Free The Secret Hour by Luanne Rice Page A

John said.
      Kate smiled, thinking of Teddy O’Rourke. “I saw a lot of myself in Teddy,” Kate said. “He loves his little sister.”
      “Yes, he does.”
      “I loved— love ,” she corrected herself, “mine. Willa is twelve years younger than I am. When she was born, I thought my parents had brought her home just for me. She was like having a living, breathing baby doll…I never wanted to put her down. I used to cry because I had to go to school, had to leave her at home for the whole day.”
      “Teddy used to do that.”
      Glancing over, Kate saw John nodding. Heartened, she continued. “My mother used to say she’d had two families. My older brother and me…and then Willa. Willa was her ‘unanticipated treasure.’ My mother was forty-five; she hadn’t thought she’d ever have another baby. And then Willa came along.”
      “So, you loved her,” John said sharply—hurrying her through the story?
      “Yes. And when my parents were killed in a car accident, I took over. Willa used to say I was almost like her mother. I’d moved from Chincoteague to Washington by then—first for school, then for work. Willa stayed with me…We used the insurance money to send her to a private school in Georgetown. Weekends, we’d head home to Chincoteague.”
      “What about your older brother?”
      “Matt. Well, he…let’s just say he wasn’t eager to take on the care of a ten-year-old. That’s okay…Willa and I never held it against him. He’s an oysterman, totally freewheeling. Pocomoke’s about as far as he likes to get away from Chincoteague, but he’s always been there if—when—we’ve needed him.”
      “What happened, Kate?” John asked.
      His tone was sharp, urging her along. He’d hear her out, say he couldn’t help her, and drive her back to the East Wind. Kate steeled herself; she would state her case, and get him to help her—privilege or not. She didn’t know how yet, but Willa’s story was too important for someone—even a hardball lawyer like John O’Rourke—to ignore.
      “Six months ago, she headed for New England…”
      “And?” he asked, waiting.
      “And she disappeared.”
      John kept his eyes fixed on the road. When Kate didn’t say more right away, he shook his head. “No one ‘disappears.’ It’s impossible.”
      “Willa did,” Kate said as they drove through the small town, the church’s white steeple lit up with a spotlight. The lighthouse beam seemed to follow them as they sped along the main street. Stars burned in the black sky. Everything appeared illuminated: a good sign, Kate thought.
      “She might wish not to be found,” John continued. “Something might have happened to her. But she can’t have disappeared without a trace. Phone records, voice mail, voice prints, DNA, credit card trails, E-mail trails…there’s always a trace.”
      “There was,” Kate said. “You’re right.”
      “Where did it lead?”
        “Right here,” Kate said, her voice low and her throat sore.
      “Here? To Silver Bay?”
      “Yes. Six months ago. Just before…” she glanced over, not wanting to say Merrill’s name; refusing to give John any excuse for stopping their talk.
      “Before my client was arrested.”
      “Yes.”
      John drove in silence. They’d left the center of town, and now drove out the eastern shore road. It wound past coves and marshes, over small bridges and along a narrow abutment. The car heat had felt good, but now Kate felt herself sweating. Rolling down her window a crack, she smelled the pungent odor of low tide. The tide flats were exposed, all those shellfish and dead marine creatures rotting in the cold air.
      She watched John’s face carefully. Was he mentally reviewing his files, trying to remember whether Willa’s name had come up anywhere, in any part of the investigation? Was he trying to summon up the face of a girl who had looked like Kate, only twelve years younger?
      “I