Secrets She Left Behind. Diane Chamberlain

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       Praise for Diane Chamberlain

       Before the Storm

      “This is powerful stuff…it is certainly as compulsive and issue-led as Jodi Picoult with whom she is being compared. I couldn’t put it down.”

      —The Bookseller

      “Chamberlain lays out her latest piece of romantic suspense in a shattered chronology that’s as graceful as it is perfectly paced…her engrossing prose leads the way to redemption.”

      —Publishers Weekly

       The Bay at Midnight

      “This complex tale will stick with you forever.”

      —Now Magazine

      “Emotional, complex and laced with suspense, this fascinating story is a brilliant read.”

      —Closer

      “A moving story.”

      —Bella

      “A brilliantly told thriller.”

      —Woman

       The Lost Daughter

      “A strong tale that deserves a comparison with Jodi Picoult.”

      —www.lovereading.co.uk

      Secrets She Left Behind

      Diane Chamberlain

      

      

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

      For the families of the missing

      Acknowledgements

      Many people pitched in as I wrote Secrets She Left Behind, helping me understand everything from the juvenile justice system to the plight of a family when someone “goes missing” to the geography of Topsail Island.

      For answering my many questions about the police response to a missing adult, my thanks go to Sergeant Art Cunio and Chief Mike Halstead of the Surf City, North Carolina, Police Department. My fictional police department will never measure up to yours!

      

      For helping me understand the impact on a family when a loved one disappears, thank you to Project Jason founder Kelly Jolkowski and Project Jason volunteer Denise Gibb. You two give families hope.

      

      For their unflagging support, thank you to my favourite booksellers, Nancy Olson of Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh and Lori Fisher of Quarter Moon books in Topsail Beach.

      

      For always being there, ready and willing to brainstorm at a moment’s notice, thanks go to my Scribbler buddies: Mary Kay Andrews, Margaret Maron, Katy Munger, Sarah Shaber, Alexandra Sokoloff and Brenda Witchger.

      

      For allowing me to use their Topsail Island homes for my research trips, thank you to Susan Rouse and Dave and Elizabeth Samuels.

      

      For writing Topsail Island: Mayberry by the Sea, my favourite book about the area, thank you, Ray McAllister.

      For their various contributions, I’d also like to thank Jean Beasley, Ken and Angie Bogan, Sterling Bryson, BJ Cothran, Evonne Hopkins, Kate Kaprosy, Lottie Koenig, Holly Nicholson, Glen Pierce, Adelle Stavis and Roy Young.

      

      For listening patiently to my story ideas, reading my first drafts, being my resident photographer, smoothing my furrowed brow when I hit a snag in the plot and cooking when I’m on deadline, thank you to John Pagliuca.

      

      As always, I’m grateful to my editor, Miranda Indrigo, and my agent, Susan Ginsburg. I’m lucky to have you two in my corner.

      Chapter One

      Andy

      I SAT ON MISS SARA’S COUCH AND KILLED ALL THE MEGA Warriors. I could usually kill them better, but her TV was way littler than ours and I was sick. That’s why I was in Miss Sara’s trailer. Only I wasn’t supposed to call it a trailer. “It’s a mobile home,” Mom reminded me when she brought me here this morning. Even though she sometimes called it a trailer, too.

      Things were different since the fire. Mom said I should call Sara “Miss Sara” like I did when I was little. It’s politer. Miss Sara used to hug me and be real nice and Mom’s best friend. Since the fire, Mom and her hardly even talk. The only reason I was in the mobile home was because Mom was desperate. That’s what she said to Uncle Marcus this morning.

      I was still in bed, tired from getting sick from both ends all night long. Uncle Marcus slept over, like he does a lot. I heard Mom say, “I’ve tried everybody. I’m desperate. I’ll have to ask Sara.” Uncle Marcus said he could stay home with me and Mom said, “No! Please, Marcus. I need you with me.”

      “I can stay alone,” I called, but it came out quiet on account of being sick. I was sixteen; I didn’t need a babysitter. I was sure I was done barfing, too. I couldn’t be sick anymore because Maggie was coming home today. I wanted to jump up and down and yell “Maggie’s coming home!” but I was too tired. I could only jump up and down in my imagination.

      I heard Mom on the phone with Miss Sara. “Please, Sara. I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four-hour bug. I know it’s a huge favor to ask, but I can’t leave him alone. It’ll only be for a few hours.” In the before-the-fire days, Mom would say, “Can you watch Andy today?” and Miss Sara would say, “Sure! No problem!” But this wasn’t those days anymore.

      After a minute, Mom said, “Thank you! Oh, thank you so much! We’ll drop him at your house about ten-thirty.”

      I pulled the blanket over my head. I didn’t want to get up and get dressed and go to Miss Sara’s trailer. I just wanted to go back to sleep till Maggie got home.

      

      I brought my own pillow with me to the trailer. In the car, I leaned against the window with my head on it. Mom kept turning around from her seat. “Are you okay, Andy?”

      “Mmm,” I said. That meant yes, but I was too tired to open my mouth. I knew she wanted to reach back and touch my forehead. She was a nurse and she could tell if you had a fever by touching your forehead. Nurses are very smart like that.

      “Just think, Andy,” Uncle Marcus said. “When we pick you up at Sara…Miss Sara’s this afternoon, Maggie will be with us.”

      Free, I thought. Maggie would finally be free. I hated visiting her at that stupid prison.

      At the trailer, I laid down on Miss Sara’s couch with my pillow. Miss Sara got a blanket and Mom covered me over. She got to put her hand on my forehead then. She gave Miss Sara ginger ale and crackers for me. I started falling asleep as Mom said, “I can’t thank you enough, Sara,” and things like that.

      Then she left and I fell asleep for a long time. I woke up and Miss Sara was walking across the living room. She looked right at me. She was carrying a big box with a picture of a pot on it. She stopped walking and put it on the floor.

      “How are you feeling?” she asked. She had some lines on her forehead and by her eyes. So did Mom, but not as many.

      “’Kay,” I said. My mouth tasted icky.

      “You ready for some ginger ale and crackers? Think you can keep them down?”

      I nodded. Except for feeling tired and kind of shaky, I was fine. I could’ve stayed home alone, no problem.

      I sat up and Miss Sara brought me ginger