The Secrets She Kept (8 page)

“You don’t think I have a conscience?”

“I think you can be devastating, even when you don’t mean to be.”

He’d never live down his reputation. He’d earned it too honestly. But, in his own defense, he hadn’t been ready to settle down—with anyone—and he hadn’t presented himself in any other way.

Regardless, there wasn’t much point in continuing the conversation. They were driving to the morgue in Charleston to view the body of their dead mother. He didn’t need to make this day any worse. “That was five years ago,” he said calmly. “I’m not the same person.”

“You have the same gorgeous face. The same disarming smile. The same appeal to women,” she said. “I’d rather you didn’t rekindle your relationship with Nancy while you’re here. It’s not like you need her—or would ever take her seriously even if you
did
start seeing her again. There are too many other women out there who’d suit you better.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Nancy again. But it upset him to hear what Maisey had to say. He was used to having his younger sister on
his
side. They’d always banded together. They’d had to—to survive their childhood. “She’s an adult. I’m sure she can take care of herself and doesn’t need you to run interference for her. Anyway, stop worrying. I won’t be here long enough to start seeing anyone.”

She sighed. “It’s not like I want you to leave. I’m just asking you to stay away from Nancy. As a personal favor to me.”

Her earnest expression irritated him even more. “You’ve gotten
that
close to her?”

“Yes! She’s someone I trust and confide in, someone I enjoy working with.”

He turned toward the ferry, which would take them to the mainland. “Is that why you paid her the money I owed her?”

The way Maisey fiddled with her purse told him she was suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if you’re mad that I got involved. But she’s never had much money. I made sure that what she lent you came back to her sooner rather than later, that’s all.”

“I tried to pay her myself,” he said. “Less than a year after I left.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“She didn’t mention it?”

“No.”

“So you thought I never tried.”

“I wasn’t worried. I’d already taken care of it.”

“I gave her a car, too—something to make up for how I treated her. But she wouldn’t take it.”

“You can’t be surprised she’d say no. That was an expensive present.”

“Wow. You
are
defensive of Nancy.”

Maisey reached out to squeeze his forearm. “Not really. I love you, too. It was very generous of you.”

He pulled into the line of cars waiting to cross over. “She didn’t mention that, either? The car?”

“We don’t talk about you. I mean,
I
do sometimes. But if I bring you up, she just listens. She never says anything herself.”

He adjusted his windshield wipers to handle a fresh deluge. “She hates me that much?”

“I wouldn’t call it
hate
. She’s...moved on.”

The ferry captain approached the car in front of them. “Who’s she dating now?”

“Some guy from Charleston.”

“Is it serious?”

When she didn’t answer, he looked over and found her glaring at him. “Does it matter?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he muttered and lowered his window to pay the fare.

* * *

Their mother was on a gurney in the back end, where the corpses were weighed and tagged. A sheet covered her from the neck down, but her arms had been taken out from under it and folded beneath her breasts—probably Dean Gillespie’s attempt to make her appear “at peace,” for their sake.

But there was nothing peaceful or consoling about any of this; Josephine’s death felt wrong in so many ways, beginning with the fact that she’d never looked worse. Her hair fell away from her face exactly as it had dried when they’d pulled her from the tub, and dark circles underscored her closed eyes—the eyes that so many people had admired.

As if that weren’t disconcerting enough, her skin was so waxy Keith barely recognized her. He was tempted to check the name on the tag attached to her big toe, just to be sure.
His
mother didn’t have age spots or wrinkles.
His
mother didn’t have dull, lackluster hair. But this person did.

Her body wasn’t the same, either. Although Keith had heard his mother described as a bombshell on more than one occasion, she looked frail and insignificant under that sheet, as if she’d never been a singular beauty.

This was what it took to finally get the better of Josephine Lazarow, Keith decided. Age alone wasn’t enough. Age conquered everyone else, but not her. Only
death
could win.

“She would hate that we’re seeing her like this,” Maisey whispered.

Keith wished he hadn’t come. She might have been his greatest stumbling block, his greatest challenge, but she’d also been a constant he could rely on—someone who stood firm in her convictions, commanded respect, lived by her own rules and made damn sure everyone around her did, too. He’d known that if he ever really needed her she might give him hell, but she’d come through in the end.

“We’ll hire a good makeup artist for the funeral,” he said, but only to comfort his sister. Makeup wouldn’t help now. His mother had lost that vital essence that’d made her so magnificent.

Maisey didn’t respond.

“Her death feels so...premature,” he added.

When Maisey put her hand over his in a show of understanding, he wished he could shrug her off. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted answers. Who had felled their powerful mother? She must not have seen whoever it was. The person who’d killed her
had
to be someone she would never, in a million years, have expected to do her wrong.

“The various funeral homes usually engage someone who specializes in hair and makeup,” Dean told them. “All you have to do is bring in a picture, and they’ll do their best to make your mother look like you remember.”

“I’ll ask her regular hairdresser to do her hair,” Maisey told him. “And I’ll try to manage her makeup myself.”

“If that’s what you prefer,” Dean said. “Just keep in mind that those services are available if you need them.”

Keith couldn’t imagine being asked to do something like that, but maybe all stylists knew that preparing a client’s hair for his or her funeral was a possibility. The last dead person he’d encountered had been his father, and even though they’d never been particularly close, that loss had hit him hard, since Malcolm was the only calm parent of the two...

Trying to shrug off the feelings any memory of his father—or his past, really—evoked, he studied his mother’s throat. He thought he could discern a faint tinge of blue, where a strong pair of hands might’ve cut off her airflow, but he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining things. Her whole body looked blue...

“Have you seen enough?” Maisey asked.

Keith didn’t answer. “She has no marks on her
anywhere
?” he asked Dean.

“Marks?”

“Injuries?”

Dean shook his head. “None that I’ve seen, but I haven’t examined her. They’ll do that during the autopsy. Record every bruise or blemish.”

But things could change from day to day, couldn’t they? Even if she was dead? Keith had learned that the signs of strangulation typically didn’t show up during the first twenty-four hours, so it was reasonable to assume that they also might disappear after a certain length of time. “Would you mind removing the sheet and taking a look now?” he asked. He didn’t feel
he
could do that. It would be the ultimate invasion of his mother’s privacy at a time when she couldn’t defend it. But he felt someone should check her corpse before the autopsy was performed. Having more than one person provide an opinion could prove useful later on—although he had no idea how or why. He was just trying to document everything he could before it was too late, trying to use simple logic.

“Um, sure,” Dean said. “But...can I ask why?”

“I’d like to know what you see.”

The coroner’s technician had been quite solicitous. At this, he hesitated, as if it was pretty far outside his expectations. But then he acquiesced. “Of course. If it’ll help.”

“You look, too,” Keith told Maisey and turned away while Dean peeled back the covering.

“Anything?” Keith asked when they indicated that it was safe to turn back.

“She’s had breast augmentation surgery,” Maisey said drily. “After pretending her figure was God-given, ever since I can remember, that should surprise me, but it doesn’t.”

That didn’t surprise Keith, either. But he wasn’t investigating her vanity. “Anything else? Anything suspicious?”

“Nothing,” Dean said.

Steeling himself for whatever
he
might find, he lifted his mother’s eyelids. “Do her eyes seem bloodshot to you?” he asked Dean.

Dean was startled by the question. “Um...I guess. Yeah, they’re bloodshot. But...I wouldn’t say that necessarily means anything.”

“According to what I’ve read, bloodshot eyes can indicate strangulation,” Keith said.

Dean smoothed the sheet over their mother. “A pathologist would be the one to answer that question. I’d suggest not jumping to any conclusions.”

“Because...”

“Because those conclusions could have far-reaching implications,” he said. “And they may not be correct.”

“Our mother didn’t kill herself.” Turning to Maisey, he said, “We need to make sure they test the level of carbon dioxide in her blood, too.”

Maisey stared at him. “What will that tell us?”

“It’s another sign of suffocation.”

His sister blanched. “And you know this
how
?”

“Everything’s on the internet.”

She looked torn. “Keith, I don’t want to be rude, but...a little internet research doesn’t make your opinion any more relevant than the coroner’s.”

“It might be relevant to whatever pathologist we choose,” he said. “And that’s who’ll be doing the autopsy.”

She reached out to touch their mother’s hand—then quickly withdrew. “It’s funny. This is the first time I’ve ever felt as if
I’m
in control while being in the same room with her.”

Keith understood what his sister meant. But before he could acknowledge her comment, she said, “Are you sure we aren’t in denial, unwilling to see our capable mother succumb to human emotions like depression? Desperation? Maybe she
wasn’t
impervious to all the things that get to the rest of us. You have to admit that financial stuff we learned from Chief Underwood would
have
to make an impact on her.”

Keith tried to entertain that thought but felt more resolve instead of less. “The mother I knew wouldn’t give up.”

“When you say stuff like that, I agree,” Maisey said. “But I keep coming back to one thing. Who could’ve killed her? Who would’ve wanted to?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“Whoa! You think she was
murdered
?” Dean broke in.

“You don’t?” Keith replied.

“No. I understand that what you’re going through is painful, but the coroner knows what he’s doing. You can trust whatever he tells you.”

The coroner was an elected official. He had a background in law enforcement; he wasn’t even a doctor. “Are you one hundred percent sure of that?” Keith asked.

Dean backed away from the challenge. “He’s the coroner,” he mumbled.

Keith could barely refrain from rolling his eyes. “Maybe so, but he’s as human as you or I.”

They thanked Gillespie. Then they went out and sat in the car while they pored over the list of pathologists Chief Underwood had given them. Keith used the internet on his phone to see what he could find out about each one—but they all seemed reputable. So they started going down the list to see who could do it relatively soon.

After three calls and a bit of negotiating—which included the offer of a bonus to get a Dr. Pendergast to rearrange his schedule—they had it booked for early Sunday morning. Maisey contacted the funeral home to arrange for transportation, since the coroner didn’t provide that, while Keith started to drive them back to Fairham. After Maisey was done, they called Rocki on his Bluetooth so they could update her.

“It’s all set,” Maisey told her. “The funeral home will pick up Mom’s body from the coroner and take it to the hospital here in Charleston first thing Sunday morning.”

“That’s soon,” Rocki said. “You must be happy about that, Keith.”

“I am,” he said.

“How much are they going to charge us?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Keith replied. “I got it.”

“Are you sure?” Rocki asked. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“We should all split it,” Maisey suggested, but he shook his head.

“No, this will be on me.”

Maisey loosened her seat belt as if she was having trouble getting comfortable. “There’s just one thing.”

“What?” He was finally feeling encouraged that they were making progress. So why did
she
sound so concerned and reluctant?

“You’re a very passionate person,” she responded. “Once you grab hold of something, you don’t let go.”

She was right about that. Even when he’d been trying to destroy himself, he’d done a damn fine job of it. “So?” He stopped at a traffic light before taking the turn that would bring them to the ferry and then the island.

“Rocki, do you know where she’s going with this?”

“I’m pretty sure I can guess,” she said.

“As your sisters, we agree with what you’re doing,” Maisey explained. “But we’re also a little worried that Mom’s death will consume you, take over your life.”

Even though Rocki couldn’t see him, he waved their concerns away. “I’m going to catch the bastard who killed her, no matter what.”

“We don’t even know she
was
killed,” Rocki told him.

“
I
do,” he said.

8

NANCY SIGHED AS
she clicked through the messages she’d received from potential “matches” via the online dating site where she’d put up her profile a couple of months ago. This was where she’d met Tom. Although their relationship hadn’t completely ended, it wasn’t very promising. There had to be someone else out there for her. But she felt no enthusiasm for flirting, didn’t even care to return the messages.

The uncertainty in her life was getting to her, she decided. She refused to believe her disinterest had anything to do with Keith’s presence on the island. She knew better than to let the sight of him change anything. She’d lost her employer and could be losing her job.
That
was why she’d lost her zest for dating.

Too bad she hadn’t also lost her zest for
eating
. Tempted to drown her anxiety and frustration in a fudge brownie sundae, she glanced at the kitchen. She didn’t have any brownies. She’d have to bake.

On the plus side, no one could bake more delicious brownies than she could...

She’d just gotten up from her desk when her phone rang. Her sister was calling; she could see Jade’s name and photograph on the screen.

Eager for the distraction, she snatched up her cell. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I just saw him!” Jade exclaimed.

Nancy was on her way to the pantry so she could take stock of her supplies. Although she’d already gotten groceries, she hadn’t purchased any powdered cocoa, so she’d have to run over to Smitty’s, the island’s only grocery store, again. But at this, she forgot about the brownies. “Saw
who
?” She thought she had a good idea but hoped she was wrong...

“Keith Lazarow! He and his sister were on the same ferry I was. They were parked
right
next to me!”

Nancy felt her mood darken. “So?”

“So I thought you’d like to know. He looked good. Better than ever. If I were straight, I would’ve swooned when he waved at me.”

Jade, who’d recently turned twenty-six, was Nancy’s only sibling, although they weren’t related by blood. Jade’s mother had been a free-flowing hippie type who’d floated on to greener pastures before Nancy’s mother met Jade’s father. But, for the most part, they’d been raised together, since he had custody. She and Jade had grown especially close after Nancy’s mother died of bladder cancer. Jade managed the Drift Inn but still lived with her father; she wasn’t able to move out. He’d retired from the marina, where he’d worked for more than thirty years, was getting old and needed a little help. Nancy saw them both often, since she went over almost every Saturday to make dinner.

“I have no interest in Keith,” she said, purposely using a bored voice.

“Really?”
Jade responded. “Then
I’ll
go after him. I could be bi—maybe.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen you go after a guy. You’re definitely a lesbian. And even if you could change your sexual preference, he’d chew you up and spit you out.” And Nancy knew just how painful that could be.

“Maybe he could turn me, show me what I’ve been missing.”

Nancy wasn’t going to acknowledge his talent between the sheets any more than his good looks. “Remember how much you hated his mother?”

“What’s the Queen of Fairham got to do with anything?” Jade asked. “She’s gone now. And didn’t
everyone
hate her?”

Everyone except the people Josephine had actually tried to win over. She could be irresistible, if she wanted to be. But Nancy wasn’t going in to any of that, either. “He’s a lot like her.”

“How?”

“He’s beautiful, but he’s also single-minded and determined. When he gets something in his head, there’s no getting it out. And I don’t believe he knows how to love
anyone
.” Nancy could remember moments when he’d been gentle, tender, even vulnerable, but she didn’t mention that because she needed to focus on the reasons he wouldn’t be good for her
or
her gay sister.

“From what I hear, he’s not on drugs anymore. And he owns a multimillion-dollar company. Considering all of that, I could probably put up with a little straight sex, even if he is single-minded and determined.”

“Jade, trust me—keep your distance.” Veering away from the kitchen, Nancy went into her bedroom instead, where she began looking through her dresses. Did she own anything she could wear to the funeral? She had a simple black dress, but since she’d lost weight it was two sizes too big.

“I’d never make a play for him, even if I
was
straight,” Jade said. “I know you still have feelings for him. I was just trying to make you admit it.”

“I don’t have feelings for him,” Nancy argued. “It’s been five years since we were together. I’d have to be a glutton for punishment to hang on that long.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tough talk.”

“I’m over him,” she insisted, but she had no doubt her sister could see through her denials. Nancy hadn’t been able to sleep with Tom because she couldn’t help comparing him with Keith—and finding him lacking. No one she’d met could measure up to the one man she’d truly loved, which was why she hadn’t been intimate with anyone since. “What were you doing on the ferry, anyway?”

“I went to Charleston. Had some shopping to do before work tonight.”

Her sister worked three days and two nights a week, and Wednesday was one of her late shifts. “For...”

“I was out of blush. I also needed some specialty items I can’t get here—those pretzels Dad likes and that one brand of hummus.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It got rid of my island fever. How was work?”

Nancy pulled out a sheath dress covered in sequins. It was black but too dated—and too fancy—for a funeral. She needed something classy and subdued, something Josephine herself would have approved of. “I was off today.”

“This is Wednesday. Aren’t you normally off on Thursday?”

“Marlene had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so we traded.”

“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve asked you to go with me.”

“I wish I had. I need a new dress for the funeral.” Badly. Until this very moment, she hadn’t realized just how inadequate her wardrobe was.

“When’s the funeral?”

Nancy thought of Maisey and Keith’s suspicions. “They haven’t announced it yet.”

“Good. That means we’ve got time. We’ll find you a dress that’ll make Keith eat his heart out.”

“Hello! I doubt he’ll be looking at anyone that way at his mother’s
funeral
.”

“Isn’t he a playboy?”

“I wouldn’t call him a
playboy
exactly. He was messed up and looking for a safe harbor, which meant he wasn’t particularly discriminating. That made him dangerous enough. Anyway, I don’t care to talk about Keith.”

“Why not? If you’re over him, it shouldn’t matter.”

She shoved more of her clothes to one side and pulled out another dress, one that was even more dated and inappropriate than the last one. “He’s ancient history, that’s why.”

“He doesn’t have to be. Maybe he isn’t someone you can expect to marry, but...”

Nancy doubted this conversation was going anywhere good, but she couldn’t resist taking the bait.
“But?”

“You told me he was great in bed.”

She nearly dropped the dress.
“I did?”

“Yes, you did,” her sister said. “It was your birthday, and you were drunk—laughing and crying at the same time, remember? It was only last year.”

“Obviously, I had no clue what I was saying,” Nancy mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Lie to yourself if that makes it easier. But consider this. You might as well take a ride—or two or three. Have some fun while he’s here. You’ve been through one hell of a long drought.”

“Take a ride?” Nancy said. “My God, you’re crude! Anyway, I’m not going near him. And I’m done talking to you. So...go get ready for work. Goodbye.” She disconnected. She had no interest in falling back into bed with Keith Lazarow.

But ten minutes later, she started digging through her lingerie drawer. Although she had some pretty things, just like her more fancy dresses, none of them fit.

She hadn’t even opened that drawer in the past five years.

* * *

Keith liked Maisey’s husband. Rafe was a man’s man—and yet he knew how to love Maisey and keep her happy. Keith had never been more relieved to have him as part of the family than he was that night when they came for dinner. Without his mother at the table, the fact that Josephine would no longer be the backbone of their family sank in a little deeper. Losing someone like her left a huge hole, and Keith wasn’t sure who would fill it. He felt the job naturally fell to him. His grandfather would expect him to carry on the Coldiron legacy. But Keith had a life—for the first time—and it was on the opposite coast.

Besides, as a recovering addict, he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing everything his grandfather would expect. How could he follow in such a great man’s footsteps? Do him proud?

At least, thanks to Rafe, he could rest assured that Maisey was loved and content, and so were her two children. Laney’s real mother had bugged out just after she was born, hadn’t been able to face the prospect of raising a blind child. But that woman, whoever she was, didn’t know what she was missing. Keith had never met a sweeter, brighter or more endearing child. He wanted to scoop her into his arms the second they arrived, but she’d grown so much since Maisey had brought her to California a year ago. She wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was on the verge of puberty. And because Keith didn’t see her often, he was afraid she might not remember him.

Hoping to remind her who “Uncle Keith” was, he put her hands to his face to let her feel what he looked like instead of forcing a hug on her. “You’re going to be a real beauty one day,” he said as her fingertips moved gently and quickly over his features. “Every bit as striking as your Grandma Josephine.”

Apparently satisfied, she dropped her hands. “My mom tells me you’re not bad yourself.”

He grinned at her comeback. “Your mom and I are related, which makes anything she tells you about me less than reliable.”

Laney lifted her chin. “I’ve heard how the women here on the island talk about you.”

“And that has some significance?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Besides, Grandma told me.”

“Told you what?”

“She said you were ‘exceptionally’ handsome.” Her smile disappeared. “I wish she hadn’t died. Did you know she used to have me over for tea every Sunday?”

Keith met Maisey’s eyes. “Tea? Really? For an eleven-year-old? That was Mom’s idea of showing her a good time?”

Maisey smoothed Laney’s hair as she spoke. “Yes. And believe it or not, that was the highlight of Laney’s week. She’d always come home with some new piece of jewelry or her hair done up. Mom taught her manners and posture and...basically put Laney through her own brand of finishing school. She even taught her how to crochet. Laney makes all kinds of things now, and she’s getting good at it.”

Tears filled Laney’s eyes, but she made no sound. She just wiped them away when they fell and pulled Bryson, who was threatening to toddle off in the other direction—although Keith had to wonder how she knew that—around to face him. “Did you see my little brother?” she asked. “Isn’t he chubby?”

Bryson had a full head of dark hair and big blue eyes, and he was huge for his age. “This kid’s a beast,” Keith said to Maisey and Rafe. “What’re you feeding him? Steroids?”

Rafe shook his head as if he was just as mystified by his son’s size. “Not unless there are steroids in breast milk and baby food. He was nursing until a few months ago.”

“He must be breaking into the pantry late at night,” Keith said as he rubbed the toddler’s round cheek.

Laney hauled Bryson into her willowy arms. The baby had backed away, wasn’t quite ready to let Keith touch him. Keith had seen him only once before—a year ago—so Bryson had no idea who Keith was. “He can go potty in the toilet now,” she announced.

“That’s got to be good news to all involved,” Keith said. “It’ll certainly make it easier to talk
me
into babysitting.”

Laney laughed as if that was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “I could help you.”

“Perfect. Until he’s completely potty trained, you can change him for me.”

Her grin spread from ear to ear. “You don’t want a blind girl changing a messy diaper, or you might have even more to clean up after.”

He loved that she could joke with him. “I bet your keen sense of smell would keep you out of trouble.”

“Sometimes, but not always,” she admitted.

Maisey seemed so pleased with her daughter that Keith couldn’t help winking at her. “She’s special.”

“I agree,” Maisey said and slid her arm around Laney as Keith led them into the dining room.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said to Laney.

She let her little brother wiggle down. Then she paused to sniff the air. He expected her to identify what they were having for dinner. But he could tell she wasn’t thinking about food. She suddenly looked too sad for that.

“What is it?” he asked. “You don’t like salmon?”

“I can still smell her perfume,” she said softly.

Keith shot Maisey a look that asked her to let him take over and guided Laney to her seat. “We’ll get you a nice keepsake of Grandma’s you can take home to remember her by, okay?” He didn’t dare promise her the ring Chief Underwood had mentioned. He hoped he could pay off his mother’s debts, but he had no way of knowing how extensive they were. With an estate of that size, she could be millions of dollars in debt, and he definitely didn’t keep
that
much on hand. Even if he could come up with the money, he couldn’t risk everything he’d built by trying to save his mother’s holdings.

Careful to avoid his grandfather’s eyes, which were staring down at him from that huge canvas on the wall, he told himself he’d look into it and do what he could.

“Can I have her robe?” Laney asked. “I just want to be able to feel it.”

“Absolutely,” he told her.

Once Laney took her place at the table, she fingered her silverware as if she was checking to make sure everything was where it should be now that her grandmother was gone. “I really wish she’d come back.”