Sound of Secrets (5 page)

A low noise that sounded like a growl came from across the room. Cara's body tensed. Slowly she turned her head until she located the source of the sound. Sam's pit bull, the same menacing animal she'd seen the day before, filled the entranceway.

Its teeth were bared, and its sinuous muscles bunched under a coat as black as the bowels of hell, like springs ready to uncoil. Adrenaline surged in Cara, but she didn't move except for the tensing of the muscles in her jaw.

The dog should have been fenced in the junkyard behind the station instead of here in the convenience store. She tried to will him away, but he wouldn't go.

In a rush, all the stories she'd read about pit-bull attacks raced through her mind. The dogs had extremely powerful jaws. Once they managed to clamp on to something desirable, they didn't let go. A splatter of red flashed in front of her eyes, and she realized it was the blood she imagined she was going to shed.

Her eyes darted around the convenience store for another way out. All she could see was a colorful jumble of candy, cigarette boxes and doughnuts. The entranceway doubled as an exit, but to get out the door, she had to get past the dog.

As quickly as she considered making a dash for the door, she rejected the thought. She wouldn’t make it easy for him. If the dog wanted to attack, he had to come to her.

The animal growled again, a menacing sound that emanated from deep in his throat. He moved toward her slowly and deliberately, like a wild animal that stalks his prey before pouncing. She tried to dredge up anything she might have read or heard about warding off an attack.

Other than not looking the animal in the eyes, she couldn’t remember anything. Fear pounded through her veins along with her blood, debilitating her. She recognized the beginnings of an anxiety attack. Her hands shook. Her breath hitched. Her stomach heaved.

The dog probably sensed her fear, but she couldn’t help that. It wasn’t as though she could stop him from attacking. She’d never be strong enough. Or brave enough. The best she could do was stand there and pray she wasn’t hurt too badly.

Another thought slammed into her brain, nearly jarring her head with its force.

 
No,
a part of her she didn’t even know existed shouted fiercely.
I can't just stand here and let myself be attacked. I have to fight.

 
Battling through her panic, she took another sweeping glance of the convenience store. Her eyes landed on a display of brooms, and she had an idea. Willing herself to move, she took a step sideways and extended her arm.

She shook so badly that it took two tries before she could wind her fingers around the handle of the broom. She clutched it, giving it a twirl worthy of a majorette’s baton. Then she positioned it so that the hard end was pointing toward the dog.

The pit bull was only a few steps away. He sped up his progress at her sudden movement. Six feet. Five feet. Four.

Her heart pounded in her chest like thunder. Didn’t he see the broom handle?

"Don't come any closer," Cara said, determined not to let her fear show in her voice. To cement her meaning, she waved the broom handle. She'd never struck another living thing, but she wouldn't hesitate now.

Instead of retreating, the pit bull advanced. Holding the broom like an oversized pool cue, Cara jabbed at the animal. The broom caught him a glancing blow off his right shoulder.

Angered, he bared his teeth. Their yellowed points looked sharp enough to puncture the wooden handle of the broom. His small eyes focused on Cara. He growled so ferociously that he sounded like a hound from hell.
 

"Get," she shouted. "Go away."

The pit bull's weight shifted to its hind legs. Cara realized that her words were futile. He was preparing to pounce. Holding the broom handle in front of her like an ineffective shield, she braced herself to ward off the attack.

Then she waited an interminable second for the dog's yellowed teeth to sink into her flesh.

"Buck! Down, boy. Down."

At the unfamiliar voice, Cara nearly sank to her knees in gratitude. Miraculously, the pit bull stopped advancing. It glared at her with mean, little eyes reminiscent of Sam Peckenbush's, growled a last time and obeyed the voice of salvation.

Her eyes swung to the doorway where a lanky youth of about fifteen with unkempt blond hair that nearly obscured his eyes slapped his leg twice. The pit bull trotted to his side and out the door. The boy regarded her solemnly. He was wearing baggy shorts that extended below his knees, black sneakers and a T-shirt a few sizes too large.

"You can put the broom down now, ma'am," the boy said, and Cara belatedly realized she was still brandishing it as a weapon. She loosened her grip on the handle, and the broom clattered to the floor. "What was Buck doin' in the store? He ain't never been in here before."

"How should I know what the damn dog was doing in the store?" Now that the immediate danger was over, Cara couldn't stop her eruption. "Don't you realize what a danger he is? Why would you let an animal like that run around loose? He was getting ready to attack me!"

The boy took a few instinctive steps backward, and Cara immediately felt ashamed. If anybody had let the animal into the store, it was Sam Peckenbush, not this reedy youth who looked as though he were used to being a whipping boy.

"I'm sorry." She ran a still-shaking hand over her face. "I'm sorry. I should be thanking you for coming to my rescue. It's just that the dog scared me. I thought he was going to..."

She couldn't bring herself to complete her thought. The boy hadn't moved from the doorway, and she wondered whether he was another apparition that would vanish if she blinked. She hadn’t heard a car approach since she arrived.

"Where did you come from?"

The boy pointed out the door to an old, red bicycle that had more rust than shine. This boy was real and not a mirage. Her eyes water in relief.

"I come most days after school to help my pa," he said, his voice stripped of the authority with which he had spoken to the dog. He hesitated, then spoke again. "I'm sorry about Buck. He's really not so bad as he seems. I better go pen him up so he don't scare nobody else."

The boy — Peckenbush’s son — pivoted and disappeared through the doorway. She shuddered when she imagined what might have happened if he hadn't come along. She didn't think the boy's father would have been quite as concerned for her welfare.

The door swung open again. Peckenbush strode inside, his expression unreadable. He tossed something at Cara, and she automatically reached out to catch it. She saw that it was her car keys.

"Car's fixed." He leveled her with that mean-eyed stare. "So it's time you was leaving Secret Sound."

She swallowed. "Did you know that somebody let your pit bull loose in the store? If your son hadn't come along, the dog would have attacked me."

The ever-present toothpick in Peckenbush’s mouth bobbed as his jaw worked. His eyes narrowed another fraction.

"Then you're lucky Danny came along when he did," he said finally. In that instant, Cara was certain that Peckenbush had deliberately let the pit bull out of the fenced area.

"Is that a threat?" she asked, her voice flinty.

"It's a statement. There's no reason for you to stay in Secret Sound."

Cara returned his glare. He was blocking the exit, but she didn't let that stop her. Her eyes locked on his, she purposefully walked toward him until he moved aside. She didn't stop walking until she was inside her car.

She drove away from the service station, but she wouldn’t drive away from Secret Sound. Not yet, anyway. Not when she could feel the spirit of the little boy urging her ahead. Not when she had another avenue to explore.

She needed information. In her experience, the most logical place to get it was a newspaper. After she checked back into the Hotel Edison for the night, she felt sure that the chatty clerk would provide directions to the Secret Sound Sun.

The clerk might even be able to tell her if the reporter who had written those long-ago stories about the boy's death was still employed there.

Miami Beach and the friends who were expecting her could wait. At least for another day.

The aura of success that hung over the Secret Sound Sun always struck Gray DeBerg when he walked into the newsroom.

Gleaming computer monitors flashing green print adorned neat rows of spacious desks. Offices aligning the far wall of the newsroom boasted enormous glass windows with an excellent view of downtown Secret Sound. The carpeting wasn't even old enough to be marred by coffee stains.

With newspapers around the country folding like a basketful of laundry, not many small operations could afford the improvements the Sun had made.

Gray knew, however, that success came with a price. A wash of affection hit him when he spotted Curtis Rhett, one of the men who had paid it.

The publisher of the newspaper was Reginald Rhett Jr., but everyone knew that his half-brother Curtis kept the Sun shining. The managing editor stood over a reporter's desk, his nervous energy evident in the taut lines of his body as he gestured with his hands.

Curtis was an angular man in his early sixties with intense, dark eyes and a beakish nose that shaded thin lips. He had worried away most of his hair a decade earlier, and the remaining gray strands were concentrated at his temples.

He looked like the embodiment of an overworked, overtired newspaper executive. Until his daughter Suzy had died of leukemia five years before, Curtis had also been Gray's father-in-law.

At the thought of Suzy, Gray experienced the same pang of guilt he always did. He should have left her alone all those years ago when she’d made it clear she wanted him. But by the time Gray recognized Suzy was looking for love, she'd been pregnant and he’d felt duty bound to marry her. He would have left her after the miscarriage, but then she’d been diagnosed with leukemia. So he’d stood by her until the end, watching her die with the knowledge that her own husband didn’t love her.

At least her father had.

"This isn't good enough, Walter." Curtis's voice was rich with controlled displeasure when Gray drew close enough to hear what he was saying. The reporter, a preppy young man in his twenties, seemed to sag. "We can't run a story saying the city manager is alleged to have taken a bribe without giving him a chance to respond in print. I don't care if you can't reach him by phone. Track him down. And do it tonight."

The reporter murmured meek words of acquiescence at the same moment Curtis looked up and spotted Gray. The older man's lips curved at the corners, which was as close to a smile as Curtis Rhett came.

"Gray." He came forward immediately. "It's good to see you, my boy. What's with the blue jeans? Do the Secret Sound police have a new dress code you didn't tell the paper about? I could put a features reporter right on it."

"Nothing that drastic," Gray said, unsure whether the older man was joking. Curtis Rhett was like a cop. Even when he was away from his job, he was on duty. "It's my night off."

"I didn't think they gave police chiefs the night off."

"You know as well as I do that nobody gives you anything, Curtis. You have to take it."

The other man nodded. "So this night off you've taken, are you going to spend it at the newspaper?"

"No offense, but the Sun isn't my idea of an exciting night on the town. I’m here because I have a dinner date."

Curtis's eyes narrowed. "Not with my niece, I hope."

"No, not with Karen," Gray said, chuckling. "With my father. You always did have the tact of a five-year-old."

"Aw, come on. I haven’t even mentioned you need a haircut."

Gray’s fingered the longish hair at his nape as his laugh deepened. Curtis kept on talking.

"Did you ever wonder why the same people who are charmed when a child is honest are appalled when an adult speaks his mind?" Curtis shook his head. "Sometimes when we run a story that shakes things up, people are so resistant to believe that I think they'd rather not know the truth.

 
"But you're not here to listen to my philosophy on all the news that's fit to print, and I have to get to a lineup meeting. We’re still on for fishing tomorrow, right? Can we make it earlier? I have to be in the office by ten."

Gray hid his grimace. "How’s seven o’clock sound?"

"Six-thirty’s better. I found a great new spot that only a couple hundred other people know about."

As Curtis rushed off in the direction of the oversized glass cage he called an office, Gray wondered how many hours a week he spent in it. Sixty? Seventy? Eighty?

Gray crossed the newsroom, returning the greetings of various employees as he went. He knew more of them than he didn't, but then his father had worked here longer than anyone on staff.

"Hey there, handsome."

A brunette with blonde streaks in her hair stepped in front of him. She wore a tight red dress that showed off her sumptuous figure. She walked long, ruby-painted nails up his chest and gazed at him through heavily lashed green eyes. Because of all her eye makeup, Gray thought it must be an effort to keep them open.

"Are you here to see me?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr.

"Hello, Karen,” Gray said. "You know it's always good to see you, but I'm here to meet my dad. Have you seen him around?"

To her credit, Karen kept her smile from wavering. Gray thought it ironic that the persistence he'd always admired was now a source of friction between them. Since Karen's divorce had come through a few months earlier, she'd made it clear that she wanted him.

That was her problem, Gray thought ruefully. Ever since they were kids, Karen had wanted the wrong thing.

"Nope. Haven't seen him. You know your father, Gray. He keeps a different timetable than the rest of us." She smiled again and brushed an imaginary piece of lint off the thin cotton of his shirt. "Any chance you'll be free later tonight?"

Gray got a whiff of a spicy perfume meant to tantalize and had an inspiration. "I'm meeting Ty for drinks later at the Dew Drop Inn. Probably about nine. Join us, why don’t you?"