Grave Secrets (13 page)

“Where do we start?” she asked. She reminded him of a little kid the night before Christmas, fully believing Santa Claus would come and leave every present on her list. Except her list only held one request and it might be the one thing impossible to deliver.

“At the beginning.”

Afternoon shadows crept across Morgan’s desk. His brows furrowed when he checked his watch—five-twenty. The afternoon had slipped away while he’d sat and thought about Sara like a moon-eyed kid. Disgusted with himself, he yanked the phone off the hook and speed-dialed the police department. A couple minutes later, he hung up after Detective Reece Cannon agreed to meet him for a beer before going home to his wife and kids.

As he hung up, Charlene marched into his office without bothering to knock. “You took Mrs. Adams’ case, didn’t you?”

“I’m beginning to think you’re psychic,” he muttered.

“I’m not, just observant like any good investigator.” She hitched her hip on the corner of his desk. “Have you gotten any work done since she left?”

Well, hell. Did he have a stamp on his forehead saying he’d spent the afternoon goofing off? Either that or he’d gotten sloppy to the point Charlene could “read” his every thought. She held up her hand to stop any comment he might have come up with.

“Hey, I saw the way you looked at her. In fact, you followed her every move when she left the office. Don’t know that I’ve ever seen
that
look in your eyes before.”

“Then how the hell do you know what
that
look is?” His gruff tone didn’t faze her.

She softened her expression. “Because my Danny looks at me the same way. Started out as lust, pure and simple. Boy did we ever move past that in a hurry!” She laughed while her expression took on a dreamy, faraway look.

The revelation took Morgan by surprise. He’d often thought about her life outside the office. She was efficient and smart and knew what he wanted before he did himself. But she didn’t talk about her home life. He figured it was a train wreck so he didn’t pry. If Charlene wanted him to know something, she told him.

Finally, she drew her gaze back to his. “What I’m saying is, don’t get in over your head.”

He didn’t like being told what to do, even by her. Certainly not about this. “I’ve got it under control.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Do you?”

He hated to admit it, but he hadn’t been able to focus on solving Andy’s death since he’d seen Sara sitting in the parking lot. Her perfume still hung in the air, distracting him from the case he’d dropped all others to concentrate on. He kept seeing and hearing Sara plead with him to find her daughter. And he’d given in like a sap.

The yellow legal pad held several pages of notes, information she’d freely given. Which made him question whether she was involved in either of the men’s deaths. She appeared to be open and honest, a rarity in his line of work. He’d also learned people were expert at concealing what they didn’t want you to know. Even when they’d hired you in the first place.

“Looks like you got some good background info on her.” Charlene tilted her head toward the yellow pad.

Knowing her, she’d already read the entire first page. Not only could she speed read, she did it upside down. He ignored her and changed the subject.

“Any info from the M.E.? I’d like to update Andy’s parents.”

“Not yet. It must be hard on them, being in Alaska and all.”

Morgan winced. If he hadn’t been so focused on wrapping up the infidelity case the night Andy died, he might have been able to prevent his death. Or at least know what Andy had wanted to talk about. If he’d paid attention to how important it was to Andy, he would’ve left getting pictures of the cheating wife for another day. He’d been so intent on the case, he’d only half-listened to what Andy had said.

In the end, Andy had relented, saying he supposed it could wait but to call him first thing the next morning. Now, every word echoed in Morgan’s mind—hell, even in his sleep—tormenting him for not paying attention to the urgency in Andy’s voice, for putting the case ahead of his friend. For having tunnel vision and being so damned headstrong.

Andy had helped Morgan turn his life around when they were younger, then again when Morgan wanted to start his investigation agency. The agency became his sole focus in life. So how did Morgan repay his friend? By blowing him off the first time Andy really needed him. The irony of it was, finding out why Andy died was the only case important to Morgan now. It was too little, too late, but he had to do something. If he didn’t, the all-consuming guilt he lived with would eat him alive.

“Did you find anything in Andy’s medical file?” Charlene broke his train of thought.

He glanced down at the file he’d been staring at for half an hour without seeing much of what he’d read. “No. He’d had a complete physical only a couple months before he died. His primary care physician gave him a clean bill of health. No heart problems whatsoever.”

“That’s not all that unusual, I guess, but does seem a little weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

Charlene moved to the chair. “Who said he had heart problems?”

“The Adams Company doctor. He was there the night Andy died.”

She cocked her head. “Why was he seeing the company doc if he’d just gone to his PCP?”

“I intend to find out.”

“Good man.” She checked her watch. “It’s quittin’ time, but I’ll stay if you need me.”

He shook his head. “Not necessary. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waved over her shoulder as she hurried out of his office. He couldn’t blame her. There were days they worked fourteen or fifteen hours nonstop. She did have a life outside these walls, and a good one, too from her earlier comments. Too bad he couldn’t say the same.

He stuffed the two files into a briefcase to go over later, grabbed his suit coat, then locked up behind Charlene.

When he walked into the dim interior of the local cop hangout, The Rusted Nail, Reece sat at the bar, sipping his beer. Morgan took the seat next to him.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Reece growled without even glancing in Morgan’s direction.

“Hey, I see you saved me a seat. Or is it empty because no one wants to sit next to your ugly face?” He motioned to the bartender to bring him a beer.

Reece shrugged in response but otherwise ignored him, accustomed to their pattern of exchanging insults. They drank in silence for a few moments before Morgan sat his glass down with a soft thump. He swiveled his head toward his friend. “What do you know about The Adams Company doctor? Weatherby’s his name.”

“Should I guess why you’re asking?” Reece’s sarcastic tone crawled across the short space between the two men.

“You know why. I’m trying to find out what happened to Andy.” Morgan lifted the beer part way to his mouth, then held it in mid-air without the glass touching his lips. Every time he thought too hard about the situation, his gut clenched to the point he was almost sick.

Reece grunted. “I let you go to the Adams’ exhumation, and even that was pushing it. You need to back off.”

Morgan would love to get his hands on the official investigation folder. Connections or not, no way would he get a peek. He couldn’t blame his friend, though. Reece might give him bits and pieces, but he wouldn’t sit around and discuss the case in depth.

Lowering the glass back to the bar, he winced, knowing he shouldn’t put the man in this position. “What’s the motive for the good doc to off the executives of the company, especially the owner?”

A long pause followed before Reece answered. “That’s a damn good question. So far the man has come up squeaky clean.”

Confidential information from the tight-lipped, strictly by-the-books detective? This was something new. “Did Adams use him as his primary care?”

“Nope.”

“Neither did Andy. So why was he prescribing drugs for them? For the same condition?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Reece downed the last of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood. “I hate eating a cold dinner and the wife don’t wait, so I gotta get. Keep your nose clean for a change, Daniels.”

Morgan lifted one side of his lip as Reece slapped him on the back and headed for the door. Nursing the last of his beer, Morgan hunched over the bar to keep anyone from joining him. He kept trying to get all the pieces of the puzzle put together. There were a lot missing. Until he found out what they were, he was pretty much at a dead end. Except for the widow. Somehow, she was linked to all of it. He just didn’t know how yet. Or why.

Leaving a nice tip for the bartender—mostly for giving him space—Morgan headed back to the office. Time to start tracking down the Adams baby.

****

Sara stared at the manicured lawn from the kitchen window. The pale statues, a stark contrast to the black wrought iron benches scattered throughout the yard, stood guard over the carefully tended rose garden and various flowerbeds. It was beautiful, yet she couldn’t enjoy a single minute spent there.

It’d been two days since she’d spoken to Morgan. She’d given him all the information he needed to find Kaycee. More, actually, than she’d given the other investigators. He’d known how to ask questions, pulling information out of her she hadn’t realized she had. Details so obscure, she hadn’t thought them relevant at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure. If it helped to bring her daughter home, then she’d tell him whatever he wanted to know.

Almost.

There were still secrets that had nothing to do with her daughter she couldn’t reveal. Secrets that could possibly impact Morgan’s other investigation. He was already suspicious of her, and if she told him what he wanted to know about Andrew, then he might not help her find Kaycee. That was too big a price.

No, she couldn’t tell Morgan about her and Andrew. Not now. Maybe not ever. What did it matter, anyway? Jason and Andrew were dead. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when she’d lain awake for hours, she wondered if it was because of her. No. They’d had heart attacks so how could she be responsible?

She shook the thought aside. Her whole existence revolved around finding Kaycee. That was all that mattered. She jumped when the phone rang. Hope surged to the surface that it was Morgan, calling with good news. Disappointment flooded her when she checked the caller ID. She puffed out a cleansing breath. Heart rate back under control, she picked up the receiver on the fourth ring.

“Hey, girlfriend!”

She forced a smile to her voice. “Hi, Cat. How are you?”

“I am
so
fabulous you just will not believe it!”

Stunned into silence, she sat and waited. She’d never heard Cat this excited.

“I just got the best news
ever
! Do you remember me telling you I’d applied for an internship with the Bell Fashion Foundation? They called not ten minutes ago and told me I got it. Me! Eeeeeee! Can you believe it? Of course you can. You’ve always believed in my ability and pushed me to do this.”

Silently, Sara sat back in the chair, smiling as Cat gushed.

“I can never thank you enough. You know that, don’t you?” She paused for a breath. “Lord, I can’t believe this is happening. And I have to leave in three days. I don’t think I can be ready by then.”

Sara heard the panic creeping into her friend’s voice. “Slow down. You’ll make it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any decent luggage. I don’t know what to take, what to do. Oh, God, Sara. I know there’ll be people there who have been around the world or jetsetters or something. I won’t know how to act around them. The thought of them making fun of me makes me crazy.”

Sara could sympathize. When Jason had first taken over the company, she’d been thrown into a world she knew nothing about. It was important to get the company back on its feet. Making the right impressions had been imperative. They were fresh out of college, didn’t have the experience or contacts needed. She’d gotten a crash course in etiquette. Through sheer willpower and stubbornness, they’d made it. Now the company employed several hundred people and stood as a pillar of the community.

“I’m one of those people. You do fine around me.”

“You’re different. I didn’t know who you were when we met in counseling.”

“That’s my point. You won’t know who the other students are, either. More importantly, they won’t know you or your circumstances. All that matters is your talent.”

A long pause ensued on the other end of the line. “You’re right. Thanks.”

“Cat, you’re the best designer I’ve ever seen, so this should be a snap. Everyone else will struggle to keep up with you.”

“Yeah. They will, won’t they?”

“Definitely. Now what hotel will you be staying at in New York?”

“New York? Didn’t I tell you? Oh, no, I don’t guess I did. I didn’t get the New York internship because
I was picked for the one in Paris!
Like in France! Oh, my God, Sara. I’m so excited, I’m about to pee my pants.” She giggled hysterically.

Sara smiled at the image of Cat giggling—of all things. Cat
never
giggled. Laughed and snorted, yes. Giggled? No. It just wasn’t her style. Until now.

Shock hit Sara with the realization her best friend would be on the other side of the world.

She swallowed her sudden and unfounded resentment, but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth. No way would she let Cat know how she felt. “That’s the best news ever! I knew you had it in you.”

Cat took another deep breath. “Would you listen to me? I sound just like some empty-headed twit. But God, I’m happy!”

Sara laughed. How could she be upset when this was what Cat had worked for? She’d put countless hours into her studies, both in the classroom and out. It was the “out” part that had gotten her noticed in the first place. Sara had introduced her to the most upscale shops and owners in town. Cat had made an impression on the right person, who had expedited her entry into the fashion program.

“So, Cinderella, what time does your flight leave? I’ll take you to the airport. That way you won’t have to take a cab and we’ll have a little more time together. Where are you leaving the car?”