Never Tell Them Read online

  Abandoning all attempts to fall back asleep, she clambered out of bed shortly before 5:00 a.m. Figuring she might as well get some work done while the house was quiet, she brewed a double espresso and sat down at her rustic wood desk in her office. Deep into a design concept presentation for potential new clients, she suddenly became aware of a presence in the room with her. Swiveling in her seat, she spotted Henry standing in the doorway, silently watching her. She let out a surprised yelp, her hand jerking to her throat. ”You scared me, buddy,” she said, with a flustered laugh. ”Is Jessica still sleeping?”

  Henry nodded and began pushing his toy truck up and down the doorframe.

  Sonia waved him over. ”Come here and sit next to me. You can watch me while I work.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he ambled over and climbed up into the swivel office chair that Jessica sometimes used for her art projects. Sonia spun him around a couple of times, relieved to see a smile break out on his face.

  “What is you doing?” he asked, before plugging his mouth with his thumb.

  Sonia tilted her foam board so he could see. “I’m designing a bedroom for a sixteen-year-old girl. She’s getting all new furniture, retro lighting, teal-and-white bedding, and bamboo window shades. Do you like it?”

  He shook his head and pulled his thumb back out with a plopping sound. ”It’s yucky.”

  Sonia laughed. ”I can design you a fun boy’s bedroom, if you like. What was your bedroom like in your old house?”

  “Bad.”

  Sonia smiled. ”Too many pillows, like this one, huh?”

  “No. We didn’t got pillows—“ He broke off, his face quickly closing over.

  “It’s okay, Henry,” Sonia said gently. “You can tell me.”

  He dropped his head and stared forlornly down at his feet.

  “You’re not going to get in trouble, sweetie.”

  A tear tracked down his cheek. “But … he said … he said …”

  Sonia held her breath. “What did he say?”

  “He said, never tell them.”

  Sonia fought to keep her breathing steady. “Who, Henry? Who said that?”

  “My … my … my dad,” he sniveled.

  Sonia tucked her pencil behind her ear and slid an arm around his shoulders. “It’s all right. You’re safe here, I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Fueled up on caffeine, her mind was racing a million miles an hour. She had made him a promise now. There was no going back. If Ray Jenkins was a danger to his son, she had to find a way to keep Henry away from him.

  A cold chill crept over her as she rode the elevator up to the third floor of the hospital later that afternoon. It was time to confront Ray about a few things. She’d gone back on her word about bringing Henry with her to visit, but her promise to keep him safe had canceled out that possibility, for now. Before she left for the hospital, she’d retrieved the newspaper article from Ray’s house and stashed it in her purse. It had been bugging her ever since she’d stumbled across it. She needed to ask him about it—that, and the unsettling things Henry had told her. It was time to try and jog Ray’s memory before he came home to claim his son.

  Taking a deep breath, Sonia painted on a smile before she knocked on the door to his room and stepped inside. “Hi Ray, how’s it going today?”

  A tiny frown flickered across his forehead. “I’m … sorry, you … look familiar, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Sonia Masterton, I’m your neighbor. I was—”

  “Of course! You were here yesterday.” Ray adjusted his pillows and sat up a little straighter in his bed. “It’s everything before the accident I can’t recall.”

  Sonia pulled a chair over next to his bed and perched on the end of it, looking intently at him. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

  Ray grimaced. “You said my mother passed away recently.”

  “Yes, her name was Celia. My mom and I were very fond of her—as was my eight-year-old daughter, Jessica. She was always over at her house—baking cookies or painting with her on the back deck.” She took a quick steadying breath before continuing. “Do you remember who else we talked about?”

  Ray scrubbed a hand across his jaw, his features tightening. “My son.” His voice was low and gravelly, infused with some emotion Sonia couldn’t pinpoint. Anger? Sadness? Frustration?

  “Where is he?” He blinked accusingly at Sonia. “You said you were going to bring him with you today.”

  She sighed. “I did, and I’m sorry. It was premature of me to make you that promise. There are … some things we need to talk about first.”

  “Like what?” Ray demanded, clearly irritated. “If you’re trying to tell me you don’t think I’m capable of looking after my own son because I have a concussion, you’re wrong. The doctor assures me I’ll have my memory back in another day or two.” He frowned. “How is he … Henry? Is he missing me?”

  Sonia swallowed the ball of uneasiness bobbing in her throat. She couldn’t lie to him, but she didn’t want to plunge a knife in his heart either. “He’s fine. Jess has been doing a great job of keeping him distracted. I haven’t told him about your accident. I said you were working. I didn’t want to traumatize him any further.”

  “Any further? What do you mean?” Ray’s eyes widened. “Was Henry in the truck when I wrecked?”

  Sonia raised her palms to calm him. “No! Nothing like that. He was at preschool when it happened. He’s perfectly fine.” She chewed on her lip wondering if she should just come out with it. How would he react when he learned that the mother of his child—his wife—had passed away recently too? Part of her felt bad for breaking it to him like this. She should have discussed it with his doctor first to make sure the shock of it wouldn’t worsen his condition. But it was too late for that now. She’d dug herself in too deep.

  Besides, this might be the only chance she’d get to wheedle some answers out of him before he realized he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. If he had lied about his wife dying of cancer, she needed to know. ”Ray, this is going to be difficult for you to hear, but there’s something else I need to tell you. Your wife passed away too. Henry really misses his mom. He talks about her all the time.”

  Ray’s brows tugged inward as he digested her words. When he spoke, there was a tremor in his voice. “Was she … in the truck with me?”

  “No. She passed away before the accident. She had stomach cancer.”

  Ray’s head dropped, his hand clenching into a fist on the sheet. After a few moments of silence, he lifted his head, his gaze trained on Sonia. He looked gutted and ashen—like an old rag someone had wrung out and tossed aside. ”Did you … know my wife? It’s just that … I can’t remember what she looked like.”

  Sonia’s eyes prickled with tears. “I’m sorry, I never met her. I don’t even know her name. You must have photos of her.” As the words left her lips, she realized it was another anomaly that didn’t make sense. If Ray’s wife had died of cancer as he’d claimed, why didn’t he have a single picture of her anywhere in the house? Surely Henry must have a photo of his mother—stashed under his pillow, perhaps. She made a mental note to ask him about it when she got home.

  ”I don’t understand,” Ray said, scratching the back of his hand in an agitated fashion. “You must have known my wife if you live next door.”

  “The thing is, Ray, you just moved here a few weeks ago. You inherited the house when your mother passed away. You thought it would be best for Henry to have a fresh start in a new neighborhood. There were too many memories of his mother in your old place. You’re a freelance journalist so you can work from anywhere.”

  Ray gave a solemn nod, as if seeing the logic in her words. He traced his fingers back-and-forth across his forehead. ”You said there were some things we needed to talk about. If it’s about Henry, I really appreciate you helping out, and I promise not to burden you with him too much longer. The doctor’s coming by this afternoo
n. If everything checks out, they’ll discharge me tomorrow. I can pick up Henry then.” His eyes met Sonia’s with a plaintive appeal. ”I might need a ride home from the hospital. And a change of clothes—some sweats and a T-shirt.”

  Sonia flashed him a stilted smile. ”Of course.” She fished in her purse for the newspaper article she’d pilfered from his family room and smoothed it out on the bed in front of him. ”I found this when I was picking up Henry’s things at your house.” Despite wanting to pepper him with questions, she forced herself to stay quiet—curious to see what his reaction would be. If he recognized the story, his expression might give him away.

  Ray read silently for a few minutes and then gestured at the page. ”Why are you giving me this? I don’t remember this story.” His brow creased. “Did you say you found it … with Henry’s things?” He suddenly sounded confused and tired. Sonia quashed a pang of guilt and pressed on. ”No. It was in the family room, on the end table. You must have torn it out of the newspaper for some reason. Are you sure you don’t remember anything about the story? Were you working on it, perhaps?”

  Ray bit his lip and frowned. ”It doesn’t ring a bell.” He folded the page back up and handed it to her.” Maybe I tore it out to set my coffee cup on. I don’t know.” He sank back in his pillows with a weary sigh and closed his eyes.

  Curbing her frustration, Sonia slipped the article into her purse. ”Ray, do you remember telling me about your childhood? About your dad, and how abusive he was? You ran away from home when you were sixteen.”

  Ray’s eyes shot open, bulging with the guarded look of a caged animal.

  Sonia inhaled a shallow breath before continuing, ”He made you sleep in the dog pen in the garage overnight.”

  A clip of pure terror flashed across Ray’s face and then it was gone. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before stammering, ”I remember … something now … fighting with a man.”

  “Anything else?” Sonia asked encouragingly. “Try to think.”

  Ray frowned. “I punched him, and he … “ His voice trailed off.

  “It’s okay, Ray. That’s good. Keep going. Your memories are starting to come back.”

  “He fell … backwards. There was … blood … everywhere.” A sheen of sweat formed on his face. “I … I think I killed him.”

  12

  Sonia drove home from the hospital with Ray’s words ringing in her ears. They had stared at each other for a long moment afterward, neither of them quite knowing where to go from there. Ray had admitted he couldn’t be sure it was his father he’d been fighting with. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if it was a real memory, or some fabrication his injured brain had dreamed up. Sonia reminded him that he’d told her his father succumbed to a heart attack shortly after he left home. But then he began to wonder if the fight had triggered the heart attack. Despite further prodding, Ray couldn’t remember any additional details. “It’s a foggy memory. I don’t know when or where the fight happened. And I can’t say for sure it was my father I was fighting with. It’s just an impression I have of a man falling backwards, but each time the memory starts to resurface, his face blurs.”

  Sonia hadn’t quite known what to make of it all. If Ray had killed his father, then Finn’s instincts about him were right. It also meant that Celia had been covering for Ray all these years. And what about the large transfer of money she’d been making on a monthly basis? Was that to buy Tom’s silence? Had he threatened to expose what his brother had done? In the end, Sonia had half-heartedly assured Ray that even if the fight had brought on his father’s heart attack, he couldn’t be held responsible for what was essentially a natural death. But the truth was, she was afraid of what Ray might be capable of, and more scared than ever for Henry’s safety.

  She pulled into her driveway and switched off the engine, leaning her head against the steering wheel to collect her thoughts before going into the house to face the inevitable barrage of questions from her mother. She’d intended to grill Ray and get some answers, but instead she’d returned from the hospital with more questions than ever. There must be some way to get to the bottom of it all. She couldn’t in good conscience hand Henry back over to Ray until she knew the child was safe. If Ray was lying, he was frighteningly good at it—which made him a dangerous sociopath.

  Glancing across at his house, she made a split-second decision to head back over there and take a closer look around. Buried somewhere in his belongings, there had to be a photograph of his wife—some record of her existence. The other question Sonia was desperate to resolve was what role Ray had played in his father’s sudden death. Had there actually been a heart attack? The fragmented images could be the dregs of a guilty conscience whirling around in Ray’s damaged brain. Celia had scores of old file boxes in the garage. Her husband’s death certificate had to be in there somewhere.

  Her mind made up, she climbed out of her car and tromped over the back lawn to Ray’s house. After letting herself in, she sent her mother a quick text to let her know she was picking up some clothes for Ray. The last thing she needed was Evelyn calling the cops after spotting a light on in the house. Slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, Sonia swept her gaze around the disused kitchen. It had taken on an ominous aura in Celia’s absence. There were too many fossilized secrets in this house, too much unfinished business, and at the heart of it all was a little boy Sonia had made an impromptu promise to protect. Mustering her resolve, she headed out to the garage to begin her search for answers.

  After retrieving a half-rotten wooden ladder she found buried under a pile of junk at the back of the garage, she balanced on the bottom rung and began weeding through the cardboard boxes and plastic tubs piled haphazardly on the sagging particle board shelves. Most of the boxes were filled with old household items, chipped ornaments, miscellaneous painting supplies, stacks of women’s magazines, and similarly worthless items.

  Fighting to keep her face free of the cobwebs dangling above her head, Sonia ascended the second rung and reached for another cardboard box falling apart at the seams. Grunting under the weight of her precarious load, she gingerly descended the ladder and pulled open the flaps. Beneath the crumpled newspaper on top, lay a silver picture frame. She flipped it over and examined the couple in the wedding photo. She recognized Celia immediately—slim and pretty, in a long-sleeved satin gown. Next to her stood a stocky, unsmiling man with a slick side part, dressed in a black suit. A small group of family members were positioned on either side of the couple.

  Sonia rubbed the smudged glass with her sleeve. This had to be Ray’s father, although it didn’t look much like him. Ray definitely took after Celia’s side of the family. She set the photo on a shelf and dug deeper in the box. Tossing aside several framed baby pictures, she stumbled upon a moldy file folder full of documents in plastic sleeves, including a marriage certificate, a death certificate, and two birth certificates. She perused the birth certificates first, surprised to discover that Ray was only eleven months older than his younger brother, Tom. Next, she pulled out the death certificate and confirmed that Rupert John Jenkins had died of congestive heart failure. There was no mention of any injuries or suspicious circumstances. Whatever memory Ray was wrestling with, apparently, he hadn’t murdered his father, which provided Sonia with some small measure of relief.

  She returned the box to the shelf and was about to reach for the one next to it when she heard her mother’s voice drifting her way. “Sonia! Are you out there?”

  Biting back her frustration, she scooted back down the ladder and leaned it against the wall. “Coming!” she called, pushing open the door into the kitchen while attempting to brush the dust from her clothes.

  Evelyn ran a critical eye over her. “There you are. I was worried. I saw your car in the driveway, but I couldn’t find you.”

  “I texted you,” Sonia said with a wry grin.

  “You did?” Evelyn patted her pockets in a flustered fashion. “I must have set my phon
e down.”

  “We should head back to the house,” Sonia said. “I don’t like leaving the kids alone, even if we are just next door.”

  Evelyn flapped a hand dismissively. “Mary’s watching them. She stopped by with a lemon meringue pie. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I was … looking for some clothes for Ray. They’re discharging him tomorrow.”

  “He keeps his clothes in the garage?” Evelyn peered around dubiously.

  “He thought he put a tub with some sweats in it out here,” Sonia answered with a careless shrug. “I couldn’t find them. He’s probably confused.”

  “You weren’t rifling through Celia’s things, were you?” Evelyn asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Sonia let out a defeated sigh. “I might have peeked in a couple of boxes. I was looking for a photo of Ray’s wife—if she even exists. I have to make sure he’s telling us the truth before he’s discharged. If he’s dangerous, he shouldn’t have access to Henry.”

  Her mother puckered her lips. “Did you find Henry’s birth certificate?”

  “No. I can’t find any paperwork for him, or any trace of Ray’s wife. I did find a wedding photo of Celia and her husband though. He gives me the creeps, something about the cold way he’s staring into the camera.” A shudder ran across her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”