Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) (12 page)

The phone call came when she was least expecting it.

Dusty had found some old
Animaniacs reruns on the T.V. in the family room. At two o'clock on a Friday afternoon, she sat sideways in the plush green armchair wearing her pink baby doll pajamas, her legs hung over the arm.

She had loaded herself with a bag of Doritos and a Dr. Pepper. She loved
Animaniacs
.
It had been Nick’s favorite and one of the mainstays of their childhood, along with The Rugrats and Ren and Stimpy. Nick had made her watch X-Men. He used to think he was Wolverine and would run around the house pretending to claw the furniture into submission. The thought came too fast for her to cut it off and she closed her eyes against the familiar dull ache.

Animaniacs
reruns were a rare occurrence. Then again, she had been so busy with the soaps she hadn’t paid much attention to what else was on during the day. President Obama was discussing the nation's economy on all the major networks so Dusty had done what most Americans do when the president comes on T.V.—switched stations.

She hadn’t watched cartoons in years. They were even more ridiculous than she remembered, but they brought back so many memories. She hadn’t seen Animaniacs since she was in fifth grade.
Not since Nick and I
—

SNIP

The phone shrilled from the kitchen. Dusty sighed, not moving the bag of Doritos from where they lay across her stomach or the soda pop clutched between her thighs.

“Julia!” She waited while the phone rang twice, three times. “Do you want me to get it?”

No answer.

Four, five...

Dusty moved the stuff off her lap and headed out to the kitchen. She picked up the light blue phone, colored to match the wallpaper, off the wall. Julia and her father hadn’t moved into the twenty-first century yet where cordless phones were the norm. At least it was a push-button and not a rotary dial.

“Hello?”

“Hi there. Can I speak with Dusty Chandler please?”

“This is,” Dusty replied, recognizing the voice with a small smile. She crossed her fingers and pressed them against her lips.

“Dusty, this is Lee Walker from over at the Starlite. You came in a couple weeks ago about a job?”

“Mmm-hmm.” It had been a couple weeks. So long she thought he wasn’t going to call and had inquired with both Nellie and Will Cougar about working for them.

“Can you start tonight?”

Tonight? Her exhilaration was electric. “What time?”

“Six.”

“I'll be there.”

“See you then.”

Dusty stared at the receiver until it began to make short, piercing blasts. Then she replaced it on the hook and leaned against the wall.

Since the episode with her father, she’d been shaky about leaving the house at all without checking on both of her parents. She’d found no traces of anything when she went back into the work room the next day. Her father seemed normal—back to business as usual.

I have a job!

She smiled at the absurdity of it. Two months ago, if someone had told her she would be ecstatic about getting a job in some bar, she would have laughed her head off. Now things had changed. It wasn’t the most prestigious job in the world, but she didn’t want it for prestige. It certainly didn’t pay the best, but she wasn’t out to make a fortune. She thought the job would suit its purpose very well. She went upstairs to get ready.

✝
Chapter Te
n
✝

“How you doing, princess?”

Dusty forced a smile as she sat on one of the stools at the bar, facing Lee.

“Just fine.” She’d never been so relieved to be off her feet.

“Bullshit.” He laughed, wiping the inside of a beer glass clean. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Bullshit.” She smiled and wiggled her toes in her black heels. He laughed again, but all she could manage was a rueful smile.

“Twenty minutes.” He glanced at the clock before moving down the bar to take an order, calling to her. “Catch a breath of fresh air if you want, but don't wander out there, okay?”

The eight o’clock curfew was still in effect but the Starlite’s customers didn’t pay any attention. The thought of fresh air was tempting—it was far too warm and smoky in the bar—but she was too tired to think about actually getting up. She wasn’t moving from this spot for the next twenty minutes if she could help it.

She’d never known the Starlite was so busy, and not just on weekends, but every day of the week, all the time. From eight o’clock onward—right about when everyone should have been home, according to the curfew—the bar turned into an unbreakable wave of sound. Above her head, a color television blasted out a Monday Night Football game. The Detroit Lions were leading Dallas by seven and that miracle had everyone talking. There was a screen up in the other corner with Keno numbers constantly running.

The half-dozen pool tables at the far end of the bar were all in use. One guy stood at the old Pac-Man game in the far corner chasing blue ghosts. She’d never understood how it was possible for Lee to turn a profit in a small town like Larkspur, but she had no trouble now seeing how he managed it. There were at least fifty people in the bar and, day to day, they were all the same faces. And everyone was drinking.

He made his profits in sheer volume.

She’d been working for three nights running, and she was developing a nasty blister on her right heel. It was the shoes. Although the heels were only about two inches, they still pinched, but nothing else went with the “uniform”—a black mini-skirt and a plain white blouse. Over this, she wore a black vest with tiny gold stars on it. The back said “Starlite” in gold letters. She’d tried flats the first night, but Lee had helpfully suggested heels would bring better tips and he was right.

A hand came down on her shoulder and she whirled around. Sam Lewis—Lee called him his clean-up man—smiled broadly at her.

“Hi, Sam.” She smiled back, glancing past him toward the door. More arrivals. “Have a seat.”

He shrugged, smile fading as he pointed to the man sitting in the seat next to her.

“Excuse me?” Dusty touched the man on the shoulder. He was heavyset, wearing a suit and tie, which was rare in the Starlite, so bald he looked like a friar or a monk, just a rim of brown hair around his head starting above his ears. The man didn’t look up, knocking back one of the three shots sitting in front of him. “I’m sorry, I was just wondering if you’d mind finding a table? My friend is here and he’d like to sit by me.”

“Seat’s taken.” He picked up the second shot, looking at the amber colored liquid in the glass for a moment before knocking that one back too.

“Okay, never mind.” Dusty turned back to Sam with a shrug, looking out into the bar. “Guess we’ll have to find a table.”

“Hey.”

She gasped when the man grabbed her, fingers encircling her upper arm. He turned towards her, bleary-eyed and obviously drunk.

“You’re Nick Chandler’s sister, aren’t you?” His words slurred together.

She nodded, trying to shake loose from him, but he had a good grip. She prepared herself for his comments, the regrets and sympathies that were about to assault her. In the month since Nick’s death, she still hadn’t quite gotten used to them.

“Your daddy know you’re working here?” He squinted, like he was trying to see her more clearly.

Dusty felt her cheeks flush. She’d promised her parents she’d get a job—but she didn’t say where. She knew neither of them would approve of the Starlite, so she’d said something about helping Cougar out in the store when they asked. It was just a little white lie, something that would let them both continue to believe what they wanted to. No different than Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

Besides, it was Larkspur. They were bound to find out from someone eventually.

“Do I know you?” She looked down at where he was still gripping her arm. He looked a little familiar. Maybe someone who worked with her father?

“Let her go.”

Dusty glanced at Sam in surprise. It was hard to tell sometimes what Sam was thinking or feeling. He either lacked affect entirely or over exaggerated, like he did with the too broad smile he’d greeted her with. Sam stood looking at the man, unblinking, voice flat.

The man in the suit sneered but let her go, turning back to the bar to retrieve his last shot, but not before he mumbled, “Fucking feeb,” under his breath.

She gasped. “Dumb hick asshole!”

“Hey now.” Lee moved toward them.

“Fill ’em up, brother!” The man in the suit drank his last shot, slamming it down on the bar as Lee approached.

“I think you’ve had enough, Guy.” Lee slipped one finger each into the three shot glasses, sweeping them off the bar.

Guy. Dusty made the sudden connection. This was Guy Walker—the councilman running for sheriff.

“Brother?” Dusty blinked at Lee as he came around the bar.

“Time to go home to the little wifey.” Lee slipped an arm around the balding man’s shoulders, guiding him toward the door.

The councilman made a low noise in his throat, a slurred word maybe, sneering over his shoulder at them, but he made no other protest, letting his brother lead him out to the parking lot. Dusty was still shocked how many people drove home legally drunk in Larkspur. It was a good thing nothing was more than ten or fifteen minutes away.

“Well, that was exciting.” She looked at Sam who just watched the men go, impassive. “Sorry about that. I don’t care who he is—he’s a jerk.”

Sam slipped onto the stool beside her, shrugging. “Uh-Uh-I’m yuh-used to it.”

His stutter and the way he stared, not reacting, made people think he was mentally challenged but Sam Lewis wasn’t slow at all. He was just autistic—a term if overheard by most residents of Larkspur would be confused with someone who liked painting pictures. Dusty’s interest in psychology had given her a little more insight into Sam’s condition. His stutter didn’t have anything to do with his autism, but it slowed his speech and made people like the councilmen think they were justified in their assessment.

“I’m sorry about that too.” She hated the way people treated him. If a town councilman, a man running for elected office, had casually referred to him as a “feeb,” she could only imagine what other derogatory names poor Sam had been called.

“So, huh-huh-how is it guh-going?” He leaned forward to rest his elbow on the bar.

“All right.” She smiled. “How are you tonight?”

He looked shyly over at her. “I’m pretty guh-guh-good.”

“Good.” Dusty kept her eyes on the door, seeing Lee come back inside—without his brother. She didn’t know how she hadn’t made the connection that Lee and Guy were related.

“Sorry about that.” Lee apologized as he slipped behind the bar again, looking at Dusty and then at Sam. “Guy likes to drink.”

Dusty rolled her eyes at the excuse. “He’s not going to win friends and influence people that way.”

“Can you get me another keg of Bud out here, Sam?” Lee asked.

Sam didn’t say anything but he slid off his stool, heading toward the back room.

Lee waited until Sam had disappeared through the door next to the women’s bathroom before telling her. “He likes you.”

“Who?” Dusty watched Lee wiping glasses with one of the pristine white towels he always had within reach.

“Sam. He likes you,” he repeated.

She smiled. “He’s sweet.”

“I’m just warning you. He’s got a big crush. So don’t… you know… break his heart.”

“You look out for him.” She looked over her shoulder where Sam had disappeared into the store room.

Lee sighed. “He’s had it rough since Roy died.”

“Who?”

“Sam’s dad.” Lee filled two glasses of beer with the nozzle, sliding them down the bar. “He disappeared a couple months ago. Sam’s been pretty lost without him.”

“How awful.” Her sympathy for him rose another notch at this news. “What happened?”

“Don’t know. He was a hunter—could have got lost out in the woods somewhere. But they haven’t found a body.” He opened the little dishwasher under the bar where he washed glasses. “Sam’s all by himself now. I keep an eye on him as much as I can.”

“What about his mother?”

Lee shook his head. “Liddy killed herself. Long time ago.”

“What?” Dusty blinked at him in surprise. “This is Larkspur—how did I not know about this?”

She’d never met Sam until she started working at the Starlite, but she understood that—he told her he’d been homeschooled. Still, how had she never even heard of the family before? A suicide would have been big news, even if it happened years ago. It would be something she would eventually overhear at Cougar’s or at school or Julia’s church.
Oh that was back before Liddy Lewis killed herself…
and the story would come out.

“Kept to themselves.” Lee paused to draw another beer for someone. “Roy’s family was Native—lived here long before most of us did. He was involved in the town though. On the council. He worked at Pharmatech.”

“You knew them?”

“I knew Liddy.” Lee smiled grimly. “Dated her in high school.”

“So that’s why you look out for Sam.” She glanced at the store room door again, knowing they’d have to cut the conversation short when he appeared.

“She was all broken up about that boy.” He held one of the glasses up, squinting at it in the light, looking for water spots. “I think he was only about two-years-old when she died. Right after they diagnosed him with that whatchamacallit—”

“Autism,” she offered.

“Yeah.” He slid the glass into place under the bar. “Thought it was her fault.”

Dusty saw Sam wheeling a keg out of the storeroom and she glanced at the clock. “Gotta get back to work, boss.”

Lee gave her a nod as she slid off the stool, wincing at the pain. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to being on her feet in heels all night long.

She scanned the bar, looking for empty glasses, and saw someone new sitting at the table near the Pac-Man machine.

“What can I get you?” she asked as she approached, digging for the notepad in her vest pocket.

“Dusty!” Jake’s eyes widened when he saw her and widened even further when his gaze met her hemline. “Whoa. What are you doing here?”

“Working.” She poised her pen above her pad. “What can I get you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at college or something?” Jake ran a hand over his bald head. He reminded her a little of Mr. Clean—tall and broad and completely bald, with an earring in each ear—except she couldn’t remember Mr. Clean having that many tattoos. He’d started losing his hair in high school and had just shaved it all off. Male pattern baldness ran in his family. Both his older brothers looked like Dr. Phil by the time they were twenty-five. She remembered him shaving it during their junior year—what a huge stir it had caused. She thought he looked better without it anyway. Far better than desperately trying to comb over what was left.

“Not until January.” She hadn’t told anyone except her parents that she didn’t intend to go to U of M for the winter semester.

“So you’re working here?” Jake looked around the Starlite and then back at her, like the equation didn’t quite add up.

“It’s temporary.” At least that wasn’t a lie. She had no intention of working at the Starlite for the rest of her life. “Keeps my mind off… things.”

“Ah.” He grimaced. “Hey, listen… about Nick…”

“What can I get you?” she asked again. She hadn’t seen Jake since the funeral so of course he would feel obligated to mention it but she didn’t want to think about it. Not here. Not now.

He ignored her question, asking instead, “Why here? Jeez, Dusty, you could come work on cars at Vikings with me and Shane.”

She laughed. “I’m hardly qualified.”

“Oh come on, you could drop an engine with the best of us,” he reminded her with a smile. The memory of working on cars with Nick and Shane and the rest of the gang made her both sad and nostalgic. She had rebuilt the transmission on Shane’s Mustang herself.

“That was a million years ago.” It felt like it anyway, even though it had been during their sophomore year of high school. Her past felt so far away, but whenever she thought of her future now, it looked blank to her, like static on the television. There was nothing there. “I don’t remember the difference between a torque wrench and a screwdriver anymore.”

Jake scoffed. “Most girls don’t even know what a torque wrench is.”

“Most girls didn’t grow up in Larkspur.”