the body had been identified as that of Josie Skerritt, one of their close circle of friends from Campus Christian Fellowship. No one could remember having seen her since graduation. His nightmares had started then. It had grown worse with the revelation that Josie had had a baby.
Everyone from their small group of college friends had been questioned. Everyone had, he supposed, been suspected in some way. Each time they were together, no matter how they tried to ignore it, the conversation would go back to Josie. How did she die? Why? What happened to the child she’d apparently had not long before her death?
Jennifer moved slightly, her hands seeming to push something away. Her velvety brown eyes were troubled. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that Penny stole Josie’s child?”
The words echoed in his mind, mocking him, reminding him. Josie’s child. Josie had a child. If Kate’s suspicions were right, a daughter.
Whose child? His stomach churned. Not mine. It couldn’t be mine.
Parker Buchanan, sitting next to Kate at the round table, put his hand over hers in a possessive movement. “You do remember that the police told us to keep quiet about this, don’t you?”
Kate wrinkled her nose at him. “Listen, Jennifer’s the one who figured out where Penny was. The police know she has to be warned about Penny. Anyway, she’s one of my best friends.”
A faint flush touched Jennifer’s smooth olive skin, as if it pleased her to be called that. She looked cool and put together, even in jeans and a simple knit shirt, but he knew that outward appearance masked a sensitive spirit.
“We shouldn’t ask,” she said to Kate. “But if you want to tell us—”
Kate leaned forward, pushing aside the remains of her mushroom pizza. The eager sparkle in her eyes said she was about to be indiscreet.
“Penny admitted she was trying to frame Parker for Josie’s murder.” Indignation filled Kate’s voice. “She’s off her rocker if you ask me. She showed me the photograph, and when I said the little girl looked like Josie, she flew into a rage. She was going to kill me and frame Parker.” She touched the sling in which her arm rested. “If Parker hadn’t gotten there in time, she’d have succeeded.”
“I’m a real hero, I am.” Parker, as always, was faintly self-mocking. “I let her get away.”
“You were taking care of me.” Kate gave him a look that would have shown a blind man how she felt about him.
Well, good for them. They both deserved a little happiness. Unlike him.
He shook his head, trying to get a grip on the situation. “Did Penny admit the child was Josie’s?” Even articulating the words shook him.
“Not exactly.” Kate frowned. “But honestly, if you’d seen the photo, you couldn’t help but notice. Same heart-shaped face, same brown hair and brown eyes—”
“Lots of people have brown hair and brown eyes.” Steff Kessler’s voice was sharp, a reminder to everyone that Penny had been married briefly to her brother, Adam.
“Same wistful expression,” Kate finished. “You know how Josie would look sometimes. Like a little girl lost. That’s how this child looks.”
That shook him. He remembered that look all too well.
“Penny claimed her daughter was Adam’s child.” Steff’s voice tightened. Though it had been ten years, she still felt the loss of her brother, dead in an apparent boating accident soon after his elopement with Penny. “But she wouldn’t agree to a DNA test, and my parents never believed it.”
“You see?” Kate’s voice was triumphant. “She could hardly agree to a DNA test on the child if the baby was really Josie’s.”
“That poor child.” Jennifer’s thoughts went straight to the child, of course. “If this is true, I can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Where is she? Not with Penny, I hope.”
“In a private boarding school in Charleston,” Parker said. “I managed to hear one of the police officers say that, but then they clammed up. Anyway, officially the cops are after Penny for the attack on Kate, but I imagine they’re looking hard at her for Josie’s death.”
Penny, suspected of murder. She’d been wild enough, bragging about having been kicked out of more schools than she could count, driving her elderly Charleston parents to declare Magnolia College her last chance. But murder—
It seemed impossible, but hardly less so than any of the other things that had rocked Magnolia Falls and the college since the body was discovered.
Mason’s cell phone vibrated. He was tempted to ignore it, but he didn’t do that, ever. It could be some crisis at one of the branch stores. Worse, it could be his mother’s assisted-living facility.
He checked the number, found it was one he didn’t recognize and answered, turning slightly away from the table.
“Mason Grant.” He kept his voice low.
For a moment there was nothing. Then a voice, whispering. A child’s, he thought at first. Some kid making prank calls, happening upon his number by accident.
“You think no one knows, don’t you? You think no one knows what you did.”
“Who is this?” He snapped the words, more sharply than he intended, and realized the faces around the table were turning toward him.
He shrugged, mouthing the words. Wrong number.
Then the whisperer spoke again. “You think no one knows about you and Josie. You think no one knows what you did. You’re wrong. I know.”
The connection was broken before he could say a word.
He glanced up. Everyone watched him. For an instant he imagined they’d all heard, that they all knew the truth about him.
Impossible. They watched him with varying degrees of interest, Jennifer with concern.
That look seemed to pierce the chill that had settled into his soul at the whispered words. The best thing that had come out of the reunion had been getting to know Jennifer again, feeling the warmth and caring that was such an integral part of her.
Don’t kid yourself. Not even Jennifer would understand if she knew the truth.
The chill gripped again, harder. The truth—he’d struggled with it since the moment he’d learned that the body was Josie’s. Struggled with what to do, how much to tell.
He’d thought the secret belonged to him alone. The voice seemed to whisper again. He’d been wrong.
Penny Brighton Kessler tossed the cell phone into the motel room’s trash can, satisfied with the impression she’d made. She’d bought several phones this morning, inexpensive models that she could use and discard. No one would trace her that easily.
She crossed the worn carpeting to the window, peering around the edge of the drapery. Nothing suspicious in the ill-lit parking lot, but then, she’d been careful.
Were
