Riley's Secret (A Moon's Glow Novel # 1) (4 page)

“Megan, this is my partner, Detective Alberts,” she
said, once they stood in front of me.

“Hello, Megan. Detective Carver tells me that you were
in the school parking lot when you saw the smoke?”

“Yes.”

When Carver’s cell phone rang, she took a step away
from us to listen to the caller.

Alberts ignored her and kept up his questioning.
“That’s strange, because when you look over at the school from here, you can
only see the football field. How did you see the house from the front of the
school?”

“I didn’t say I could see the house. I said I could
see the smoke.”

“Oh, I see.” He glanced over at his partner and watched
as she hung up her cell phone.

“Are you sure you were alone at the school, Megan?”
Detective Carver asked, sliding her cell into her jacket pocket.

I gulped nervously, shifting my eyes between the two
detectives. “Um…yes.” It sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Did you happen to see anyone on the school property?”

“I…I didn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there
wasn’t anyone there. Why?”

“Because the officers I sent over to take a look at
the schoolyard found beer bottles and fireworks on the field. I would think you
would have heard them if you were in the parking lot.”

“Maybe that was from last night.”

“I just got off the phone with the football coach and
he said the field was clean at today’s practice.” She was leaning on the police
car and then pushed off, walking over to stand in front of me. “Who are you
covering for?”

“No one.” I glanced around the area nervously and
spotted Nate standing near the parents. His focus wasn’t on them—it was on me.

“Did you know that the firemen found remnants of a
firecracker on the roof where the fire originated?” Alberts asked me.

I wasn’t going to answer. It was obvious they knew
what happened and I couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Detective Carver asked.

“I already told you what happened,” I said softly, the
conviction gone from my voice. I was in way over my head and I didn’t know how
to get out of this predicament.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. I think you’re
covering for friends. I don’t think you had anything to do with it. It’s
obvious you weren’t drinking and you tried to help the family. If you weren’t
banging on the door, Mr. Green”—referring to Nate—“would not have known what
was going on and the family probably would have died.” She paused, letting the
seriousness of the situation set in. “I know you’re a good person, so do the
right thing and tell us who is responsible.”

I folded my arms in front of me, staring at her with
defiance, hoping to appear stronger than I felt.

“Okay, Alberts, I guess she’s not going to talk. Cuff
her.”

“What? You can’t do that!” I backed up, raising my
hands in front of me. I felt a rush of fear. I couldn’t believe this was
happening.

“All the evidence points to you. You were at the scene
of the crime, plus you called nine-one-one. And we have a witness who says you
admitted it. Since you won’t tell us who really did this, we’re going to have
to arrest you.” She gestured with her hand to Detective Alberts. He came over
and put my hands behind my back, snapping handcuffs on my wrists. The metal
cuffs were tight, cold and dug into my skin as he led me to the cruiser.

“But I didn’t do anything,” I shrieked, the air
rushing out of me as panic began to seep in.

“Prove it. Tell me who you’re covering for.” When I didn’t
respond, she began reading me my rights; only I didn’t hear the words. I was so
terrified, my mind went blank.

Once inside the back of the cruiser, I glanced at Nate
through the closed window. He just stared at me in disgust. If I hoped he would
try to help me, I was sorely mistaken.

“Where’s my car?” I asked after I was fingerprinted
and my mug shot taken.

“Impound. You can have one phone call,” Detective
Carver informed me, handing me an old black rotary phone with a cord.

“Dad!” I cried when I heard my father’s sleepy voice
through the receiver.

“Megan, where are you?”

“Don’t freak out, okay. But I’m in jail.”

“What? What happened?” His voice sharpened with what I
chose to believe was fear for me, not embarrassment or anger.

“I went to the school hoping to get in so I could get
a book out of my locker. I saw that a house was on fire and I called
nine-one-one. I tried to help the family. But I’ve been arrested.” I heard him
swear on the other end and then silence. “Dad?” I asked.

“Go on.” His voice was hoarse.

“The police think that I’m covering for the people
that started it and I think they arrested me to make me talk.”

“Are you covering for someone?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

He sighed heavily. The weight of the world was in that
sound. “Fine, I’ll be right over with Edwin.” Edwin was my dad’s lawyer. My
father used to be a lawyer and still was, but he ran the firm now and didn’t
practice often.

“Thank you.”

Three hours later, I was in my room getting ready for
bed. Edwin had gotten me out of jail. But unfortunately, the only way he could
do that was with two hundred hours of community service, unless I told them who
had started the fire. If I did that the charges would be dropped and I could
walk away with my record clean. I was their only suspect and apparently the
evidence wasn’t on my side. Since I refused to co-operate, I had to start my
community service tomorrow. Not really what I had in mind for a Saturday.

After my shower the next morning, I stared at the rows
of clothes in my walk-in closet, wondering what was appropriate to wear when
feeding the poor. I was to report to a homeless shelter and help serve lunch. I
guessed that wearing the latest styles from the best designers wasn’t a good
idea. However, since my mother bought me expensive clothes when she felt guilty
for not spending time with me, it was all I owned. I finally decided on a
simple black fitted top and a pair of skinny jeans. At least no one would see
the labels. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, wearing only eye makeup and lip
gloss.

“Hey, Mona, how are you this morning?” I asked our
cook when I stepped into the kitchen. She had been my nanny until I was twelve,
but when I couldn’t let her go, she stayed on as one of our cooks. I considered
her my mother more than the person who gave birth to me.

Mona looked up from her mixing bowl and stared at me
in amazement. “My goodness, girl, it’s only ten o’clock on a Saturday. What are
you doing up?” She was in her fifties and her long brown hair that was always
pulled up in a bun was starting to turn gray. She lived with her husband Ben in
a small cottage here on the property. He was our gardener.

I sat down on a stool in front of the kitchen island,
where she was making her famous banana pancakes. “I guess you didn’t hear what
happened to me last night?” I poured myself some orange juice out of the jug in
front of me.

“Oh, I heard.” Her brow was raised, her voice
irritated. “What is wrong with you? Why would you let yourself get arrested for
those losers you call friends?” She pointed at me with the wooden spoon she was
using to stir the pancake mix.

“They’re not all losers.”

She sighed, leaning over the counter toward me, her
gardenia scent as strong as ever. “I know you think Mandy is different, but if
you really sat down and thought about everything she has gotten you into, you
might change your mind.”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now. I need to
eat and get going. I have to report to Riley House this morning by eleven.”

“What for?”

“Edwin got me out last night, but I have to do two
hundred hours of community service.”

“How did he manage that in the middle of the night?”

With the glass poised in front of me, about to take a
sip, I answered her, “He woke up a judge.”

She laughed. “What that man wouldn’t do when your
father speaks.” She flipped a perfectly round pancake onto my plate and then
poured a generous amount of batter into the now empty skillet. “You know your
mother was worried about you. She told me she didn’t want you to go out and
then you didn’t call until one in the morning.”

I stabbed a piece of pancake from my plate. “If she
was so worried, why didn’t she come with Edwin to get me? And when I got home
she was in bed.” I popped the forkful into my mouth and chewed. Once I
swallowed I continued. “But Dad was worse. When I called him, he said that he
would be right over, but what he meant was, he’d send Edwin.” I took another
bite, but didn’t taste the sweet maple syrup or the banana flavor, only the
burn in my throat. I wouldn’t cry over my parents’ neglect anymore. I promised
myself that two years ago when I sat opening presents on Christmas morning with
our cook and gardener.

She gave me her usual look of pity when my parents
screwed up. She would never speak against my parents, but her silence always
spoke volumes. She lifted the pan and tilted it. The pancake fell onto a
waiting plate.

After I finished my breakfast, I waved goodbye to Mona
and headed to my punishment. The drive there seemed to go way too fast. I was
nervous and a little bit scared. I had no idea what to expect and I hoped my
nerves would settle on the way over, but no such luck. When I turned onto
Addison Avenue, my stomach did flip-flops.

I pulled up in front of a very large house that looked
a lot like a bed-and-breakfast. Did I have the wrong place? I glanced at the
address I was given for Riley House and then looked back at the numbers on the
yellow home. The numbers matched. But it must be wrong. I was expecting more of
an industrial building, with garbage overflowing in a big Dumpster outside. But
this was not what I saw. Riley House was just what the name implied, a house.
It was a large, three-story, yellow-sided colonial-looking structure. And it
featured white shutters and huge white columns that held up the covered porch.
The porch was lined with a few wrought-iron chairs, benches and a covered
swing. I had the instant feeling of lounging on it with a glass of lemonade. A
girl about twelve, with long black hair, sat on one of the chairs hunched over a
MP3 player.

At the sound of a horn behind me, I pulled into the
driveway that wrapped around the house and into a parking lot.

I slid into the spot next to a black sports car. The
car seemed to be a couple years old, but in a homeless shelter it really stuck
out. I was glad that my red convertible wouldn’t be the only flashy car in a
lot full of station wagons and rusted trucks. I turned off the motor and stared
at the back door, where a sign that said “New volunteers report to the front
door” hung above it.

Riley House was a place for people to go if they
needed anything—food, shelter and even help finding work. I had heard about it
on the radio, but had never been. It was built by one of Lauren’s ancestors.
Their family was one of the most generous in this town. They were also the
oldest. The Riley family had been here since the eighteen hundreds. The first
Riley’s department store opened in this town and now they were located all over
the world.

Realizing I was about to be late for my first day, I
grabbed my bag and climbed out. I rushed past the girl with the MP3 player. The
music was blaring through the ear buds and with her eyes closed, she didn’t
even notice me walk by.

I entered the building into chaos. There were children
reading books and playing board games in a game room set up to the right. One
boy was screaming as he chased a little girl around with a rubber snake.

To the left was a bunch of adults watching TV and
reading magazines. In front of me, a woman in her forties was sitting at a
desk, talking on the phone. She was pretty, with long honey-colored curly hair
and blue eyes. A pencil that was stuck behind her ear peeked out of the curls.

“Yes, please and we’ll need them this afternoon. We
want to treat everybody. Today is Frank’s fiftieth birthday. We need a cake.”
She paused, listening to the person on the other end. “Thank you,” she said
before hanging up the phone. Then she noticed me. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Julia Benton?” I glanced at the
form the man at the police station had given me to make sure I had the right name.

“That’s me. Are you Megan Banks?” she asked with a
frown. Great, more people looking at me with disapproval. When I nodded, she
handed me another form. “Take this to the kitchen and report to your
supervisor. You’ll be working with him. Just do what he tells you.”

I thanked her and headed in the direction she had pointed
to. I heard a mixture of sounds, pots banging, voices, laughter and loud,
out-of-tune singing. I stood at the entrance of the bright, spacious kitchen,
watching the activity for a few seconds. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I
took a deep breath before stepping forward towards the person closest to me. He
was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with a white apron. His black hair was
messy and a little damp; it fell into his dark brown eyes. He looked about
twenty and he stood in front of a large counter making sandwiches.