House Of Secrets (5 page)

The room had been completely renovated to replace my twelve-year-old decorating skills. I remembered Dad letting me get bold-colored curtains that had some sort of bubble-like valance. I’d had a twin bed and single dresser where now a beautifully accessorized queen-sized bed invited me to rest. In the corner was an oversized upholstered chair with an ottoman. Gone were the bright colors and in their place were relaxing pale greens and blues. The room seemed airy and light.

I closed the door, anxious to be alone with my thoughts. Leaving my bags by the bed, I walked to the window and lifted up the edge of the blind. We’d failed to turn off the outside lights and I could see the front yard and driveway. Without warning I was transported back in time—twelve years old, watching the ambulance attendants carry my mother away.

Her face was so pale, and she didn’t move so much as an inch. At least I couldn’t see her move from my vantage point. I wanted to go to her—to reassure myself that she wasn’t dead, but in my heart I knew otherwise. Daddy had said it was for the best—that he had to do this for us. I was old enough to understand—at least I told myself I was.

“Where are they taking Momma?” Piper asked.

I turned, expecting to find her standing behind me, but the room was empty. My cell phone began vibrating just then, so I pulled it from my pocket. Mark was calling.

“Hello?”

“Bailee, are you doing alright? Have you arrived in Seattle?” I had a sense of being rescued from myself as he spoke.

“Arrived and departed. We’re in Bremerton at the house now.”

“Is it all that you remembered?”

His voice lured me into calm. “Not really.” I crawled onto the bed and piled pillows behind me with one hand as I held the phone with the other. “Dad had the place remodeled, so it’s not really the same.”

“What about the area outside?”

“Too dark to tell much.” I leaned back against the mound of pillows and remembered that he was three hours ahead of me. “It’s got to be past two in the morning there.”

“You were on my mind, so I got up. Figured I’d risk you still being awake.”

Against my will, his words comforted me. “I guess you figured right.”

“So what’s the plan now that you’re there?”

I thought about all that Geena and Piper had told me. “Dad said he’d arrive in a couple of days. Last-minute business in Chicago. I guess after that, we’ll hear what he has to tell us.”

“Any thoughts on what that might be?”

I couldn’t believe I was talking so casually about my family. “None.” I knew it was a lie.

Neither of us said anything for a few moments. The awkwardness was back, and I felt compelled to end the call. “I need to get some sleep,” I told him.

“Yeah, me too. Look, if you need to talk . . . I’m here. And Bailee . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be praying.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying something sarcastic. After I composed myself I thanked him and hung up. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his concern, but the entire matter put me in a strange situation. As my supervisor we worked closely together, and he was slated to take over the business one day. Still, we both knew the relationship was more than professional. At least . . . it could be.

Cradling the phone to my chest, I closed my eyes. I could almost hear Mark asking again, “So what’s the plan now that you’re there?”

That was the million-dollar question.

I thought back to shortly after I’d started working for Masters and Delahunt. Mark had joined the business only the year before, but he had a real knack for recognizing talent. He had managed to land at least six of the company’s bestselling authors of that year, something his father was proud to announce at the first in-house meeting I had been invited to attend.

“We are small, but growing,” Mr. Delahunt had said. He beamed a smile at Mark. “I guess we all have Mark to thank for his tireless search for quality books. I’m proud of you, son.”

I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have that kind of genuine approval. Mark and his father were close; I’d been able to observe them together when no one else was around, and they genuinely seemed to enjoy each other’s company. I’d never experienced that. My father avoided having a real relationship with me . . . with my sisters. I always presumed it was his memories of the past, and perhaps his worries for the future that kept us apart. I tried to tell myself, even as a young girl, that it was normal—necessary, even, for him to survive what he’d done. Spending time with his children would only serve to remind him of the fact that he’d robbed them of their mother.

After that first meeting at M&D, I’d sat for a moment going over my notes. The other editors and staff were vacating the conference room as quickly as they’d entered, but I lingered. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt safe there. The walls were lined with dark mahogany shelves, and books were strategically positioned to draw attention to the accomplishments of M&D’s publishing efforts.

“So how are you liking it here?” Mark had asked.

I was surprised to find him still in the room. I must have looked it too, because he put his most reassuring smile in place and apologized.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, that’s quite all right. I thought everyone had gone.” I collected my wits and my notes. “I was just going.”

“No need. Stay as long as you like, Bailee. Right? Your name is Bailee.”

“Yes. Bailee Cooper.” I extended my hand. We hadn’t been formally introduced, but it didn’t matter. Mark acted as though we were lifelong friends.

“I was impressed when Dad showed me your letters of recommendation. Seems you made a great many professors very happy with your work.”

“I hope I’ll make Masters and Delahunt happy as well.” I tried to look away, but found myself caught in his unflinching gaze.

Mark smiled. “Well, for now you have only to make this Delahunt happy. I’m your boss—well, sort of. As a freelancer you’re really your own boss, but I’ll be the one you report to and get projects from. I’ll be reviewing your work and assisting you as you learn the ropes.”

“Well, I hope you’ll find me a quick study.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I will. Say, it’s nearly noon. Let’s grab a bite to eat, and I’ll tell you more about your job.”

It was the first of many lunch and dinner dates we shared. It was only after a couple of months that I realized no one else had lunch dates like we did. It was Mark’s assistant who actually spilled the beans one day. She made a comment about how she always knew to clear Mark’s calendar when I came to town. I asked if that was standard procedure with all of the freelance editors, and Sandy laughed.

“Honey, there aren’t any other freelancers who come into the office like you do. We’re lucky to see our other out-of-town staff on a quarterly basis.”

I had been stunned. Mark told me that he needed me to come into the office at least twice a month for a couple of days each visit. The company paid for it and put me up at one of several nice hotels, so I never really thought about it. But after that, I thought about it a great deal. I finally confronted Mark about all the lunches and dinners.

“Okay, so I selfishly enjoy your company.” He didn’t seem at all apologetic.

“Mark, I’m not looking for a relationship,” I told him firmly. “I want to focus on getting my career up and running. I’m sure you understand.”

I can still remember the way he looked at me. His eyes seemed to devour me. Why hadn’t I seen that before? How could I have been so completely naïve about this “business arrangement” of ours? But I couldn’t be too hard on myself. I really didn’t have a lot of experience to draw from. It taught me a good lesson, however: Keep my distance.

I woke up the next morning with the phone discarded beside me and the comforter pulled up around me. I glanced at my watch. It was past ten. Funny, I hadn’t figured to be able to sleep at all in this house, and here half a day was nearly gone.

Stretching, I pushed off the bed. A surprising sense of refreshment came over me. Maybe my therapist was right. Maybe being here would release something pent up inside of me. Perhaps the past could truly be set aside. A quick shower and change of clothes later, I was anxious to see exactly what could be accomplished.

“I wondered if you were ever coming down,” Geena said as I came into the kitchen.

“How’d you two sleep?”

Piper shrugged. She seemed to be in a mood. Geena handed me a cup of coffee. “Good enough. We were just discussing what to do today.”

“And what did you come up with?” The coffee smelled wonderful, and I realized I was quite hungry. Glancing around the room, an idea came to mind. “Why don’t we go have lunch somewhere?”

“Sounds good to me. I definitely didn’t want to cook.” Geena pulled on a white and blue jacket. “It’s kind of chilly outside.”

“The air’s always a little cooler around the water.” I glanced at my youngest sister. “What about it, Piper? Some lunch sound good?”

“I suppose.”

I looked at her for a moment. There were dark circles under her eyes. “Something wrong?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” she snapped. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired. If we’re going to go get something to eat, let’s go.” She stormed out of the room.

Geena and I exchanged a glance. “She’s been touchy all morning. I invited her to jog with me earlier, and she bit my head off.”

A worrisome thought flickered through my mind. Was Piper starting to take after our mother?

“I think she’s jetlagged,” Geena added, grabbing her purse. “You ready?”

Nodding, I found my bag and car keys. There was no sense in stewing over Piper’s mental state. At least not at this moment. I’d have a much better time making sense of everything once I’d eaten something and gotten a few more cups of coffee down.

We all piled into the rental and hit the road. I drove around the area and headed back to Bremerton proper. After several minutes of silence and no luck in agreeing on a place to eat, Geena plugged in the GPS and did a search.

“There’s a Pancake House out Kitsap Way,” she announced.

I made a command decision as the oldest. “I have no idea how to get there. Tell me where to go.”

Piper snorted from the back seat. “That’s a first.”

Her comment was the first indication she might be loosening up a little, so I decided to take it as a good sign, even if it was aimed at me.

It wasn’t long before we were seated at the restaurant with steaming cups of coffee and enough cream to start our own dairy line.

“Man, when you ask for a lot of cream, you really mean for them to bring a lot of cream,” Piper declared.

Geena laughed. “Well, why not. I happen to like my coffee pale.”

Without warning, Piper leaned forward. “I’ve decided that I’m going to confront Dad whether you two do or not.”

I looked at her for a moment, and her blue eyes narrowed. “And don’t try to talk me out of it. It’s time I understood what was going on in this family. All of my life I’ve felt like . . . well . . . that I wasn’t in on the joke.”

“Some joke,” Geena said, shaking her head. “The Cooper Family Comedy Hour.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it.” Piper lowered her voice only slightly when the waitress passed by our table. “I don’t remember much of anything. I can’t remember our mother. It’s like the first six years of my life were erased.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I said, not realizing how heartless it sounded. I immediately regretted my words. “I didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh.” I could see that Piper was taking it all wrong, and I held up my hand hoping to silence any outburst. “Look,” I said, “I know you want answers, Piper. But I don’t think we even know what questions to ask in this situation.”

“I do.” She looked at me matter-of-factly. “I want to ask Dad why he killed Mom.”

“Shhh,” Geena warned. “This isn’t exactly the place to make such a declaration.”

“Our entire life has been like that,” Piper replied. She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “There’s never a good place or a good time. We’re always trying to protect someone. . . . Well, no more.”

“Here’s the breakfast special with hash browns,” our teenage waitress announced. She put the plate in front of Geena. “And here’s the vegetarian omelet.” She looked at Piper and then to me as if trying to remember who had placed the order.

“That’s mine,” I told her.

She nodded and put the order on the table. “And that leaves the pancakes for you.” She put the dish before Piper. “I’ll be right back with toast for you two,” she said, nodding at Geena and me. “Can I bring anything else?”

“I think some more coffee would be great,” I replied.

Once the waitress returned to deposit the toast and fill our coffee cups, Piper seemed to have calmed once again. She toyed with her pancakes for a few minutes, adding butter and syrup, before finally looking up.

“I think it’s time we were honest,” she said simply. Shoveling a mouthful of pancakes into her mouth, she gave a shrug, as if that was all that she needed to say.

“Honesty would have been great a long time ago,” Geena said, putting her fork down, “but now I’m not so sure.”