Best Kept Secrets Page 5
Morgan checked public records from the surrounding counties, including Hendricks County where the small town of Danville is located—where Hallie was killed. No one with that name appeared. It seemed Hallie Marks would have married a ghost.
Sandwiched between Morgan and Rob, Gretta stared out the windshield. Morgan stroked her soft fur. “Thanks for taking me car shopping. And sorry I haven’t made a decision yet. It’s not easy.”
“No problem. I’m trying to help. And I’m happy to answer your questions,” Rob answered.
“Can I buy you dinner?” Morgan wanted to repay him for taking the time. It didn’t occur to her that Rob might just enjoy being with her.
“Sure. As long as I’m not keeping you from work,” he said.
She looked up at his inviting smile and decided that work could wait.
* * *
“How’ve you been?” Rob shouted over the cacophony.
“Busy.” Loud pop music playing over continuous arcade-game racket drowned out Morgan’s voice. They were waiting their turn to shoot pool at the new hot spot, a dream destination for families with school-age children and gaming nerds alike. The restaurant and combined video arcade for adults had a fully stocked bar and an eight-page dinner menu. Kurt Cobain sang melodramatic lyrics of Nirvana’s “Lithium” in the background. But the loud arcade sounds weren’t enough to drown out Morgan’s thoughts.
“I killed you / I’m not gonna crack …”
Rob sat across the round bar table, attentive. “I heard about that case you’re working on. That’s fucked up. Have you got any suspects?”
“Not yet.” Morgan pulled a frosty, glow-in-the-dark green drink toward her, leaving a wet trail on the table. She sipped the sour-apple slushy wondering, Where could Ekhard have disappeared to?
While her mind remained on work, Rob shifted in his seat, seeming uncomfortable. “I heard you rented a Mazda,” he said.
She welcomed his question, a refreshing change of subject. “I just wanted to try it.” Morgan was pretty sure nothing could replace Thomas. “But I don’t know what to get,” she admitted. In the sprawling city of Indianapolis, being carless was not an option.
“Do you need help?” Rob had a way of asking that showed he cared yet wasn’t pushy or smothering.
“I think I can figure it out.” She shrugged, not sure if she should accept the offer or not. Rob had already put in enough time on the car-buying project.
He watched the pool table while sipping his foamy draft. The two men playing took shots at the eight ball.
“How’s life in the mounted division?” she asked.
“Good. With Halloween coming, the creeps keep life interesting.”
After several shots and misses, one man sunk the black ball in a corner pocket.
Rob hopped off his stool and slid a stack of quarters onto the table. He placed the balls and arranged them inside the triangle. Although Morgan had never become proficient at the game, its familiarity grounded her and reminded her of home. For many years, her parents had had a pool table in their basement.
Rob handed her a pool cue. “Are you breaking?”
She took it from him and positioned herself at the end of the table. Sliding the stick back and forth over her thumb, she aimed at the triangle of balls in the center of the table. With a crack she hit, causing the balls to explode apart. The yellow one-ball disappeared into a side pocket.
“Nice,” Rob commented.
Morgan surveyed the lay of the balls. Grouped in a clump, solids landed in the middle of the table. None of them were in position for a shot. Stripes, on the other hand, were spread over the table, leaving many possibilities. She planned her next two shots and aimed at the red-striped eleven-ball. When she sank it, the cue ball rebounded, leaving open the yellow-striped nine-ball.
As it fell neatly into the side pocket, a young man nearby said, “She’ll run the table.”
“You’re right,” Rob said. He stood next to Morgan, smelling of soap and shaving cream.
Morgan took aim at the orange twelve-ball at the far end of the table. It wasn’t the best shot she had, but she didn’t care to win this game tonight. “What are we doing, Rob?”
Soft guitar notes of Pearl Jam floated above the din. Eddie Vedder crooned indecipherable words.
“We’re dating,” Rob answered.
The cue ball bounced off the orange one and into the far corner pocket.
“Are you giving that to me?” Rob asked, referring to her missed shot.
“No. We’re dating?” She handed him the cue.
Rob gave her a soothing smile and let his hand linger on hers.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.
“Seems like you’ve played the game before,” he said.
Was he talking about pool or romance? Morgan wasn’t sure.
Rob took the cue and bent over, spreading his legs wide, positioning himself for the shot. Morgan’s gaze traveled to Rob’s rear end. Behind her, a video game sounded with explosions and gunfire as Rob’s ball thundered into the pocket.
“What game are we talking about?” Morgan wanted to run away.
The next ball bounced off the rim and knocked the black eight ball into the side pocket. “Oh look. You win.” Rob handed the cue back to Morgan.
“You did that on purpose,” she said.
“People have accused me of being a nice guy, but never of letting someone else win.” He finished his beer.
She could see spending time with this man. It frightened her how easy, homey images came to mind—walking the dog, cooking dinner together.
“Why don’t we go someplace quieter? Where we can talk,” he whispered in her ear.
Morgan nodded. “I like that idea.” She laid the stick on the table for the next players. “Where do you want to go?”
“My place? Gretta loved the treats you sent and wants to tell you how much she misses you.”
Morgan’s heart beat faster, but not because she wanted him.
CHAPTER 10
MORGAN: 16 Years Ago
“Oh my God!” Fay cried out.
Morgan sprinted ahead of her friend through a neighbor’s yard. She had parked Thomas a block away from Fay’s house. “Come on. I’m breaking you out of jail.”
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
When Morgan reached Thomas, she bent over, breathless. Fay followed her closely and hid with her behind the car. “Hurry! Open it!”
Morgan had to fumble with her keys before unlocking the passenger-side door. “She can’t see you from here.”
“I don’t care! Just get me out of here!” Head lowered, Fay crawled into the car.
Out of breath, Morgan ran around to Thomas’s driver’s side and slid in as fast as she could. Curled in a ball, Fay looked up at her from the floor of the car. “What are you waiting for? Drive!”
Morgan started the car and looked in her rearview mirror. “No one’s following us. Don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Driving away slowly, she looked back once more. “Oh wait. Here she comes.”
“What?” The look of sheer panic on Fay’s face was priceless.
Morgan burst out laughing. “You should see your face.”
Fay pulled herself up to look out the rear window. “Where is she?”
“I’m just kidding. She’s not following us. You’re safe.” At a stop sign Morgan stopped the car, using the time to gain her breath and wipe the tears from her eyes. Fay spun around and planted herself in the seat. “Don’t scare me like that.” It took a moment for her to recover, but when she did, her frown grew to a wide smile. She giggled. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
“Why not? I can’t believe she grounded you.” Morgan drove away.
“We stayed out all night. My curfew is at eleven.”
“Curfew? Are you serious? In less than a week you’re moving to campus with me and you still have a curfew at home?”
“She doesn’t like you to have fun.” Morgan turned onto the main road. “You’re eighteen, Fay, an adult by most standards. Live a little. And speaking of, there’s a joint in my purse, in the makeup bag.”
“Oh, I don’t know …”
“Yes, you do. Can you get it out? There’s a lighter in there too.”
Fay found the desired objects, then cranked up the radio, Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
Fay wriggled down low in her seat. Before lighting the joint, she asked, “Where are we going?”
Morgan reached for the joint. “I want to shop for a papasan chair for the dorm room.” She put the joint between her lips and inhaled. On the exhale, she squeaked, “And posters for the wall.”
Fay hummed along with Kurt Cobain. By the time they reached the store, she had become thoughtful and quiet.
“What’s up? Still worried about your mom?” Morgan asked.
“No … there’s something I …” She stopped talking as they crossed the street together and entered the building through the glass doors.
“What?” Morgan asked. She worried that Fay’s mom put too much pressure on her. Morgan wanted to help her dig out of that grave.
Fay didn’t answer. They stood shoulder to shoulder admiring a colorful, visual spectacle: wine glasses and blue china plates on bright-green place mats, cheerfully accented by silk orchid flowers tossed around the table.
“I love the colors,” Morgan said.
“When would you set a table that way?” Fay asked.
“I don’t know. For a romantic dinner?” Morgan giggled.
Fay didn’t answer.
Morgan wistfully leaned her head on Fay’s shoulder. “I know, someday, right? Someday we’ll have romantic dinners with our lovers. We’ll have boyfriends or girlfriends. They’ll become fiancés …”
“Mo, I …” Fay gently pushed Morgan away and strode past household decorations and candles to the back of the store.
“What?” Morgan chased after her. She thought she knew everything about Fay. The back of her neck tingled with anticipation. Does she have a secret?
“I think I met someone,” Fay admitted.
Morgan seized her friend’s wrist and tugged. “Who? When did this happen? Who?”
“At orientation.” Fay caught Morgan’s eye, then glanced away.
A wave of shock hit Morgan. “When were you going to tell me?”
Fay shrugged while turning toward a four-foot stack of colorful papasan pillows.
Morgan pressed for details. “What’s he look like? What’s his name?”
“I like this color.” Pointing to a light-green pillow, Fay avoided the question.
At this point, Morgan didn’t care about the chair anymore. “You’re making me crazy. Tell me.” Her loud voice caught the ear of a store employee, who frowned at her.
“Listen, it was nothing,” Fay comforted her friend. “It is nothing.”
Morgan wanted more and carefully weighed their friendship in her mind. Fay got really pissy when pushed beyond her comfort zone. Her mother had ruined her that way. Morgan had to give her friend much-needed space. Besides, Fay was so incredibly shy that she had trouble meeting people.
“It’s nothing,” Morgan echoed. She figured it was probably all in Fay’s imagination because if it had been important Fay would have told her right away.
“If anything comes of it, you’ll be the first to know,” Fay said, tugging on the green pillow.
Morgan decided not to interrogate her any further. Then she asked, quietly jealous, “Promise to tell me when you’re ready?”
“I promise,” Fay assured her.
Wicker papasan frames were stacked together like giant baskets in a pile as tall as they were. “Are we splitting the cost?” Fay asked.
Jealousy burned Morgan’s neck and chest. In a last effort, Morgan asked, “I’ll be the first to know, right?”
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as there’s something to tell,” Fay reassured her.
Fay said it was nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing …
CHAPTER 11
MORGAN
Two bloodhounds, led by Indiana K9 patrol detectives, sniffed the frosty, leaf-covered ground. Parked behind a pile of dirt and upturned tree roots, a bulldozer sat like a silent, sleeping monster.
Morgan yawned, tired and regretful that she wasn’t exactly at the top of her game this morning. Rob had stayed again last night. Still sleeping, he had been in her bed when she got the call before sunup. She’d quietly dressed and given Gretta a bowl of water before Donnie picked her up.
Rob was a good bet for a steady, normal, and predictable life. He had all the best qualities: he was honest and hardworking, dependable and supportive. He was every girl’s dream guy. But it scared her that she was falling for him. Stability and security weren’t exciting. When they dated last year, Morgan had requested a “break” while Rob worked the night shift. He’d made it clear that she was right for him and told her he’d give her all the time she needed. What she really needed was time to decide if the relationship was right for her. His idea of a future together might not fit into her career dreams. Morgan didn’t see herself always working as an Indianapolis detective. But for now she liked waking up next to Rob. And she had left him a note on the kitchen table inviting him to stop by any time.
Half awake, she stumbled over rough terrain. Rocks and broken branches lay covering the uneven ground at the site, slated for development of a new strip mall. The planned urban growth should be standing here by next year, and now it was delayed. A body exhumed late yesterday lay in a scoop of earth in front of one dozer. The discovery halted all progress.
The forensic squad was in process of digging remains and rotten clothing out from the upturned earth. They placed garments and bones on a clean black tarp, attempting to reconstruct the bulldozed body as it had been before the digger scooped it up. A dirt-soaked blanket pulled from the pile lay in a heap near two faded, pinkish jelly shoes.
A weathered man wearing a camouflage hunting jacket blew smoke from his cigarette toward Donnie. “How much longer?” He scratched his shaved head with yellowed fingers that held a burning butt.
Donnie waved the cloud of smoke away from his face. “I can’t tell you exactly. These things take time.”
The construction project manager eyed Morgan up and down. His glare stopped at her breasts. “Well, look. My crew has another job next week. I can’t afford to hold off progress. The investors are breathin’ down my back to get this thing movin’ again.”
Morgan stooped to make eye contact with the man. “What you’ve uncovered here are likely the remains of a murder victim. Those remains are part of a crime scene, you understand. We can’t let you disturb anymore of the area until we’ve finished scouring it.”
The man looked back down at Morgan’s chest covered by a black leather jacket. He squinted and flicked his cigarette butt into the dirt and stepped on it. To his right, four acres had been scraped by bulldozers. Behind him, a stack of tree trunks and brush the size of a small building was ready to be chipped and hauled away. About two acres of the woods to his left remained untouched. The two teams of cadaver dogs moved between the trees.
“So, Jerry, is it? We have to remove the body and check the area for evidence,” she explained.
Donnie added, “It might take weeks. We just don’t know.”
Pointing nicotine-stained fingers at Donnie’s face, Jerry said, “We got to prep this for development by the end of October. You better get done in a hurry. My men need to get paid.” He walked away mumbling something derogatory under his breath.
“Lowlife,” Morgan said to no one in particular. “I can’t believe Holbrooke sent us out here this morning. Didn’t she have someone else? Stanley Williams, for instance?” She blew a cloud puff in the cold morning air.
Donnie eyed Morgan with suspicion. “I know why I didn’t sle
ep last night. What’s up with you?”
“Oh, nothing.” Morgan looked at the ground and kicked a dirt clod as they walked toward the bulldozer.
“You know you can’t lie to me. Who is it?”
Morgan held back a smile as Donnie fired a half-dozen names of likely candidates. The last guess was Rob Gibson.
“Rob Gibson? Why would you think he has anything to do with my late nights?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
“By the way, I wanted to let you know that nothing but dirt was found under Hallie’s fingernails. But forensics did discover a couple of short hairs that didn’t belong to her. They were in her sheets.”
“That’s good,” Donnie said.
“The hairs were dyed brown with some cheap over-the-counter hair product.” Morgan stepped around a small boulder.
There were dark half-circles under Donnie’s eyes. “What color was it originally?”
“Blond.”
“So we’re looking for someone who dyes their blond hair brown? That’s easy. Half the women in the country dye their hair.”
“Remember, she’s engaged to a man, Grumpy.”
“Damn energy drinks. I think I fell asleep around three.”
“You shouldn’t drink that shit at night, Donnie.”
“Now you tell me. Etta drinks it all the time,” he said.
Morgan put her hands in her pockets and strolled over toward the forensics team. “Etta shouldn’t drink it either. Tell your daughter it’s full of toxic chemicals.”
The pair walked, careful of where they stepped, to the mound of earth where a tall, lanky man crouched over the ruined body.
“What have we got, Lyle?” Donnie asked.
Nearby, a filthy North Side High School sweatshirt lay on the tarp. Lyle Erikson, the forensic specialist, patted off his gloved hands. “Well, it’s a young girl, fifteen to twenty. Two ribs and left clavicle are broken from blunt-force trauma. The face of the skull was destroyed.”