Season of Secrets

She hoped. It had been a longer than usual time between assignments, and even though she didn’t have to depend on her income from her work, that occasional paycheck gave her a sense of accomplishment, validating her professional status.

Her relationship with the department was still prickly. Some officers viewed any civilian on their turf with suspicion. The fact that she produced good results with difficult witnesses didn’t necessarily change that.

“I’m not sure.” Tracey frowned, shoving a manila folder over to her. “We have a witness to a knifing, but she’s all over the place. We know she has to have seen something, but she’s not admitting it.”

Dinah scanned through the file, relieved to have something to think about besides Marc. “Is it gang-related?”

“Could be, but there’s something about it that doesn’t fit. The victim was a sixteen-year-old—parochial schoolkid, no gang involvement. The witness is her best friend. They were on their way home from a movie and took one shortcut too many.”

She nodded, registering the site of the crime. It wasn’t an area where she’d walk at night, alone or with a friend.

“Will the witness talk to me?”

“That’s the problem.” Tracey’s expression spoke of her frustration. “Yesterday she would. That’s why I called you. Today she says no. She knows nothing, saw nothing. And her friend won’t be going to any more movies.”

The words might have sounded flippant, but Dinah knew they weren’t. She and the rough-edged detective had developed a friendship that probably surprised Tracey as much as it did her, and she knew the depth of pain that any death brought Tracey.

“I’m sorry.” She wanted to say more, but knew she shouldn’t cross that line. “Maybe she’ll change her mind. Call me anytime.”

Tracey nodded but gave her a probing look. “I thought you might be too busy since your cousin-in-law is back in town.”

“How on earth did you hear about that?”

“He was a suspect in an unsolved murder. Word gets around, believe me.”

“He didn’t kill Annabel.”

Tracey raised an eyebrow. “You sure of that?”

“Of course I am.”

“Nice to be sure.”

She swallowed irritation. “All right, Tracey. What’s this all about? Did you get me down here to talk about Marc?”

“No.” She shrugged. “But you’re here. I couldn’t help asking what you think about Marcus Devlin’s return.”

The irritation faded away. Tracey was just being Tracey. She couldn’t blame her for that.

“I was surprised.” That was honest. “I didn’t think he’d ever want to come back, because of the tragedy.”

“Why did he?”

“His house has been rented all these years. The renters recently moved out, so he came to make arrangements to put it on the market.”

“A good Realtor could have taken care of that for him.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

Tracey grinned. “That makes me a good detective. Why did he really come back?”

“Because of Court. His son. My cousin’s son. Court wanted to see the house before it was sold. They’re staying through the holidays. Not that it’s police business.”

“It’s an open case,” Tracey said gently. “Dinah, you must know that most often, a pregnant woman is killed by a husband or boyfriend.”

“Not even you can believe Marc would bring his thirteen-year-old son back to that house if he killed the boy’s mother. Besides—” She stopped.

“Besides what?” Tracey prompted.

“Marc wants to find out the truth.”

“I’ve heard that line before.”

“Tracey, he didn’t kill Annabel. He couldn’t have.”

“In that case, why does his return bother you so much?” Tracey held up her hand to stop a protest. “You’re not that good at hiding your feelings.”

“I was in the house that night,” she said slowly. “I suppose you know that.”

Tracey nodded. Of course she knew. She’d probably read all about the case before she’d ever agreed to work with Dinah.

“I don’t want to have to relive the pain again. I loved Annabel. I want to protect her memory.”

“Why does her memory need protecting?”

Dinah could only stare at Tracey, aghast that the words had come out of her mouth. She wasn’t even conscious of thinking them, but now that she’d spoken, she knew it was true.

She wanted to protect Annabel’s memory. And she didn’t know why.

Three

“We need to get a big tree, Dad. One that reaches the ceiling, okay?” Court leaned forward in the back seat of Marc’s car, propping his arms on the back of Dinah’s seat.

Marc didn’t take his eyes off the road, but Dinah saw the slight smile that touched his lips. She thought she knew what he felt—that it was good to see Court enjoying himself so much.

She’d like to think so, too, but this tree-buying trip could turn out to be a disaster. She eyed Marc. Did he really not know what he could be walking into?

“How exactly do you expect to get a tree that big back to the house?” Marc asked, as if it were the only concern on his mind.

“We can tie it on top.” Court twisted to look out the side window, bouncing Dinah’s seat. “Hey, is that the water over there?”

“Charleston’s a peninsula—we’re practically surrounded by water. Your dad is taking us to the Christmas tree sale via the scenic route.” As far as she was concerned, the longer it took to get there, the better. “Fort Sumter is there at the mouth of the harbor. We should take the boat trip out one day while you’re here.”

“Cool.” Court pressed his face against the glass for a better look.

His absorption in the view gave her the opportunity for a carefully worded question aimed at Marc. “Are you sure you want to go to this particular tree sale?” she said quietly. “There are several others.”

Marc’s jaw tightened until it resembled a block of stone. “The Alpha Club sale still benefits charity, doesn’t it?”