their first baby. You should’ve seen me, I was a mess.”
“I bet, but I’m sure Miriam was a big help, and your family is all here in town, right?”
“My family is great. They are so embedded in this town, I was receiving pregnancy support everywhere I went that first time around. And then you get pregnant again, and everyone just kinda lets you fend for yourself.” She laughed before her face stilled and turned somber. “As for Miriam, well, she’s helpful in a lot of things in our lives, but when I was pregnant with Kloe, she grew distant. It’s like it reminded her of the days when she was pregnant with Annabelle, and gosh, I can only imagine. And then when she found out we were having a girl, well, that distance went from a foot to a mile. She came around eventually, but I feel like it’s never really been the same.”
“She seems so close to Kloe though.”
“Oh, she is, frighteningly so. She is so close with Kloe and so protective of her that sometimes I worry what she would do if someone accidentally stepped on Kloe’s foot. She lost one little girl, she is dead set on making sure nothing happens to another one. The only problem is that Kloe belongs to me and Scott, ya know. I think she forgets that sometimes.”
“It’s terrible what happened to her daughter.”
“Yeah, it’s terrible. They never found the body, but Scott told me that Miriam is convinced she knows who it is…”
“Mommy!”
“Inside voice, Kloe. What?”
“I’m bored.”
“I had a feeling that wouldn’t last long, I’m sorry. The attention span of a 4-year-old is limited to about 20 minutes. Actually, I’m surprised she lasted this long.”
“Well, what if we go for a walk, maybe head to a park?” Grace interjected, clinging to the previous conversation for dear life.
“Yes! Park, mommy, park! And I have my scooter, I can show the lady police officer—I mean Grace—my moves.”
“Alright, let’s hit the road then.” Christie stood up, gathered the coloring books and placed them on the shelf. “Are you okay with this? Really, you don’t have to hang out with us, I’m sure you have much more important things to do.”
“Absolutely, I’d love to see your moves, Kloe.”
Grace stood under the now-beating sun while she held the door open for Kloe and Christie as they made their way up the Depot’s carpeted ramp and filtered outside. Kloe buckled her helmet and hopped on her bright pink scooter, purple streamers jutting out from the handle bars and fluttering in the wind as she rode along the sidewalk that bordered many of the town’s businesses.
“Grace, watch this!” Kloe crouched down on the scooter until her bum was nearly touching the base and veered right and left with the ease of a professional scooter rider.
“Wow! That’s amazing, Kloe.” Grace slowed her pace to stay alongside Christie, who had reached the point in pregnancy when woman have no choice but to waddle. “Are you sure you are okay to walk around like this?”
“Yes, trust me, looks are deceiving. I’m fatter than I feel.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that, you look absolutely beautiful, I just wasn’t sure…” Grace sighed. “I’m just so clueless about pregnancy and what women can and can’t do with a baby. I basically have the knowledge of an elderly man when it comes to what the female body goes through during pregnancy.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll learn real fast when you have a baby of your own growing inside of you.” Christie laughed and patted Grace’s arm. Grace was surprised how she felt when someone spoke to her about having a baby as if she had the capacity to even procreate. Grace felt like a child being cheered on by their parent at a baseball game.
“So, did Miriam do, like, a 360 when you first got pregnant?”
“Pretty much. It was like we were expecting her to be thrilled about the news, ya know. We thought it would be a fresh start for her to watch a little girl grow up, and we were so thrilled ourselves that we completely didn’t think about how hard it would be for her. But it was a tough time in general for her.”
“What do you mean? What else was going on?”
“Well, I don’t know…I really shouldn’t say, but that was four years ago, and even though it had been over thirty years since Annabelle went missing, she was still on a mission to track down the kidnapper…or killer, I suppose. She was relentless about it, she lived and breathed searching for someone. It was this one particular guy, he worked over at the yacht club.”
“Why did she think it was this one guy?” Grace was having a hard time not just shaking the information out of her.
“Well, she was set on Stephen Cassidy, this guy who taught sailing lessons, she was dead set that it was him. I remember when Scott told me that, and my head must’ve spun around because I know Stephen Cassidy, and my family knows him very well. My dad especially was very close to him when I was growing up, they used to sail together, and he’d even been over to my house for BBQs on several occasions. I was so much younger than him so I didn’t know him all that well, but we certainly would chat if we bumped into each other on the street or at the club. I didn’t ask much, because Scott still has trouble talking about it, but from what I gather, Miriam somehow became convinced that Stephen was Annabelle’s kidnapper. Something about a day at the aquarium.” Christie paused. “Kloe! Slow down! The park is right around the corner.” She turned to Grace as they approached a park filled with little kids in brightly colored clothes, darting from one piece of equipment to the next like little neon dots fluttering about.
“Sorry, do you mind if we sit now?”
“Of course not.” Grace slid into one of the many green benches that outlined the park, where Kloe was already making new friends.
“So, was Stephen Cassidy a good guy?”
“Stephen Cassidy was a great guy. He was always volunteering his time to help with the sailing program at the club and the kids loved him. I mean, he was a bit loopy and a super daredevil, but he was harmless. He traveled all the time and we haven’t seen him since the sailing gala at the club two summers ago. In fact….” Christie paused, turned and locked her eyes on Grace.
“What?”
“Well, I called the police station two years ago, but I couldn’t follow through, I couldn’t get Miriam in trouble… She’s my mother-in-law, and I don’t know for a fact, but…”
“But what? What happened?”
“I really shouldn’t be telling you, especially you, all of this, but I think Miriam killed Stephen Cassidy.” When Christie dropped the bomb, guilt instantly washed over her face as she’d spilled what could be the biggest secret of her life. “The last time I saw him, he was with her and they were walking on the dock at the yacht club that night, the night of the gala. That’s all I know. I don’t know how she could’ve possibly killed a man twice her size, but you know that gut feeling you get sometimes…That’s how I feel about this. Miriam just seemed different after that moment, more at peace and more able to focus, I suppose.
“So, I called the police station and told them Stephen Cassidy was missing, but of course it hadn’t been long enough to file a report and I just froze, so I hung up. And I just couldn’t ever call back, because first of all, I have no tangible proof, and second of all, she’s Kloe’s best friend. And if Miriam ever found out that I tried to get her in troubl
e…I’m afraid what she would do to me.”
Chapter Seventeen
July 4, 2018
Grace spent the last several weeks mapping out possible scenarios regarding Annabelle and Stephen Cassidy’s mysterious disappearances. Two completely different people at opposite ends of life, both dead somewhere and somehow, but Grace was still at a loss for answers. She had trouble believing that Miriam, as frail as she was, could single-handedly murder Cassidy, and she had even more trouble sorting out why Judy McNeil would kidnap Annabelle, a little girl whose mother and brother eventually ended up living in McNeil’s hometown.
The more Grace mentally sorted out the details in the private hours between her job duties and in the darkness while attempting to sleep, the more she realized that Bridgeton seemed to be a breeding ground for unexpected secrets, a home to characters who killed for unknown reasons.
But Grace had to put all her questions aside, if only for the day, because the 4th of July in Bridgeton called for her undivided attention as a police officer. Today, she would have to push aside the detective work and focus on the town’s annual 4th of July parade. She’d have to push thoughts of the Miriam-Stephen-Judy triangle out of her head and find some joy in watching over the town as it celebrated what most townies deemed the best day of the year.
Today was a day that Grace made herself present as an officer in the town to ensure the residents felt safe amongst the BBQs, fireworks, pie-eating contests, and activities in the town’s biggest park. The second she pushed through the station door and was hit by the sweltering heat, she regretted wearing her black pants. She was under no restriction to wear pants today, and the Chief let it slide if officers dressed down a bit, her own insecurities got the best of her. Ever since she started seeing varicose veins climbing up her legs, a trait inherited from Ellen, she had vowed to hide them the best she could.
“Shit.” The heat was so strong that she almost lost her breath when she attempted to breathe in. And if history was any kind of factor, the hotter it was, the more aggravated people became, leading to a higher rate of drunken fights. People drink faster when it’s hot, that’s all there is too it, so when it’s hot, just expect more drunk people floating around. One of the officers had created this theory when Grace first got on the force, and over the years she had found he was 100% right.
“Princess!”
Grace turned around just in time to catch a bottle of water hurled by Barb.
“Don’t forget to stay hydrated. Remember what happened to me that one year?” Barb reiterated the importance of drinking water in the heat yearly ever since she passed out while sitting on the parade route sidelines. Grace, along with all the other officers at the station, was pretty sure it was from the handful of very strong mimosas Barb had consumed before 9:00 am that day, but they allowed Barb to hand out the one piece of health advice she offered.
“Thanks, Barb.” Grace held the sweating bottle up to her face and allowed it to drip down her neck and onto her shirt. Her makeup was already sweating off, so who cared if she had wet clothes? Everyone else at the parade would be drenched with sweat anyway.
Grace tossed the water bottle into the passenger seat of her cruiser and slipped into the seat, which already felt like fire on her bum. Before she pulled out of the lot and toward the section of town known as “The Notch,” she blasted the air conditioner into her face to dry her makeup for the time being.
The Notch was on the opposite section of town as the police station. Like an arm reaching out into the water, The Notch was connected to the rest of the town by one long street, known as Margaret Street, named after a little girl who washed up on the shores of The Notch in the late 1850s. Every time Grace drove down Margaret Street, she was overcome with an eerie feeling, and while the only image the department had of little Margaret Miller was grainy and hard to decipher, she could see that little face as clearly as if it was in one of today’s digital photos. The brown, wideset eyes called out to Grace as she drove along the street, carving her way through the hordes of residents already gathering to kick off the festivities.
Officer Lucerto cleared the parking lot entryway abutting the shoreline and waved her in. Grace pulled into the spot he had saved for her knowing the lot would get filled with parade participants using the lot as a group meeting spot and to put finishing touches on their floats. A flock of rubber duckies almost barreled into Grace as soon as she opened her car door, their haphazardly painted yellow cardboard boxes making it impossible to walk in a straight line.
Amongst the sound of toddlers quacking away was the middle school band rehearsing at the other end of the lot, and a few popped balloons could be heard from a colorful jellybean float, while older women spilled out of the back of a pickup truck wearing bright colors with even brighter balloons taped to them. Their hats, arms, and legs were covered in balloons. A sign on the truck read “The Jellybean Jugglers.” Grace wasn’t sure how they would juggle with so many balloons surrounding them, but she’d seen bigger challenges in parade participants, so surely, they would make it happen. One woman tossed three red balls in the air and knocked into another woman when she attempted to catch two at the same time. The two caused a commotion of popping balloons, which made for the perfect start to the day that would end with a colorful display of popping fireworks over the Boston Harbor.
Grace snuck up on Officer Lucerto. “So, any good floats this year?”
“Pretty sure they are the same as last year and the year before, except, of course, the Jellybean Jugglers; those ladies really step it up every year. I mean, come on. Jellybeans that juggle! Does it get better than that?” Officer Lucerto stood with his arms across his chest, only changing his stance to flag incoming cars.
“And you act like you don’t like covering this detail.” Grace joked, bumping his shoulder with hers.
“I mean, of course I’d rather be here than lounging on a float at the lake with a gin and tonic in my hand, of course I’d rather get asked what time the parade starts over and over by the same people who have attended this parade every year for the past eighty years. Well, duh.”
“Officer Grace!” Grace knew the voice before she turned around to respond to the little hand tugging on her white T-shirt. She looked down to see Kloe’s face beaming with pride as she showed off her mermaid costume, complete with shimmery stars peppered along her cheeks.
“Well, look at you, Kloe, you must be the most beautiful mermaid that I have ever seen.” Grace crouched down so she was eye level with Kloe. She unzipped her backpack filled with waters, an emergency kit, sunblock and a few other essential items. After rummaging around, her hand landed on a mini bottle of bubbles she had stocked up on for the occasion.
Every year, Lt. Sullivan went out and bought little red, white and blue bottles of bubbles and made sure the officers handed them out to kids at the parade. Doing so had been his wife’s tradition, and Lt. Sullivan felt the need to honor it after she passed, so even though he no longer attended the parade for fear of stirring up sadness from memories of her, he insisted the bubbles still be handed out.
“I have a little something for you in here.” Grace took her time retrieving the bubbles as Kloe closed her eyes and put her hands out before her, palms up as a big smile spread across her face.
“Bubbles!” Kloe’s eyes popped open at the sight of the little red bottle, and she jumped up and down.
“Now, you save those for when you are out there marching in the parade, okay?” Grace said as she felt a shadow hovering over the two of them.
“Did you convince another person to give you something for free again?” Scott ruffled the top of Kloe’s head before she stopped him and lectured him for messing up her mermaid braid. “Sorry, is she bugging you?”
“Never. I was just giving her some bubbles to blow in the parade.”
“Ahhh, the parade bubbles.” Scott leaned in and lowered his voice. “We’ve been hearing about these bubbles since she popped out of bed at 5:00 this morning, h
aven’t we, Klo? If only I would’ve known the magic to her happiness was a mini bottle of bubbles, Christie and I would’ve been saved from the terrible two’s.” Scott’s smile spilled across his face, revealing a set of teeth slightly spaced from one another. Grace had always thought Scott had the perfect smile, but standing so near him now, she realized he had the same gaps and spaces she recognized in Annabelle’s old, grainy photo. Sometimes things looked perfect from a distance, but they were anything but when you got up close. The metaphor wasn’t lost on Grace as she remembered what Lottie had said about the town’s buried secrets. Be careful who you spend time with. She could hear Lottie’s words in her head repeating themselves like a broken record.
“Sailors! Gather round!” Miriam’s voice was loud and clear thanks to the red megaphone she held at the center of the lot.
“Well, I guess that’s our cue.” Scott started to turn, guiding Kloe.
“Wow, your mom doesn’t mess around when it comes to these things, huh?”
“She certainly doesn’t.” Scott turned, then paused awkwardly. “Once she has her mind set on something, she goes all the way.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” Grace left the words as they were and forced herself to pry no further. In return, Scott scrunched his well-shaped dark eyebrows and batted the statement around in his head before he nodded and turned back toward the center of the parking lot, where Miriam was instructing her group of sea creatures and sailors like a seasoned conductor.
“We are commencing the 135th annual 4th of July parade in approximately three minutes.”
Grace recognized the man screaming at the top of his lungs as he zigzagged between the many groups putting the finishing touches on their floats. It was Tommy Martucci, Anna’s husband and Suzanne’s father. Even on the hottest of days, Tommy wore socks, and today was no exception as he donned a pair of dark green socks that showed where his khaki pant leg met his worn boat shoes. He wore a button-down shirt covered in tiny little anchors, the top three buttons undone, revealing a tuft of hair that matched the black and silver streaks on his head. The man was the central force of the town and had his hand in nearly every committee and club. He was always the first to contribute to the fundraisers that benefited Bridgeton’s youth.
Buried Secrets Page 18
