How Secrets Die (16 page)

What else hadn't she done? She could try Lina again. The woman had seemed sympathetic, and she was more likely to be honest about Jason than Bart Gordon was. Or she could try Nikki. And there was Russell Sheldon. Was there any possibility that he could, or would, tell her more?

There was one obvious thing that she had been avoiding since she came to Laurel Ridge—the thing that Mac assumed she'd intended that first day when they crossed paths at the cemetery. She should visit the place where Jason had died.

Her throat grew tight at the idea.
There's nothing to be learned there at this point.
Her mind was quick with an excuse, and that decided her. Maybe there wasn't anything to find, but she owed it to Jason at least to see the place. She would not be cowardly about it. She'd go now, because the longer she waited to go to the spot, the harder it would be.

Getting up to the cemetery on top of the hill took less time than she'd like, but maybe that was a good thing. It gave her less time to regret what she was doing. She drove carefully between the two stone pillars that marked the entrance. A little farther on, the road widened to include a small graveled parking lot. Kate pulled in and got out.

The cemetery overlooked the town, the way cemeteries seemed to do in rural areas. She couldn't see the cottage from here, because it was hidden by trees, but the roof of the bed-and-breakfast was easy to pick out.

And the clock tower, reaching above the trees to proclaim its importance. She remembered what Mac had told her about those early town fathers, determined to prove the importance of their town. At least they had an architectural achievement to be proud of, even if it didn't represent what they'd wanted it to.

Kate looked across the cemetery, wondering where to begin. Maybe she should have taken Mac up on his offer to show her, but somehow she thought she'd better do this alone. If she was going to fall apart, she'd rather not have any witnesses.

Based on the newspaper photograph, Jason had been found in an older area of the cemetery, leaning against a worn stone. She'd been able to read the name on it, though. Elizabeth Bright. The dates had worn off, or perhaps they just didn't come through on the grainy newspaper photo.

“Afternoon. Can I help you find a grave site?”

An elderly man was kneeling next to a nearby grave. He'd obviously been weeding around the stone, but now he rose slowly to his feet.

“Thank you.” She hesitated, not sure she wanted to reveal what she was looking for to a stranger.

“You're Ms. Beaumont, aren't you?” He saved her the trouble. “I guess you're wanting to see where your brother...where he was found.”

Kate discovered that she still wasn't used to having everyone in town, it seemed, know her business. The expectation of anonymity a city gave died hard. Swallowing her annoyance, she nodded. “Can you direct me?”

“Sure thing.” He turned to point across the rounded curve of the hillside. “See where that clump of birch trees is? The old section of the cemetery is just on the other side of that. That's where he...where he was discovered.”

Kate wasn't strong on identifying trees, but it was clear where he meant. The trunks of the birches were silvery against some darker green growth behind them.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He turned back to his task, then paused and glanced back at her. “Sorry for your loss.”

She nodded, throat tightening at the unexpected sympathy in the familiar words coming from a stranger. Then she struck off across the lawn between the headstones.

The afternoon sun slanted across the hillside, and below, in the town, the clock tower chimed the time. Almost automatically, she checked her watch against it. If she stayed here long enough, she'd be like the rest of Laurel Ridge, using the clock tower as her personal timekeeper.

The clump of trees seemed to grow taller as Kate approached them, and she felt a nervous chill slide down her spine. She glanced back. Maybe what she sensed was the man watching her, but he'd disappeared from view.

It was time she did this. She'd been avoiding it since she'd arrived in town, maybe trying to convince herself that Jason's death wasn't real. But avoiding the truth wouldn't bring him back.

The instant she stepped under the trees, she felt cold. The shadows were deep here, probably due more to the evergreens that grew among the birches. Pines, maybe? At least she could identify the shiny leaves of the rhododendron that grew under and around the trees.

Even here, the cemetery was obviously well cared for. She had no trouble walking between the trees, but the sense of isolation startled her. She couldn't even hear the sound of traffic from the street.

Was that what Jason had sought here? The isolation, so that he could do what he'd planned in privacy? If he'd just intended to get high, it would have made more sense to do so in the cottage. He'd come here with a darker purpose.

Pressing her lips together, Kate stepped out of the belt of trees and into a cleared area. The gravestones immediately told her that this was the old part of the cemetery, even without looking at the dates. The stones themselves were weathered, some with the carving nearly worn away, some partially hidden by the lichen that attached itself to the stone.

And there it was. The stone she wanted was slightly tilted, as if it longed to give up the responsibility of standing erect. Elizabeth Bright, 1834–1854. A wave of pity went through her. Only twenty. Was that why Jason had picked this spot? Did he feel a kinship for someone else who'd died young?

There was nothing to see here. The grass around the stone was green and evenly cut. Still, she knelt next to the stone and put her hand on it. Cold at first, it slowly seemed to warm under the pressure of her hand.

Her throat was tight, and tears pressed against her eyelids. She had to blink rapidly to keep them back.

Why, Jason? Why did you do it? Didn't you realize there was still a life for you once you left here?

She'd thought, if only she found the person or event that pushed Jason into taking his life, she could be satisfied. Here, in the spot where he died, she saw the truth. She was desperately searching for someone else to blame so she didn't have to blame herself. But nothing could change the fact that she'd let her brother down.

I'm so sorry. I failed you. Forgive me.

There was no answer to that. There never would be, not in this world, anyway. Nothing would fill the hole left in her heart by Jason, or absolve her of responsibility. But there was still something to be done.

If she could help to find out the truth of who was bringing drugs in this town, targeting teenagers like the one Mac had told her about, she'd have done some good here. Maybe, in a small way, helping Jason's adopted home would give some meaning to Jason's life and death. So slowly she was hardly aware of it, the grief slid away, to be replaced by something else—a sense of being watched. Kate's mind flew to the man she'd spoken to in the cemetery. But surely he wouldn't follow her, wouldn't impose on her grief.

And he certainly wouldn't give her the sense that there was enmity in the gaze.

She sat back on her heels.
Don't go down any lonely roads
, Mac had said. He probably wouldn't approve of isolated spots in the cemetery, either.

Something brushed against a shrub, and a twig cracked in the belt of trees behind her back. She stiffened. Someone was there. It wasn't her imagination. And the very fact that the person didn't move again or speak meant danger.

Run. Hide. Fight
. The three steps her stepfather had drilled into her lit in her mind like so many neon signs blinking at her. Moving slowly, casually, she picked up her bag from the ground, holding it by the strap.
Anything can be a weapon if you have to fight
, Tom's voice said. Ironic, that it should be Tom, and not Jason, that she'd found here.

Balancing on the balls of her feet, Kate rose, listening intently for any sound. The person in the bushes might only be watching, not attacking. If so, she didn't want to push them into attack mode. Nothing. Whoever it was, he or she wasn't moving toward her now.

She glanced around, carefully not looking in the direction of the sound. If she returned the way she'd come, she'd be walking right into him. But the rim of trees was thinner off to her left, and once she was in the open she'd be safe, wouldn't she? No one would attack her in broad daylight out in the open.

But even as she thought that, she realized it wasn't broad daylight any longer. The sun hung on the edge of the ridge, casting shadows around her. Once it dipped below the ridge, darkness would move in quickly. She needed to go, now.

As if she were saying goodbye, Kate patted the stone lightly with her fingers and moved off to the left, alert for the smallest sound. If she heard him coming—

She hadn't gone more than a few steps before she heard the sound she'd been listening for—someone brushing quickly through the undergrowth. Aiming at the spot where she could see lawn beyond the trees, Kate took off running, bag swinging in her hand.

No time to listen now, not when all she could hear was the rasp of her own breath and the pounding of her heart. She crashed through the final belt of trees and kept on running, veering when she spotted her car.

Finally Kate risked a glance over her shoulder. No one was there, but in the shadows under the trees, branches of rhododendron moved as if someone had just gone back through them.

* * *

I
F
HE
DIDN
'
T
stop coming to the cottage in the evening to see Kate, the gossips would have them as good as married, Mac decided. But there was nothing lover-like in his attitude at the moment. He wanted an explanation from Kate, and he wasn't leaving until he'd gotten one.

Lights glowed behind the drawn drapes, so she was there. He rapped on the door, the sharp noise cutting the silence that enveloped this part of town in the evening.

A shadow moved across the rectangle of light. Then Kate's voice, separated from him only by the thickness of the door.

“Who is it?”

She was taking some precautions, at least.

“It's Mac. Open the door.”

It seemed a long couple of minutes until she'd snapped back the dead bolt and opened up. He strode inside, knowing full well his anger was fueled by fear for her.

“What happened to scare you at the cemetery today?” He shot the question at her.

“I wasn't scared.” Kate's reply was immediate. In sweatpants and a T-shirt, barefoot and with her hair loose on her shoulders, she looked young and vulnerable. And desirable. “Wait a minute. How did you know about that? Is this whole town spying on me?”

He'd like to assure her that no one was spying, but how did he know that was true?

“It's not spying to express concern for another person. It just so happens that Vern Maxwell saw you running to your car. Like a bat out of hell, according to him.”

“So he called you to report? Is he one of your informants?” She walked across the small living room, putting some space between them.

He blew out an exasperated breath and clung to his patience. He didn't want to talk about Vern. He wanted to know what had made her run.

“Not exactly. Apparently you'd talked to him, and he told you where Jason was found. When he saw you bolt out of there, it worried him. He stewed about it for a couple of hours and eventually decided I should know.”

She faced him, chin up, as if daring him to push her.

“Come on, Kate. Don't make me work blindfolded. Tell me what happened.”

At the change in his tone, she seemed to wilt, as if anger had been the only thing keeping her upright. “Sorry, I just...” She made an indeterminate gesture with her hand.

He moved closer. “You decided you wanted to see where Jason died. I would have taken you. You know that.”

She pushed her hair back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. “I just didn't want to be a coward about it. You can understand that, can't you?”

Unfortunately he could. The need to bear burdens alone—he suffered from that, too.

“Yes. But you didn't have to go alone.” He moved again, so that he was within arm's reach. Jason's young face stared out at him from the computer screen. She'd been watching the recovered diary.

Kate blew out a long breath. “I guess I'm used to dealing with things on my own.”

“That's a good quality except when it leads you into trouble. What happened?”

She shrugged, as if giving up. “Now that I look back at it, it hardly seems worth making a fuss about. I thought I sensed someone watching me.”

“At the Elizabeth Bright stone, you mean?” An image formed in his mind—the old stones, the trees and shrubs that screened them off. A nice lonely spot.

“I suppose I was already feeling pretty emotional. And when I heard someone or something move behind me, I wanted to get out of there.”

“That was the right thing to do.” He wanted to touch her but wasn't sure he should.

“When I moved as if to leave, I thought I heard someone coming after me. So I ran.” She shook her head. “Maybe it was my imagination.”

“No.”

She met his eyes, looking startled.

“Vern was worried enough to check the area. He found broken branches on the rhododendron bushes, as if someone had pushed through them. I went and had a look myself. I'd say someone did just that.” He touched her arm gently. “Did you see anything at all?”

She shook her head again. “Nothing. Well, just a shadow. I can't even say if it was a man or woman.” Her hands clenched. “It's so frustrating. Why would anyone come after me? I can understand some people not wanting me here, but who plans an attack in broad daylight?”