Too Many Secrets

PATRICIA H. RUSHFORD

Copyright © 1993 by Patricia Rushford
First ebook copyright © 2014 by Blackstone Audio, Inc.
All Rights Reserved.
Trade: 978-1-4829-9491-9
Library: 978-1-4829-9490-2

To Charette
Thanks for believing in Jennie and in me.

Internationally known author, speaker and teacher, Patricia H. Rushford has book sales totaling over a million copies. She has written over fifty books, including
What Kids Need Most in a Mom
and
Have You Hugged Your Teenager Today
. She has also written five mystery series, three for adults and two for children. Her recent projects include writing novels for the Guidepost books such as the Mystery and the Minister's Wife series and the medical series, Hope Haven. In addition, she has written a romantic suspense,
Strangers in the Night
. Pat has been reading mysteries for as long as she can remember and is delighted to be writing mysteries of her own.
Patricia was nominated for an Edgar by Mystery Writers of America, received the Silver Angel for excellence in media, and has received a number of other prestigious awards. Patricia has a degree in nursing and holds a master's degree in counseling. In addition, she conducts writer's workshops for adults and children.

“Yes!” Jennie cheered and punched the air. Snapping the pages of her history text together, she tossed it on the book pile that littered her bedroom floor. Her good mood was not because Jennie loved history—well she did, but not that much. Actually, it was because she had finished her term paper. And that put her one step closer to a summer vacation with Gram.

Jennie eyed the half-packed suitcase in the corner. Not that she was excited or anything. She'd started packing a month ago, when her grandmother had given her a round-trip ticket to Florida for her sixteenth birthday. In exactly twenty-two days, Jennie would be roasting her pale Oregon skin in the Florida sun.

The doorbell rang. Jennie tore out of her room and hit the steps running. Probably Gram. The chimes rang again as she yanked open the door.

“Oh, hi, Aunt Kate. You're early.” Jennie glanced over her aunt's shoulder into the gray drizzle. “Where's Gram … and Lisa?”

“Hi, Jennie, nice to see you too.” Aunt Kate pulled her into a soppy hug and kissed her cheek. “Gram hasn't come in yet.” She peeled off her dripping hat and raincoat and hung them on Jennie's arm.

Do I look like a coat rack?
Jennie started to ask, but didn't. Probably because she did resemble a coat rack. Tall, thin, and shapeless. Which might explain why she was usually free on weekends.

“It's wet out there.”

Jennie shrugged.
It's May. We live in Portland
. She opened her mouth to make the sarcastic remark, but that was as far as she got.

“Your cousin's at the club playing tennis with Brad. You know Brad, don't you?”

Jennie nodded. Of course she knew Brad. Lisa had been dating him for the last three months.

“Anyway, Lisa will be here in time for dinner. Be a dear and hang these up.” She started down the hall. “Where's your mom?”

“In the kitchen.” Jennie dumped Kate's clothes on a real coat rack and tagged along, wondering what kind of crisis her aunt was having this time. Not that Jennie was psychic or anything. It's just that when Aunt Kate got stressed, she also got spacey—hopping from one subject to the next like a bird trying to find a place to land.

Jennie followed her as far as the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, where she could watch and listen without being noticed.

“Got anything to drink?” Kate reached into the refrigerator, extracted a diet cola, and turned to Jennie's mom. “Susan, have you seen Gram?” Gram was actually Kate's mother, but everyone called her Gram. It was easier that way.

“Nope.” Mom looked up from the clown cake she was frosting for Nick—Jennie's little brother. They were celebrating his fifth birthday that night. “Should I have?”

Kate shrugged and took a drink. “I'm worried. She was due back from Canada two days ago. She hasn't called. And I can't reach her—she forgot to tell us where she was staying.”

“So what else is new? You and I both know she didn't
forget
. She's being secretive again.” Mom stepped away from the cake and scrutinized the red balloons she'd painted on the white frosting. “You know how she is. When she's writing, the world could come to an end, and she wouldn't notice.”

“I know, but she promised to be back in time for Nick's birthday. She wouldn't forget that. You know how nuts she is about these kids.” Kate inched a finger toward the cake.

“Hands off!” Mom's warning melted in a smile. “You're worse than the kids. You'll have to wait until tonight. And no, you can't lick the bowl—I already did.”

“How about the spoon?”

Mom eyed the frosting-coated spoon lying on the counter with longing, then picked it up and handed it to Aunt Kate. “Ah,” she sighed dramatically, “the sacrifices I make for my family.”

“You really don't know where Gram is?” Jennie pushed away from the wall, irritated by their lack of concern.

They looked at her as though she'd just committed the social blunder of the century for interrupting their conversation. Jennie didn't apologize. It wasn't her fault they had been too engrossed to notice her.

“It's nothing for you to be worried about, Jennie.” Mom wiped her hands on a towel and flicked the limp auburn bangs off her forehead. “You know the McGrady side of the family has always been a little … um … eccentric—especially Gram.”

“Mmmm. Good choice of words, Susan.” Aunt Kate licked another glob of gooey white frosting off the spoon. “
Ec … cen … tric
.” Kate stretched it out, using a British accent and making it sound as if she were describing royalty. “I like that. Much better than loony-tunes or weird. I even like it better than
artistic
.”

“Maybe I should have said peculiar or bizarre,” Mom countered.

Jennie half-listened to them throw adjectives at each other to describe the McGrady side of the family. Mom was right, in a way. There were some unusual things about their family. Such as Lisa and Jennie being cousins
and
best friends. And Uncle Kevin being Aunt Kate's husband
and
Mom's brother. Which explained why Jennie resembled Aunt Kate and Lisa looked more like Jennie's mom.

Ian McGrady, her grandfather, had been with British Intelligence in the Second World War and was killed many years ago, in Lebanon, when terrorists blew up the hotel where he was staying.

Gram was supposed to be retired. She used to be a policewoman, but said it wasn't challenging enough. She quit the force after Grandpa died and moved to the coast. Gram was always off on some exotic assignment, writing for travel magazines and investigating some political or environmental issue.

Aunt Kate, who was Dad's twin, worked as a professional artist. Not that being an artist was all that weird. It's just that the way she combined colors and shapes it seemed she'd never heard of the word “normal.”

Jason McGrady, Jennie's dad, was a pilot. He'd been working on a project for the government when his plane went down. A wave of panic rose and crashed inside her. “What if Gram's plane …” Jennie stopped, realizing she'd said it out loud. Mom and Kate went white.

Jennie had a hunch they were remembering that day five years before, when the police told them Dad's plane had disappeared during a storm. He'd called in a distress signal to the Seattle airport, then lost contact. The authorities figured he'd flown off course and gone down in the Pacific Ocean. They never found him, and after a few months decided he must have died. Jennie didn't believe it. Dad was still alive—somewhere. She could feel it.

“I don't think we need to worry about the plane,” Aunt Kate said. “She didn't take the Cessna this time. Flew up on Alaska Air. We'd have heard if anything happened.”

“If Gram is missing,” Jennie argued, “shouldn't you call the police or something?”

“Your mom is right, Jen. I'm probably overreacting. Besides, your grandmother can take care of herself. With all those self-defense classes she's taken over the years, I'd feel sorry for anyone who dared mess with her.” Kate laughed, then sobered. “Still, she is nearly sixty … I'll call the Johnson's. Since Ryan picks up Gram's mail and does her yard work when she's gone, he may have heard from her.”

The Johnsons were Gram's neighbors and their son, Ryan, was probably Jennie's best friend, next to Lisa. Thinking about Ryan brought another set of feelings—like the kind you get when you sit in front of a cozy fire on a cold rainy day. Ryan and Jennie hung around together whenever she visited Gram at the beach. He could be called a boyfriend, but only in the sense that he was a boy. Not that Jennie wouldn't have welcomed something more. Maybe she'd call Ryan later and ask him about Gram herself. It couldn't hurt.

For the first time since Kate had entered the house, she landed. Perched on a swivel stool next to the wall phone, she flipped through the phone directory on the counter.

“Jennie.” Mom's voice sounded strained. “It's okay to talk about your dad, you know.” She put an arm around Jennie's shoulders and hugged her. “Talking helps us accept the fact that he's gone.”

Jennie shrugged away. “I don't want to accept it. He's not gone. He's
missing
. In case you've forgotten, there is a rather large difference. They never found him or the plane, remember?”

Mom looked like she was about to argue, then stepped back. She glanced at the clock above the sink and sighed. “It's almost three-thirty. Would you pick up Nick while I finish getting things ready for his party?”

Her words implied the talk was over, but her eyes said,
We'll finish this later
. Jennie grabbed the keys to the Mustang from the hook next to the back door and paused, wanting to know what the Johnsons had to say about Gram.

Aunt Kate hung up the phone. “No answer. I'll try later.”

The frown creasing her forehead told Jennie that Aunt Kate was more concerned about Gram than she wanted them to believe.

Jennie ran from the porch to the car, dodging raindrops the size of golf balls. She should have worn a jacket, or at least taken the umbrella. By the time she got into the car, her sweatshirt hung around her shoulders like a soggy towel. The freezing blast of cold air from the car heater forced the dampness into her bones. Jennie flipped the fan off and backed out of the driveway.

Despite the cold, she felt better. Jennie enjoyed driving. Mom had encouraged her to take driver's ed. and get her license right away. Mom liked having another driver in the house and treated Jennie like an adult—most of the time. Jennie bristled. Having her own car was great, but there were a lot of things she didn't have, like her own cell phone. Mom had given her a used, pre-pay, use-for-emergency-only phone for the car—which stayed in the glove box except for when it needed charging.

“Oh, well,” she muttered. Like Gram always said,
Don't ruminate about what you don't have. Be thankful for what you do have
.

They hardly ever argued. Lately, though, Mom had been acting weird—about a lot of things. Like that comment about Dad, for example. She used to get all weepy whenever his name came up. Hardly cried at all anymore. Not that Jennie wanted her to be sad. She just didn't want her to forget.

After Jennie had driven a couple of blocks, she turned the heater back on. Warm air currents beat against her skin, but inside, Jennie still felt the chill. If anything happened to Gram she wouldn't be able to …
no
. She wouldn't think about that. Gram would come. She would. “God, please,” Jennie whispered, “please let her be okay.”

She turned the radio on, hoping music would dispel her somber mood, but she got the news instead.

“Burglars escaped with over a million dollars in diamonds from the jewelry trade show at the Red Lion Inn last night,” the newscaster reported. He went on to say they had no suspects in the case.

Jennie would have to remember to tell Gram about the diamond heist. Even though Gram didn't work on the police force anymore, she liked hearing about cases like that.

“
Who do you think did it, Jennie?
” she'd ask. Then they'd try to solve the mystery. She hoped Gram would be back before the police figured it out.

As Trinity Center came into view, she shoved her thoughts about mysteries and Gram into a back corner of her mind. From the top of the hill, the blue metal roof reminded Jennie more of a headless peacock than a building. The church was in the middle, and the school fanned out from it. Nick's preschool was housed in the first section, the high school where Lisa and Jennie went was on the opposite side. The other grades fell in between.

Jennie turned into the long, steep driveway and parked at the curb near the preschool rooms and headed inside. When she walked in the door, Nick shot across the room and landed at her feet.

“Look what I made!” With one arm wound around her leg, he held up a mud-colored finger painting for her inspection.

Jennie pried him loose and knelt beside him. “Wow! What a great dog. I love his red and blue coat.”

“It's not a dog, silly.” Nick cocked his head and gave her his you're-not-very-bright look. “It's a horse. See, this is a tail and there's a saddle. He ain't got a rider cause he bucked him off.”

“You're a really good artist,” Jennie said. “I don't know how I could have made such a silly mistake.” She hugged him and kissed the tip of his nose. “You better get your stuff so we can go home and get ready for your party.” His eyes widened, and he galloped off to the coat racks.

“I can't get over how good you are with him.” Nick's teacher appeared at Jennie's side.

Jennie shrugged. She'd had a lot of practice. “Nick's a great kid.”

“You're not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah … well … ah, thanks. We gotta run. Nice talking to you.” She collected Nick and his masterpiece and backed away.

Jennie didn't talk much on the way home, just listened to Nick chatter about his day. He asked who'd be at the party, so she told him the guest list. It wasn't long, just family. Aunt Kate and Uncle Kevin, Lisa and her eleven-year-old brother, Kirk, and probably Lisa's boyfriend, Brad. Jennie hadn't mentioned Gram so Nick wouldn't be upset in case she couldn't come. Jennie hoped he wouldn't notice. She should have known better.

“What about Gram?” Nick twisted around in his seat and tucked his feet under him so he could see out the window. “Isn't Gram coming?”

“I'm not sure, Nick. She might not be home from Canada yet.”

“But she promised.”

“I know. She'll come if she can. I'll bet she's on her way right now.” Jennie hoped she sounded more positive than she felt. The thought of Gram not showing up had given her a stomachache. Jennie tried to imagine Gram's candy-apple red antique T-Bird convertible parked in their driveway and Gram stepping out. She'd pull off her sunglasses and run a hand through her salt-and-pepper hair, trying to put her windblown curls in some kind of order. Then she'd smile and stretch out her arms, and Nick and Jennie would run into them …