The Secret Between Us by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page B

her off the cot in the nurse’s office when the woman said, “We heard about the accident. I’m sure the talk didn’t help Grace.”
    Deborah nodded, but didn’t want to discuss it in front of her daughter. Once in the car, Grace put her head back and closed her eyes.
    Deborah started driving. “Was the test bad?”
    “The test wasn’t the problem.”
    “How’d they find out about the accident?”
    “There was an announcement in homeroom.”
    “Saying that it was
our
car that hit him?”
    Grace said nothing, but Deborah could piece together the answer. The school wouldn’t have said it, but Mack Tully would have told Marty Stevens, who told his kids, who told the kids on their school bus, who told all the kids on the steps of the school. And that wasn’t counting the phone calls Shelley Wyeth would have made en route from the bakery to work. Even Darcy LeMay, who lived in another town, had heard about the accident. Gossip was that way, spreading with the frightening speed of a virulent flu.
    “Are they asking you questions?”
    “They don’t have to. I hear them anyway.”
    “It was an accident,” Deborah said, as much to herself as to Grace.
    The girl opened her eyes. “What if they take your license away?”
    “They won’t.”
    “What if they charge you with something?”
    “They won’t.”
    “Did they tell you that at the police station?”
    “I haven’t been yet. I’m going there after I drop you home.” Her daughter’s expression flickered. “And no, you can’t come.”
    Grace closed her eyes again. This time, Deborah let her be.

    The Leyland police
department was housed next to Town Hall in a small brick structure that held three large offices and a single cell. There were twelve men on the force, eight of them full-time, which was all that the town of ten thousand needed. Domestic quarrels, drunk driving, the occasional petty theft—that was the extent of its crime.
    As she came in, Deborah was greeted warmly by people she had known most of her life. There were brief mentions of kids, aging parents, and a ballot initiative concerning the sale of wine in supermarkets, but there was also an averted look or two.
    John Colby led her to his office. Bright as he was, physically imposing as he could be, John was a shy man, more prone to seeking insight than to attacking investigations head-on. He was also modest, happier to be taping off an accident scene than to be hanging official commendations on his wall. Other than a large clock and some framed photographs of police outings, the office was unadorned.
    John closed the door, took some forms from the desk, and passed them to her. “It’s pretty straightforward,” he said. “Take it home, fill it out, return it when you’re done.”
    “I don’t have to do it here?”
    He waved his hand. “Nah. We know you won’t be skipping town.”
    “Not quite,” Deborah murmured, glancing through the form. There were three pages, all requiring details. Time and privacy would help. “Do you have the results of any of the tests yet?”
    “Only the ones on your car. It looks like everything was in good working order. No cause for negligence there.”
    So much for the local garage, but Deborah’s real concern was with the state’s report. “When will you hear about the rest?”
    “A week, maybe two if the lab is backed up. Some of the analysis involves mathematical calculations. They can be pretty complex.”
    “It was only an
accident,
” she said.
    He leaned against the desk. “This is just a formality. We’re mandated to investigate, so we investigate.”
    “I’ve dedicated my life to helping people, not hurting them. I feel responsible for Calvin McKenna.” That was the truth, though it did nothing to change John’s assumption that Deborah was driving—and even here, with a man she knew and trusted, she couldn’t mention Grace’s name. Instead, frustrated, she said, “What in the
world
was he doing out there?”
    “We