Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) (6 page)

The tires of Nick's red Jeep kicked up a cloud of dust. Dusty glimpsed it in the rearview mirror. Jarvis, the street they’d lived on as long as she could remember, wasn’t paved. None of the roads she navigated up to Franklin Street were. The only paved roads in existence in the town of Larkspur were Rogers, Essex, Franklin and Frontier. Frontier ran all the way through Larkspur and up through Richford. Rogers, if you followed it far enough south, ended up in Millsberg, which was more of a city, at least in the rural sense, than a town. That’s where her father spent most of his time, working. Larkspur intersected at Frontier and Franklin—the center of “town.” Everything else was woods, farms or fields.

Dusty steered the Jeep around the corner of Plainview and onto Franklin. A red, white and blue Amoco sign stood out against the backdrop of the sky. Les Cavanaugh was pumping gas into someone's black SUV. She didn’t recognize the car, but she beeped the horn and waved at Les. He raised his hand as she passed by.

She couldn’t say Franklin was ever busy. Lakeshore Skating Rink, where you could find most of the junior high kids on the weekends, was across from the Amoco station. Its competition was next to Nellie's Diner, in the form of the Lawrence Movie Theater, currently showing
The Dark Knight
(still) and
Evil Dead.
They would get something new—in three months, when it wasn’t new anymore. If you wanted to see the new releases
,
you had to go to the AMC in Richford, or the Star Theater in Millsberg, near her father's office.

Dusty stopped at the traffic light at Frontier and Franklin. Cougar's General Store was across the way, the familiar hand-lettered advertising in the big picture window. There were no cars crossing the intersection but Dusty waited anyway, conscious of the Larkspur police station on her right, until the light turned green.

She turned right and guided the Jeep into the parking lot next to Flowerland—Larkspur's one and only florist.

“Well hello, Dusty!” A voice greeted her as she got out of the car and pocketed her keys. “How're your folks?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hughes.” Dusty shut the door and leaned against it, ill-prepared for an onslaught of conversation. Larkspur was too big of a town for everyone to know everyone else, but it was small enough that people were casually friendly and usually only removed by a less-than-Kevin-Bacon degree of separation. Rita Hughes went to Julia’s Methodist Church—the one Dusty and Nick found themselves sitting in on Sundays when they couldn’t get away with playing sick. Dusty was luckier, because at least once a month—more if memories were fuzzy and she was pushing it—she could beg off with “female troubles.”

“My parents are...” Dusty hesitated. What? Going on as if nothing happened? “Fine. How's Spencer?”

“Growing like a weed.” Rita Hughes smiled and hoisted her purse up onto her shoulder. Spencer was her grandson and had just turned ten, if the math Dusty did quickly in her head was correct. “Doing real good in school now that they got him one of those parapros.”

“I’m so glad.” Dusty remembered Julia saying something about a prayer request at church for them. Spencer had been diagnosed with autism and his mother was single and had lost her job and was having a hard time making ends meet or getting her son the help he needed. Sounded like life was looking up for them though. That was one thing about small towns—when people needed help, the community often banded together. She found herself edging toward the door of the florist, looking for an escape route. “Give him and your daughter my best.”

“I will. You take care.” Rita put a hand on Dusty’s arm and she winced like she’d been burned, knowing what was coming but unable to stop it. Like an oncoming tornado. Or a freight train. “Nick was a good boy. It's a terrible shame.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Dusty felt that lump in her throat again. Why did people insist on mentioning it, especially out in public? It made it so immediate. Inescapable. She realized how much she sounded like Julia, even to herself, as she turned and left Rita standing there, going into the florist.

She was surprised to see Ryan Clark standing near the register, working on an arrangement. His father ran the store but she thought Ryan would have left for school already. He was starting Michigan State, just like her brother.
Not anymore.
She cut off the thought, swallowing the lump still stuck in her throat as she approached the counter.

Ryan looked good, his dark hair buzzed short, his jaw square and strong, his eyes blue and bright behind round, wire John Lennon frames as he looked up at the sound of the bells attached to the door.

“Hey Ryan.” She glanced around, the aroma of the empty store sweetly floral and a little cloying.

“Dusty!” Ryan smiled at her—it was a smile that stole all the girls’ hearts the minute they saw it, broad and bright and full of mischief. “Damn, you look gorgeous. Come on, girl, you can’t go around rocking a braid and still look like you walked out of the middle of Cosmo. It’s just not fair.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you or apologize.” She blushed in spite of her attempt not to. He came around the counter, giving her a once-over before holding his arms out for a hug. He hadn’t acknowledged Nick’s death with platitudes, but there was a pain in his eyes she recognized. He was one of the small gang of guys Shane and Nick always hung out with, someone she was familiar seeing sprawled out on the living room couch eating Doritos and yelling at the X-Box. She couldn’t help remembering how he’d cried shamelessly at the funeral home over Nick’s casket, real, wracking sobs, and her heart went out to him.

Dusty let him hug her. She even let herself enjoy it for a moment, his strong embrace and the way he pressed his lips to her forehead, a sweet gesture.

“I’m so sorry.” His words felt genuine. They were full of the same loss she felt lodged in her chest.

“Thanks.” Dusty broke his hold, taking a step back and looking around the store with a small smile to cover the sharp stab of pain she felt near her heart. Was this ever going to get easier? She attempted to change the subject. “So how’s business?”

“Good. Too good.” Ryan moved behind the counter again, leaning against it as she approached. “Far too many funerals lately.”

“I’m surprised to see you. I thought you’d be gone to school already”

“No, I’m working here.” Ryan fussed with his arrangement, moving baby’s breath from one side to the other. “Decided to put college off for a semester. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

She blinked, contemplating this. Her own parents had picked up their lives like nothing had happened, but Ryan Clark was taking a semester off school because his friend had been killed. It was a paradox her mind couldn’t quite grasp.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He had to go to another funeral over in Millsberg.” Ryan tucked lavender into the mix, cocking his head and taking a step back to look at the new addition.

Dusty winced. “Whose?”

“That kid who got killed the other night.” Ryan frowned at his arrangement, taking the baby’s breath out and putting it on the counter. “My dad was a friend of the family. Heck, even I knew Scott. He and little Joe always palled around together.”

“I’m sorry.” Dusty recognized her own polite response, the one she’d cringed at coming from so many others.

“It’s a nightmare.” He glanced toward the door, where someone walked by but didn’t come in. “My mom says it’s the full moon. She works at the hospital in Millsberg and says it always brings out the crazies.”

“Think it might be a werewolf?” Dusty teased.

“That’s not even funny.” Ryan paled. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I didn’t come to the cemetery. I won’t go out there until they catch this thing. It just freaks me out.”

“It’s okay.” She could forgive him for not going, considering she had been willing to have sex in the funeral home closet in order to avoid the same thing, and probably would have gone through with it if Shane hadn’t stopped her. “I just can’t believe it. First Joe Wilson, then Nick? And now Scott?”

“It’s scary.” Ryan lowered his voice, as if there was someone else in the shop who might overhear them. “And the cops? It wasn’t even on their radar until something happened to Nick. Joe Wilson—I mean, no great loss, right?

Dusty nodded. She was sure no one had taken much notice when Joe Wilson disappeared. Town drunks without family just didn’t register on the missing person radar for a while, even in a town as small as Larkspur. As long as she’d known him, he’d spent most of his time drinking at the Starlite when he had money, and out by the train yards across from the cemetery on the south side of town when he didn’t.

She decided to see if she could poke any holes in Shane’s story.

“Ryan, Nick said he was seeing you that night.”

“What?” His head came up sharply, eyes widening.

“Weren’t you guys having his farewell party?”

“Right.” He nodded, busying himself removing the lavender and replacing it with freesia. The competing fragrances made Dusty feel faint. “We all met at the path but then we went over to the Starlite.”

Well he’d confirmed Shane’s story. A little too exactly, in Dusty’s opinion. She had that same feeling, like something just wasn’t quite right.

“Nick went with you?”

“No,” Ryan replied quickly, trimming the thorns off a white rose with a strange looking tool. It trembled in his hands. “I don’t know where he went.”

“Do you know who Nick met up with?”

Ryan’s motioned slowed. “What do you mean?”

“Shane said Nick met up with someone at the path. That’s why he didn’t go with you guys to the Starlite.”

“No idea.” Ryan trimmed the stem of the white rose and shoved it down violently into the Styrofoam at the center of the arrangement.

He’s lying.

She was sure of it. But why?
Covering up for someone? Shane? It seemed likely.

“I just wish I knew why Nick was out at the cemetery in the first place.” She sighed, playing with the stack of business cards on the counter, shuffling through them. “But I guess I shouldn’t cry over spilled milk. That’s what Julia says.”

Ryan made a face. “I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Sheriff says it’s a bobcat.” Dusty mused. “But when I talked to Shane, he wasn’t so sure. What do you think?”

“What did Shane say?” Ryan pushed his glasses up, looking at her.

She shrugged. “Not much.”

“I don’t know.” He hesitated, turning another white rose over in his hand, looking at the closed bud. “But I do know Buck Thompson is up for re-election and, for the first time in years, he’s not running unopposed. And then there’s the Pharmatech factory in Millsberg. It’s supposed to bring a lot of business to Larkspur next year. My dad keeps talking about it. It’s not a good year for bad publicity.”

She remembered seeing re-election signs with Buck’s face on a few lawns as she got closer to town. Well maybe it would motivate him to catch the thing—bobcat or cougar or whatever it was—that killed Nick. What better re-election strategy than to run as the town hero?

“Who’s running against him?”

“Guy Walker.”

Now she remembered the billboard just outside of town. “Isn’t he head of the town council?”

“Looks like he’s setting his sights higher.”

“Do you have any yellow roses?” Dusty decided to change the subject. It felt dangerous, feeding her suspicions.

“Sure.” Ryan stood fully, turning toward the refrigerated flower cases behind him.

Dusty always thought it would be neat to have one of those—a refrigerator you could see into without opening it.
It would have saved Nick and me a lot of “Will you shut that door?” from Julia
. The thought was so painful she cut it right off.

“How many do you want? A dozen?” Ryan opened the door.

“Just one.” Dusty struggled to keep the pain in. “How much?”

“Just one?” He took a yellow rose out of the white bucket and shut the door, turning to hand it to her. “Here. Take it, beautiful.”

“Are you sure?” Dusty took the rose, blinking back tears as his fingers brushed hers. She met his gaze and saw the sadness there.

“It was his favorite color.” His eyes were bright behind the round frames of his glasses. Too bright. They were supposed to be roommates at college, Ryan and her brother.

“Thanks, Ryan.” She swallowed, looking down at the flower instead of up at him.

“You should come out to the path with us some time, Dusty. Hang out with the gang.”

She glanced up at him, frowning. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“You look so much like him.” He stood, his big hands so out of place arranging flowers it made her want to smile. “It hurts.”

“I know.” She turned to leave, understanding suddenly a whole new meaning to the phrase “killing someone with kindness.”

Every kind gesture felt like a stab through her heart.

✝
Chapter Si
x
✝

Dusty drove through the tall, wrought iron gates—they were open and a sign on them read
Cemetery Open Dawn Til Dusk
and left the Jeep parked by the front office of the cemetery. She could have driven all the way to the grave, but she felt like walking. She saw the caretaker, John Evans, unlocking the office and waved. His was the only car besides hers. He tipped her a wave back before going into the building.

Warm for September.

She lifted her face to the gentle breeze. It had been a warm summer for upper Michigan, one of the driest they’d ever had. Now the trees were just turning color and a few leaves decorated the lawn
.

Always so perfect. How do they manage?
She took one of the winding paths, admiring the grass. Her father had once said the Clinton Grove Cemetery should have been a golf course.

It was silent with the exception of the leaves rustling above her head.
Isolated
. She stared up the incline. It was at least two miles from town and on the outskirts, just before the county line. The entire ride along Frontier had been views of farms and fields.

She stopped at the top of the sloping hill and looked across acres of land.

She peered across the rows of graves.
A giant garden of stone
. She looked at the tall monument on her left, erected in honor of those who had fought in the Civil War, and the newest one for those who had fought in Iraq. Six or seven family mausoleums stood interspersed among trees, all containing once-prominent Larkspur residents. Nick liked to remark that a small town like Larkspur had a lot of big people—and a lot of small minds.

The hill sloped back down, offering a panoramic view of the cemetery. To her left was Nick's grave, a rueful destination. The grave was fresh, covered in sod, and the stone was up already. She could see that from where she was standing. Somehow the headstone made things permanent in a way she hadn’t experienced before. Nick was dead. He was really dead, gone, buried, never coming back.

She knew it, of course, but until she saw it set, literally, in stone, it hadn’t been fully real.

Kneeling in front of the flat headstone, the ground under her still soft, she placed the yellow rose on Nick’s grave. She traced her brother’s name, the dates.
Dominick William Chandler.
Below that:
Behold, he shall fly like an eagle and he shall spread his wings.
There was even a picture of an eagle etched into the marble.

Dusty looked at the bible quote in surprise, wondering if it had been Julia's choice or her father’s. Having a bible verse on her brother’s headstone bothered her, but that one in particular was more meaningful than Julia could have known. Back in middle school, Nick had gotten into the idea of totem animals. It came mostly from Shane, who said his was the wolf. Hers had turned out to be something stupid she couldn’t remember—skunk or giraffe maybe.

But Nick’s had been an eagle.

Dusty wondered if Julia had found out somehow. Did Nick tell her? It was a lovely phrase, although she wasn’t sure her brother was in any real heaven. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God—or some sort of being or presence larger than human existence—she just wasn’t sure she believed in Julia’s version. Julia seemed to have this entitlement when it came to heaven—or anything, really. She was fond of saying people got what they deserved.

But Nick didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.

He’d been stalked and killed here. The sheriff’s words kept coming back to her.

What was left of him.

No human being could have done that.

She didn’t like the images those words conjured up. They made her stomach ache and her head fill with cotton. Dusty closed her eyes, stretching out on her brother’s grave, using his headstone as a pillow and letting her tears christen the gray marble surface. Yesterday she had wished she was the one being buried. Yesterday, she had wished it was anyone else but Nick. She had screamed it in front of everyone.

Poor Shane.

She rarely had any sympathy for him, but without her brother’s presence, somehow whatever had been keeping the two of them apart had at least partially dissolved. She’d taken her grief out on him, an easy target. And he’d let her.

Because he’s guilty.

She’d told him the truth—she didn’t believe he’d done anything to hurt Nick. But he knew something he wasn’t talking about. She was sure of it. She remembered the way Ryan had looked down, the way his gaze had skipped away from hers when she questioned him. Was he covering up something for Shane? What about the rest of the gang?

“Not the safest place in the world to take a nap.”

Dusty sat bolt upright, a scream rising in her throat before she recognized his voice.

“Jesus, Shane!” She shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked up at him. “You scared me to death!”

“I suppose we're in the right place for it.” He gave her a wry smile.

“What are you up to?” She blinked at the way he was dressed—a dark knit hat and camouflage fatigues. He had a bow strung across his shoulder and a pair of black moccasins on his feet.

“Trouble. What else?” He grinned.

“I can see that.” She patted the ground beside her. “Have a seat?”

“I’m invited?” He raised his eyebrows but he unslung his bow, setting it beside a metal contraption she hadn’t seen before that moment.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Bear trap.” Shane sat beside her looking at the headstone she’d been resting on. “Eagle? Wow. Who picked that?”

“Julia.” Dusty watched him trace Nick’s name, just like she had. “I’m sorry about yesterday. The way she made you leave like that.”

“You okay?” It was a casual question but his eyes sought hers, concerned.

“I’ll live.” She gave a short laugh at the irony, because it was the last thing she wanted to do. “So what’s with the hunting arsenal? It isn’t even bow season yet.”

“Nope.” He glanced at the bow and trap, looking thoughtful. The bear trap was enormous, like the rusty jaws of a shark. “If Dumb and Dumber aren’t going to do anything but watch, someone’s gotta take matters into their own hands.”

She stared at him, aghast. “They’ll arrest you if they catch you.”

“They won’t catch me.” He winked.

“You’re walking around in the daylight with a bear trap and a bow!” she pointed out, laughing at the sheepish look on his face.

“Well… I saw you here and couldn’t resist.” He nudged her jean-clad knee with his moccasin. His brief touch brought her senses to life. She was suddenly aware of how close he was.

“You look ridiculous in that hat.” She snatched it off his head and Shane ran a hand through his sandy hair, grinning. “You really think camouflage is going to keep anyone from seeing you?”

“You didn’t hear me coming, did you?” He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking.

Dusty snorted. “I was prostrate with grief.”

“I’m sorry.” He studied Nick’s headstone, not looking at her.

“I was kidding with you.” She put her hand on his forearm, smiling when he looked up at her. He still looked awful—about as awful as she felt—with dark circles under his eyes and shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. He still hadn’t shaved. The stubble on his cheeks appeared lighter in the sunshine, almost red in this light.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that thing I said at the funeral home.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d apologized to Shane Curtis. Usually they threw barbs at each other until Nick stepped between them and broke it up. Of course, Nick wasn’t here to do that anymore.

“Which thing?” He cocked his head, blue eyes dancing.

“You know.” It was Dusty’s turn to study the headstone, feeling her cheeks redden. “About wishing it had been you…”

When he didn’t respond, she lifted her gaze, finding him staring off into the distance, over the gently rolling hills of the cemetery. She followed his line of sight, but there was nothing. Just leaves fluttering to the ground in the breeze, a squirrel foraging and gathering nuts. A fat, blue-black crow perched on the edge of one of the mausoleums, head cocked, one yellow eye searching the grounds for mice.

“I wish it
had
been me.”

“Shane…” She squeezed his forearm—her hand still rested there—ready to tell him what he’d told her in the closet at the funeral home. A variation on the theme she’d repeated to Suzanne. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. There was no sense in wishing it different, because you couldn’t change the past. The only thing you could do was move forward, one painfully slow step at a time.

“No, you don’t understand. I could have killed it.” He unzipped his camouflage jacket, sliding it to the side and lifting his black t-shirt. He pulled the piece up to show her. She gasped out loud, although she’d seen plenty of guns in her life. It was a pretty little baby Glock. Her brother had one just like it, a gift from their father when they turned eighteen last January. Dusty had little interest in owning a gun and had asked for an iPhone instead. It was in her pocket.

“You don’t have a permit for that.” You had to be twenty-one in Michigan to carry a concealed weapon—and you had to have a license.

“Nope.” He tucked the gun back into the holster attached to his jeans. “But if it had been me, it sure would have come in handy.”

“Wish Nick had been carrying his.” She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. It felt comfortable and familiar when he slipped an arm around her. They sat there, hip to hip, staring at Nick’s headstone, a marble announcement. Dusty could feel the press of the handgun against her side, but she didn’t mind. It was like an extra bit of comfort.

“Nick told me something the last time I saw him… alive.”

She closed her eyes, not sure why she was telling him. Maybe it was the way he turned his head toward her before inhaling deeply, like he was trying to breathe her in. Maybe it was the way he cupped her shoulder in his hand, like he was holding something delicate—a tiny field mouse or a baby bird—and he was trying to be careful not to startle it. But mostly she thought it was the memory of his kiss in the darkness, the way he had taken it, how he had groaned and given into her response in that one brief moment before his senses returned.

“What did he tell you?” Shane’s spine straightened slightly, breath catching in his chest. He went completely still, like a deer caught in the shine of a poacher’s flashlight.

“He said he saw the way you look at me.” She hesitated, hearing his intake of breath when her hand moved to his thigh. Leaving it there, halfway up, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, feeling him breathing again. “And he saw the way I look at you.”

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Nick said he had the feeling, if he hadn’t been around, we might have ended up together.” Dusty lifted her chin to see his reaction. He didn’t look surprised, not like she had been. They were very close now. Close enough she could see the reddish stubble on his cheeks and the gold flecks in the light blue of his eyes and that little divot above his lip. She had the impulse to touch him there and repressed it.

“You and me?” he asked, pondering it, lips pursed in thought, making her think about that damnable kiss. She didn’t understand why she was feeling this way. First, the funeral home. Now they were both sitting
on her brother’s grave.
What was it about her dead brother that revved up her libido around Shane? It went beyond crazy and slipped into the realm of the surreal.

“You and me.” She nodded slowly, fascinated by the shape of his mouth.

“I don’t know.” Shane blinked those striking blue eyes at her, both eyebrows raised. Her attention was drawn down to his mouth again when he licked his lips, drawing the lower one thoughtfully in before asking, “What do you think?”

“I don’t understand why…” She didn’t. She didn’t understand any of it. Her world made no sense anymore. Nick was dead and Shane was here, offering her comfort and something else—she didn’t even know what—after all the years they’d spent sparring and going after each other’s throats.

But he’d come looking for her, had known she would be in the closet. He’d known her temper well enough to hold her back when she would have gone after the idiotic sheriff with her bare hands. And he’d held her and rocked her and let her cry when she needed to, which was far more than anyone else in her life seemed to want to do.

She didn’t understand it, but she knew she was feeling it. And whatever “it” was, it was powerful. Magnetic. It made her want to act, to do something reckless, careless, shameless. It made her feel like she had in the closet of the funeral home, ready to strip down to nothing and give into the feeling. It made her feel like doing that now, right here, on her brother’s grave. It felt wrong and right at the same time.

“What don’t you understand?” he prompted.

Dusty took a deep breath, reaching out and doing it, touching that little divot above his parted lips. She didn’t stop there, tracing the delicious shape of them, feeling him go still again, but it was different this time. This sort of stillness was more predator than prey. It was like the watchful, waiting crouch of an animal.