Grave secrets, p.1
Grave Secrets, page 1
“My father has nothing to do with this! Why would you even think that?”
“One of the guys out there,” TJ answered simply. “He remembered that you were dating Ricky and your father didn’t like him. Made some threats against him, in fact.”
“That is absolutely not what happened. I don’t know how long you’ve been here in Melfield, Detective Douglas, but you should talk to some of the people who knew my father. He was a good man. He got along with everyone and would never hurt anybody. Ever! I refuse to sit here and let you ruin his legacy by starting rumors about him.”
“I’m not starting any rumors, Miss Fenton, I’m just telling you what I heard. Obviously, the rumors have already been here. If that body beside the church does turn out to be your old boyfriend, it’s likely those guys on the excavation crew won’t be the only ones with rumors to spread. If there’s anything you’d like to tell me about what happened back then, I suggest you do so...before the rumors really do start flying.”
Not the typical pastor’s wife, Susan Gee Heino has been writing romance since the first day her husband bought her a computer, hoping she would help him with church bulletins. Instead, she started writing. A lifelong follower of Christ, Susan has two children in college and lives in rural Ohio. She spends her days herding cats and feeding chickens, crafting stories with hope, humor and happily-ever-afters. She invites you to sign up for her newsletter at susangh.com.
Grave Secrets
Susan Gee Heino
And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness. And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful.
—Colossians 3:14–15
This book is dedicated to my pastor.
I am very, very blessed to also be able to call him my husband. Thank you, Jack Heino, for all the years of laughter and love, for your faith and devotion, and for buying me that computer waaaaaay back when we couldn’t even afford a desk to put it on.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Silent Witness by Lara Lacombe
Chapter One
The morning sunshine was optimistically bright. Today, however, might bring good news...or very bad news. Carlie Fenton honestly wasn’t sure which she was hoping for.
What she hadn’t been hoping for was a pothole that caused her car to jolt, her arm to jerk and her coffee to spill all over her nice blouse. There wasn’t time to turn around and go back to her apartment to change, though. The bank appraiser would be waiting at the site and she was already running late.
Unfortunately, she’d just have to show up with a coffee stain. So much for giving the best impression. In this case, being on time seemed more important than being neat.
Their work today would determine just how much of a loan she would need to buy the old Epiphany Church property and renovate it. It would take a lot of money—probably more than a small-town bank really wanted to loan to a single woman who had just left a perfectly good job in the city. More than once, Carlie had wondered if she was completely off her rocker to even consider such a thing. But then again...she wanted this.
Leaving the quiet village of Melfield behind her, Carlie could see her goal in the distance. Tall and white, Epiphany’s steeple rose over rolling farmlands, the church set in an island of towering oaks and cemetery lawn. Even in its derelict state, the old building was a beacon of hope.
And boy, did Carlie need some of that in her life.
Joining them on-site today would be a contractor with heavy equipment for excavating. He was probably waiting there with the appraiser already. Carlie tried not to be anxious about what they would find, but her nerves just wouldn’t calm down.
For years, the church had struggled with standing water around the foundation. A leaky cistern, everyone said, causing the foundation to bow and crack. Several attempts had been made to solve the problems over time but nothing had worked, and eventually, the congregation just gave up. Carlie still hadn’t quite come to terms with that.
She had loved Epiphany Church all of her life. It had been her father’s ministry. He’d spent most of his career serving the little congregation here, just outside Melfield, Kentucky. It still felt like a betrayal that after he’d passed away, the people had simply shuttered the doors and joined up with a newer, larger church in town. It was as if her father’s work—his legacy—had meant nothing to them.
But now she was back, and she was determined to rescue this beautiful building. All she needed was money. Unfortunately, the bank felt the cost to repair the building was far beyond its worth. The appraiser insisted the foundation was too badly deteriorated. Before they would even consider a loan, she would have to bring in a contractor—at her expense—and show proof that the foundation could be saved.
So here she was, pulling into the gravel parking area. It was sad to see the place so unkempt. The little cemetery beside the church—and the parsonage just beyond that—was nearly lost behind weeds and overgrown bushes. Greenery of all sorts was bursting out in the June heat. While her parents had lived here, the grass had been well manicured, the plantings trimmed, and profusions of flowers had blossomed everywhere. Today sprawling shrubs and strangled perennials were all that was left of the landscaping.
The bank appraiser’s modest sedan was parked in the church lot, along with two pickup trucks bearing the name of the contractor who would be doing the work today. A flatbed trailer sat empty—it had probably been used to haul in the backhoe that would be needed for digging. All this was expected. What surprised her, though, was the other vehicle present.
A sheriff’s cruiser.
Parking quickly, she took the last swallow of her coffee and headed around to the back of the church. Tall trees shaded the area. Birds chirped and swooped between the branches and the many peaks and angles of the church roof. She expected to hear the loud rumble of heavy machinery, but instead, the work site was oddly quiet.
Several people stood idle, watching a tall man in a dark suit as he peered into a recently excavated hole. As he studied the soil piled around him, he jotted in his notebook. Carlie didn’t recognize him. Based on his intent focus and the set of his jaw, what he saw in the cracked foundation here definitely concerned him. Carlie could feel tension in the air, radiating from everyone.
This could not be good. She looked over at Kim Daley, the appraiser. Had Kim brought in one of the bank executives? But she just gave Carlie a wide-eyed, questioning look. Before Carlie could ask what was going on, the man in the suit glanced up and noticed her.
“You must be Miss Fenton,” he said, checking something in his notebook.
His eyes were a surprising green; even from fifteen feet away, Carlie couldn’t help but notice them. What she didn’t notice was a polite smile of greeting—because it wasn’t there. Everything about the man was deadly serious.
“Yes, I’m Carlie Fenton,” she replied, stepping forward. Nervous energy danced inside her.
The man nodded. “I’m told your father was the minister of this church?”
“He was,” she replied, not sure why he needed this information. “He passed away five years ago.”
“How long was he minister here?”
“He served at Epiphany more than twenty-five years.”
“I see,” the man said, making another note. “So he would have overseen the last work that was done on this area of the building.”
“Well, he acted with the church board on things like that. I don’t remember who they hired to do the actual work. I’m sure it’s all in the old church records somewhere, if—”
“Your family lived in that house just over there during that time, correct?”
“Yes, that’s the parsonage,” she replied, frustrated with all the useless questions. “Look, I know there are significant problems with the building. If you’re from the bank, I assure you that the first appraiser made me well aware of them. Whatever issues you’re finding down there, I’m very confident we can repair them.”
“I’m not from the bank,” he said simply. “And there’s no repairing what we found down there.”
“What have you found?” she asked, moving closer to join him at the edge of the excavation to see for herself. A muddy stone tripped her and she staggered gracelessly. The man caught her before she tumbled into the hole.
He pulled her back, but the brief glimpse she got into the newly dug opening was enough. She gasped for breath.
“Is that a...a body down there?”
She used that word because she didn’t know what else to say. What she’d seen could hardly be called a body. In the hole, she could make out a form—it was muddied, misshapen and mostly reclaimed by the earth, but there was just enough to it that she had no doubt. Someone was buried there. Whoever it was could be
“There is a body down there,” the man confirmed, helping her right herself at a safe distance. “I’m Lieutenant Detective Douglas from the sheriff’s office. Your crew found this earlier today and called it in.”
Now she understood why the work had stopped and everyone was just standing around. A quick glance at Mr. Johnson, her contractor, and she could see the stricken look on his face. He nodded, confirming the detective’s words.
“We thought we’d get an early start,” Mr. Johnson said. “Dillon was on the backhoe. We were watching pretty close, making sure we didn’t break into that old cistern everyone told us was around here. Then we...well, then we found him.”
One of the other guys chimed in. “We know who it is, too. It’s that kid who went missing. Ricky Something-or-other.”
Carlie’s stomach jerked into a knot. “Ricky LeMaster?”
“Did you know him?” the detective asked, positioning himself between her and the hole.
She could hardly catch her breath. The vision burned in her mind was a heavy weight, almost crushing her. Could that dirty, twisted form there really be Ricky? It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. But the red-and-white jacket... Ricky had loved his school jacket.
“Yeah,” she replied softly. “I knew him.”
The detective put another mark in his notebook. “I think we need to talk.”
* * *
Detective TJ Douglas was used to having unwilling conversation partners. Carlie Fenton was definitely that. Whatever she knew about this body buried beside her father’s old church was not something she wanted to discuss.
Several of the guys on the work crew seemed eager to talk, though. TJ wasn’t ready to entertain all their suspicions and rehashing of local lore. He needed facts, and quite frankly, Miss Fenton seemed to be his best shot at getting them. If he could pull some out of her.
When the call came in about the discovery of possible human remains, TJ had been nearby, looking into vandalism at a farm just up the road. Three other detectives worked under him in the investigative division, but none of them had been positioned to get there as quickly as TJ could. He’d arrived at the old church within minutes of receiving the summons. A couple deputies and one of his detectives had appeared shortly after Miss Fenton.
TJ put Detective Scheuster in charge of the others to secure the scene. They would begin a proper investigation, but in the meantime, he wanted to get some more answers from Miss Fenton. He asked the bank appraiser to open the church building and took Carlie inside where they could talk uninterrupted. She followed him, moving mechanically, giving the impression she was still half in shock.
The air inside was stale; clearly, the place had been closed up for a while. There was a layer of dust over everything, but not enough to block out the sunlight that filtered in over the arched window above the front door. A barren entryway greeted them, offering no welcome besides a few yellowed bulletins pinned to a corkboard on the wall. One dusty raincoat hung on the long coatrack.
Ahead, the doors to the sanctuary were propped open. Huge stained glass windows brought multicolored light into the spacious area, creating an almost ethereal feel. TJ led her in and watched as she took in the sight and the feel of the place. She must have grown up here, must know every inch of the building and its surroundings. Just how much did she know about that body outside?
Rows of well-worn pews faced expectantly forward, as if just waiting for the congregation to return. The walls had empty areas where festive banners or seasonal trimmings had probably once hung. An ornately carved cross still rose over the altar, reminding TJ that they were in a sacred place.
He scanned his notebook, but really he was studying Miss Fenton. She was dressed professionally—tailored but loose black slacks and a crisp white blouse. A slight coffee stain indicated she had hurried this morning. He found that little flaw disarming.
The rest of her was perfectly put together. Her ash-blond hair was combed into a neat ponytail, with the humidity of the day bringing out a hint of curls around the nape of her neck. She wore little makeup, if any, and her earrings were delicate drop pearls. Despite nervousness, she moved gracefully as they entered the sanctuary.
She paused in the aisle, clutching the leather strap of her handbag. He could hear her take short, choppy breaths. From the corner of his eye, he could see that her focus settled on the empty pulpit at the front. When TJ invited her to sit in one of the pews, she jumped.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Is it difficult for you to be here?”
“I haven’t been back since...well, for quite a while.”
“I understand,” he said, mostly out of habit. It was important to create a sense of comfort and rapport with people. The more at ease they felt, the more they would share with him.
He waited, knowing that silence was often the best encouragement to get people to talk.
Finally, she spoke. “After my father’s funeral, this place didn’t quite seem like home anymore, you know?”
“I can imagine,” he said patiently. “You were living here at the time?”
“No, I was just finishing up law school.”
“Law school?”
“At University of Kentucky. I offered to put that on hold, to come back and help my mom, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I take it your father’s death was unexpected?”
“Massive heart attack on a Sunday afternoon,” she replied, her voice dropping low. “Yeah. That was unexpected.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Thanks. I’ve never been very good with surprises. Like that body out there... That was seriously unexpected, too.”
“Was it?”
He realized his mistake even as he spoke the words. He should have been more careful with his phrasing, even though the question needed to be asked. Her eyes grew fierce and her voice was short and clipped.
“Of course it was! What sort of question is that? You think I knew someone was buried there?”
Her emotions were stretched thin right now, obviously. Finding a body next to the church where she grew up would be traumatizing for anyone. Still, the more emotional her response, the more honest it would be. She didn’t have time to put up any defenses—that was the way he wanted it. If she knew anything, or ever suspected anything, about how that body got there, she might give it away now, without realizing.
She’d probably hate his questions and hate him for asking them. But he wasn’t there to make friends. Carlie Fenton might resent him, but he couldn’t worry about that. He’d run the risk of alienating her in the hopes that he might get the most honest, instinctive answers.
“I don’t have enough information to think anything yet, Miss Fenton,” he replied, measuring his tone. “But why did those men out there immediately assume it might be your friend Ricky?”
“I don’t know. We don’t have a lot of missing persons here in Melfield. I guess when they dug up a body, Ricky is the first person they thought of.”
“And you,” he continued. “Is he the first person you thought of, too?”
“I didn’t think of anyone,” she shot back. “I looked down there in that hole and... I saw what looked like a body. I had no idea who it was.”
“Then someone suggested Ricky. Did that seem reasonable to you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know! How can we tell they didn’t accidentally dig into one of the plots from the cemetery? Maybe things shifted over time, or maybe someone didn’t keep careful records and there were burials closer to the building than we knew.”
“Of course we’ll look into that,” he assured her. “But you didn’t deny the possibility that it could be your friend. When did Ricky disappear?”
