Best Kept Secrets Read online

  “She wasn’t planning your wedding, was she.”

  “In the state of Indiana?” Alex threw her head back. “We tried to protect my sister from the haters.”

  When Donnie and Morgan stared at her, she continued. “Hallie wanted a white wedding. She wanted to get married, and that would never happen with Reba. Not in this state, anyway.”

  Rebecca looked up at her sister for the first time since Morgan had arrived. The pain on her face indicated that she had never known Alex felt this way. “What do you mean?”

  “Honey. I love you, but Hallie wasn’t right for you. She turned your cute little house in Danville into a love shack.” Alex’s brutal statement got a reaction from her sister.

  “Why did you encourage me to stay with her?”

  Alex’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She shook her head.

  Alex Hearst, Rebecca’s sister and caretaker to a degree, worked a full-time job as a medical assistant. Davis ran his own business as a marketing consultant. Both had been removed from Morgan’s list of suspects because of solid alibis. Both had willingly turned over their phones and computers for inspection. Nothing of interest had been found.

  Morgan balanced her need to know with a modicum of sensitivity. She was too close to solving her own past to let this go, so she leaned in and placed her hands on Rebecca’s arms. Face-to-face with Rebecca, she said in a lowered voice, “This is your chance to get even.” She whispered to emphasize her point. “I’m invested in catching this fucker too. I’ve been chasing him for my entire career. Tell me what you know.”

  In Rebecca’s red, swollen eyes, Morgan saw a spark of something. She believed she had gotten through to the woman.

  Rebecca tilted her head, nodding slowly at first, then more vigorously. She sniffed and straightened her back. Alex removed her hand from Rebecca’s shoulder.

  Morgan sat on the remaining stool and dug her hand into the pocket of her black blazer. Her fingers grazed the soft edges of worn paper. Her hand rested for a second on the familiar spiral notebook, and when Rebecca began talking, she was ready.

  “She said he lives in Lafayette. He’s an accountant. I don’t know why she would want that, because she was so creative. She made everything beautiful. I loved that about her.”

  Donnie encouraged her to stay focused on the man.

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed. “What did he look like?”

  “I never saw him. But Alex isn’t right. His name isn’t Edmund, it’s Ekhard. Ekhard Klein.”

  CHAPTER 7

  MORGAN

  “Stop calling me!” The line went dead.

  Morgan stared at the name on her cell phone, trying to connect psychically with Victoria Ramsey, Fay’s mother.

  I’m sorry, she wanted to say. For almost fifteen years, every time she had called this number, she got the same response. The definition of insanity is repeating the same task over and over and hoping for a different outcome. That’s what this was, and Morgan knew it.

  She set the cell phone on the couch beside her and stared into her lap at pictures of two girls with happy smiling faces: Fay Ramsey, a close friend in those days, and the younger version of herself. It was the summer before their first year of college. They were so stoned that day at the amusement park. That summer—the summer of weed, they’d called it—they were always stoned.

  Pictures from that little Kodak 110 camera were terribly blurry. Still, with long brown hair blowing in her face, Fay looked frightened. In line, waiting to go on the Son of Beast roller coaster at Kings Island Amusement Park, Fay told her that she had never been on a ride like that. When Morgan had coerced her with ridiculous death threats—I’m gonna kill you if you don’t go with me—Fay had reluctantly agreed.

  “If I live through it,” Fay had said with a smile, “then you can kill me.” The photos were taken two days before Fay’s abduction and subsequent murder.

  Guilt and shame surrounding Fay’s death surfaced again. After all this time, the same feelings rose to heat Morgan’s face. My best friend died because of me.

  That summer they had spent every day together, window-shopping, listening to music, driving around, and walking along the park trails. They spent hours designing their dorm room and planning their schedules. Together, they had saved enough to buy a small papasan chair and had purchased a purple tapestry to hang in a room they never moved into.

  Morgan still owned that tapestry. It remained folded, just like when she bought it, with the price tag still pinned to the corner. And just as she had held onto those material reminders of that day, so she had also clung to feelings of guilt.

  She pushed the books aside and thought, I should have taken better care of Fay. I never should have let her go. Fay Ramsey died under my watch. They were the same thoughts that had driven her to become a detective. They were the same words circling and circling around since Fay’s life had ended. But something was hidden there. Something dark and sticky remained behind the cloak. If only she could remember. If only she could speak with Mrs. Ramsey.

  Morgan was one of the last people to see Fay alive. Though Victoria Ramsey blamed her for Fay’s death, the police had found nothing to incriminate anyone. They questioned Morgan and her parents for hours, even searched Thomas the Toyota and Morgan’s bedroom. Fay died from blunt force trauma to her face and hands. Then the killer left her body to rot beside the creek.

  Morgan chilled at the memory. Something about Hallie’s murder pulled at her, compelling her to search for the answers to the irrational thoughts driving her. Though there was nothing concrete to go on, she couldn’t separate these cases from Fay’s murder. If she found Hallie’s killer, she could solve the mystery of Fay’s death, too.

  She rubbed the backs of her arms and realized she hadn’t eaten yet.

  On her way to the kitchen, her cell phone rang. She doubled back to retrieve it from the coffee table.

  “Miss Detective Jewell?”

  The call came from Lawrence at Conner’s Auto Shop with the word on her precious Thomas. “Lawrence. What’s the verdict? Will Thomas live?”

  “Not without major reconstruction. I located the parts. They were hard to find, Miss Detective. My estimate, for replacing the transmission and starter, for a new thermal coupling and exhaust manifold, will be sixty-two hundred.”

  “Dollars?” Morgan was in shock.

  “Yes, ma’am. Dollars.”

  Morgan placed a palm on her forehead. “I can buy a new Thomas for that.”

  “Not a new one. Used, though.”

  Unable to justify the expense, Morgan had poured just under two thousand into the car this year alone for new brakes, new tires, and an air filter. “I’m sorry.” She put her head in her hand. “How much will it be to tow him to the dump?”

  “Nothing, ma’am. If you’ll let me keep the Toyota for parts, I won’t charge you anything,” Lawrence added.

  It was a no-brainer. “Deal. Thank you, Lawrence.” A fitting end for beloved Thomas. Now he was an organ donor.

  “Yes, Miss Detective. Thank you.”

  The news hit hard. Morgan hung up and lowered her head. The death of her car was the end of an era. Images of that time floated in and out. It was like flipping through pages of an old, familiar book. Bits of conversation came and went, memories of Fay’s laughter and their worries. And the way she looked in Morgan’s flowery sundress.

  CHAPTER 8

  MORGAN: 16 Years Ago

  “Fill me up.” Fay Ramsey held her empty plastic Solo cup at arm’s length. Pink drops of fruit punch dotted it inside and out. The ice had long since melted and gone.

  “Atta girl.” Morgan Jewell closed one eye for better focus. She leaned, unsteadily, toward Fay. The nearly empty rum bottle in her hand swayed over Fay’s plastic cup. “We’re outta punch,” she said.

  “Oh no.” At the last second, Fay pulled her cup back, causing Morgan to pour the last of the rum on Fay’s sandaled foot.

  “What d’you do that for? Now it’s go
ne,” Morgan whined. Music thumped, resounding in her chest. She closed her eyes and floated away on the beat of the song. When she opened them again, Fay was setting her cup on the coffee table next to a half-dozen just like it. She rolled off the couch onto her hands and knees, scattering empty beer cans across the floor as she crawled to a corner of the room, where she put her head in a potted palm.

  Across the room, Elaine, who belonged to the house, was straddling a boy with her back to them. Morgan couldn’t see the boy’s face. The two bodies became one blurry, Medusa-like creature.

  “I jus’ puked in a plant,” Fay said, returning to the couch.

  “You feel better then,” Morgan consoled her friend.

  Laughter erupted from the kitchen. Morgan’s gaze was drawn to a few kids who were still standing, drinking beers and munching on corn chips. Cigarette smoke lingered in the room, lazy curls drifted here and there. Beer bottles and cups half full of pink liquid littered the square wooden coffee table and matching side tables. She wondered what time it was.

  “I should go home,” Fay said.

  “That’s a good idea. Your mom’s going to be furry … furry …” Morgan looked at the ceiling as if it would reveal the word. “Furious!”

  Fay giggled. Wearing Morgan’s flower-printed sundress, she looked super cute tonight. Morgan wanted to kiss her. Instead, she laughed with her. Even sober, Fay was rarely happy. It cheered Morgan to see her friend this way. Somewhere in the back, clouded reaches of her mind, she saw Fay coming out of her overprotected shell.

  “C’mon. I’ll get you home safe.” Morgan rolled to all fours and, making her way to her feet, stumbled a little. “Bye, Elaine. Call tomorrow if you need help cleaning.”

  Elaine’s mouth was firmly attached to the boy. She didn’t answer.

  Fay took Morgan’s arm, helping them both balance. “I don’t think you should drive, Mo.”

  Staggering to the front door, Morgan realized Fay was right. Arm in arm, the young girls helped each other out the door and down the quiet neighborhood street toward Morgan’s car.

  “Did you have fun?” Morgan asked.

  “Absolutely. Bes’ night ever.”

  Fay’s response elicited an ear-to-ear grin. “College will be so awesome.” Morgan looked forward to getting out on her own. More than anything, she wanted Fay to feel good about it too.

  “Maybe.”

  “It. Is. Believe it, Fay.”

  “And terrifying.”

  Morgan let go of Fay’s arm. “Why terrifying?”

  Fay looked at the grass. “I dunno. It just is.” Their destination in sight, Fay stumbled toward the car.

  “Because?” Morgan shouted at Fay’s back.

  “Because it’s such a big place. Because there are so many people. Because the classes will be hard. I don’t know, Morgan. Just because.” Fay ran the rest of the way to the car and bent over, collapsed, onto the hood.

  When Morgan caught up, she looked at her brand-new red Toyota. Mom and Dad had made a big deal of her high school graduation present. She needed a car, but it had cost a lot of money. Tonight she knew better than to drive it. Her parents would be devastated if anything happened to it. If she had only smoked weed, she thought, she could drive safely. I’ve had three … or was it four? … rum drinks at the party. She couldn’t remember.

  Dropping her purse on the ground, Morgan collapsed to her bare knees in the grass. She kicked off her sandals and smoothed out her sleeveless top.

  Fay smiled at her. “What’re you doing?”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a guard dog if I drove you home right now.”

  “Guard dog?”

  “Yeah.” Morgan sat back on the soft, plushy green lawn. “I’m your desi … desi … I appointed me as your personal guard dog. I will take care of you when we get to IU. I will help you get to classes and help you with homework.”

  “Why?” Fay leaned back against the red car and crossed her arms over her chest with a scowl on her otherwise delicate features.

  “Cause it’s scary. Your words, not mine.”

  Fay shook her head. “Some guard dog. You look more like a miniature poodle than a German shepherd.”

  Morgan crossed her legs Indian style and leaned back on her straightened arms. Her short, light-green skirt flounced over her legs and her dark-brown hair lay loose, brushed out and long. “That doesn’t matter. I’m still furry … furry … ferocious.”

  Fay burst out laughing and collapsed in the grass next to Morgan.

  “I said it on purpose that time,” Morgan explained. “And I mean it. Don’t worry, Fay. I will be there for you. I promise.”

  “My mom will be there every day too. Count on it.” Fay plucked a long blade of grass.

  Morgan shook her head. “I hope not. Your mom is the fun police.”

  Fay sank a little lower. Vic treated Fay like a six-year-old. She set strict curfews and maintained a list of places where Fay wasn’t allowed to go and people she wasn’t allowed to see. Morgan had once graced that list. Over time, Vic had reluctantly warmed up to her.

  Cicadas buzzed and purred in the night. Their loud song filled the silence as Morgan planned what to say next. “We’ll show your mom how strong and independent you are,” she told Fay. “We’ll show her you can do it on your own.” What she didn’t say out loud was, I’m rescuing you from your monster-mother.

  Fay lay back in the cushiony grass. “You’ll help me?”

  “Yes! I will be there for you.” Taking Fay’s hand, Morgan said, “You can do this without her.” Her heart filled with tenderness. She wanted to see Fay step into the real, adult world with confidence and command. In helping her friend, Morgan could also begin that phase of life fearlessly. She had fears too, though nothing like Fay’s. “You know, I’m a little nervous too.”

  “You don’t seem like it.”

  Morgan lay back next to Fay. “’Cause I know it will be awesome.” These were words she needed to hear herself.

  For several hours they lay in the grass talking about the future. About decorating their dorm room. About boys and parties. Morgan pointed out Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper. Time seemed to stand still.

  The cicada song diminished, and crickets stopped chirping when the horizon lightened behind the maple trees. Morgan rolled to her feet. “Hope your mom isn’t mad. I think I kept you out all night.”

  “My mom is always mad,” Fay admitted with a good dose of cheer.

  “Time for your guard dog to take you home.” A little dizzy but more sober, Morgan stood up and stretched.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Look what time it is.” Morgan picked up her purse and reached inside for the keys. “Anyway, this car will get me and you home safely. I promise. This is a great car.”

  Getting to her feet, Fay asked, “Have you given it a name yet?”

  “A name?” Morgan asked, unlocking and opening the door.

  Fay climbed in the passenger side and closed the door. “I think Thomas. Thomas Toyota.”

  As Morgan started it up, she said, “I like it. Thomas is a strong name. It makes him sound reliable.”

  “Dependable.”

  “Unwavering.”

  “Like you,” Fay said.

  CHAPTER 9

  MORGAN

  Morgan traced her finger along the chrome edge of a used Honda Accord’s window . “It doesn’t have very many miles on it,” she said. That meant the previous owner hadn’t loved it as much as she had loved Thomas Toyota.

  “The owner was local, and she only drove to and from work. You’re lucky. A car like this doesn’t come into the dealership every day. Did you enjoy driving it?” The salesman wore a green blazer over a light-blue golf shirt.

  Unlike her old car, this one had sexy curves and a shiny interior. Morgan opened the door and stuck her head inside again. It was too clean.

  Nearby, Rob said, “It has smooth transitions. Good handling.”

  With his gray
hair cut short and combed to perfection, the salesman’s thin smile and relaxed demeanor were well rehearsed. He started his spiel. “The Accord is one of the most highly …”

  Rob cut him off. “We know the specs.”

  “Will this be a family car?” the salesman asked, pressing for more information. “I noticed that you have a dog in your truck.”

  Morgan laughed. “No.” She stood up and closed the door. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for you, please.” With a flourish, the salesman drew a card from his pocket. “Name’s Jeff. Call me.”

  Morgan walked back to the truck. Rob shook the man’s hand, then jogged to catch up with her. “Didn’t like it?”

  “Nah. It’s not what I’m looking for.”

  In the passenger seat, Gretta greeted them with a hearty tail wag.

  Rob hopped in on the driver’s side. “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll know it when I see it.” Morgan didn’t like shopping for a car. It was time-consuming, and eventually it would be expensive.

  He started up the truck. The sun had sunk below the horizon and the sky turned purple. Evenings were coming earlier and the days were shorter. Turning on the headlights, Rob drove out of the lot. He took a long, heavy breath, “Was there anything on the lot you liked?”

  Morgan looked at the sea of new and used cars. “No. Not really.” Aware how frustrated Rob was, she tried to lighten his mood. “I’ll go online and look. There must be cars for sale on the Internet. Besides, I have to work on the computer tonight.”

  “That case?” he asked.

  “I want to check databases. If I can locate someone, I’ll call tomorrow to set up an interview.” Earlier that day, Morgan had searched every database in the state of Indiana and still came up with a big zero for the elusive Ekhard Klein. One man she found, Ekhard Marcus Klein, had been born thirty-eight years before in Indianapolis on Halloween. But after a short stint as an eighteen-year-old at Butler University, he vanished. Those early records listed his mother, Anna Clare, and father, Theodore Joseph Klein, who were divorced before Ekhard was in high school. He had a younger sister, Caryn, but no other siblings.