The Secret Between Us Read Free Page A

weather like this, it’s important to work quickly, and these guys can do that.” He glanced at his notes. “How fast did you say you were going?”
    Again, Deborah might have easily said,
Oh, I wasn’t the one at the wheel. It was Grace, and she wasn’t speeding at all.
But that felt like she was trying to weasel out of something—to shift the blame—and besides, Grace was her firstborn, her alter ego, and already suffering from the divorce. Did the girl need more to trouble her? Calvin McKenna was hit either way. No laws had been broken either way.
    “The limit here is forty-five,” she said. “We couldn’t have been going more than thirty.”
    “Have you had any recent problems with the car?”
    “No.”
    “Brakes working?”
    “Perfectly.”
    “Were the high beams on?”
    She frowned, struggling with that one. She remembered reminding Grace, but high beams, low beams—neither cut far in rain like this.
    “They’re still on,” John confirmed from behind, “both working.” He put his hat back on his head. “I’m going out to tape off the lane. Last thing we need is someone driving by and fouling the scene.”
    Deborah knew he meant
accident
scene, but with a state team coming, she kept thinking
crime
scene. She was feeling upset about the driver issue, but the questions went on. What time had she left her house to get Grace? What time had Grace and she left Megan’s house? How much time had passed between the accident and Deborah’s calling it in? What had she done during that time? Had Calvin McKenna regained consciousness at any point?
    Deborah understood that this was all part of the investigation, but she wanted to be at the hospital or, if not there, at home with Grace and Dylan.
    She glanced at her watch. It was past eleven. If Dylan woke up, he would be frightened to find her still gone; he had been clingy since the divorce, and Grace wouldn’t be much help. She would be watching for Deborah in the dark—not from the pantry, which she saw as Dylan’s turf, but from the window seat in the living room that they rarely used now. There were ghosts in that room, family pictures from a happier time, in a crowd of frames, an arrogant display of perfection. Grace would be feeling desolate.
    A new explosion of light announced the arrival of the state team. As soon as Brian left the cruiser, Deborah opened her phone and called the hospital—not the general number, but one that went straight to the emergency room. She had admitting privileges and had accompanied patients often enough to know the night nurse. Unfortunately, all the nurse knew was that the ambulance had just arrived.
    Deborah called Grace. The girl picked up instantly. “Where are you?”
    “Still here. I’m sitting in the police car, while they check things outside.” She tried to sound casual. “They’re reconstructing the accident. It’s standard procedure.”
    “What are they looking for?”
    “Whatever they can find to explain why Mr. McKenna was where he was. How’s Dylan?”
    “Still sleeping. How’s Mr. McKenna?”
    “Just got to the hospital. They’ll be examining him now. Have you talked with Megan or any of the others?” There was the issue of Grace climbing into the car on the driver’s side, which might have been seen by her friends, reason to level with the police now.
    “They’re texting me,” Grace said in a shaky voice. “Stephie tried to call, but I didn’t answer. What if he dies, Mom?”
    “He won’t die. He wasn’t hit that hard. It’s late, Grace. You ought to go to bed.”
    “When will you be home?”
    “Soon, I hope. I’ll find out.”
    Closing the phone, Deborah tucked it in her pocket, pulled up her hood, and went out into the rain. She pulled the hood closer around her face and held it there with a dripping hand.
    A good part of the road had been sealed off with yellow tape, made all the more harsh now by floodlights. Two latex-gloved men were combing the pavement, stopping from