Cradle Of Secrets (2 page)

Tammie stared off into the far corner of her office. It always amazed her how life could turn upside down in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, it happens. But don't you think by now someone would have found out? I mean, I've had blood drawn tons of times. Don't you think someone would have questioned my blood type if it didn't match my parents? Nothing got past my mother. She was so good at keeping records. Nothing like me.” She closed her eyes, then whispered, “Nothing like me.”

Sighing, she glanced down at the report. “This test doesn't show blood type.”

“Maybe you have the same blood type as one of your parents. Lots of people share the same blood type.” He shrugged. “Okay, so you weren't switched at birth. Maybe you
were
adopted.”

“If I was adopted, why didn't they tell me? They never kept anything from me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” She stared at the envelope and sniffed. “Maybe they just didn't want me to find out.”

“Don't go there again, Tam. I beg you. It won't bring your parents back.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Why don't you believe me about this? I knew my parents. If I so much as had a hangnail, they took me to the doctor's office. If they really
didn't
know I wasn't their biological daughter, they would have found out. I don't think this was a mistake, Bill,” she said, trying to keep her pain out of her voice. “They knew. They just chose not to tell me. The question is,
why?
”

The sting was so sharp, it was like losing them all over again. The one thing she'd learned since her parents' deaths was that life couldn't go on unless you picked yourself up and put your best foot forward. The first step was admitting the truth of what was in that file.

“Okay. Let's say you
were
adopted. Not every parent reveals something like that to their kid. They might have been afraid you would reject them. It doesn't have to be something sinister.”

“I loved my parents. I would never reject them no matter what this file has to say.” She lifted the paper, then let it slide to the far side of her desk.

Bill came around to her side. “You can't ask them about it. Just let it go.”

Tammie swiped another tear and stared up at his pleading eyes. “You of all people know I can't do that. They were the most open, honest people I knew. It doesn't make sense that they would have kept this from me.”

She looked at Bill and, through tear-filled eyes, said the things she couldn't put into words.

Bill sighed. “You're not returning to the college next year, are you?”

Her bottom lip wobbled. “I've always suspected their deaths weren't an accident. A diesel boat doesn't explode when taking on fuel unless something ignites it. Even a faulty wire would have caused only a small fire, giving them plenty of time to get off the boat. I saw the explosion from the parking lot. The boat went up like an atomic bomb. Even the fire investigator said they should have had time to escape, and yet the boat was engulfed almost immediately.

“Things just don't add up. They were acting so weird, insisting I go away with them before school was over. I would have been on that boat, too, if I hadn't been so late getting there. I need to know the truth. But I honestly have no idea where to start.”

 

“You should start here.”

Dylan peered over the side of the flatbed truck. Mrs. Burdett stood at the side of the road, giving him instructions on how to retie the ropes that were supposed to keep her priceless antiques in place. This not being the first time he'd been given a lesson from the elderly woman, he'd actually thought of passing by her when he saw her truck pulled over to the side of the road.

But guilt crept up his spine, reminding him he was not only a cop, but a Marine, as well. Or at least he used to be. And at one time, he'd even been a Boy Scout. That still meant extending help to little old ladies in need, even when he was practically being forced out of town against his will.

“Nah, you need more support on this end.”

He wrapped the thin, almost clothesline-like rope around the solid sideboard snug up against the back of the truck. Even as he did it, he knew the rope was going to snap again.

“Who packed the truck for you, Mrs. Burdett?” he called down.

“Trudie,” she said, reminding him of her request that he call her by her first name. Tipping her frayed straw hat up so that she could meet his gaze, she harrumphed.

His look was apologetic. “Okay, Trudie.”

“Had to do it myself. That no good, lazy-boned grandson of mine wasn't around. Probably down at Handies again with his good-for-nothing girlfriend. Seems all they do these days is play pool, the two of them. I told him I had to get these pieces down to Jackson's. They have to be photographed for the catalogs before the end of the day, or I'll miss my spot during the auction. And I've held that spot going on thirty-three years now.”

“Well, I'd hate for you to lose your spot. But we're going to need something a little stronger than what you have here to secure these pieces, or you'll lose the entire truckload down Main Street before you even make it to Jackson's.”

Dylan jumped down from the truck and stood directly in front of the elderly woman. She was no more able to haul this furniture onto a truck by herself than a toddler. He had a feeling he wasn't the first Boy Scout to have helped her out today.

“You shouldn't be moving furniture anymore. You don't want to break your hip again, do you?”

She straightened her spine. “Who's been telling you such things? Betcha it's that new waitress down at the diner. She can't keep her mouth shut for breathing. But don't you worry. There's nothing wrong with my bones, son. I got my new hip two years ago, and I'm as good as I was the day I started the Auction Acres.”

Dylan winked. “Course you are. And just as pretty, too.”

Her quick grin twisted into a forced frown, but Dylan knew she'd been flattered by the compliment, as transparent as it was.

“Don't you go sweet-talking
this
woman. If you were this slick with the young ones you'd be married off by now, not chasing down that brother of yours.”

Dylan winced at the mention of Cash, but he let it pass. He'd already grilled Trudie once about him, and it had been clear she didn't have a clue who he was talking about. The one person who did, Serena Davco, was the one he hadn't been able to see.

“Next time, you might want to think of calling some professionals to help out, if Maynard is too busy,” he said, changing the subject. “All it would have taken is one more pothole and you'd have lost the whole load, instead of just that chair.”

He pointed to the side of the road, where what was left of a wooden chair sat broken and splintered. “Doesn't bode well for business.”

“No, it does not. I'll be sure to tell Maynard that bit of news.” She harrumphed again, this time with a little additional steam. “Not that it'll do an ounce of good for the half ounce of sense he has in his head these days.”

Trudie was still grumbling about her kin as she climbed into the truck, pulled out onto the road and sped off, the engine coughing black fumes that mixed with the kicked-up dirt. Laughing, Dylan strode back to his Jeep and swung the door open. Before he could climb in, a red subcompact car with rental plates rolled to a stop in front of him.

Dylan did a double take; he couldn't believe his eyes. Looking up at the sky he thought,
God, there may not be a place for me to lay my head in this town, but I knew You wouldn't let me down before I had to leave. Thanks for the help.
Maybe he wouldn't be leaving town just yet.

Heat seared his cheeks as the woman behind the wheel of the car rolled down her window. Reaching into the Jeep, he grabbed the picture he'd found in his brother's apartment and took a quick glance back at the woman just to make sure. He really didn't need the extra look. He'd memorized the face in the picture over the two months since Cash had gone AWOL. This was the woman.
Serena Davco
. Since the photo had been taken, her hair had been cut in a straight style that fell around her cheeks, but the color was the same, as were the dark blue eyes.

The woman's smile was pleasant as she cocked her head to one side. “Hi. I was hoping you could help me out. I'm looking for a hotel in town that might have some vacancies. Do you know of any? Every place I've tried is full.”

Dylan tossed the picture onto the driver's seat and strode into the middle of the road. He'd been knocking on Serena Davco's door for the better part of a month, and he'd had the maid and the housekeeper slam the door in his face each time. There was no way he was letting her get away with not talking to him now. It was long past the time for patience and small talk.

“Well, it's about time you showed your face, lady. Where on earth is my brother?”

T
he woman blinked at his hostility. Normally Dylan wouldn't have been so harsh with a stranger, but he'd been trying unsuccessfully to get a meeting with Serena Davco the entire time he'd been in the small Massachusetts town of Eastmeadow. If demanding answers in the middle of the one street running through the center of town was the only chance he had to get information, then so be it. He was beyond ready to get down to business.

“Excuse me?”

“It's not that hard a question. My brother. Where did he go?”

She blinked again, her mouth agape. “I'm sorry. I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”

Anger like hot coals surged through him and he laughed. He'd already spent too much time in this hick town getting the runaround from everyone he talked to. But Cash had been clear about one thing. And Serena Davco was it.

“Oh, really? Cash started talking all crazy about coming here to rescue you, because you were in danger. That was nearly three months ago.” Dylan threw up his hands, then let them fall to his sides as he glanced at the open meadows on both sides of the road that gave the town its name. “Well, here you are. You don't look like you're in danger from anything but a stray cow, but no one has heard from my brother in over two months.”

“I'm just trying to find a hotel to stay in while I'm in town.”

A fingernail of irritation raked up Dylan's spine, sending what little patience he had left blowing out the top of his head. He raked his hand over his head just to make sure it was still there.

“Now this is a twist. Lady, you live in the biggest mansion this side of the Mississippi. That house on the hill is practically a hotel all by itself.”

The woman quickly rolled up her window and started to put the car into drive.

“Hey, wait, wait—you're not going anywhere.” Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was inside the window, trying to keep the glass from closing. But she was quicker than him, and the window shut, squeezing his palm.

Desperate to keep his only lead from vanishing, Dylan pulled his hand out and ran in front of the car, effectively stopping her escape. That is, unless she was inclined to run him over. At that point, he didn't care. His brother had walked into something dangerous and was now missing. This woman was the reason for it. He wasn't letting her get away without finding out what happened to Cash.

Tammie stared in total disbelief at the crazy man glaring back at her from beyond her windshield.
This guy's a lunatic! What have I gotten myself into?

“Oh, God, please help me out of this one.” As she contemplated her next move, she continued with a silent prayer her father had taught her as a child.
The Lord is my strength and my shield. My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy, and I will praise Him in song.

The thing she hated most about these economy rental cars—besides the artificial fresh smell—was that they had four-cylinder engines with no pickup. She usually wasn't a person who felt the need to go from zero to seventy in two seconds flat, but now would be a good opportunity to test what this engine could handle.

Giving herself a moment to decide whether she wanted to tick this madman off any more than he was, she leaned on the horn.

It didn't seem to faze him at all. He just placed his wide palms on the hood of the car and continued to glower at her. She saw his dark blue eyes narrow as a gust of wind blew the curls of his chocolate-brown hair up and into his face. His black T-shirt did little to hide the muscles underneath.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Well,
I
am,” she called back. Inside the car, with the windows rolled up, her voice sounded loud. Her fingers white-knuckled the steering wheel as she licked her lips, contemplating her escape.

Dear God, help me get out of this one. And if You can manage a little bit of speed, that'd be great, too.

“Where is Cash? What did you do to him?”

Tammie shook her head, her eyes darting from one side of the road to the other in search of someone who might bear witness. She'd seen a truck filled with furniture pass by before she stopped, but it was long gone. The only souls around were cows and a few horses grazing in a field, seemingly unconcerned with the disturbance in the street.

She braved a glance in her rearview mirror. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” Punching the transmission into reverse, she hit the gas and the car sped backward, the tires leaving tread on the road. As she gained speed, she cut the wheel and did a 180-degree turn. Heart pounding, Tammie glanced once again in her rearview mirror to see the psychotic man waving his arms at her.

Even when the man was out of sight, her pulse kept pounding. With the back of her hand, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Though it was June, the temperature outside had shot up well into the eighties and with the window rolled up, it hadn't taken long for the inside of the car to get hot.

She'd passed a small, run-down-looking efficiency motel on the edge of town, but she still opted to go deeper into Eastmeadow, in hopes of a nicer place to stay in the center of town. But if the local folk were anything like this guy, she was better off in a dive she could escape to if need be. As long as it had a kitchenette where she could brew some coffee, who cared?

Her heart had slowed only marginally when she pulled into the parking lot. There were only a few cars, but the sign said there were no vacancies.

Heaving a sigh, she said to herself, “When did that happen?” Tammie couldn't recall the sign being there earlier, when she'd driven past it. But then, she'd quickly dismissed the idea of staying here, so she'd probably just overlooked it the first time.

Undaunted, she pulled into a parking space. Killing the engine, she reasoned that at least the motel clerk would know of other places in the area she could stay, which was more than she knew now. A town as quaint as Eastmeadow probably had a few bed-and-breakfasts that were worth checking out. She preferred something comfortable and homey to being locked up in a small room.

As she walked up the cracked concrete path to the side door, she began to think that perhaps Bill had been right. Maybe all she was doing by coming here was chasing something that couldn't bring her happiness. Couldn't bring her parents back.

Lord, I know better than to question You for taking them from me. But why didn't they tell me the truth? I need to know why. And if coming here doesn't bring the answers, please help me find peace in that.

She'd fought that battle nearly two years ago, after her parents' deaths. She'd been angry, and she'd blamed the Lord for taking her only family from her. She knew better now. God was merciful, and whatever plan He had for her and her parents was not for her to question. She wasn't questioning the Lord anymore. She was questioning her parents.

The cool air in the foyer bathed her face as she stepped inside. An older man sat behind the counter reading a newspaper. The small color TV at the end of the counter was tuned to a sports channel, but he didn't seem to be paying attention. At her approach, the man dipped the newspaper only slightly, so that she could see his face fully, and he quickly nodded toward the front window.

“Sign says no vacancies,” he grunted, then stuck his nose back in the paper without so much as a glance in her direction.

“I saw the sign,” she said, pointing outside the window. “I thought maybe you knew of another hotel in town or even a bed-and-breakfast that might have a room.”

“You must not be from around here,” he said, just his gaze rising to meet her face. Then he slowly dropped the paper and laid it on the counter.

“Hey, aren't you…?” He stared for a moment, as if he were waiting for her to say something.

“Ah…I just got into town this morning.”

The clerk nodded. “There aren't any vacancies anywhere in the area, with the auction coming up this week. Most reservations are booked as early as the year before. I had to kick two people out of the motel just this morning to make room for guests who'd booked last year.”

Tammie forced herself to keep her disappointment from showing.

“You in town for the auctions?”

“Ah, yeah, I thought I'd check it out.” She didn't know anything about any auction, but any information she could get about the town would help her decide where to start asking questions.

He laughed, placing his hand on top of the paper. “Little lady, this isn't a place people just wander into during auction week. This small town of three thousand is going to grow to about a hundred thousand, and stay that way until the auctions are over. People come from all over the country to this event. In a matter of days, this place is going to be crawling with people. The traffic on these roads will be horrendous, and only the locals know how to navigate their way around it.”

The clerk pulled a map out of a container filled with pamphlets from area businesses and started circling spots in town. Motioning her closer to the counter, he stuck his finger on a map. “Now, here's Jackson's—they're the biggest auction house, but they don't open until three days into the week. Auction Acres is the first on the row, but these days Trudie Burdett is showing her goods with Jackson's. She gets better exposure that way. Then these open fields are vendors in tents. Those fields go for about a half mile on both sides of the road. They've got everything from furniture to jewelry to antique lunch boxes for sale.”

Tammie viewed the map with amazement. “Wow. This is huge.”

The elderly clerk laughed and thrust the paper out to her. “No one ever gets through the whole thing in a day. It's best to plan ahead. Make sure you take this map with you.”

“But what about hotels?” Tammie asked.

The man shrugged. “If you don't have a reservation locked in somewhere within a twenty-mile radius, I'm afraid you're out of luck. About the only place around here with room is the campground. You might be able to rent a trailer there, if they aren't all spoken for by now. Julius usually has a few on loan for people like yourself.”

Tammie stifled a sigh, refusing to allow herself to be discouraged. Twenty miles wasn't all that far to drive, if it meant getting information about her parents.

The letter she'd found in her mother's hatbox from someone named Dutch was the only thing she had to go on. It was dated a few months after she was born. The little scribbled note simply read that Dutch had taken care of everything—not to worry and to stay safe. What that meant, Tammie didn't know. She had never heard her parents mention a person named Dutch. But that was the only thing she had to go on here in Eastmeadow.

She'd avoided looking at the hatbox and its contents after her parents died. But when she discovered she wasn't their biological daughter, she'd gone looking for something that could prove the DNA evidence wrong. That small piece of mail with an Eastmeadow, Massachusetts, postmark had made her cross the country in search of answers.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, turning toward the door.

“Good luck finding a place to stay. And hang on to your wallet.”

His comment made her stop and turn back. “Why is that?”

“If the fever for some good antiques don't make you spend your life savings, thieves of another kind will take it from you. We get a lot of vagrants in town during auction week, trying to score, if you know what I mean. An event like this doesn't always bring out the cream of the crop.”

She smiled. “Thanks for the warning.”

The hot June air hit her in the face as she walked out the door, but she refused to feel defeated. Twenty miles to the nearest hotel? Not a big deal, but if traffic was anything like the clerk said, she'd be spending her whole day in the car, instead of talking to people who might actually be able to lead her to this Dutch. And with so many people from out of town flooding the streets, who could she talk to who would have any information that could help her?

With the key chain still in her hand, she punched the unlock button and watched the lights flash on her rental car. She didn't notice the Jeep that had pulled in next to her—or the man who'd jumped out—until he was standing by her side.

Jumping back against her car, she stared into the eyes of the maniac from down the road. His face wasn't nearly as menacing as it had been earlier. She glanced at the motel window. The clerk had his nose stuck in the paper again, but she was sure that if she screamed, he'd hear her.

Making her voice steady, she said, “Go away.”

“I need to talk with you.”

“Good for you. I don't need to talk with you.” Tammie gripped the handle behind her and pulled the car door open, but the man pushed it shut, then took a step back and leaned against it.

“Look, I know I frightened you back there, and I'm really sorry. It seems I left my manners back in Chicago. But I really need to talk with you about my brother. I've been in this stinking town for a month, and I've gotten nowhere.”