Sound of Secrets (30 page)

"I’m saying I love you, you big dunce," Karen said, thumping him once on the chest. Her words were brave but her voice quivered. What if he didn’t want her anymore? What if her ridiculous, misguided pursuit of Gray had made him stop loving her? Despite the doubts, she plowed ahead with typical brashness. "Now I want to know what you’re going to do about it."

He smiled, that quintessentially Tyler smile she’d been resisting all these years. It warmed her insides right through to the center of her heart, because it answered all her doubts. Despite everything, he loved her. He always had.

"I was kind of hoping I could talk you into making love to me," he said, his eyes lighting and those charming little laugh lines appearing around them. "Would you do that for me, darlin’?"

"I’d do darn near anything for you," she said, repeating the words he’d spoken to her a few days before. She went into his arms, where she’d always belonged, thinking that this time she wasn’t going anywhere. She whispered the rest of her words against his lips. "But I’d already decided to make love to you for myself."

The lights of the midway twinkled in the distance like a cluster of brilliant stars, burning away Cara's terrible knowledge that somebody was trying to kill her.

"Oh, look," Cara exclaimed, as excited as a four-year-old. "A double Ferris wheel! And the tilt-a-wheel! There’s nothing better than the tilt-a-wheel."

Gray momentarily took his eyes from the road to slant her a sideways look and the corners of his mouth lifted. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a carnival goer."

"Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved the carnival. Give me some gooey cotton candy, a chance to win a stuffed animal and a roller-coaster ride, and I’m in heaven."

"If you hadn’t gotten out of the hospital ten minutes ago, I’d give you heaven," Gray said, smiling. "We’re going to have to pass for tonight, but the carnival will be here through next week. I’ll take you another night."

She was about to tell him she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay in Secret Sound when he braked for a family of four headed for the midway. The mother laughed at something her husband had said, and their two children, a boy and a girl, skipped ahead of them, their hands linked and excited smiles on their young faces. Neither child was older than five.

A picture flashed in Cara’s mind of two other children, just as thrilled at the prospect of a night on the midway, before it faded into the darkness, replaced by the laughing, dancing, skipping brother and sister.

She frowned, because, for an instant, she had seen something other than what was in front of her eyes. The faces of the children in her vision had been indistinct. She wondered if one of them had been Skippy? Or, possibly, Skippy’s ghost? If that were so, why had the children she’d seen seemed so joyous?

The vague ache in Cara’s head did a sudden, violent dance against her skull. It wasn’t because of her mild concussion. The vision had drawn her back to the present, re-establishing her strange connection with Skippy Rhett, reminding her somebody wanted her dead.

"Would you mind if I stopped for gas on the way back home?" Gray asked.

Cara processed the facts that Gray’s car had left the midway behind and that he’d asked her a question. She was so long in answering that he added a qualifier, "I wouldn’t ask if the tank wasn’t so low."

"You fill up at Sam Peckenbush’s place, don’t you?" She found it abhorrent to say the man’s name. Gray nodded, and she pounced. "Did you ask him where he was yesterday when I was attacked?"

"I asked," Gray said, his tone maddeningly non-committal. "He says he was at work, which I can’t disprove. The best I can figure, it was about four o’clock when you were attacked. One of Sam’s employees remembers him going out for a while in the afternoon. He thinks he got back before four."

"Thinks? You mean he wasn’t sure?"

"Cara," Gray said firmly. "Sam Peckenbush is not responsible for the things that have been happening to you."

Cara didn’t say anything for a full minute, grateful it was too dark to see much of the passing landscape. She didn’t want to look out the window and recognize anything else. She didn’t need another puzzle, not when she was trying to solve the one sitting next to her.

"You say that like you know who is responsible," Cara said.

She was so intent on his profile and the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw that she didn’t notice they’d reached their destination until he pulled into the gas station. He shut off the engine and turned. She’d gotten to know him well enough that she recognized the emotion darkening his eyes. It was distress.

"No need for you to get out of the car," he said. "I’ll fill up, and then I’ll take you back to the apartment."

"Is that yet another way of avoiding my question?" she challenged, sick of his evasions.

He released a slow breath through clenched teeth and seemed to come to a decision.

"This isn’t the right place to answer your questions,” he said. Her eyes must have narrowed, because he added, "We’ll talk when we get back to the apartment. I promise."

He touched her mouth with two fingers, as though sealing the promise. Cara had to force herself not to purse her lips and kiss his fingertips. She leaned back against the headrest. It wasn’t fair that he could make her want him even when she was angry with him.

She listened to the sounds of Gray pumping gas, trying not to picture how sexy he’d look as he bent over the gas-tank door with the wind rustling his dark hair and his jeans stretched taut over his bottom.

She needed to think about her uncanny connection to Secret Sound. Her head had hurt so badly for the past twenty-four hours she had avoided thinking about anything at all. Now that the pain had abated, she had to decipher the mystery of how she knew Skippy had spent his last hours in the storage shed behind Curtis Rhett’s house.

"Caaaraaa."

No sooner had she thought the boy’s name than she heard her own drifting through the night. At first, she thought Gray might have called to her. Her head pivoted toward the side of the car. Gray had finished filling the tank. He walked toward Peckenbush’s office, his back toward her. She quickly looked around the station. It was nearly closing time and nobody else was there.

"Caaaraaa."

Her name sounded again, propelled by a breeze through the open window. This time she acknowledged it had been spoken in the clear voice of a child.

A chill rushed over her like a blast from an open freezer, because she knew where the voice came from.

She stepped out of the car, leaving the door open wide, and gazed at the road. Skippy stood there on the shoulder. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, like a hammer being thrown again and again. It wasn’t fear for the little boy that drove it. It was fear for herself.

"Caaaraaa," he shouted again, his little face white with terror. "Run, Cara! We have to get away!"

Panic leapt in her throat, choking off her breath, paralyzing her legs. She couldn’t move but she wanted desperately for at least one of them to get away. She wanted Skippy to get away. He stood on the shoulder of the road, unwilling to leave her.

"Run!" he yelled. "He’s behind you. Run!"

His urgency finally communicated itself, infusing her frightened body with adrenaline. She took a tentative step forward, then another and another. Satisfied that she followed him, Skippy finally turned and dashed into the road.

Cara heard the car much too late, saw the headlights advancing much too quickly. She averted her eyes, because she knew what would happen next and didn’t want to watch it. Not again.

A calm settled over her, outweighing the horror. She finally understood. The scene that kept replaying in the street wasn’t a vision featuring the ghost of a little boy who had died far before his time.

It was a memory.

On that dark night thirty years ago, Skippy hadn’t been alone. She had been with him, and he had died trying to save her.

Cara hung up the phone, frustration saturating her very pores so that her body felt heavy with despair. She’d wanted so much for Aunt Clarice to confirm what she already knew in her heart. She’d not only been in Secret Sound before but she’d been with Skippy Rhett when he died.

"My aunt’s not home," she said in answer to Gray’s unspoken question. He sat beside her on the worn sofa in the living room, regarding her with worried eyes, rubbing one of her cold hands between his. He seemed to think he could warm her but she thought she’d never be warm again.

"Does it make a difference?” he asked. “She’s already told you once you’d never been in Secret Sound."

"She lied." Cara slipped her hand from between his to run it through her hair. "I don’t know why she lied. I just know that she did. I was there when Skippy died. I knew it tonight when he called me by name."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked quietly.

"It’s the only thing that makes sense." She implored with her eyes that he believe her. "My memory is returning. It has to be. When I first pulled into Secret Sound, that night my car overheated, I saw Skippy in the street. He didn’t speak, but looked at me as though he wanted something from me.

"Tonight, I found out what it was. He wanted me to run. Don’t you see, Gray? The memory was only half-formed that first night. Being in Secret Sound again must have jarred the rest of it loose, because tonight I filled in the blanks. Tonight, Skippy not only told me to run, he called me by name and said we had to get away. Skippy said
he
was behind me. By he, Skippy meant the kidnapper."

"So you think Skippy’s kidnapper has been trying to run you out of town?"

"Yes." She took both of his hands in hers and squeezed. "My memory is the key to everything, Gray. The kidnapper’s still in town, and he’s afraid I’ll remember him."

"Why would you remember him? Where would you have seen him? Even if you had visited Secret Sound, what could you have to do with what happened to Skippy?"

Cara shook her head helplessly. "Those are questions I can’t answer. Maybe the nanny can. That’s why I’ve got to go with you tomorrow when you talk to her."

It was the third time she'd made the request. She could tell Gray still didn’t think it was a good idea. She'd had a hard enough time convincing him that she didn't need to spend another night in the hospital.

He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers along her temple. "I don't know, Cara. The return address Karen had was old. We're not even sure the Rosa Martinez who's head of housekeeping at the Palm Beach Hotel is the right Rosa Martinez. She already hung up on me once when I mentioned the Rhett family."

"I still want to come with you," Cara said stubbornly. "I
have
to come with you. You’ve got to try to understand. I’m indebted. Skippy tried to save me, Gray. He could have gotten away but he stopped. For me. I owe him."

She felt tears form in her eyes. She blinked them back. Logically she knew a child as young as she'd been couldn't be held responsible for another child's death but that hardly mattered.

"Karen’s coming," Gray said finally. "If it is the right Rosa, I thought she might be more forthcoming if Karen was there."

"I can handle Karen."

"I know that." Gray paused, and she sensed his resolve not to take her along was weakening. He scratched his head. "There's something I should tell you about Karen. I don't believe she did anything worse than make that telephone call."

"I can accept that," she said. "You know she's not the person I suspect, Gray."

"I don’t think Sam’s behind it, either."

She was about to protest before thinking better of it. He'd already heard her views on the subject numerous times. "Then who do you think is?"

He seemed to measure his words before he spoke. "When Suzy was dying, she told me something she made me promise to keep secret. It wasn’t difficult, because I didn’t believe it. I deal in facts, and all she had was an uneasy feeling. But I believe her now and I can’t justify keeping the promise any longer."

"What did she tell you?" Cara asked above the sudden thudding of her heart.

"She thought her father felt so slighted that her grandfather left the newspaper to her uncle that he tried to share in the wealth.” He paused slightly before he said the rest. "She thought her father kidnapped Skippy for the ransom money, Cara. And now I think Curtis is responsible for what’s happened to you."

"That’s impossible," Cara protested

"I wish it were, but I have to look at it objectively. Curtis drives a navy-blue Buick, which fits in with the large, dark car that tried to run you down. He owned the house on Whisper Way at the time of Skippy's kidnapping. And he was the one who found you after you were hit on the head."

"What about the steering fluid? How could he have done that?"

"Anybody with a screwdriver who can pop open the hood of a car could have done that."

Cara shook her head. "Curtis doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would kidnap his nephew and be willing to kill to keep it quiet."

"Believe me, I don't want to believe it, either. I tried to question him further today but he won’t talk to me. He’s directing all inquiries to his lawyer." He dug his fingers through his hair. "To his lawyer. What can I believe except that he’s guilty?"

Pain pinched his features, revealing how much it had cost him to accuse his former father-in-law. Cara wished he had told her sooner but understood why he hadn’t. Something softened inside of her, and she felt another pang of regret that he couldn’t love her.

"Thank you for telling me." She leaned forward and planted soft, brief kiss on his lips.

The pain in his eyes didn’t disappear. She imagined, however, that it lessened. She stroked his face, feeling the abrasion of his beard on her palms, feeling wiser than she had a few days ago when she had held out for all of him.

She loved him so she would make what memories she could, even if he were only willing to share a little bit of himself.

 
"I probably shouldn’t do anything," she said, bringing a hand to her head. She smiled wryly. "But I don’t want you to leave tonight."