Family Secrets (Brannon House Book 2) Page 11

  “What about the boxes on the top level? Have you looked in those yet?”

  I shake my head no. “Ember and I have been more focused on making the living areas livable. I don’t know when we’ll get to the areas that’ve been locked.”

  “Given this new information, you may want to shift your priorities. The more we know about the tunnel, the more safely we can proceed with exploring it.”

  My heart pumps a little faster thinking about going back up to the third floor, especially to the room where my mother might have killed someone. That idea is looking more plausible by the moment.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “It’s a big undertaking, but I’ll do it. Ember won’t put up a fuss. She’s been wanting to get back up there.”

  He holds my gaze. “I’d be happy to help, if you’d like. If not, I understand. It’s family business. But it’s also a massive job. Either way, I’d suggest you call a locksmith to make sure nobody can get in.”

  The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

  Graham puts his hand back on mine and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just let me know what I can do.”

  “I will. Thanks for taking me seriously. I wasn’t sure how you’d respond. I know it’s a crazy theory about my mom, but I just don’t know what else she’d be doing when she sneaks out at night.”

  “They’re going to make sure she doesn’t do that anymore, right?”

  I nod. “That’s the plan. I hope they follow through.”

  “You think they won’t?”

  “It took them this long to catch onto what she’s been doing.” I finish off my latte.

  He squeezes my hand.

  My heart nearly leaps into my throat, and heat creeps into my cheeks. His effect on me drives me nuts. When I’m on the job, I have no problem taking the lead in these types of things. But those are also fake dates, fake feelings, fake everything.

  This, however, is all new territory. Nothing fake about any of it. Especially not the way he keeps looking at me.

  I usually keep people at a distance. Even my bestie back in LA. Misty would complain that I had an emotional wall to keep everyone out, including her.

  She wasn’t wrong. I’ve never liked to let anyone get close. And why would I? Growing up, the people who were supposed to take care of me criticized me and sent me away, disbelieving what I told them, accusing me of lies.

  My job is actually perfect for someone like me. I get to socialize and have fun without worrying about letting anyone in. In fact, I almost never see repeat clients because even that allows people to be too close.

  Maybe I’ve always enjoyed the fakeness more than I’ve let myself believe.

  Now I’ve got this kind-hearted gorgeous cop looking at me like he might want to take things to the next level.

  I pull my hand away from his and look at the time. “I’ve got to pick up Ember. We’ll talk after you’ve spoken with the lieutenant?”

  “Sure.” The disappointment in his expression is undeniable. “And you’ll see if you can get anything out of your mom?”

  “Today.”

  “Great. Let me know if you need an extra hand going through those boxes.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” I think my tone gives away that I don’t intend to ask for his help.

  More disappointment in his eyes.

  Guilt stings. But it isn’t nearly as noticeable as my urge to burst into a run and flee the coffee shop.

  20

  Kenzi

  I squeeze the steering wheel as I stare at the memory care facility in front of me. I’d almost rather invite Graham over to unbox the third floor of my house than go inside and question my mother. But this needs to be done.

  Ember wanted to stay at the mall with Gretchen and some other girls they’d run into. Who was I to say no to that? My niece has spent way too much time at home with me, working on the house. She needs girl time. With any luck, she won’t end up as closed off as me, won’t have problems connecting with people like I do.

  Besides, this isn’t going to be a fun conversation. I may as well do it on my own.

  When I get inside, the girl at the counter who has seen me numerous times, takes my ID before letting me back to where the patients are. I’m glad to see they’re upping their security measures.

  Mom is in her room watching black and white reruns. No surprise there. She’s probably going to double down on her dementia act now. I’ll be lucky to get anything out of her. I’m still not sure if I’m going to bring up the tunnel or not. I am curious to see her reaction when hearing that I know about it.

  “How are you doing, Mom?” I ask loudly.

  If she hears me, she doesn’t respond.

  I step over to the couch and repeat my question. “How are you doing, Mom?”

  She doesn’t look away from the screen.

  I sit uncomfortably close to her. “Whatcha watching?”

  No response.

  It’s tempting to get frustrated, but I’m not going to give in to her. My plan is to act like this is just another job. She’s a client, and I’m supposed to learn more about her. Easy peasy.

  If only.

  “Ember’s shopping for clothes with her friends. Can you believe school will be starting soon?”

  Mom doesn’t reply.

  “Do you remember when I was in school?” I lean back and take a deep breath. “I used to love shopping for a whole new wardrobe. You always said I’d bleed your bank account dry.”

  She laughs along with the canned laughter from the show, not indicating she’s aware I’m next to her.

  “At least I never bought that many clothes, or you wouldn’t be able to stay here. Right?”

  She jolts, just slightly. I might not have even noticed if I hadn’t been looking for it.

  “Do you like staying here? Is it nice having people do everything for you?” I wait for a response before continuing. “I hear you’ve been enjoying some field trips. Is that true?”

  Mom doesn’t even blink.

  “Where have you been going? Anywhere interesting?”

  Now she blinks, her lips pursing together tightly. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Visiting the house? Are you the one behind the noises Ember and I have been hearing at night?”

  Now she’s blinking rapidly.

  “Or maybe you’ve been visiting Jack’s grave? Or calling him? Which is it, Mom? I’m dying to know.”

  She turns to me, her brows furrowed and her nostrils flaring.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Jack? Did Claire know about him?”

  Mom breathes heavily, her chest heaving.

  “Why all the secrets? I’m going to find out one way or another. I wish you’d just tell me yourself. Make things right for once.”

  Her eyes narrow, and her lips turn white from pressing them together so hard.

  “What’s the point in all of this? Why pretend to have no memories? I don’t get it. You’d take this over living in your own home? Why let it go to ruin? Why?”

  “Shut up!”

  “I’m not a child you can silence. And I’m definitely not going to stop looking into any of this. I want answers, and I’m going to get them one way or another. You can make it easy on me and answer my questions, or you can make it difficult. Either way, I’m going to get to the truth.”

  She stares at me, breathing hard.

  I’m getting somewhere. I might not get much further today, but it’s at least progress. I’ll take it.

  “Why won’t you talk about Jack? Is he out there somewhere? Or buried in a secret plot?”

  “Go away.”

  I shake my head no. “I’m not going to stop until I get answers. I have no reason to believe you aren’t operating under your full senses. But here’s the thing—you’re here and I’m at home. You can’t sneak in there. Can’t go anywhere without me signing you out. Tell me what you’re hiding, and I can help you. Don’t y
ou want to live a life of freedom? To come back home and work on your garden? To—” I freeze. “Wait a minute. Your garden. That’s where he is, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But you do know we aren’t living in an episode of I Love Lucy. What are we going to find if we excavate your garden?”

  She squeezes her fists, scoots away from me.

  “Whatever clues you’ve left behind at the house, I can find. It might take a while, but I’ll get there. It’s only a matter of time, and that’s something I have plenty of.”

  “Go ahead and try.” She turns back to the TV and hums a tune.

  “What should I check first? Your garden or the tunnel?”

  Mom turns to me, her eyes wide and her face pale. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “A tunnel?”

  It’s my turn to not blink, not reply.

  “How do you know about that?”

  I study her before answering. “You made it pretty obvious the way you were staring at the mirror which is actually a door. I’m going to have a locksmith put in a lock.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I can’t?”

  “No! That’s a piece of history.”

  “History? That’s what you’re worried about?”

  She plays with the hem of her shirt.

  “Are you sure you aren’t more concerned about not being able to sneak in? But it’s your own house. Why not just live there if you want in so badly?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. Go away.”

  “Why wouldn’t I understand?”

  Mom turns back to the screen and changes the channel from a laundry commercial. “Leave.”

  “Ember and I are your only remaining relatives. Why not let us in? Tell us what’s really going on.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Is that no, you won’t tell us? Or no, we aren’t your only living family?”

  No response.

  “Okay, then. I’ll make the phone call to have the tunnel checked out for safety. Then I’ll tear the house apart to find out why it was built. Secrets are always uncovered, and I’m going to lay these bare.”

  My mother turns back to me. “You would turn our house into a spectacle? Open up everything for public display?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I don’t know anything about any of it. You and Dad have kept everything from me, not allowing me inside nearly half our house. Not telling me the history. I don’t know any more than neighbors whispering rumors. You want the secrets to remain hidden? Then you’d better start talking.”

  “You’re threatening me? Me?”

  “No. I’m simply letting you know what’s going to happen. I need answers about the house I’m living in, and I can either find them myself or you can tell me what you know.”

  “Some things are meant to stay buried.”

  “Like Jack?”

  “You know nothing about him!”

  “Precisely. You’ve kept my brother a secret from me my entire life. Why?”

  “I’m done. For the final time, go away.” My mother scoots even farther from me and focuses her attention on the show.

  My blood seems to flow slower. It’s harder to take a deep breath. My suspicions have been confirmed—some of them. Enough that I know I’m on the right track. She doesn’t have dementia, and I do have a brother who would be or is fifty years old. Mom knows about the tunnel.

  Now I have more questions, but I’m not going to get any answers today.

  Or will I?

  “One more thing, Mom.”

  She groans, but doesn’t pull her attention away from the TV.

  “Since you don’t have any memory issues, I’m going to have to look into moving you to a different facility.”

  “What?” She whips toward me.

  “This place is for people with memory issues.”

  “You can’t prove anything!”

  “Can’t I?” I turn toward the door.

  Dr. Tribble walks in. “Regina, you’ve made a miraculous recovery.”

  Mom stares at him, then back to me, her mouth gaping.

  I rise and turn to the doctor. “Call me when you’re done discussing this with her.”

  “Will do. Thank you, Ms. Brannon.”

  21

  Ember

  My heart hammers as Kenzi reaches for the door to the third floor. I can’t believe we’re actually going up there to explore the contents of the boxes. And even more, I can’t believe I’m going up there again. The two other times I’d been in there hadn’t gone well for me—I’d gotten locked in the first time and had my life threatened by two psychopaths the second time.

  Neither of those events were going to happen now. My aunt and I are going up there together, and we know what we’re facing. Boxes. That’s it. I don’t know about her, but I’m going to avoid the murder room. There are more than enough things to go through in the other areas of the third floor.

  Kenzi looks at me, her hand on the knob. “You ready?”

  “I hope so. Can we bring the boxes down here to open?”

  “If they’re light enough to carry down the stairs.”

  I frown. “Do you think they will be? The wooden boxes themselves look weighty.”

  She hands me a dust mask. “Between these and opening the windows, we’ll be fine.”

  Neither will keep ghosts away, but I keep that thought to myself. My aunt only ever wants to focus on what can be seen. “What if the breeze makes the door slam shut?”

  “It would have to travel all the way down the staircase. Highly unlikely. And besides, it doesn’t lock anymore. Remember?” She twists the knob as if to prove the point.

  “It wasn’t the lock that got me into trouble before. Someone pushed that heavy chair in front of the door. And the other time I was dragged—”

  “That’s in the past. You’re safe now. My mother isn’t getting out of her facility. Nobody other than us has a key. We’re good. Take my word for it.”

  Ghosts don’t use keys, but again, I don’t say anything. I look around for something to prop the door open and find a small chair. I drag it over to the door. It works perfectly.

  “Do you feel better?” Kenzi asks.

  “Much.”

  “Great. Let’s do this.” She puts on her mask and starts up the creaky stairs.

  My pulse drums in my ears as I follow her. I take deep breaths, inhaling dust, and remember to put on my mask too. Everything is going to be fine. It’s all like my aunt said. Nobody is going to try to kill us. Even if there are spirits, they aren’t malevolent. They haven’t tried to hurt us—not like some people.

  Kenzi stops at the landing at the top of the narrow stairs. “Should we start with the first room?”

  “It’s as good as any.” We kick up dust with our feet. It’s worse than before now that so many people have been up here.

  Everything in the room is still covered in at least an inch.

  My aunt fights with the small window. I help her, and even with both of us straining, it won’t budge.

  I wipe dust on my pants. “Our ancestors probably didn’t want them trying to escape.”

  “Or it’s just stuck from so many years of not being used.”

  “Maybe both.”

  We try again, until sweat breaks out on my forehead. I must have put on the mask wrong because now I’m coughing and it feels like something is in my throat. But I keep pulling on the window, even though it won’t do any good open.

  I step back, still coughing. “Let’s forget about the window.”

  She keeps yanking. “I … think … it’s … about … to … budge.”

  I’m half-tempted to get a picture of her in her super-stylish clothes and nearly perfect hair trying to open a window in what has to be the dustiest place in the entire town.

  She stops, huffs and puffs, then wipes a streak of dust across her face and through her hair. “We might need som
eone to help us get that open.”

  “Who? Like that history-crazy neighbor?”

  Her brows draw together. “You’ve met him?”

  “He introduced himself earlier when Gretchen and her mom dropped me off.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t? He seemed nice.”

  “Don’t trust anyone obsessed with the house. I don’t know what his angle is, and I don’t care to find out.”

  I move past her and yank on the window. My hand slips and I break a nail. “I’m done.”

  “Me too. It’s not budging. If Dustin talks to you again, let me know.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to know. Was today the first time he spoke to you?”

  “Yep. Haven’t met many neighbors since we moved in. He might be the first, actually.”

  “We probably should reach out to them, but later. Should we take separate boxes or go through them one by one together?”

  I sneeze. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  She places a hand on the top of a wooden box on one pile. “I’ll start with this one.”

  “Let me help you get it down. It looks heavy.”

  Together we get it to the floor, barely. It weighs even more than it looked like it would.

  I take a deep breath. “Maybe we should work together instead.”

  Kenzi pulls her hair back into a messy bun, strands sticking to her neck. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I pull off the top and set it on the bed, creating a massive plume of dust. “I didn’t think that through.”

  She laughs and coughs. “And I didn’t get strong enough masks.”

  We lean over the box to find the contents covered in a yellowed sheet. I reach for it but then my eye starts to burn as some dust gets in, but I manage to get it out.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Something in my eye.”

  “Maybe we should come back with better masks and eye protection. And perhaps bring someone who can help us with the windows.”

  “I don’t need anything for my eyes. It was only a fleck of dust—surprisingly enough.”

  Kenzi chuckles. “I’m just saying, it might be nice to have some help.”

  “Gretchen really wants to see what’s up here.”