Share No Secrets (37 page)

“Your mother? What does your mother have to do with anything?”

“More than you know, Miles,” Gail said solemnly. “More than you could even guess.”

“If you don’t open your eyes, I’m going to throw cold water on your face,” Kit said.
“Ice
cold
water. Now wake up!”

Adrienne grimaced, slowly opened her eyes a fraction, then closed them again. “My head hurts.”

“No wonder. You banged it on the porch floor. Honestly, Adrienne, your brain is going to be mush if you don’t stop bashing it on concrete.”

“Thanks for the comforting words.” Memory of the horrible photograph of Trey rushed back and she groaned. “Oh God, Kit. That picture. Trey’s face, his arm—”

“Don’t think about it,” Kit said briskly. “You never saw it. It doesn’t exist.”

“What are you talking about? I held it in my hand. It was lying in an envelope under the lilac bush.”

“You’re going to
imagine
you didn’t see it. I just read a book on how we can push ugly memories right out of our frontal lobes, or rearview lobes, or wherever memories are stored, if we just
try.
Go with me on this, Adrienne.”

“You should get your money back for that stupid book.” Adrienne sat up and touched the back of her head. “Ouch.”

“It’s a good thing you have plenty of hair.” Kit-began parting Adrienne’s hair and looking closely at her scalp. Adrienne thought they must look like monkeys in the zoo, one inspecting the other for lice. “I don’t see any blood. I don’t think you’re cut.”

“That’s one blessing. The French Art Colony gala is tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to go with a section of my head shaved where they had to stitch me up.” She blinked against the morning sun, then forced her eyes open wide. “Help me up, please. My legs feel really weak.”

Kit hoisted her up and led her on shaky legs to a chair in the living room. “I’m going to get you a cup of coffee,” Kit said after Adrienne had leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. “Or would you rather have a drink? Maybe some wine?”

“Kit, it’s seven-thirty in the morning. Besides, after all the wine I drank last night, the very sight of more would make me throw up.”

“Coffee it is, then. You sit still.”

“I can’t do anything else.”

Although Adrienne’s body felt paralyzed by shock, her thoughts dashed, plunged, scrambled, and raced. She opened her eyes and looked down at the photo she still clutched in her hand.

Trey Reynolds had wrecked a friend’s new Harley-Davidson Electora Glide at ten-twenty on a mild May night. Adrienne remembered standing in the driveway, begging him not to go after he’d consumed numerous beers. He’d totally ignored her pleas not to go while he fumbled trying to find the starter button. After he’d fired the motorcycle into roaring life and blasted down the quiet street, she’d looked up at the sky. The moon had been full and creamy, the stars had tossed down spears of pure white light, fireflies had flashed brilliant pinpoints of color in the darkness, and Adrienne had thought it was one of the most beautiful nights she’d ever seen.

It had followed a happy afternoon—Skye’s tenth-birthday party, held on Vicky’s big, lovely back lawn. Trey had presented Skye with Brandon, fresh from a trip to Happy Tracks Grooming Salon, shiny and smelling like a rose and wearing a red bow. Skye had been ecstatic, and Brandon had been one hundred pounds of immediate love for his new mistress and joy at being freed from the dog pound. After Skye went to bed, full of cake and ice cream, her new dog lying beside her, Trey had begun drinking, an all-too-common habit he’d fallen into over the last two years.

And on this particular day, the habit had caused his death.

Now, looking down at the photo, Adrienne was seeing Trey after his collision with a semi, his broken body harshly illuminated by the flash from police cameras. He looked so small lying on the road by the mangled Harley, his legs twisted beneath him, his arm lying a foot away from his body, his open eyes blank above the rest of his torn and ravaged face.

Kit returned with the coffee, set it down beside Adrienne, then took the photo out of her hand. “You’ve tortured yourself enough,” she said, sliding the photo back into the envelope.

“I didn’t go to the scene of the wreck,” Adrienne said in a weak voice. “I identified Trey at the morgue. He was lying on a table with a sheet over him, his eyes closed, a bandage covering that exposed cheekbone. I knew how badly he’d been hurt, but I didn’t
see
the damage.” Her eyes filled with tears. “God, Kit,
look
at him.”

“I don’t want to look again. And you’re not going to, either. The photo stays in the envelope. That’s final.”

Adrienne pulled her legs up into the chair and tucked them under her robe. Her hands trembled as she raised the cup of steaming coffee to her lips and she didn’t even feel its heat as it went down her throat. She felt as if she’d never be warm again. Nor would she ever forget the grotesque image of her young husband, Skye’s father, in that awful photograph.

“Who would send that thing to me?” she asked faintly.

“Whoever knocked you down outside of Photo Finish and took your purse. Whoever broke into your house and wrote ‘leave or die’ on your mirror. Whoever shot at you last night.”

“But I can tell that this is a police photograph, Kit. It came from police files. Who could have gotten it in the first place?”

Kit had sunk down on the floor beside her and now sat cross-legged, sipping her own cup of coffee. She was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know, Adrienne. Not Lucas.”

“Good Lord, no!” Adrienne was appalled by the thought. “He would never do something so cruel.”

“You’re right. Even if he knew about Drew being here last night, I can’t imagine him wanting to scare you. He’s always tried to give you courage. Even after your house was vandalized, he encouraged you to stay, not run for the hills.” She frowned. “He couldn’t be jealous of Trey, could he?”

Adrienne almost choked on her coffee. “Jealous of Trey! That’s ridiculous. Trey has been dead for four years, and I don’t dwell on him. At least to other people. I tell Skye stories about him—good stories—so she’ll always remember her father. But I don’t think I’ve mentioned him more than five or six times to Lucas in the whole year we’ve been seeing each other. Besides, having me look at this picture would hardly be the best way to make me put Trey out of my mind.”

“You’re right.” Kit went silent, then said with a note of restraint in her voice, “Adrienne, Drew is the editor of the newspaper. Wouldn’t it be possible for him to get hold of police photos?”

“Drew? How?”

“I don’t know. He could give some excuse.”

‘To whom? A deputy? And he’d just hand over the file?”

“Maybe not a
male
deputy.” Kit ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip as she always did when she was nervous. “Drew
does
have a way with the ladies, as my mother would put it. He can charm the birds out of the trees—”

“Quit hiding behind your mother’s clichés,” Adrienne said sharply. “You mean Drew might have been underhanded enough to dazzle some bubble-headed female at police headquarters into giving him the file. Well, I don’t think they employ bubbleheads and Drew wouldn’t do something like that. He might be guilty of sometimes using less than honorable means to get a story, but there’s no story in Trey’s death. Not after all these years. And how could you believe Drew wants to hurt me? For heaven’s sake, he
saved
me last night.”

“And
the night you were mugged. Haven’t you noticed that he always just happens to be in the right place at the right time? Like being here last night to unplug your phone so no one could reach you, come over to keep you company, and send him home?”

“Kit, the phones weren’t unplugged. The one in the living room was plugged in when I called Skye this morning. Have you forgotten how many times you reversed the last two numerals of my phone number? Did it occur to you that you were upset and dialed the wrong number?”

Kit looked slightly embarrassed for a moment and mumbled, “Well, maybe I did.” Then she swallowed and came back loudly, refusing to give in on the point. “But your cell phone was in Drew’s car.”

“
I
left it there.”

“And
he
didn’t bring it in until this morning.”

“We’d had a hell of an evening. He had more on his mind than collecting the stuff I forgot to bring inside. And what about this photo? You think he got it from police files. Well, even if he did, what was it doing under my lilac bush?”

“He put it there. Last night. Or this morning. I don’t know when. He had the opportunity, Adrienne. You can’t deny
that.”

Adrienne stared at Kit, wanting desperately to say something that would absolutely demolish every point Kit had made about Drew.

But, to Adrienne’s total dismay, she couldn’t.

“I got here as soon as I could,” Adrienne said. “How are you feeling?”

Lucas Flynn’s heavily muscled frame looked too big for the narrow hospital bed. His right arm was heavily bandaged at the shoulder, and a glorious bruise decorated the left side of his forehead. “I feel better than I look.”

“I hope so because you’re extremely pale.”

“The blessings of painkillers are responsible for my physical comfort. And I look washed out, not
pale.
Pale is for sissies.” He grinned at her. “Stop hovering in the doorway and come sit beside me. Getting a close look at that beautiful face will do more for me than any medicine they have in this place.”

Adrienne edged closer to the bed and sat down in a vinyl-covered chair. Drew Delaney had spent the night with her. She’d entertained the thought that she might be in love with him. Again. Now she felt as if her expression reflected every ounce of guilt she felt, but Lucas didn’t seem to notice. She started to burst out with apologies and explanations for her behavior, then decided that relieving her conscience would be selfish. Lucas had been shot last night. He could have been killed because she’d insisted he meet her at Lottie’s. She felt even guiltier and knew she had to concentrate on making him feel better, not saying anything to hurt him.

She hid behind an obvious question. “Do you have any idea who did this, Lucas?”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t mean to be morbid, but I don’t have any details about how this happened to you.”

Lucas reached out and took her hand. “I was coming to meet you and suddenly I had a blowout. At least I thought it was a blowout. I now know someone shot the tire. The road is lined with trees, and I nearly went into one getting the car under control. I got out to look at the tire and I heard the second shot.” He grimaced. “In the movies, the cop always says ‘it’s just a flesh wound’ and goes on like he’s only been stung by a bee. I can tell you that even flesh wounds don’t feel like bee stings. It felt like my shoulder had exploded and I went down like a rock, not to mention that I hit my forehead on one and knocked myself out. It’ll be a long time before I live that one down at headquarters.”

“The only important thing is that you’re all right,” Adrienne said sincerely. “You
are
all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine. I should be out of here by noon.”

“Lucas, I called you on your cell phone. I told you it was important for your destination not to go out over the scanners. But it must have, for the shooter to know our destination.”

“It didn’t.”

“Then how?”

“Don’t you think I’ve racked my brain over that question? Someone could have been following me. Or you. But both of us?”

“No, that doesn’t make sense. Unless two people are involved.”

“Maybe, but unlikely.” He looked at her closely. “But enough about me and my unfortunate mishap. You were almost shot, too. And although you’re always beautiful, you don’t look like you’re feeling too well today. They told me you weren’t hurt.”

“Not at all.”

“But you couldn’t sleep after being shot at with a rifle, right?”

“You’re sure it was a rifle?”

“Keller found some shell casings and bullets. Ballistics will tell us more about the rifle later today. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you look so shaken up because of last night?”

Although Adrienne didn’t want to upset him, she knew she had to tell him the events of the morning. At least part of them. “Something bad happened earlier today. Kit came over and we found a manila envelope beside the lilac bush at the edge of the porch.” She took a deep breath. “Inside the envelope was a photo taken of Trey at the scene of his motorcycle wreck. It was horrible. It was also a police photo, Lucas. It must have been taken from Trey’s file.”

Lucas looked dubious, but his hand tightened on hers. “Seeing a picture like that must have been awful. But Adrienne, you know accidents attract all kinds of weirdos, some of them with cameras. It couldn’t have been a police photo. The police files are closely watched.”

Without a word, Adrienne picked up her tote bag, withdrew the manila envelope, and handed it to Lucas. He pulled out the photo and stared at it for a full ten seconds. “Dammit,” he finally said. “This
is
a crime scene photo.”

“Then how did it make its way to my front door?” Adrienne asked without accusation.

“If I’d had enough manpower to provide twenty-four-hour surveillance for you, this couldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure. Where’s there’s a will, there’s a way. Obviously someone was clever enough to get into locked files. The question is, who is both that clever and that determined to frighten me?” Adrienne paused. “Deputy Keller?”

“Sonny Keller? I have no respect for the guy, but why would he take out this photo?”

“Because Gail Brent asked him to?” Lucas looked at her quizzically. “Lucas, Gail dates Sonny. Gail also hates me. And I think she has something to do with why her mother is hiding like a fugitive. Gail doesn’t seem to want her mother found, but I won’t stop looking. Maybe this is her way of trying to scare me off, if the shooting didn’t do the trick.”

She thought Lucas would tell her in a kind and patient voice that her imagination was running away with her. Instead, his expression turned grim and he rang for a nurse. One appeared almost instantly. “Get a doctor in here to release me,” he said without his usual courteous tone.