Secrets Unveiled (7 page)

He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie that suddenly seemed to stifle his breath. The room had turned unbearably warm. “I'm not intending to make it a habit, but I appreciate your concern.”

“And I'd appreciate it if you'd eat at least a few bites of that sandwich. You haven't been yourself lately, you know.”

“I haven't?”

“Not at all, and you have me concerned.”

“No need to be.” He swiveled in the chair, avoiding her gaze as he busied himself with a file. “I'm fine.”

“Are you…truly?”

“Yes, ma'am.” To humor her, he turned back toward the desk and reached for the lunch sack. He delved inside and drew out the turkey on rye that had been delivered from the deli down the street. The aroma of Swiss cheese and fresh vine-ripe tomatoes ignited his appetite as he unwrapped the sandwich. Perhaps Carol was right…he should eat at least a little something. He took a bite—a big bite—and forgot his manners as he spoke around the mass of meat and bread. “How's that?”

“It's a start.” She nodded, satisfied, and crossed her arms with the sheaf of papers held tight to her chest. “Is there anything else you might need at the moment before I head to the fax machine with these?”

“Did you call the pharmacy to have Gemma's inhaler refilled?”

“I did.” She dipped a hand into her pocket and approached the desk once more to hand him a slip of paper—the confirmation. “It will be ready by five.”

“Good.” Grant took another bite of sandwich and spoke around the crust. So far, his stomach seemed to be cooperating nicely. “I'll pick it up on my way home tonight. Thank you for taking care of that.”

“Of course.” Her smile warmed light-brown eyes that were magnified behind the lenses of her glasses. “And you're quite welcome. Now…line one is waiting.”

“Right.” Again, he noticed the flashing green light that signaled a caller. “I'd better get that.”

When she left, closing the door gently behind her, Grant set down the sandwich and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Grant Anderson speaking.”

“Hi, Grant. It's Maggie.” Her voice spilled over the line like warm honey. “I called to thank you. The flowers are lovely.”

“You received them then?”

“Yes, this morning just before lunch. How did you know lilies and gerbera daisies are my favorites?”

“I went on a hunch.” Grant pictured Maggie's smile and the waterfall of dark hair as it kissed her waist. He saw her blue eyes flecked with the gray of a summer thunderstorm and wished she was here so he might hold her hand and kiss her once more…the way he had last Sunday as they sat in the car in her driveway with sunlight spilling through the windshield to warm them and the scent of autumn leaves whispering on the breeze.

“Well, that hunch was spot on. They're perfect and it's been…well, it's been a long time since I've received such a beautiful gift.”

“That's going to change.” He nodded emphatically, though Maggie couldn't see the affirmative gesture. “A woman like you should receive such gifts with regularity. It's just…right.”

“Will I see you this afternoon?”

“Cara has another double-shift at the hospital, and she asked me to pick up Gemma. So, yes, I'll see you after school when I come for her.”

“Good. I'm looking forward to it.” A clatter of noise in the background caused Maggie to pause. Grant heard the chatter of voices as they tumbled through the receiver. “Oh, I lost track of time. I have to go now. The kids are returning from lunch.”

“I'll see you soon, then.”

“Yes, soon.”

****

“Miss Andrews, how are pictures made?” Gemma asked as the class gathered around Maggie at the rocking chair and settled in on the carpet that served as the story circle. The day was nearly over, and it had been a full one, for sure.

Maggie reached for the picture book she'd selected for this afternoon's closing read. “They're made with pencils and crayons and paper, of course.”

“No, not drawing pictures.” Gemma shook her head so her copper curls danced over her eyes. “But the kind you hang on the wall and put in photo albums—like the one you brought to school.”

“Oh, well, let me think a minute.” Maggie scratched her head. How, exactly, were those photos made? She knew it had to do with light and chemicals and special paper, but she wasn't quite sure about all the steps in the process. And if she didn't understand the process, how on earth would she explain it all to Gemma. “I have an idea…we can research it after school, while we wait for your Uncle Grant to pick you up.”

“Research it?”

“Yes, on the computer.” Maggie motioned toward the laptop on her desk. “We'll search the Internet together to find the answer.”

“I like that idea.” Gemma's sweet smile lit her entire face. “Maybe Uncle Grant will want to help us.”

“Yes, maybe he will.”

“Can I look at your photo album again, Miss Andrews?” Gemma's gaze drifted to the desk where the album lay. “I like the pictures.”

“Of course you may, after our story. Come sit down now and join the others. You can help me read, if you'd like.”

“Oh, I'd like that, too.”

“It's settled, then.” Maggie motioned Gemma to the blue and yellow area rug where the others waited. “Here we go.”

Gemma wove through the other students to find her place in the circle. “I've seen her, you know, that lady in your album.”

“Which lady?”

“The one with the apron.” Gemma wrinkled her nose and scratched one cheek as a curl brushed over her skin. “I've seen her.”

Maggie paused and knelt to face Gemma eye-to-eye. “Where have you seen her, sweetheart?”

“She's in the locket at Uncle Grant's house.” Gemma folded her legs and placed her hands in her lap. “The one we found in the pocket of his jeans in the box on the shelf of his thinking room.”

“Did you say a locket?”

“Uh huh. That's what Uncle Grant says it's called ‘cause it opens up and you can put pictures inside. We threw the jeans and the shirts away ‘cause they were yucky and scary and Uncle Grant said no one else should have them, but we kept the locket.” Gemma frowned and squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, as if blocking out the awful images from the clothing. “Maybe Uncle Grant will show you the picture if you ask. How did she get inside the locket…the lady from your album?”

“I don't know.” Maggie's heart stuttered painfully as she considered the question. How, indeed? “I suppose that's a question that only your Uncle Grant can answer. He'll be by soon to pick you up.”

“Are you gonna ask him, then?”

“Yes, of course I am.” Grant had the locket—her locket? Could they be one and the same? And if so…how? And why hadn't he said anything about it? If Gemma had recognized the locket in Grandma Nell's photo, surely Grant had, as well, as he flipped through it on the school bus heading back from the zoo.

“Is it a mystery, Miss Andrews?”

“Yes, it certainly is.” Maggie's throat tightened at the flurry of questions, making it difficult to speak. How would she ever manage to read the story she'd chosen to the class without her voice giving out? “It's a mystery like none other, and I truly hope your Uncle Grant has a good explanation.”

6

Grant sensed the change in Maggie the moment he stepped into the classroom. She turned her back to him slightly and avoided eye contact as she gathered picture books scattered along a cheerful blue and yellow carpet and placed them back onto a bookshelf.

“Hi, Maggie.” Undeterred by her off-kilter mood, he strode over to her and knelt to help her with the books. “How was your day?”

“The usual…chaos and mayhem with a touch of learning thrown in.” Her voice was a breathy murmur. “Just your typical kindergarten experience.”

“Sounds like you need a moment.” Grant found a toy car at the edge of the carpet and placed it in on a low-set round table so it might be returned to its rightful owner in the morning. “Where's Gemma?”

“She needed a trip to the restroom and to get a drink of water from the fountain.” Maggie placed the last of the books on the shelf, and then took a moment to select a few new ones for the morning. She set a copy of Red Leaf, Yellow Leaf by Lois Ehlert on the seat of her rocking chair. “She should be right back.”

“Good.” Grant loosened his tie and tucked it into the pocket of his slacks, as he'd become accustomed to doing after leaving the office. “I promised her we'd take a trip to the playground if the rain holds off.”

“It's supposed to.” Though the words were kind, Maggie's voice carried a stiffness that set off warning bells in Grant's head. “You should have a nice afternoon.”

“Would you like to join us?” He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for clues to explain her demeanor. Her hand trembled slightly as she organized a stack of construction paper in a variety of fall colors. “We're going to have a pizza on Market Square afterwards.”

Maggie paused as slanted him a look. Her stormy-blue eyes were veiled with questions. “That depends…”

Grant's pulse began to race. “On what?” Had she figured things out?

“On you.” Maggie stood and turned from him to cross the room and make her way to the craft table with the construction paper in hand. “As well as your answers to a few of my questions.”

“Do you want to run a background check?”

Maggie paused as her gaze speared him. “Should I?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Grant rounded the craft table where glitter sprinkled the floor in a flurry of confetti. He took the paper from her and set it on the table before he took her by the elbows. “What's going on here, Maggie?”

“You tell me.” Maggie squirmed from his grasp and squatted to attack the glitter. She brushed the pieces into a pile with her hand.

“Wait. Let me help you with that.” Grant dropped down to the floor beside her. “Doesn't the school supply a vacuum?”

“I happen to have two.” She glanced up slightly and splayed both hands. “They work well enough.”

“Figured as much. Perfect.” He paused to draw a breath and smooth a lock of hair from her forehead. “Something's troubling you, Maggie.”

“You think?” She recoiled at his touch, startling him. “Let me make something perfectly clear here. Please, keep your hands to yourself.”

“My hands…”

“And the rest of you.”

“I'm not one of your students, Maggie.” Grant's temper flared. He stood and crossed the room before turning back to her. “You can't put me in time-out. I don't like your tone.”

“And I don't like your secrets.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Had she somehow figured things out before he had the chance to explain? His gaze drifted to her desk, where the photo album lay open to the image of the old woman in the apron. His blood turned to ice crystals. “Oh, Maggie…talk to me, please.”

“You want to talk? Then tell me about the locket.” Her gaze, gray as the sky just before a spring thunderstorm, skewered him as her tone turned from an arctic blast to frozen tundra. “Why do you have Grandma Nell's—my—locket?”

Grant's throat went bone-dry as the words resonated. She knew…somehow Maggie had learned the truth.

How?

“Hi, Uncle Grant!” Gemma skipped through the doorway and dashed over. She flung herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. With a squeal of delight, she squeezed as hard as her tiny arms could manage. “Look what I made today.”

Grant flashed the largest smile he could muster as he inhaled the scent of playground dust and strawberry Kool-Aid. Though it was difficult to speak, he managed, “Let's see.”

She handed him a piece of white construction paper with a collage of color that solved the mystery of all the glitter that littered the floor. Maggie had obviously encouraged the kids to use the stuff to embellish the shimmer of sunshine over images crayoned across their papers. “It's Oscar and me, playin' at your house. See?”

“Yes, I see.” Indeed, he noticed four paws of the mutt peeking up from a leaf pile. Standing beside him, beneath the limbs of a massive, barren oak, stood Gemma. She'd colored her hair extra curly and the sprinkle of burnt-orange dots across her face signified freckles, he assumed. “It's very creative. We can hang it on the refrigerator when we get home, if you'd like.”

That was Gemma…creative to the core. She didn't miss a beat. She was a perfect fit for Maggie.

Maggie…she stood merely a few feet away but she may as well have been in a different universe. Suddenly, Grant felt as if there were light years between them.

“OK.” Gemma nodded with delight. “Do you see yourself in the shadows, standing behind the tree? We're playing hide-and-seek.”

Upon closer inspection, Grant noticed the toe of a tennis shoe at the base of the oak's trunk. He followed the leg up until his gaze met a strand of silver dangling from his pocket. “Gemma, what's this?”

“It's the locket…the one we found in the box of clothes, in your pocket. Remember?” She angled him a look that seemed to say, “Come on, Uncle Grant…you know what I'm talking about.”

“Of course I remember.” Though, at the moment, he truly wished he didn't. He'd blown it, big time.

“It's just like the one in Miss Andrews's picture album.”

So the mystery was solved. Gemma had blown his cover. He should have figured it was only a matter of time. Cara's words raced back to him once again.
Return the locket to Maggie today and come clean with her. God will take care of the rest.

Had it really been days…nearly an entire week…since Cara said those words? How had he let the time slip away? Why had he delayed the inevitable for so long?