Family Secrets (Brannon House Book 2) Read online

  Family Secrets

  Stacy Claflin

  FAMILY SECRETS

  BRANNON HOUSE #2

  by Stacy Claflin

  http://www.stacyclaflin.com

  Copyright ©2020 Stacy Claflin. All rights reserved.

  ©Cover Design: Didi Wahyudi

  Edited by Staci Troilo

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental or used fictitiously. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

  This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please either purchase it for them or direct them to StacyClaflin.com for purchase links. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Other Books by Stacy Claflin

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  1

  Kenzi

  The wind whips my hair and fat rain droplets splash on my cheeks, nose, and forehead. I cover my face with my arm, trying to protect my makeup, and race toward the looming structure ahead. My foot lands in the middle of a puddle, and it sploshes up my leg, leaving a trail of dirt from my knee down to my purple stilettos.

  I knew I should’ve worn black. That’s what people wear to funerals, but my niece Ember and I decided to celebrate my sister’s life instead of focusing on her untimely demise, so we asked everyone to wear the bright colors she loved—a decision I suddenly regret.

  A deafening boom of thunder shakes through me, making my ears ring. Two streaks of lightning weave together behind the tall church building. This was not at all what we pictured for Claire’s service. It’s August—the hottest and driest month of the summer. But this is also a suburb of Seattle, which means it can rain at any time.

  I force myself to run as fast as I can in these shoes before I end up completely soaked. At least we’re early, so I’ll have a little time to dry off and fix my hair and makeup. As I push open the heavy door, I take a deep breath.

  Thunder claps behind me, and I yank the door closed. I resist the temptation to shake off like a dog. Instead, I pull away the long dark hair plastered to my face and shake my arms.

  Ember comes into the foyer, and her eyes widen as she looks me over. “Is it raining?”

  “No, I thought I’d take a second shower between here and the car.”

  She snickers. “But you found the bracelet? Grandma won’t stop asking about it.”

  I nod, then pull it out of my purse and hand it to her. “It was under the passenger seat. Do you mind giving it to her while I fix my makeup?”

  “Yeah, sure. Do you know if Jack is coming?”

  “Jack?” Sounds vaguely familiar, but I draw a blank. “Is he one of the lawyers from your mom’s firm?”

  Ember shrugs. “Grandma keeps saying Jack should be here by now.”

  “Just humor her. We’re lucky she halfway remembers us today.”

  “Halfway?” My niece lifts a brow. “She thinks I’m her sister.”

  “I know, but at least she can be here today. The way she was acting last week, I really didn’t think this would be possible.” She’d had a meltdown when we visited her at the home because her pudding was the wrong flavor. There would be no pudding after the service. I made sure of that.

  “Just hurry.” Ember turns toward the sanctuary. “Here’s your bracelet, Grandma!”

  I shiver as I make my way to the bathroom. The mirror proves I don’t look as bad as I thought. My legs and shoes got the worst of it. I may have to pull my hair back instead of letting it fall freely down my back, but at least I won’t have to redo my makeup.

  After I remove the dirt from my legs and shoes, I check the time. Twenty minutes before guests will start to arrive, but there are always those who arrive early, so I need to make sure everything is ready now.

  One more look in the mirror—I’m going to let my hair dry before I decide what to do with it—and I head back to the foyer. I check the table with memorabilia from Claire’s life.

  A wave of sadness washes over me. This is all that’s left of my sister’s life, all I’ll ever really know. I never reached out to her, and now I’ll never get to. I push aside the thoughts and focus on how I can make a difference in her daughter’s life. Ember has already started to relax around me, a stranger until the day her mom was murdered, and I’m growing in my role as her guardian. It isn’t the life either of us saw for ourselves, her without a mom and me at only twenty-five raising her, but we’ll make it work. Not just because we have to, but because we’re Brannon women. We’ve got this.

  I straighten a framed photo on the table and flip through a scrapbook from Claire’s childhood. No pictures of me. I didn’t come along until she was fifteen. Ember’s age now.

  She appears from the doorway. “Save me!”

  “Okay, okay. I got lost in thought.”

  Ember throws me an exasperated glance. “She’s telling me about where Mom was conceived.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “It’s not funny!”

  “And it’s also probably not what really happened. She thinks the Vietnam war is still happening.”

  “Just hurry. People are going to mess all that stuff up, anyway. We already got pictures when it looked perfect.”

  We make our way down the aisle, and I look around to make sure everything in here is as it should be. Hundreds of flowers, check. Poster-sized portraits from Claire’s life, check. Screen for the slideshow, check. The shiny reddish-brown casket, check.

  My stomach knots. It’s so archaic to have a dead body in a room that’s going to be full of people. I’d have opted for an urn, which is still morbid but less so, but our dad already paid for caskets and our places in the family plot. He’d been nothing if not practical.

  I take a seat on the front pew with the last of my living relatives—Mom and Ember. It hits me again that my mother really is gone—mentally—as she rambles on about an episode of I Love Lucy. It’s hard to tell if she actually did just watch it or if she saw it many years ago.

  On the other side of her, Ember looks lost in thought as she plays with a tassel on her teal dress. It had been Claire’s. We’d found it in the closet when going through my sister’s old room.

  Just as my mom is wrapping up her summary of the show, voices sound.

  I turn to them. “Sounds like people are here. Let’s greet them.”

  Mom’s dull eyes light up. “I sure hope Jack makes it. He was
so nice to me when you brought me to your house.”

  Ember and I exchange a wide-eyed glance. We had brought her to the house—she hadn’t recognized the place she’d lived for at least fifty years—but nobody else was there with us.

  Then a chill runs through me that has nothing to do with my still-damp dress. My uncle’s name had been Jack. But he’d passed away before any of us met him. His bedroom is locked on the second floor. Dad had never wanted anyone to go in and mess it up.

  “Mom, how old is Jack?”

  She looks deep in thought, but that doesn’t mean she’s thinking about my question.

  More voices sound from the foyer.

  I clear my throat. “We should go greet the guests.”

  Mom turns to Ember. “I’d say he was about your age, Lucinda.”

  “I’m Ember, Grandma.”

  Goose bumps run down my arm at my mother’s words. My niece and her obsession with ghosts is getting to me. I’d take my mom’s ramblings with a grain of salt, but what were the chances of her rambling about my uncle? Thinking she’d just seen him this morning?

  There isn’t time to worry about it. I loop my hands around their arms and lead them back toward the foyer. There is a small crowd gathered at this point. I don’t recognize anyone, but that isn’t surprising. I just moved back to town after being gone since I was eighteen.

  We make small talk, and Ember introduces me to some of Claire’s colleagues and their old neighbors. I try to keep names straight, but it isn’t like I’ll see most of them after today.

  The door opens, and in walks a familiar face. One that makes my heart skip a beat.

  Detective Graham Felton.

  He had been the lead officer trying to solve my sister’s murder. Since the case officially closed, we’ve gone on a few dates. Nothing serious—neither of us want a relationship—but I can’t deny the growing attraction.

  But I need to. There are too many other things to focus on, not the least of which is raising Ember. Or even just getting through this service. She’s holding up rather well so far, but it’s only a matter of time until she starts to fall apart. Up until this point, she’s been doing a good job of keeping her mourning to herself—the occasional red splotchy skin around her eyes tells me she is—but funerals have a way of breaking through the roughest of exteriors.

  And if she doesn’t lose it, I may very well. I’ve been keeping myself together by staying busy and focusing on her and the house, not to mention getting back to work. But moving back home and dealing with my sister’s death has brought up a lot of things I haven’t wanted to deal with. It looks like life has a way of forcing you to deal with those things whether you want to or not.

  Detective Felton, or Graham as I’ve called him on our dates, meets my gaze and gives me a slight nod.

  My breath catches in my throat. I manage to nod back and hold his gaze a moment too long.

  He waltzes over, weaving his way through the growing crowd of mourners. “I’m sorry about your sister.” Then to Ember. “Your mom. I can’t imagine the loss.”

  Her eyes shine with tears, and she twists a strand of her long dark hair. “Thanks.”

  I clear my throat. “I didn’t realize you were coming, Detective.” Maybe I’m being a little formal, but I don’t want Ember knowing we’ve been seeing each other—as complicated as that is. People hire me as a fake date or friend, and the line between fake and real is becoming quickly blurred with Graham. Not only that, he was the one who helped solve Claire’s murder, the one who took us seriously about it not being a suicide.

  He turns back to me and gestures toward a hallway. “Can I speak with you for just a second?”

  I put my hand on Ember’s shoulder. “Will you be okay if I talk to him for just a moment?”

  “Of course.” She turns to him. “You know, whatever you say to her you can say to me. She’ll tell me, anyway.”

  “I’ll let her decide that.”

  Ember shrugs, then her expression lights up as she looks past me. “Gretchen’s here.”

  “Go give her a hug.”

  She throws me an annoyed glance. “We’re not huggers.”

  “Sorry.” I hold back an amused chuckle before following Graham. “Is there news in the case? Were the trial dates set?”

  “No, not yet.” He glances around then lowers his voice. “The results came in from the” —he clears his throat— “stuff on your third floor.”

  “Claire’s shoe?”

  He shakes his head no. “That bloody knife and bedding Ember found up there.”

  “Oh, right.” He must think I’m an idiot. “Probably nothing useful, right? It’s old blood. We’ll have to go through those boxes for any clues.”

  Graham steps closer, and my pulse races. It makes me think of dancing with him even as he’s talking about a decades-old murder that took place in my house.

  He pauses before speaking. “No, the lab actually did get DNA and prints.”

  I stare at him for a moment before finding my voice. “You know who was murdered?”

  “We don’t know that much, but we did get some interesting information.”

  Now he has my attention. “What?”

  Graham looks around again. “Now isn’t the time to get into all of that. Can I come over Monday? That way, you’ll be done with all of this.” He glances toward the entry, where even more people are coming in.

  “You’re going to make me wait two days?” I draw my brows together. “Seriously? Drop this at my sister’s funeral?”

  He readjusts his jacket over his ridiculously big muscles. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve just asked if I could stop by Monday.”

  “Can you at least tell me something? It seems like you have something big.”

  He takes a deep breath. “You said your mom has memory issues?”

  I nod. “Yes. She thinks her granddaughter is her sister. Why do you ask?”

  Graham frowns. “Her prints were all over the knife.”

  “What?”

  The church pastor appears, cutting off any further exchange of information. “I have a quick question before we start the service.”

  I give Graham my best glare before following the pastor.

  2

  Kenzi

  I can’t focus on the slideshow. In fact, I’ve barely been able to focus on anything said at this service.

  My mom’s prints are on the knife upstairs near the bloody bed. It doesn't make any sense. There was so much dust up there, and Ember said it had been completely undisturbed. That means nobody had been up there for what had to be decades.

  There has to be a logical explanation. Someone could’ve taken one of her kitchen knives and used it while wearing gloves. She’d lived in the house for more than forty years.

  Who died on the third floor so long ago? And did it have anything to do with the knife? It could’ve been planted. Probably was. Why else would Mom’s prints be on the knife?

  I glance over at her sitting next to me, watching the pictures of her daughter’s life on the screen without a flicker of recognition or emotion. What secrets has her mind buried? Maybe none. The knife could just be a coincidence. The real killer might have simply grabbed the first blade they found and took it up there.

  The blood was on a bed that had been used by servants over a century ago. I’d been hoping the murder had been that far in the past. But come to think of it, Graham never told me anything about the DNA. Does he know whose it was?

  And now I have two whole days to think about this before he shows up to tell me anything. My mind will come up with things that are probably far more elaborate than what really happened. He’s likely to tell me the DNA doesn’t match anyone—and why would it? It was so long ago that whoever died wouldn’t even be in the system.

  The song on the slideshow switches over to something more upbeat as the pictures transition from my sister’s childhood to her teen years. She was fifteen when I was born, so we’re getting closer to
images and clips I actually remember. Ember insisted on putting in pictures of me, even though Claire and I were never close. She was more interested in friends than a baby sister, and she moved away to college when I was only three. We never had a chance at any real relationship.

  Though maybe we could’ve had something if I’d stayed in town. I shove that guilt-laden thought aside just like all the rest of them. Yes, there is a lot I could’ve done differently, but I didn’t and neither did she, and there isn’t anything anybody can do to change any of it.

  My focus is now on Ember. I’m taking everything I should’ve given my family and putting it into this girl who needs me in ways I can’t begin to comprehend. It’s the one thing I can do for my departed parents and sister. I do realize my mother is still technically here. Sitting right next to me, in fact. But the woman who always expressed her disappointment in me is gone. Claire was her golden child, and I was the royal screw-up. For her sake, I’m glad she doesn’t know what’s going on.

  The images continue flashing on the screen. I enjoy listening to the crowd react to the photos we picked out. Now we’re up to her wedding, and my skin crawls at the sight of Richard.

  I hope he never again sees the outside of a prison.

  Soon come the images of Claire pregnant, then of Ember as a baby.

  I lean over and whisper, “You look just like her.”

  She shakes her head, clearly not seeing it. I get it. People have always said I look like my dad, and I don’t see it. I just see me.