Hard Truth
Table of Contents
For Carole, who left us way too soon.
I think of you and miss you every day—
love you still.
Three things cannot be long hidden:
the sun, the moon, and the truth.
—S
IDDHARTHA
“Mariah Stewart is fast becoming a brand-name author.”
—
Romantic Times
Praise for Mariah Stewart’s Dead Trilogy
DEAD WRONG
“Fast-paced and intricately plotted . . . [a] chilling, creative tale . . . Stewart excels in writing romantic suspense.”
—
Library Journal
“Mystery writer Stewart kicks off her new interconnected trilogy with a bang. Nail-biting suspense and emotional complexity make this launch irresistible.”
—
Romantic Times
(****
1
⁄
2
)
DEAD CERTAIN
“Stewart’s Dead trilogy crackles with danger and suspense. Great characterization and gripping drama make Stewart’s books hot tickets.”
—
Romantic Times
(****)
“A stand-alone read, and highly recommended . . . Mariah Stewart is an awesome storyteller, and the Dead trilogy is wholly entertaining and totally outstanding.”
—America Online’s Romance Fiction Forum
DEAD EVEN
“Get set for an exceptional tale.
Dead Even
is a masterpiece of writing. You will not want to put this book down.”
—
Romance Reviews Today
“Hold onto your seats, because Mariah Stewart will plunge you into a heart-pounding roller-coaster ride. You won’t come up for air until the last page has been turned. Excellent!”
—Huntress Reviews
“Well plotted, imaginative and entertaining . . . The race against time is nail-bitingly tense.”
—BookLoons Reviews
“An elaborate balance of suspense and outstanding storytelling . . . Ms. Stewart is truly a master of the romantic-suspense genre!”
—Reader to Reader
With much gratitude to Nicole Morley, Esq., Assistant District Attorney, Chester County, Pennsylvania, who cheerfully let me pester her;
and
District Justice Christopher R. Mattox, Esq., Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, who freely offered his wealth of judicial wisdom and legal expertise, thereby saving me from looking extremely foolish.
It goes without saying that any and all goofs are mine.
P
rologue
Callen, Pennsylvania
October 9, 1980
“I thought your mother said you weren’t allowed to wear that dress until your birthday party.” Nine-year-old Lorna Stiles watched her friend Melinda slip the pretty yellow-and-white dress over her head.
“She did, but today is my birthday, and I want to wear it.” Melinda struggled to zip up the back of the dress before turning her back to Lorna. “Here. See if you can get it.”
“You’re just trying it on, though, right? To show me?” Lorna persisted even as she fastened the dress. She knew Melinda’s mother had a hot temper. Nothing provoked her more than having Melinda do what she was specifically told not to do.
“I’m going to wear it to your house. It’s sort of like a party, right?” Melinda twirled in front of the mirror.
“Just birthday cake that my mom made for you. It’s not really a party, Mel. Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“I like it. I’m going to wear it. What good is having a pretty dress if you can only wear it one time?”
“You can wear it again after your birthday.” Lorna paused, then lowered her voice, as if afraid of being overheard. “You know what your mom will do if she finds out, Mellie.”
“She won’t find out.” Melinda pulled a brown paper bag from under her bed, and stuffed her play clothes in. “See? I’ll change before I come home, and I’ll put the dress in the bag. You can help me fold it real good, and she’ll never know.”
Melinda beamed, pleased with her plan.
“Come on, Lori,” she said, calling her friend by her nickname, and tugging on her hand. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see my cake! Did your mom get candles, too?”
“I think so.” Lorna nodded glumly, an uneasy feeling spreading through her insides. In the experiences of her short life, she’d discovered that truth always outs. If Melinda wasn’t afraid of her mother, Lorna was, not for herself, but for what Billie Eagan would do to her daughter.
The last time Melinda had disobeyed her mother, she’d lost three days of school. Oh, she’d never told Lorna exactly what her mother had done to punish her, but Lorna had seen the bruises on her friend’s arms and legs.
Once, when Mellie’s long sleeves had ridden up to display the fresh welts on her arms, Lorna had suggested gently that she tell someone. But Melinda had quickly pulled the sleeves down and asked, “Tell someone what?” with that defiant look she got sometimes, and Lorna had let it go. When Lorna had mentioned to her own mother that sometimes Melinda’s mom might be a little strict—without mentioning the bruises—her mom said that the Eagans had had things tough since Mellie’s father ran off with that woman from the flower shop and Mrs. Eagan had to work two jobs just to keep food on the table for her two kids and a roof over their heads.
“And God knows she has her hands full with that boy of hers.” Mary Beth Stiles had shaken her blond head. “You’d think at fourteen he’d understand the situation his mother is in and try to give her a hand, instead of causing more problems for her. He’s old enough to help her out once in a while.”
“Jason’s mean, Mom,” Lorna had told her mother. “He is just plain mean. He’s mean to Mel and he’s mean to me.”
“He hasn’t ever done anything to you, has he?” Her father, who’d been half listening while he skimmed the headlines, put the newspaper down.
“No, he just gives us dirty looks and talks mean to us. He’s never done anything bad,” Lorna denied.
Unless you call talking dirty to us and chasing us with snakes—really big snakes—doing something to me.
Of course, he hadn’t done the snake thing in a while. Now he mostly stared. It had gotten so she almost hated to go to the Eagans’, because if Jason was there, he’d stare at her and Mellie and it scared the daylights out of her and she didn’t know why.
Lorna never told her parents how scary she thought Jason was. There was something about him that gave her the creeps, more and more, something she didn’t have words to explain. All she knew was that the older he got, the creepier he got. She and Melinda never discussed it, but she knew that Jason rattled his sister even more than he rattled her.
“Let’s go, Lori. If we don’t go now, my brother will be home and he’ll tell Mom about the dress. Besides, I can’t wait for cake.” Melinda turned the light off in her room and ran down the steps, the yellow skirt of her party dress billowing around her legs.
Lorna followed behind, happy to leave the dark little house and the threat of Jason’s imminent arrival behind her.
“Let’s take the shortcut through the field.” Melinda ran toward the wheat field that ran behind her house, and started along the side where the ground had been plowed but not planted.
“It’s too muddy,” Lorna protested. “We’ll get our shoes all dirty.”
“We’ll clean them when we get to your house. Come on.” Melinda took off, and Lorna followed, trying her best to avoid the ruts the plow had made when it turned around. This morning’s rain had left little puddles here and there, and she knew her mother would not be pleased if she came home with her new sneakers all mud-stained.
They were halfway across the field to Lorna’s, when somehow Melinda slipped and went down on her knees.
“I knew it, I knew something was going to happen . . .” Lorna gasped. “My grandmother says every time you do what you know you’re not supposed to do, you get—”
“Shut up.”
Melinda pulled herself up and looked down with horror at the front of her dress, where brown smears marked the places where her knees had hit the ground. “Oh, shit. Look at my dress. Look at my dress.”
“You’re not supposed to say curse words.”
Melinda spun around and looked at Lorna with wide eyes.
“What the hell do you think I should say?” Her hands were beginning to shake. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Her bravado crumbling, Melinda began to cry.
“She’s gonna kill me. She’s gonna beat me but good.”
“Okay, look, my mom is home, she’ll know what to do.” Lorna took Melinda by the hand and started to pull her along. “The longer we stand here talking about it, the harder it’s going to be to get the mud out. Come on, Mellie, let’s run.”
She tugged on Melinda’s hand.
“You don’t understand, Lori, she’s gonna really hurt me.” Melinda’s voice was filled with true fear.
“Not if she doesn’t know. Come on.”
Lorna dragged Melinda along the bumpy field until they reached the Stiles’ property. They ran around the back of the barn and across the yard and straight up the back steps.
“Mom! Mom!” Lorna called from the door.
“Lorna?” Her mother came out of the kitchen and saw the two girls panting, Melinda muddy and obviously in distress. “What on earth—”
“Mellie fell in the field, we have to get her dress cleaned before she goes home. She wasn’t supposed to wear it, but today’s her birthday and . . .” Lorna gasped.
“Slow down,” her mother demanded. “Mellie, let me take a look at that dress.”
Mary Beth knelt down in front of Melinda and studied the muddy mess. She looked up at the crying child and said, “I think I can get it all out, but if it’s going to be dry in time for you to take it home with you, we have to hurry. Your mother didn’t want you to wear this today?”
Melinda nodded tearfully.
“Go on into the laundry room and take it off. Lori, run upstairs and get Mel something to put on.”
“I have stuff.” Melinda held up the bag.
“Then go change and give me the dress. Let me see what I can do. And in the meantime, I want you to stop crying, wash your face and hands, and get ready to blow out the candles on that birthday cake, okay?”
Melinda had nodded gratefully, the tears beginning to dry.
“Lorna, go find the matches so we can light the candles. The cake is in the dining room,” Mary Beth whispered after Melinda disappeared into the laundry room.
“Mom,” Lorna whispered back, “do you think you can get the dress cleaned up in time?”
“I’m pretty sure I can. Why was she wearing it, if getting it dirty was going to be such a big deal?”
“I think it’s because it’s her birthday dress and today is her birthday. You can do it, can’t you, Mom?”
“I’ll give it my best. Now go get the ice cream out of the freezer. I’ll be in to light the candles in a few minutes.”
Melinda had blown out all ten candles—nine for her years, and one to grow on—with one big breath.
“My wish will come true now.” She smiled at Lorna. “Everything is going to be all right.”
Mary Beth cut the cake and served the girls ice cream—cherry vanilla, Melinda’s favorite—then disappeared back into the laundry room. When five o’clock came and Melinda had to leave, Mary Beth handed her the dress, all clean and pressed, looking as good as new.
“Mrs. Stiles, you did it. You did it!” Melinda squealed and jumped up and down, clapping her hands, her smile lighting the room. “Thank you, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, the next time your mother says not to wear the dress, do us all a favor and don’t wear the dress,” Mary Beth said as she handed her a bag holding leftover cake. “This is for your mother and brother. And there’s a little extra for you, for a snack.”
“Mrs. Stiles, you’re the best.” Melinda hesitated, then threw her arms around Mary Beth’s neck, and shared a whispered secret. “My wish came true. Thank you.”
A rudely loud knock on the back door startled them all.
Lorna opened it to find Jason’s dark eyes staring at her.
“My mom wants Mel to come home now.”
“I’ll drive her, Jason, and you, too,” Mary Beth offered, looking for her keys. “It’s starting to get dark.”
“My mom said for me to walk her.” Jason looked beyond Mary Beth to where Melinda stood. “Come on, Mel. Now.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stiles, for everything.” Melinda’s voice held a solemnity beyond her years. The smiles were gone, the happy glow had disappeared. She ran out the back door, a bag in each hand, calling over her shoulder to Lorna, “Thank you, Lorna. That was the best birthday ever.”
Lorna waved good-bye from the back porch.
It was the last time she ever saw Melinda.