Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) (3 page)

“You got off because Dad got you off!” She wagged her finger at him, just like Julia did at the two of them. She recognized the gesture but didn’t censor herself. “If it had just been Shane, he’d be in juvy right now.”

“This town.” Nick got up, striding toward his dresser and putting the cap back on the gel. “Buck Thompson is a nice guy, but he’s about as sharp as a bowling ball. He can’t look past the usual suspects.”

“Sheriff Thompson isn’t that stupid,” she retorted, defending him despite knowing her brother was, in fact, probably correct. It was a very small town. There had never been any major crime committed in Larkspur. Sheriff Thompson’s mettle had never really been tested. “He knew it was Buddy Curtis stealing those lottery tickets.”

“That doesn’t make him Sherlock Holmes.” Her brother snorted, turning around and leaning against the dresser to look at her. “They caught him on camera. Besides, Buddy isn’t Shane. Just like you’re not me.”

“It wasn’t Shane who got caught poaching on state land our junior year?” She didn’t know why, but she felt like she had to win this argument, to vilify Shane completely and prove her brother wrong.

Nick blinked at her, quiet for a moment. Then he surprised her by asking, “Ever think I might be the bad influence on him, not the other way around?”

She scowled, swinging her feet against the side of the bed and mumbling, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Isn’t that what Julia says?”

“Jesus, Dusty.” He gave a long, deep sigh, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think you’re more like Julia than you are like Mom.”

“That’s not fair.” It hit her like a blow to the midsection and she sucked in air, blinking back tears.

“I’m just trying to tell you…” Nick’s voice took on a tight, sharp tone. “Shane isn’t a bad guy. It’s not his fault, what his brother did, what this town thinks of him.”

“Right.” She didn’t care if he was angry. She was too.
“They’re
the victims.”

“What if they are?” The silence stretched between them. Finally, Nick sighed. “I just wish you could hear yourself.”

“So I’m a little cynical.” She shrugged. “Sue me.”

“I’m gonna be a vet, not a lawyer.”

She smiled at his comment. Her soft-hearted twin had opted for MSU because of their outstanding veterinary program. He loved animals—even if Julia wouldn’t let them have any pets. Not even goldfish.

“Come on, Nick,” she pleaded. “Let’s not fight. This is stupid. We haven’t had a fight in a long time.”

He gave a conciliatory nod. “Funny how we still fight about the same things.”

“Good thing neither of us is a psychologist.” She laughed. “Not yet anyway.”

“Let’s hope they teach you some empathy in psychology school.”

“Hey!” Dusty grabbed a stuffed dragon off his bed and threw it at him.

He caught it, using it to deflect the magazine she threw at his head, both of them laughing.

“I’m not unsympathetic.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “I just believe in tough love.”

“I didn’t say sympathy, I said
empathy
.” Nick peeked at her around his stuffed animal, checking to see if she was ready to throw something else at him. “There’s a difference. But I guess it’s hard to have empathy for someone if you’ve never walked in their shoes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve led a sheltered life, little sister.”

“You haven’t?” She rolled her eyes. “And by the way, you’re only two minutes older than me.”

“It was a long two minutes.”

She picked up another magazine and he ducked again, but she didn’t throw it. Instead she started leafing through it, deciding to ignore him.

“Okay listen…” He peeked around the stuffed dragon before tossing it over her onto the bed. “The world slaps labels on all of us from the time we’re born. We sort of just grow into them.”

“Oh really? So what’s mine?” She didn’t look up from the magazine.

“Princess.”

“Okay, okay.” She couldn’t help smiling. Nick liked to call her a spoiled princess, although how anyone could be spoiled in Larkspur, where there was one tiny movie theater, no Starbucks and no mall—not even a strip one—was beyond her. “So what’s yours?”

“Golden boy.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “And I suppose Shane’s is ‘bad boy?’”

“The point is, sometimes the labels don’t really fit,” he said. “Sometimes black is white. Sometimes white is black. Sometimes we’re not really who we appear to be at all. Not even close.”

She blinked at his words and then frowned. “Are you talking about Shane?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Nick cleared his throat. “You, me, Shane. All of us.”

She didn’t really believe it, not for a minute, but she didn’t want to fight with him. “I still say square pegs don’t fit into round holes.”

“Shane isn’t who you think he is.” He met her eyes with a gaze so long and steady she had to look away.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, trying to change the subject. “Let’s forget it, okay? Why don’t you stay home tonight? We can make popcorn and watch Monty Python.”

“How exciting.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

“Come on, you can’t tell me I’m not more exciting than Shane Curtis!” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re just going to go get drunk, pass out and end up puking all night long.”

“Now that’s my idea of a good time!” He laughed at her look of disgust, glancing at the digital clock next to his bed. “I gotta go. It’s almost seven-thirty.”

“Hey...” Dusty hesitated for a moment and bit her lip. “Can I come?”

He hesitated, a pained look on his face. “No… I’m sorry, princess. Not tonight.”

“Didn’t you just say you wanted me to mend some fences with your buddy Shane?” she protested. “What was that all about?”

“Dusty, not tonight!” he insisted, leaning his shoulder against the open door. “It’s… just not tonight, okay?”

“What’s so special about tonight?”

“It just is!”

They stared at each other and Dusty tried to read his eyes. Something was up but she couldn’t tell what. She thought about jumping on him, tickling him until he gave up the secret, whatever it was, but she knew that could backfire. Nick had a habit of giving her the long, silent treatment when he was really mad, when she’d pushed things too far. He was leaving for college the next day—they were driving him down to school in her stepmother’s minivan in the morning—and she didn’t want to ruin their goodbyes.

“Fine. Never mind,” she snapped, knowing she wasn’t going to get her way.

“Dusty, don’t do that.” His tone made her cringe—he acted like he knew just what she was trying to do and wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “I told you I had plans.”

“Go then!” She waved him away, flipping through
Field and Stream
like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I hope they steal all your clothes and leave you passed out on the lawn like they did on graduation night.”

“I love you too.” His grin stretched wide and he winked at her.

“I hope you smash up the Jeep!”

“Can’t. Shane’s driving.”

“Even better! I hope he smashes up that pretty little Mustang of his.” Her glib, gleeful tone inched up a notch as he headed toward the door. “With you in it!”

“Thanks.” Nick snorted laughter, their disagreement clearly forgiven.

“Good riddance!”

“You’re such a bitch,” he called over his shoulder, but he was laughing. “Goodbyyyye!”

“Rotten brother,” she mumbled, laughing too.

It was the last time she saw Nick alive.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord.”

Dusty blinked, hearing the echoes of “Amen,” and glanced around her. It was over. Mercifully, the droning of the reverend had stopped.

She looked over at Shane. He was leading Suzanne toward his car, the rest of the gang following him, like they always did. The family broke up, talking amongst themselves, but she couldn’t acknowledge the murmurs of sympathy, their sad eyes and shocked faces when they said how
awful
, how
young
, how
tragic
.

She couldn’t take her eyes off Shane. He’d come looking for her at Julia’s prompting, knowing just where she’d be hiding, because that’s where she’d been the day they buried her mother. He must have remembered Nick finding her curled behind all the coats, had stood in the doorway with tears in his own eyes and watched her brother coax her out and comfort her.

Except this time it was Shane who held her, whose embrace had turned from comfort to something else in an instant. Dusty touched her lips, remembering the heat of his kiss, the taste of him lingering, still shocked by the sudden turn of events. How easy it had been to slip her arms around him and let herself get lost. She didn’t even understand how it was possible, considering how much they had avoided each other or outright fought over the years.

People did crazy things when they were grieving. She remembered that little fact from her high school psychology course. Maybe that was all the explanation she needed. She was mourning the loss of her brother, and she knew Shane was too, in his way. They’d had a moment of crazy in the coat closet, that was all. It didn’t have anything to do with what Nick had said that night, about the way he’d seen them look at each other.

It didn’t change how she felt about Shane—had always felt about him.

And it definitely didn’t change her suspicions.

Shane stopped by the driver’s side of his Mustang, meeting her eyes, looking at her as if he knew just what she was thinking and feeling. He lifted his hand in a brief wave before getting into the car, but Dusty didn’t return the gesture. She was thinking about the last time she’d seen her brother alive, heading out with Shane and the gang for his farewell party. Nick was supposed to be with Shane—so how did he get all the way out here to the cemetery in the middle of the night?

Where were you, Shane?

“Do you want to stay a minute?” Julia asked at her elbow.

“No.” Dusty shook her head, watching Shane's retreating car, something small, tight and burning lodged i
n her chest. “It's over.”

Deep inside, though, she felt that it—something—had just begun.

✝
Chapter Thre
e
✝

Dusty had been appointed by Julia, who’d orchestrated everything about this day down to the last detail, to stand in the kitchen, accept food f
rom incoming guests and direct them toward the family room. The first offering was a casserole. After she had ushered her aunt and cousins into the family room, where her father was mixing drinks, Dusty opened the lid. It was unidentifiable except for the distinct odor of tuna.

Her uncle and his new wife showed up with a pie between them. It was store bought, but it was lemon meringue, so Julia might forgive them, since lemon was her personal favorite. One of the women who used to babysit them brought a quiche. Dusty thanked her and accepted her apologies, although she knew the quiche wouldn’t get eaten. Julia was a picky eater and her father… well, real men still didn’t eat quiche in rural America.

After that, the people and the food seemed to run together, but she wrote it all down, as Julia had requested. Nellie Edwards, who ran the diner in town, brought her special—noodles and beef casserole.
Probably leftover ‘special of the day.’
Will Cougar, who ran Cougar's General Store down on the corner of Frontier and Franklin, brought a chocolate cream pie he said his wife had made.

Then he handed her a package of Twizzlers.

“I remembered how much you both liked ’em, hon.”

That brought a lump to her throat and she couldn’t look at him when she thanked him.

He touched her shoulder and then was gone.

By the time their driveway was lined with cars, Julia had been in twice to refill appetizer trays from the fridge, making sure Dusty was keeping a list of who brought what, and the list of food had expanded to include five pounds of raw hamburger from Mr. Maxwell, who ran Max's Meats, a pan of brownies, five more pies—two were coconut cream, one was strawberry, one was apple, and one was pumpkin—eight cannolies, two mysterious Jell-O salads, and a sack of California navel oranges. Dusty was running out of room on the table.

When she opened the door for Suzanne, she noticed her brother’s on-again off-again girlfriend had changed from the simple black dress she’d worn to the funeral into a pair of dark blue sweats, a hoodie and Nikes. She came through the front door into the kitchen.

“Hi.” Dusty swallowed, memories flooding back, and couldn’t manage to follow her greeting up with anything. Looking at Suzanne brought Nick back in a way she hadn’t experienced yet, less a memory and more of a feeling, something fuzzy and warm and painfully intoxicating. They had all known each other since grade school.

“I didn't think to bring anything. I'm sorry.” Suzanne eyed the pies lined up on the table.

“I was running out of room anyway.”

Suzanne smiled, but even that felt hollow. “Who's here?”

Voices floated in from the family room, subdued, but there was still some laughter. It sounded like a party that had just begun.

“Nearly everybody I know and a few I don't.” Dusty sat on one of the kitchen chairs. “Have a seat.”

“Is Shane here?” Suzanne sat down across from her.

“No.”

“He said he might drop by.” Suzanne twisted a strand of hair, no longer pulled back, around her finger.

“Great, I'll look forward to it.” Dusty’s sarcasm made Suzanne smile again, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I hate funerals.” Suzanne sighed, absently tucking the cling wrap back under one of the homemade pies. “But I hate these 'afterward' things more. Why do we bother?”

“I don’t know.” Dusty knew what she meant. This wasn’t a comfort—it was just etiquette. Julia could write a book on the etiquette of funerals. Nick always said their father had married Miss Manners.

“I miss him already.” Suzanne traced the blue flower design on the tablecloth with her finger. “There was this really brief period of shock, when I didn’t feel anything. I miss that too.”

Dusty nodded. She remembered the early morning phone call, her father’s voice shaking when he called her to come downstairs where Julia was hovering, telling both of them to sit down… and then telling them why.

Julia had gone into business mode almost immediately, calling the funeral home and then going with Dusty’s father down to the morgue. She’d given Dusty the phone and an address book, telling her to go down the list of relatives. She’d also given her the number for admissions at Michigan State, so she could tell them Nick wouldn’t be coming. That last call had stopped her cold, and when the flurry of activity and phone calls halted and feelings finally flooded in, Dusty realized she’d been numb.

She had preferred numb. This pain was unbearable.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Suzanne asked.

“The night before.” Dusty didn’t look at her, remembering their conversation.

“We were in a fight, so I didn’t go out to the path that night.” Suzanne's voice tightened. “We were in a stupid fight about some stupid thing—I can't even remember what it was about it was so stupid—and I hadn't seen him in two days. Hadn't even talked to him. I called the next day, the day after it happened...” She drew a shaky breath. “And your dad told me...”

None of Nick’s friends had been on Julia’s list.

She obviously didn’t think they were important enough to notify.

“That's okay. I told him I hoped he got into a car accident. How's that for guilt-trip material?” Dusty snorted. “I know what you're thinking, but it's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault.”

Even as she said it, her mind denied it.

It’s
someone’s
fault! It
has
to be!

It was too hard to accept otherwise.

“I don't understand what he was doing out in the cemetery.” Suzanne swiped at tears.

“I don't either.” Dusty’s heart plummeted at Suzanne’s look of genuine confusion. She’d hoped maybe Suzanne could give her a clue—something, anything. “It’s just so… strange.”

“I just wish I knew what really happened.” Suzanne chewed her lower lip.

Nobody seemed to know. All sorts of red flags went up when Dusty had heard where he’d been, what they all assumed had happened, but no one else seemed to think it was anything but a tragic accident.

“Well I'd better go put in an appearance.” Suzanne stood and stretched. “Then I'm going to go home to sleep for the rest of my life.”

Dusty didn’t say anything as she watched her walk out of the kitchen.

A knock sounded at the door and she sighed, closing her eyes. It was too much to handle, too much to deal with in one day. Exhausted, she just wanted to crawl into bed and, as Suzanne had suggested, sleep for the rest of her life.

The knock came again, more insistent and she got up to open the door.

“Hey.” Shane stepped into the kitchen, the heels of his black motorcycle boots loud on the linoleum. Everything he had changed into was black—boots, jeans, even the t-shirt above the gold zipper of his leather jacket. This was the Shane she was familiar with and it was far easier to slip into old patterns.

“Well aren’t you the picture of mourning?” She peered over his shoulder. “Where are your followers?”

“Just me.” He held both hands out, palms up in apology as she shut the door behind him. “How are you holding up?”

His concern made her bristle. “Just fine thanks.”

“Liar.” His gaze moved over her face, searching her eyes, and she turned toward the table, rearranging the cannolies so she could avoid him. He took a step toward her and she snapped her head toward him, glaring, seeing that concerned look again. It just made her madder.

“You know what? You really look like him.”

Did she remind him of Nick? Was it painful?

Good.

Their eyes met and she wondered if he was remembering what had happened in the closet that morning, like she was. It felt like a million years ago, but having him here in front of her brought it immediately back. She found herself wanting to take a step toward him, close the gap, but resisted that crazy little impulse. His direct scrutiny made her feel dizzy. It seemed almost as if he could see into her thoughts.

“Well, that’s very clever.” She managed to keep her voice from shaking. “I mean, we were only twins.”

He smiled—a small, sad smile. Of course, she’d known what he’d meant.

His head cocked. “They in the family room?”

Dusty looked away, feeling his gaze on her still as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He was nervous. Why?

“Where else?” She nodded in the direction of the voices. He’d been in their house hundreds of times and knew where everything was. She decided to bait him. “I’m sure they’re all in there talking about who killed Nick.”

She intentionally used
who
instead of
what,
watching him to gauge his reaction, disappointed when she didn’t get one.

“Dusty, stop.” He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs on the other side of the table, sitting without an invitation as he looked up at her. “I’m not the enemy here. I lost him too.”

“Oh you want to talk about it now?”

He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Don’t you think we should?”

“Fine. So where were you? Nick said you were picking him up that night.”

“I did.” Shane traced the same blue flower pattern on the tablecloth Suzanne had. “We started drinking out at the path. Then we ran out of beer, so we headed over to the Starlite. But Nick didn’t want to leave.”

“You left him at the path? You were his ride!”

“He was with somebody,” he told her. “Said he had a ride. Told us he’d meet us there.”

“With somebody? A girl?” Dusty asked, thinking of Suzanne. She and Nick had been in one of their on-again phases, although he’d mentioned having to break up with her after he started school.

“He didn’t say.” Shane didn’t look up from the tablecloth. “He just said he had a ride and he’d meet up with us later. But he never showed.”

She shook her head, incredulous. “So how did he end up in the cemetery on the whole other side of town?”

Shane looked up and met her eyes. She saw something there, something that bothered her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Everyone thought he was with you,” she reminded him, picking up the pack of Twizzlers Will Cougar had given her, tearing it open with her teeth. “That’s what he told me. That’s what he told our parents.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his cheeks with a deep sigh, watching her peel a long red stripe of licorice off. “Believe me, I know. I spent six hours in the sheriff’s office being interrogated about that night.”

“So why didn’t they arrest you?” She gnashed her teeth on the twisted red rope, wishing it was his head. He watched, wearing a half-smile, like he knew just what she was thinking.

“Because I didn’t kill him,” he told her softly over a bag of navel oranges.

“You might as well have,” she retorted, tugging on the string of licorice with her teeth, only glancing at him to see his reaction. That time he did wince before he lowered his head and, while there was some satisfaction in it, she also felt a stab of guilt. She knew how vicious she could be with words and today she felt like she was carrying a very sharp blade—something precise and deadly.

She chewed thoughtfully, not really even tasting anything, trying to decide whether or not she believed him. She wanted to blame someone and Shane seemed like the best target for her hostility. But did she think Shane had killed her brother? The truth was she didn’t, as much as she would have liked to blame him. Maybe Shane hadn’t killed him, but he wasn’t telling her the truth either. Why? What did he have to hide? Something didn’t feel quite right.

“Do you think I’m not blaming myself?” He swallowed, not meeting her eyes. His gaze seemed focused on the lemon meringue pie on the table. “You can’t say anything to me I haven’t already thought. I wish we’d never gone out that night.”

“So do I,” she agreed vehemently, thinking of how she’d implored Nick to stay. If he’d just chosen her over Shane, just that one time…

“Dusty, I’m sorry.” Shane leaned forward, shoving pie, the bag of oranges and Twizzlers aside so he could reach her hand, the one with the half-eaten strand of licorice in it. “I don’t know what else I can say.”

She looked at his hand, covering hers, and then up at him. His thumb moved slowly over the ridge of her knuckles, back and forth. He didn’t say anything, but the pain in his eyes was clear enough. He was mourning Nick too. Dusty didn’t really believe he’d done anything to her brother, she had to admit that, even to herself. So why was she being so hard on him?

“Why did you kiss me?” Her question startled him and he looked down, turning her hand over in his. He took the Twizzler from her and folded it into his mouth, chewing as he traced the angry red line of it on her hand where she had been gripping the licorice. He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He just kept tracing her palm, over and over. The sensation was maddening. It made her belly clench and her limbs tingle with feeling.

“You tell me,” he answered finally, a question with a question. “Why did
you
kiss
me?”