Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) (8 page)

“I ain't takin’ no chances,” Mike said. “Not after that Summers boy…”

“Damned right.”

“And poor Nicky Chandler,” Mike continued. “What the hell was he doin’ in the boneyard?”

Good question.
Dusty had been planning on going up front and paying for her things, maybe talking to Will for a minute or two. The mention of Nick's name had started to change her mind.

“What a thing.” Will sighed. “Horrible, horrible thing.” Tears pricked Dusty’s eyes at the sadness in his voice. “I know the family real well. He was such a good boy.”

“Was supposed to be going to MSU, right?”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “I’m really gonna miss him. When he was a kid, he used to come help me clean up, do inventory, whatever else needed doing. Him and his sister—they never asked for nothing, just came and kept me company.”

Dusty leaned against the shelf. Tears, unbidden, welled up. She and Nick had once thought old Mr. Cougar was the best thing to come along since Kool-Aid.

“It’s a real shame.” Mike paused and then asked, “So what do you think it is, Will?”

The old man didn’t seem confused by the question. He knew exactly what Mike was asking, and so did Dusty.

“Well…” Will cleared his throat. “I can't rightly say. Newspaper says it's a big cat of some kind, but the sheriff finally started setting traps left and right up there by Clinton Grove and all he's catching is rabbits.”

“Do you think it's an animal?”

Dusty's ears pricked up. She felt awful, stomach churning, knowing she shouldn’t be listening, but she couldn’t stop herself. Julia certainly wouldn’t approve—but her instincts told her to stay put.

“I just don’t know. But I’ll tell you something—I saw the Summers kid when they brought him in. I was yakking with Matt down at the station. Damned kids spray painting the walls again on the side of the store.”

“Again? They catch anybody?”

“I
catch’em, they’re gonna wish the cops got to ’em first.” Will gave a short bark of a laugh. “They don’t have a clue. I think I know who did it, but we both know he won’t get brought in for it, just like he didn’t get into any trouble for stealing those fireworks.”

Shane,
Dusty thought, reading his thoughts as she knew Mike would. In Larkspur, trouble was always spelled S-H-A-N-E, although she couldn’t fathom Shane and those guys doing something like spray painting words like
YOLO
and
herpaderp
on the side of Will’s store. That sounded more like junior high kids to her.

“That’s only because he was always hanging around with Nick Chandler,” Mike reminded him. Hearing that comment was like eating glass. She tried to swallow past the shards.

“Not anymore.” Will commented, continuing with his story. “Anyway, I was there when they brought the body in, just a couple of kids carryin’ him in a blanket, not knowing any better, not even knowing who he was—couldn’t tell who he was anymore.” Will’s voice dropped. “Kid looked like he'd got himself caught up in a meat grinder. I nearly lost my dinner, I can tell you.”

Dusty felt like she was going to lose hers—yesterday’s dinner, today’s breakfast. Everything she’d ever eaten. She actually had to squat down, low to the floor, hanging onto the edge of the shelf and trying to regain some sort of control over her body’s reaction.

“So there were bite marks, like it says in the paper?” Mike asked.

“Bite marks? Feh!” Will gave that barking laugh that wasn’t really a laugh again. “Mike, the kid was
shredded
. The only way they would've been able to identify him—if his friends hadn't come out of hiding long enough to find out what happened to him, that is—would've been dental records or that new DNA technology they got on that CSI program.”

“Really?” Mike’s voice sounded faint.

“I ain’t kidding,” Will affirmed. “Mike, I knew Scott Summers. Real well. But I didn’t know him when they brought that body in. He looked... inside out.”

Remembering her dream, Dusty's stomach roiled. She closed her eyes, trying to think of something else. Trying not to think of Nick that way.
Inside out.
No. No! She couldn’t imagine him like that. Dusty bit the side of her tongue—it was sore but she did it anyway—hard, focusing on the physical pain. That was good. That took her mind off the image filling her head.

“So you do think it's a cat of some sort?”

“Cat, bear, hell… I don't know.” Will sighed. Dusty smelled the distinct odor of his pipe. “But I wonder.”

“I wonder too.”

“Whole town is wondering.” Will paused, puffing on his pipe. “It doesn’t add up.”

“That’s what I keep saying.”

It was quiet for a moment and Dusty stood again, contemplating just putting her stuff down and going quietly out the door. Then Cougar started talking again.

“Mike, I’ll tell you something…”

Dusty smiled. That’s what Cougar always said when he was about to pontificate.

“I've lived in this town all my life and I've never seen anything like this. A bear won't usually attack unless it's threatened. It's possible to have an isolated incident of bear attack, say, after disturbing one from sleep, but they're really not very smart. They would've caught a bear by now, with all the traps they've set up.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike agreed.

Dusty nodded, listening, waiting for more. Her stomach had settled. Biting her tongue—literally—had been very effective.

“A cat, on the other hand—a cat’s pretty sharp. And they're predators, there's no doubt about that. I could see one coming across Joe Wilson passed out in the train station and thinking he’d found himself the feline version of a McDonalds Happy Meal just waiting for him.”

“Sure.”

“And overpowering a twelve-year-old wouldn’t be too hard for a big cat,” Will went on. “And from what Deputy Matt says, Nick Chandler was pretty wasted that night. A bobcat sounds like a plausible explanation in all those cases, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Mike actually sounded a little relieved.

Dusty knew better. She was too used to Cougar’s set-ups. She held her breath.

“But I still don't think it was a cat.”

“Why?” Mike asked, walking just the path Cougar wanted him to.

“Did you know Joe was found hidden
under
the porch in the train station? And he was covered up. With boards.” Will puffed on his pipe again and the smell wafted toward Dusty. “Can bobcats do that, Mike? Even smart ones?”

Dusty didn’t hear any answer. Her own mind raced. She hadn’t heard that. Not from Buck Thompson, not in the news or in the papers. Why?

“It was kids who found him under there—kids playing out at the train yard. If they hadn’t discovered him, I imagine we never would've missed old Joe. Probably would've even forgotten him. What do you think, Mike?”

“The papers didn’t mention that.” Mike sounded angry and Dusty knew how he felt. It was just what she’d been thinking.

Will chuckled. “Come on, now. Buck Thompson is up for re-election this year and Guy Walker is giving him a run for his money. Plus we’ve got that Pharmatech expansion going on in Millsberg. Supposed to be as good as the Second Coming—bring in all sorts of revenue for Larkspur, right? Bad publicity, Mike. No one wants that, do they?”

Dusty felt cold, not on the outside but on the inside—like she’d chugged a gallon of ice water. Her stomach clenched and rolled again. Part of it was cramps, but most of it was just all the bells and whistles going off again. She clung to the edge of the shelf, staring at all the Kotex and Tampax and thinking about blood.

“And what about Nicky Chandler?” Will asked.

“What about him?”

“You know where they found him?”

“Cemetery,” Mike replied, stating the obvious and taking another step down Cougar’s well-lit path.

“Uh huh.” He puffed on his pipe again. “But they might not have found him at all, you know, if the Clinton Grove boneyard didn’t have such a tidy caretaker.”

“What do you mean?” Mike sounded impatient now, growing tired of Cougar’s game.

“John Evans told Deputy Matt he found Nick while he was sweeping out one of the mausoleums. He clears them of spiders and critters and such,” Will said. “But those doors are shut tight, Mike. You know a bobcat that can open doors?”

“Well.” Mike cleared his throat. “Maybe Nick ran from it? Opened the mausoleum door himself, went in there to hide?”

“Could be,” Cougar agreed, puffing on his pipe again. “Sure could be.”

For some reason, Dusty found herself thinking about Shane, how haunted and hollowed out he’d looked since the funeral.
Guilty.
Had something happened between Shane and Nick—a fight, something turned accidentally physical, ending in tragedy? Had she been fooled by Shane’s seemingly genuine concern? Was the tracking and trapping just a cover for something else? Something he knew…

There were too many questions. It made her dizzy. She was only sure of one thing—Shane was hiding something.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Mike said, “Well, thanks for the ammo, Will. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Will replied. “Just remember—sometimes it’s better safe than sorry.”

“I get you,” Mike said. “Take care, Will.”

“You take care, too—living all the way out there on Arcada road. Whatever it is, it's got an awful big appetite.”

Dusty heard the door shut. It took a few moments for her to move, but when she’d made up her mind, she went up the back aisle toward the cash register.

“Hey, Cougar.” She set her things on the counter. He turned around, startled.

“Dusty! I didn't hear you come in.” Will’s eyes pierced hers. “How long have you been hanging around?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She let her gaze fall to her purchases. “I was back by the books and I got into this one. Lost track of time, I guess.”

He picked up the book and then snorted. “Stephen King, huh?” He looked on the back and rang up the price. “It's a shame when a man can make millions writing this kind of garbage.”

She shrugged.

“You know,” he said, bagging the book and the Tampax. “If you want real horror, Dusty, all you have to do is look around you at the rest of the world.”

She took the bag and looked at him. His hair was beginning to thin and grow gray at the temples too. When did everyone get so old? It had all happened when she wasn’t paying attention. The beard he grew for winter even had a bit of gray in it. The laugh lines around his eyes were more defined than she remembered, but his deep blue eyes were as sharp as ever. She loved him—he was the kind of father she’d always longed for, kind and caring.
He would grieve
, she thought. If Nick had been his son, she knew he would have taken the time out of his busy schedule to cry.

“I know.” Dusty didn’t hide the tears.

Looking at her, his eyes softened. “Oh hon… I’m so sorry.”

She nodded and opened her mouth to say the perfunctory, “Thank you,” but the glass in her throat wouldn’t let her.

When he held his arms out, she fell into them and gave herself over to her grief.

Part Two

Accusation

✝
Chapter Eigh
t
✝

“What can I get you, Dusty?”

“Hmm?” Dusty looked up at Nellie standing behind the counter with her pen poised above her note pad.

“What can I get you?” she repeated.

“Root beer and...” She glanced up at the list of prices written in chalk on a big black board and added, “Fries.”

“Up in a few, but I'm a bit short-handed today.” Nellie bustled toward the kitchen to place the order. Nellie was always short-handed but it was worse in the summer. Winter inevitably saw a drop in the tourist traffic because of the cold and snow, but business at Nellie's was always booming—she owned the one and only restaurant in Larkspur.

Dusty turned her swivel stool around. It was the lunch time crowd, all regulars, sitting in booths and at tables. Most were over from Janesville, a small town to the west of Larkspur where there were limestone and iron ore mines and a big cement plant.

Dusty hoped her eyes and nose weren’t too red from crying. Cougar had let her go on and on, just holding and rocking her, and although she flushed now in embarrassment at the memory, it had been good, just exactly what she’d needed. After that, she couldn’t ask him what she’d planned, couldn’t delve into his conversation with Mike and his speculations about the alleged “animal attacks.”

But now Cougar's words kept coming back to her, and the fear clutched and groped at her belly. It went horrible with her cramps. Ryan had touched upon her suspicions when she was in the florist, but Cougar, he’d added something she’d been looking for all along, opening up a new dimension. Cougar had presented proof—y
ou know a bobcat that can open doors?

She shuddered. The thought of Nick lying on the floor of the mausoleum
—like he got himself caught in a meat grinder—
was too gruesome and painful to imagine, but it was worse than that—
he looked inside out—
it was deplorable. He didn't deserve to die—not that way, in the middle of nowhere at the hands of—
of what?
The violation of it heated her chest and filled her throat. She recognized the desire, burning thick and almost comforting—it was a lust for vengeance.

She wanted retribution.

“Dusty.”

Startled, she turned toward the voice. “Nate… hi.” She remembered seeing him at the funeral, his dark head bent next to Shane’s, long hair pulled back into a sedate ponytail, so out of place in a suit and tie. Today he was back in jeans, ripped and tattered as usual, wearing a Guitar Center t-shirt, hair down around his shoulders.

“Sorry I didn’t come by after the funeral,” he apologized. “I had to work.”

“That’s okay. Where are you working?”

Nate looked down at the front of his t-shirt. “I’m a walking advertisement.”

“Guitar lessons?” she guessed. Nate always had the typical high-school rock star aspirations of any young male guitar player.

“Guitar, piano, whatever pays the bills,” he agreed, waving to Nellie and calling, “Pick up!” She gave him an acknowledging nod, slipping behind the counter and heading back toward the kitchen.

“You still play?” She’d only heard him on the few occasions Nick had allowed her to tag along with them, but she remembered being impressed with his talent. “I mean, for yourself…”

“Don’t do much for myself anymore.” He snorted. “Hey… I’m really sorry about Nick. Really sorry.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, trying to ignore the pain blossoming in her chest at the mention of his name. Part of her understood Julia’s need or desire to put everything away. If people would just stop talking about it…

“I only just saw him the week before, when I went to see my mom in the hospital.” Nate gave Nellie a five when she set a brown paper bag stapled shut across the top on the counter. “Thanks, Nell, keep the change.”

“Oh the generosity.” Nellie rolled her eyes but pocketed the cash.

“That was the last time you saw him?” Dusty asked, remembering Ryan’s hesitation about seeing Nick the night before he’d—
been killed
—died. They all seemed to forget the “farewell party” they’d planned for her brother, but she didn’t want to push it or question Nate, not with everything he was clearly dealing with.

“I think so.” Nate stood, frowning. “Days run together for me now. My mom’s got lung cancer. She’s been in and out of the hospital the past few months.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dusty squeezed his arm, wishing there was some other way to express sympathy besides that pat phrase. She was tired of hearing it herself.

“Thanks.” He gave her a small smile, eyes veiled, and she’d given it to others enough to recognize the look. He glanced at his watch and then said, “I’ve got to run. Good seeing you.

“You too.”

He stopped, turning back, bag in hand. “Hey, I heard you got into U of M.”

“Yeah but not until winter.” Small town—news traveled fast.

“Well maybe I’ll see you around before you go?” He tucked a strand of long dark hair behind his ear—it was as long as hers, thicker too. “You wanna come out to the path with us some time? We’re usually out there on Friday nights.”

“You guys still partying out there?” She smiled. “I thought Nick’s farewell party was the last hurrah?”

“What else is there to do in Larkspur?” He rolled his eyes. “Hey, that was the last time I saw Nick. I remember now.”

“Did you talk to him that night?” she asked, seeing the way his gaze moved toward the door, like he wanted to escape.

“Just for a minute,” he replied. “Him and Shane showed up late and we were already out of beer. He didn’t come to the Starlite with us.”

Well he’d pretty much confirmed the same story Shane and Ryan had told her. So why did she have a feeling they were all hiding something?

“I know we don’t talk much but…” he said, interrupting her thoughts. She knew what was coming and dreaded it. “I’m sorry, Dusty.”

“Me too.” She offered him that small smile, the one that said
thanks but nothing you say can make it better and we both know it.
She had a memory of Nate at their house shooting at targets out behind their barn, tucking his dark hair behind his ears before sighting Nick’s .22. They hadn’t really hung out a lot—Nick had made sure of that—but his little group of friends was still as familiar to her as her own home.

“Come out to the path some time. Hang out with us,” he urged, glancing at his watch. “I really gotta run.”

“Sure,” she agreed as he moved away, heading toward the door with a short wave. She blinked after him, surprised how much he had changed. He wasn’t the Nate she remembered at all, the extrovert, the flirt, the one who had at least two girls hanging on him at all times. This Nate was a more somber version.

Maybe Nick was right,
she thought, turning back toward the counter.
Maybe we never really know as much as we think we do about who people are.

“Hey, I saw the Jeep outside.” Shane took a seat on the stool next to her, the one Nate had vacated just moments before. “Gave me quite a start for a minute there.”

“It’s my Jeep too,” she reminded him. Their father had given it to them as a gift on their sixteenth birthday, but of course it was Nick who mostly drove it. He had more friends, more places to go. And when Dusty went out on dates, guys picked her up, not the other way around.

“It’s all yours now.” He sighed and she looked over at him. He was pale. The Jeep really had given him quite a shock, she could tell.

“Here you go, Dusty,” Nellie said, and Dusty turned back to the counter where her root beer now sat. “Can I get you anything, Shane?”

He grinned. “Not unless you recently started selling alcohol.”

“Not here.” Nellie frowned, tucking her pen behind her ear. “Try the Starlite.”

Dusty sipped her root beer, staying out of what she knew was coming—Nellie was a teetotaler, an AA addict.

“I just might do that.” Shane glanced at his watch, teasing her. “Want me to bring you back a beer?”

“You know Lee Walker ought to be shut down, the way he lets you kids drink.” She patted at her hair, pulled up and back. Once a luxurious blonde, it was now beginning to turn a soft white.

Dusty hid a smirk. It was true Lee Walker let kids drink at the Starlite long before they turned twenty-one and everyone just looked the other way. Nick and the gang had been hanging out there since they could drive, shooting pool and playing the old stand-up video games like Pac-Man and Galaga.
Kids will be kids.
The “Just Say No” and D.A.R.E. campaign never made real inroads in their rural community.

Shane laughed. “Why don’t you get a liquor license, Nellie? You know the locals would love a beer with their chicken wings and fries.”

“Shane Curtis.” She put her hands on her hips. “I happen to be the best restaurant in town, and
I'm
not paying off the local sheriff so I can break the law!”

“You're the
only
restaurant in town.” Shane reminded her.

She threw up her hands and walked away, hurrying over to take an order from another table that had filled up in the corner, a bunch of high school kids. School started Wednesday and they were clearly enjoying their last days of freedom.

“So I hear Buck Thompson took my hints and started setting traps.” Shane put one of his boots up on the stool’s footrest. He was wearing jeans and his leather jacket today—not the fatigues and moccasins she’d seen him in last. It had been a few weeks since that day in the cemetery and they hadn’t run into each other again.

“He’s not catching anything.” She put down her root beer, turning her stool to face him. “Have you?”

“I pulled my traps.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want Buck and the boys confiscating them once they got their heads in the game. The sheriff had to get it all cleared with the town council first of course. Can’t do anything around here without those old biddies’ approval.”

“You don’t have that problem.”

He gave her a sideways smile. “Nope.”

“I just saw Nate. He invited me out to the path some time.” She sipped her root beer thoughtfully, watching his face. “I guess you guys still hang out there on Fridays?”

“Most Fridays.” He agreed, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Depends on work schedules though.”

“Guess Fridays don’t mean what they used to, when we were like them.” She nodded toward the rowdy crowd of high schoolers in the corner. They’d gone to school with all of them of course, she recognized a few—Millsberg High School served Larkspur and many of the surrounding towns—but those kids had been juniors and sophomores at the time, far too beneath them as seniors to take too much notice of.

Shane glanced over at the group of kids with earbuds in their ears, passing iPods around, sharing internet jokes and listening to each other’s playlists. Nellie’s was the only wi-fi hot spot in town and she paid a small fortune for it because it was a satellite connection. Dusty and Nick got a car when they were sixteen, but they didn’t get their cell phones until they graduated. There wasn’t much point—no one could pick up a good signal in Larkspur. The whole town was practically a dead zone. That was why Cougar still had an actual pay phone on his porch and so did Nellie, tucked away in a little cubicle between the restrooms.

“Nothing ever changes in this town.” Shane shook his head. “Lee trains them up right at the Starlite—gets ’em used to spending their Friday paycheck on beer and Keno.”

Dusty raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s… disturbing.”

“Don’t believe me?” He raised his eyebrows right back at her. “Go into the Starlite on a Friday night and see for yourself.”

“Oh I believe you.” She watched the kids sipping cokes, thinking about their parents, who had probably sat in the same booth doing the same things—minus the earbuds and portable internet. Back then it was more likely Walkmans and cigarettes. “I just find it depressing.”

“Don’t worry, they don’t know any better.” He gave a bitter laugh, watching as Nellie went over to their table to deliver drinks. It looked like Mountain Dews all around, except for one girl who got water. “They’re going to spend most of their lives in Larkspur and never have a moment’s discomfort excerpt for a vague feeling that something’s missing.”

“Missing?” Her root beer was gone, so she tipped the glass back, sucking on a piece of ice.

He met her eyes, gaze slipping lower, down to her lips as she began to chew the ice.

“You know, like when you walk into a room looking for something but can’t remember what it was?” he asked. She smiled, nodding. “They’ll live their whole lives feeling like that, never knowing quite what they were missing.”

“Now I’m really depressed.” She glanced back at the kids again, feeling so far removed from them and high school and her life before Nick died, it was like she was an alien watching human behavior for the first time. “Doesn’t it make you want to get the hell out of here?”

How many hours had she talked about that with Nick? Dreaming about getting out of Larkspur. It was never anywhere specific—they didn’t talk about New York or L.A. or Paris or Rome. It was just some vague notion or idea of
out there.
And more importantly,
away from here.