Grave Secrets (2 page)

“Can you hear me?”

Go away.
She drew into herself, desperate to remain with her daughter.
Kaycee, baby. Come to Mama. Please, sweetie, come home!

“Mrs. Adams.” The voice’s rich timbre beckoned and drew her from the abyss.

A light breeze caressed her face as the smell of fresh cut grass permeated her muddled brain. Surrendering, she blinked and forced her eyes open. Daniels leaned over her. His features had softened, pity replacing the cold expression he’d worn before.

“You okay?” Detective Cannon asked.

Sara turned her head to find him squatting on her other side. Letting her focus stray past him, she saw the grave a fair distance away. How did she get here? Daniels, she remembered. Struggling upright, she paused briefly at the warmth of his hand pressing on her back, assisting. As soon as she was on her feet, she stepped away from his touch, away from those dark brooding eyes and his overpowering presence. His black hair only emphasized the stubble on his square jaw and the sense of danger she felt emanating from him.

Her nerves frayed, she faced Detective Cannon. “You don’t think tha—that’s Kaycee, do you?”
Please, God, no!
A shudder rolled through her. Her legs felt rubbery, unsteady. Another thought struck her. “Was the child alive when...?” There was no way to finish the sentence. Not for her.

The detective’s lips thinned. “It’s your husband’s grave. If the baby isn’t yours, then whose would it be?”

She swallowed, shaking her head.

“Mrs. Adams, when did your daughter disappear?”

She glanced from one man to the other. Cannon’s brows were drawn into a V, while Daniels’ were raised in question. She didn’t know why, but some instinct deep within her told her to not give up on her own child. Forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt, she said, “I have no idea who that poor baby is or who he or she belonged to. But it isn’t mine.” She had to hold onto that belief, that hope. If she lost either of those two things, she’d lose the last shred of her sanity.

When neither responded, she said, “I’ll gladly provide DNA to prove it.”

“I’ll take you up on the offer. Now, this is officially a crime scene. I need you to go home but remain available for questions.
And
, you are not to leave town, understand?”

Sara glared at him, at the implication. “Detective, I’m not going anywhere until I have my daughter back. Do
you
understand?”

He gave a sharp nod, then pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll get you a cab.”

She hadn’t wanted to come to the cemetery in the first place, but simply couldn’t let them dig up Jason’s grave without her there. Now the thought of staying here one minute longer became unbearable.

“I’ll take her,” Daniels said. Picking up her purse, he handed it to her. He gestured toward a black SUV parked in front of Cannon’s standard issue navy blue sedan.

She allowed him to direct her away from the proceedings and glanced over her shoulder in time to see the detective striding toward the grave. What did he think they’d find? Surely any potential evidence was long gone by now, if, indeed, the plastic bag and its gruesome contents had been in the grave all this time. Although, maybe trace evidence remained that would help solve the mystery. She hoped so.

Sara drew into herself, into survival mode, the one that had maintained her for months. If she could compartmentalize these latest emotions and events, then tuck them back into a corner where she could shut the door like she’d done when Jason had died, she might make it through the rest of the day. But when she climbed into Daniels’ vehicle and he slid behind the wheel, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The man’s presence sucked the air from her lungs. She tried her best to ignore him, and thankfully he remained quiet. As they left the cemetery, the Riverbend Mobile Crime Scene Lab rounded the corner. Sara looked the other way as the vehicle passed.

The ride home seemed much longer than the fifteen-minute trip with Detective Cannon earlier. Sara felt as if she’d aged a century within the span of less than an hour. A hot, soaking bath and a couple Valium might help drive away the all too vivid images that were now burned into her brain. She wouldn’t indulge herself, though. She refused to give in to the temptation of letting drugs rule her life, no matter what horror she faced. Years of being in the public spotlight had taught her to always remain in control, to never let your guard down no matter what.

Automatically, she drew her purse—drew Kaycee’s lop eared rabbit—closer, resisting the urge to hug the bag. Instead, she lifted her chin and forced her shoulders back. It took all her concentration to keep her hands from shaking, the burning tears from spilling down her cheeks. It didn’t matter if Daniels would understand. If she let herself slip even one iota, there’d be no stopping a complete and utter breakdown. She couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not yet. Her baby needed her.

Daniels didn’t ask for directions, pulling into her drive as if he’d done it a hundred times. She threw him a look, intending to ask just how he knew, but suddenly was too tired. What did it matter, anyway?

As soon as he cut the engine, she climbed from the SUV and headed for the house. She needed solitude. Now. However, her hands shook so badly she couldn’t get the key in the lock. Daniels suddenly wrapped his hand around hers and unlocked the door. Sara’s heart skipped a beat at his touch…at his nearness. He released her as he swung the door wide. Without looking up, she stepped around him, feeling weak and exposed for not being able to open her own door.

The weight of the morning’s revelations sat on her chest, suffocating her as if she’d been locked in one of the tombs in the cemetery. Setting her purse on the hall table, she retrieved the stuffed rabbit, cuddling it. She headed into the drawing room, the sound of her heels echoing on the marble floor.

A moment later, the front door clicked shut.

Good. He was gone.

The murky shadows magnified her mood, but today the gloom was unbearable. Desperate for some relief, she pulled the heavy drapes open. Rays of the morning sun bounced off the crystal chandelier, throwing rainbows of light around the room as dust motes floated through the air. When she pivoted, Daniels stood in the doorway. A squeak escaped as she threw her hand over her mouth.

“Good Lord. I thought you’d left.”

Trying to get her rapid heart rate under control, she sank into one of the Queen Anne chairs. Why couldn’t the man take the hint and just leave?

“What do you remember about the night your husband died?”

Sara blinked. “Wh—what?”

“Were you there?”

She leaned back in the chair, gathering her composure. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?” Now that she was home, she could let her guard down, collapse into a puddle and have a nice little meltdown before pulling herself back together to face the next chapter of this nightmare, formerly known as her life. At least she would if he’d just kindly go away.

Not in the mood for an audience—or company—she glared at him, then pointedly looked toward the door.

Daniels stood his ground, the planes of his face hard and unyielding, reminding her again of a statue.

“If you won’t leave, then at least sit down.” She gestured toward the sofa. He relented and took a seat, perched on the edge at the far end.

He cleared his throat. “I realize this has been an upsetting morning for you—”

She was tempted to throw her head back and scream. The man had
no
idea!

“—but I need details of the night your husband died.”

“Why?”

He sat silent a moment; a pained expression briefly crossed his face before he masked it. Finally, as if he had to drag the words out of his own mouth, he said, “It’s part of the investigation.”

Which didn’t tell her anything.

“You figure it out.” Perhaps she shouldn’t be so sarcastic, but she couldn’t help herself. Living up to Jason’s standards of presenting a gracious image to the public took more effort than she could manage. The entire time they’d been married, she’d followed her husband’s less than subtle requests. But now her world was upside down, and she was slowly losing the last shreds of her sanity.

“Mrs. Adams.”

Sara sighed. Anything to get rid of him. “We’d gone to the annual Christmas party at the club. He had a heart attack and died. End of story. Now will you go away?”

Coming back to the brightly decorated house after Jason’s death had been hard. Harder than she’d ever thought possible. The only way she had gotten through the ordeal had been to focus on her daughter, and by counting on her grandmother’s strength. She clung to both of them as if they were lifelines. Which, in a way, they were.

She’d contacted the company they’d hired to decorate the house and had the decorations taken down the next day. Sara couldn’t bring herself to open any of the gifts Jason had bought her and had stored them in the attic. The ones she’d bought him, she’d given to the homeless shelter. At least someone would be able to use them.

They held Jason’s funeral on a bitter cold day two weeks before Christmas. As she left the church, she heard “Jingle Bells” blaring from a passing car. Ironic that she’d always loved the holidays, yet now that time of year had become her saddest. If Sara had thought her life couldn’t get worse, finding Kaycee missing proved her wrong. Only her determination to find her baby kept her going.

A pain stabbed her in the gut as she clutched the stuffed rabbit more closely. Her baby’s first Christmas and Sara had no idea where she was, who spent the time with her. All the gifts Sara had bought were stored in the walk-in closet in the nursery. A closet she never opened. She thought she’d had that section of her heart walled off enough to not be caught unawares. Wrong.

“Were you with him the whole time?”

His question jerked her back to the present, and her resentment of his intrusion on her private life intensified. “Of course not. I was doing
my job
, mingling with the other ‘important’ businessmen’s wives. I wasn’t getting drunk on eggnog, if that’s what you’re implying.” She had stopped drinking alcohol of any kind the minute she’d found out she was pregnant. And since she nursed Kaycee, drinking after giving birth wasn’t an option, either.

That meltdown was inching its way up her spine, ready to claw its way out. She desperately wanted to be alone.

“So you weren’t by his side when he had the attack?”

She thought back to the night in question. “No, I was on the phone with my grandmother. She’d watch—watched Kaycee, and I’d checked in to see how the baby was doing.” It had been the first time she’d been away from her child and she’d hated every minute of it. She’d wanted to go home much earlier, but Jason had insisted they stay. She’d given in, like she always did.

She’d loved him, but over the years she’d spent countless empty hours alone, always waiting for him to return home. That tragic night, however, she’d been close by and was able to reach his side before his final breath. She took comfort in the knowledge the last thing he’d seen was her face. Pain pierced her heart as she realized her daughter wouldn’t remember her father.
Or me either, for that matter.
If only she could get her back. If only...

Shaking off the images, she straightened her shoulders and stared him in the eyes. “Now, Mr. Daniels, you will tell me specifically why you’re so interested in my husband’s death.”

****

Morgan’s first impulse was to tell her he asked the questions. Then chuckled to himself. He liked the woman’s direct approach. Sitting ramrod straight, she looked as if she’d break into a thousand pieces with the slightest touch. With little makeup, her skin had a hollow appearance...drawn...gaunt. Her deep blue eyes, bright with unshed tears, drew a person into them.

He glanced at the large portrait of a solemn couple hanging behind her above the fireplace mantel. Like everything else in the house, the picture was made to impress. The Adamses were in a formal pose standing next to each other, but not quite touching. Her conservative but snug light blue dress showed off curves hidden beneath the baggy clothes she wore today. She’d lost weight. Even her blond hair had less shine to it.

Now she stared at him, her chin high, lips tight. Despite what she’d experienced over the last hour, the woman didn’t back down.

“This is quite a place you have here.” The house was huge. Of course, all of the homes in the exclusive south side neighborhood were massive.

She glanced toward the entryway with the marble floor, crystal chandelier and the five foot wide winding staircase. Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, pushing her breasts up, she turned back to him. “Is that why you’re here? To find out how big this house is? If you’re in the market, I can recommend a realtor.”

He tilted up a corner of his mouth. “Not my style. Besides, I doubt your neighbors would appreciate someone like me moving in next door.”

Pink quickly stained her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Daniels. I—I simply thought...”

“What?”

He’d never consider living in anything this large and outlandish. Couldn’t pay him to, in fact. As a PI he’d dealt with more than his share of people from this side of town who wanted to know what their spouse was hiding from them. Or wanted something hidden from their spouse. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with this lifestyle. Nice and quiet was more to his liking. He had all he needed.

Except to redeem himself, the reason he’d started all this.

She fidgeted with her hands a moment before she stilled. “You answer my question first.”

He resisted the urge to snort. “Fair enough. I’m looking into the death of Andy Ford.” He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

“Andrew? He was CFO of our company for a short while before his death. He seemed to be a very nice man.” Her brows furrowed. “Why are you investigating his death?”