Her Hidden Past Read online

  Her Hidden Past

  A Rosemary Run Thriller

  Kelly Utt

  Her Hidden Past is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  2019 Standards of Starlight E-book Edition

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Utt-Grubb, writing as Kelly Utt

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.standardsofstarlight.com

  ISBN: 978-1-73377-128-3

  Cover art by Justin Carolyne

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Enjoy this book?

  About the Author

  Also by Kelly Utt

  Prologue

  One rainy September afternoon as Bea Hughes sat painting in her backyard art studio, the telephone rang. Its loud rattle made Bea startle. Hardly anyone called on the landline anymore. Bea knew that her elderly mother, Lana Denton, was seated near the phone in the living room reading the daily newspaper. Her son, Max, was somewhere in the house, probably playing a video game or fiddling with his comic book collection. Since Bea was covered in acrylics and couldn’t imagine who would call, she paused, hoping someone else would pick up the phone so she didn’t have to.

  When the ringing continued, Bea lurched for the receiver, accidentally knocking over her easel and splattering wet blues and greens all over her sandals. Exasperated, she feigned her nicest voice and said hello. She was, unfortunately, well-versed in the art of faking enthusiasm.

  Bea couldn’t be sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t what she heard in response to her simple greeting. A robotic voice on the other end called Bea by her full name, Beatrice Elisabeth Hughes, then said the words which for years had haunted her nightmares. Words that would threaten to destroy Bea’s family. Words that would seep angrily into her body and chill her down to the very bone.

  “I know what you’ve done.”

  Bea’s heart raced as she nervously twisted the coiled, black telephone cord around her fingertip. She felt like a child in trouble rather than an intelligent, capable woman in her thirties. She didn’t dare say another word. What could she say?

  Lowering the receiver under her chin and tilting her head over to secure it against her shoulder, Bea stepped towards the window and pulled back the floral-print curtains to look outside. She half-expected to see someone there, ready to forcibly take her away from her small-town life. If she was being honest with herself, she had half-expected that to happen for years. But no one appeared to be out there, save for Marmalade, the Hughes family’s orange tabby cat who sat cursing the rain while huddled under a patio lounger.

  Shaken but determined, Bea stood up as straight as she could and cleared her throat. She told herself she’d try to handle this head on. Even though she didn’t feel like a capable adult, she willed herself to act as if she was one. Using a wrist, she brushed a few disobedient strands of dark, silky hair out of her eyes, then opened her mouth to speak.

  Before she could say anything, she heard a faint clicking sound on the line.

  “Are you still there?” Bea asked, hesitantly.

  “Yes,” the mechanical voice replied. “I said I know what you’ve done.”

  A louder click this time and the line went dead, blaring a forceful tone that could be heard even without holding an ear to the receiver.

  Bea’s heart nearly burst out of her chest as the realization settled over her. Not only had she been discovered by an unknown mystery caller, but someone inside her own home had picked up the phone. They had been listening in on the line.

  1

  What next? Bea thought as the telephone dangled in her outstretched hand, still sounding its incessant warning. A vintage clock sitting on a nearby project table ticked urgently, forcing its way into Bea’s awareness and competing to be heard over the phone. Time was running out.

  Back in the early days after the incident, Bea’s fear of being caught had nearly consumed her. Max was a young boy then, barely in preschool. Bea had known she must hold it together. For Max. Her boy needed her desperately.

  Bea’s husband was a nice man and a cheerful father, but John Hughes didn’t have what it takes to properly raise a child on his own. Besides, life in the public eye would have prevented him from putting the necessary time into child rearing. It was the exception rather than the rule for John to come home at a reasonable time in the evening. If Bea had been taken away, Max would have, no doubt, been raised by a nanny. The thought still made Bea shudder.

  Perhaps it all would have been easier to take if the events leading up to the incident had been less dramatic. Bea knew she shouldn’t have been there that night, especially since Max had been with her, his trusting eyes looking on as he leaned his little head on the side of his car seat. Even now, Bea could remember the scene as if it were right in front of her. She could feel the fog and the cool, damp air. She could smell the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had hastily thrown together in case Max grew hungry, waiting in a brown paper bag within the console of her minivan. She could hear the chorus of bullfrogs as they did their best to ratchet up the volume on an already too-intense night.

  The incident had been ten years prior. Bea should have tried harder to forget.

  Standing still like a statue in her studio, she remained frozen in place. Her athletic legs felt useless and full of concrete. Her skin seemed taught as a turtle’s shell, rigid and immovable. Mustering every ounce of her energy, she hung up the phone with a clank, then looked out the window again, expecting to see someone there this time.

  Get it together, she told herself. She listened for signs of movement, but heard nothing except the gently falling rain.

  Out of nowhere came a rapid series of knocks on the door. Bea’s body grew even more rigid as her panic shifted into overdrive. She was certain this was it. The end. The caller who knew what she had done was out there. They had to be. Who else?

  Feeling like a caged animal and suddenly wanting to flee, Bea’s muscles kicked into gear. She paced back-and-forth in the small room. Her mind tumbled as she frantically searched for an escape route. Only there wasn’t one. The studio had a single door and window, and both faced forward into the backyard towards the house. There was nowhere to run. Her only option might have been to remain perfectly still and quiet until the person who ha
d knocked went away. For a moment, that’s what Bea thought she would do. Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, she would hide and pretend this wasn’t happening.

  Another series of knocks came, louder this time. Bea’s visitor was growing impatient.

  Nauseous now and beginning to perspire, Bea picked up a handful of her largest paintbrushes and gripped them together like a knife. If she had to put up a fight, she reasoned, the paintbrushes were the only objects available which might assist her in defending herself. Bea thought about how she would go for the eyes right away. No point in waiting. If it meant her or them, Bea would give it all she had. She owed that much to Max. Even if not to John.

  Growing furious and fueled by an instinct for self-preservation, Bea steeled herself. Whatever awaited her, she would face it right here and now. She had used violence once before and, in this moment, she realized she’d do it again if she had to.

  Quickly, she flipped open the lock and pulled back the door, holding the makeshift knife high above her head.

  2

  “Bumble?” her sisters said in unison as they looked at Bea in disbelief. Bumble Bea had been an unfortunate childhood nickname her twin sisters refused to let go of.

  Ruth took the lead. She always did.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Natalie echoed. “You look like you’re ready to murder someone. In some kind of weird paint rage.”

  “Like Van Gogh,” Ruth said in a mocking tone, finishing her twin sister’s thought. “Bumble Bea, are you going to cut off an ear?”

  The twins laughed knowingly as if they were still middle-school girls. In fact, Bea thought they looked like middle-school girls, giggling in the rain under matching plaid umbrellas. Their coordinating rubber boots completed their outfits.

  Bea was two years younger and often the butt of her sisters’ jokes. Thankfully, Ruth and Natalie lived in Sacramento now. Even though it was less than a two-hour drive, the pair seldom came home to Rosemary Run for a visit. Ruth was married with a couple of kids, while Natalie’s life seemed to be in suspended animation, waiting to begin. It didn’t help matters that the twins were joined at the hip. Bea had always figured that only so many men would go for such a setup. And, truth be told, she’d wondered why Ruth’s husband, Steve Robeson, had. But who was Bea to judge? Her marriage to John was far from perfect.

  “You two scared me,” Bea said, the meek demeanor she exhibited around her big sisters taking over. Her change of disposition was probably a good thing. Bea knew she needed to calm down and think. “Is anyone else out there with you?”

  “Just us,” Natalie said. “Who were you expecting?”

  Bea eased her head outside the studio door and looked around. Satisfied, she slowly lowered her hand and returned the paintbrushes to their resting spot on the easel. “Come in,” she said. “You’re getting all wet out there.”

  “Oh,” Ruth responded without moving to enter the studio. “We were hoping we’d entice you to join us in the house. We were just there, having tea with Mom in the living room.”

  “Until the phone rang...” Natalie added coyly. Ruth jabbed her twin in the side with an elbow. Another inside joke for the two of them.

  Bea’s innards turned to mush as a fresh wave of nausea moved through her body. Did they know? She put an arm out to steady herself against the door frame. She could feel the color drain from her face.

  “What is it, Bumble?” Ruth asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Bea shook her head, trying to shake it off. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said in the most convincing voice she could manage. “I’m… fine.”

  “You sure about that?” Ruth pressed, peering into the studio. “It looks like you spilled some paint.”

  “Fine,” Bea assured. “Tea with Mom sounds lovely. I’ll just get my umbrella.”

  Bea closed the door behind her and leaned hard against it. She tilted her head back and looked up, willing herself to hold it together. She stayed like that for a few moments until the ceiling stopped spinning. Then she collected her umbrella, exited her studio, and followed her sisters through the back door of her house, stepping over Marmalade along the way.

  3

  “Everybody’s here!” Ruth chirped as the family gathered in the living room. Ever the ringleader, she acted like it was her home instead of Bea’s.

  Lena Denton was sitting in her usual easy chair with a blank look on her face. Bea couldn’t tell from her mother’s expression whether she had been the one listening on the telephone line. Max was there, too, apparently cajoled downstairs by his aunts. Bea thought at age fourteen, her son would be easy enough to decipher. But not so. She couldn’t tell if Max knew something. The suspense was excruciating.

  “So, what brings you ladies in from Sacramento?” Bea asked. She hoped her nervousness wasn’t too obvious to the others. She tended to be nervous around her sisters, even during the best of times. “You two rarely visit during the middle of the work week. There must be a special reason you’re here today.”

  Ruth was a high-earning real estate agent, blissfully busy with clients, showings, and contracts. She could set her own schedule and successfully tended to the needs of her kids as far as Bea could tell, but she never liked to be away for long. Natalie owned a title and escrow company which both benefited from the steady flow of business Ruth referred and provided a reliable foundation for the real estate powerhouse to lean on. To see both Ruth and Natalie away from their bustling, symbiotic businesses like this was unusual.

  “Yes, my loves,” Lana added, breaking out of her trance. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  Bea was relieved to hear her mother speak. Judging by her voice, it didn’t seem like Lana was rattled. If she had been listening to the call Bea received, she would most definitely have been rattled. Or so Bea thought.

  Ruth and Natalie looked at each other and grinned. They were up to something, that was for sure. Bea was curious, but had a lot on her mind and wanted to get whatever pomp and circumstance the twins had up their sleeves over with as quickly as possible.

  “Go on,” Bea prompted. “You obviously have something to say. Whatever it is, spit it out.”

  Max looked down at his hands impatiently and popped a few knuckles. There was probably a video game he’d rather be playing right now. He had only been out of school for a little while and would need to start on his homework soon. Bea thought he looked bothered. She hoped it was because of missing out on a game and not because he had overheard her telephone conversation. Her son was growing up fast. But Bea knew if he had been the one listening in, bringing up such a tense topic would be a chore for Max. He was a quiet introvert who didn’t like conflict any more than his mother did. Whatever genes allowed John his ease in the spotlight had not been passed on to his child. When Max spoke up, it was because something was very important to him.

  “We have an announcement!” Natalie exclaimed, practically jumping around the room.

  “That’s right,” Ruth confirmed. “We’re visiting in the middle of the work week because we are doing work, right here in Rosemary Run.”

  “Wait,” Bea said, raising a hand in anticipation of what she suspected was coming. “What?”

  Lana and Max weren’t piecing it together yet. Both were clearly confused.

  “Are you working from our house today?” Max asked. “You could use my laptop.”

  Bea shot a loving glance at her sweet boy. He was such a generous soul.

  “No, not exactly, but that’s a nice offer,” Natalie said to her nephew. Bea had always thought Natalie was better with kids than Ruth, even though she hadn’t given birth to any of her own. She had a way with them that was plain to see. Max smiled back. He loved his aunts, despite considering them dramatic and crazy.

  “Then what?” Max asked.

  Natalie and Ruth looked at each other again, reveling in their shared secret. It seemed as though they almost didn’
t want to tell it, for then it would be out in the open rather than hidden, theirs to share alone.

  “Well?” Lana prompted.

  “Okay, okay,” Ruth said with a smile. “We won’t keep you in suspense any longer. Natalie and I are opening an office for the real estate company and the title company right here in Rosemary Run! And we want Bumble to run it.”

  Bea was floored. Was this a cruel trick?

  “Well,” Ruth added. “I don’t mean Bumble would run it all by herself. We wouldn’t expect that. Natalie and I will come into town from time to time to check up on things. And we will be in close touch via phone and email. But Bumble will be Office Manager, if she wants the job.”

  Bea tried to hide the shock on her face, but wasn’t successful. Her twin sisters had picked on her and talked down to her for so many years. The only saving grace was that they didn’t live in town and thus didn’t have involvement with her day-to-day life. This new arrangement threatened to destroy the carefully constructed sense of peace Bea thought she had carved out for herself. Not to mention, she was insulted at how Ruth and Natalie thought she needed their pity. Bea had a career as an artist, though no one in her family seemed to take it seriously anymore.