Read Online Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) by Emme Rollins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emme Rollins
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Frontier. Frontier ran all the way through Larkspur and up through Richford. Rogers, if you followed it far enough south, ended up in Millsberg, which was more of a city, at least in the rural sense, than a town. That’s where her father spent most of his time, working. Larkspur intersected at Frontier and Franklin—the center of “town.” Everything else was woods, farms or fields.
Dusty steered the Jeep around the corner of Plainview and onto Franklin. A red, white and blue Amoco sign stood out against the backdrop of the sky. Les Cavanaugh was pumping gas into someone's black SUV. She didn’t recognize the car, but she beeped the horn and waved at Les. He raised his hand as she passed by.
She couldn’t say Franklin was ever busy. Lakeshore Skating Rink, where you could find most of the junior high kids on the weekends, was across from the Amoco station. Its competition was next to Nellie's Diner, in the form of the Lawrence Movie Theater, currently showing The Dark Knight (still) and Evil Dead. They would get something new—in three months, when it wasn’t new anymore. If you wanted to see the new releases , you had to go to the AMC in Richford, or the Star Theater in Millsberg, near her father's office.
Dusty stopped at the traffic light at Frontier and Franklin. Cougar's General Store was across the way, the familiar hand-lettered advertising in the big picture window. There were no cars crossing the intersection but Dusty waited anyway, conscious of the Larkspur police station on her right, until the light turned green.
She turned right and guided the Jeep into the parking lot next to Flowerland—Larkspur's one and only florist.
“Well hello, Dusty!” A voice greeted her as she got out of the car and pocketed her keys. “How're your folks?”
“Hi, Mrs. Hughes.” Dusty shut the door and leaned against it, ill-prepared for an onslaught of conversation. Larkspur was too big of a town for everyone to know everyone else, but it was small enough that people were casually friendly and usually only removed by a less-than-Kevin-Bacon degree of separation. Rita Hughes went to Julia’s Methodist Church—the one Dusty and Nick found themselves sitting in on Sundays when they couldn’t get away with playing sick. Dusty was luckier, because at least once a month—more if memories were fuzzy and she was pushing it—she could beg off with “female troubles.”
“My parents are...” Dusty hesitated. What? Going on as if nothing happened? “Fine. How's Spencer?”
“Growing like a weed.” Rita Hughes smiled and hoisted her purse up onto her shoulder. Spencer was her grandson and had just turned ten, if the math Dusty did quickly in her head was correct. “Doing real good in school now that they got him one of those parapros.”
“I’m so glad.” Dusty remembered Julia saying something about a prayer request at church for them. Spencer had been diagnosed with autism and his mother was single and had lost her job and was having a hard time making ends meet or getting her son the help he needed. Sounded like life was looking up for them though. That was one thing about small towns—when people needed help, the community often banded together. She found herself edging toward the door of the florist, looking for an escape route. “Give him and your daughter my best.”
“I will. You take care.” Rita put a hand on Dusty’s arm and she winced like she’d been burned, knowing what was coming but unable to stop it. Like an oncoming tornado. Or a freight train. “Nick was a good boy. It's a terrible shame.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Dusty felt that lump in her throat again. Why did people insist on mentioning it, especially out in public? It made it so immediate. Inescapable. She realized how much she sounded like Julia, even to herself, as she turned and left Rita standing there, going into the florist.
She was surprised to see Ryan Clark standing near the register, working on an arrangement. His
Dusty steered the Jeep around the corner of Plainview and onto Franklin. A red, white and blue Amoco sign stood out against the backdrop of the sky. Les Cavanaugh was pumping gas into someone's black SUV. She didn’t recognize the car, but she beeped the horn and waved at Les. He raised his hand as she passed by.
She couldn’t say Franklin was ever busy. Lakeshore Skating Rink, where you could find most of the junior high kids on the weekends, was across from the Amoco station. Its competition was next to Nellie's Diner, in the form of the Lawrence Movie Theater, currently showing The Dark Knight (still) and Evil Dead. They would get something new—in three months, when it wasn’t new anymore. If you wanted to see the new releases , you had to go to the AMC in Richford, or the Star Theater in Millsberg, near her father's office.
Dusty stopped at the traffic light at Frontier and Franklin. Cougar's General Store was across the way, the familiar hand-lettered advertising in the big picture window. There were no cars crossing the intersection but Dusty waited anyway, conscious of the Larkspur police station on her right, until the light turned green.
She turned right and guided the Jeep into the parking lot next to Flowerland—Larkspur's one and only florist.
“Well hello, Dusty!” A voice greeted her as she got out of the car and pocketed her keys. “How're your folks?”
“Hi, Mrs. Hughes.” Dusty shut the door and leaned against it, ill-prepared for an onslaught of conversation. Larkspur was too big of a town for everyone to know everyone else, but it was small enough that people were casually friendly and usually only removed by a less-than-Kevin-Bacon degree of separation. Rita Hughes went to Julia’s Methodist Church—the one Dusty and Nick found themselves sitting in on Sundays when they couldn’t get away with playing sick. Dusty was luckier, because at least once a month—more if memories were fuzzy and she was pushing it—she could beg off with “female troubles.”
“My parents are...” Dusty hesitated. What? Going on as if nothing happened? “Fine. How's Spencer?”
“Growing like a weed.” Rita Hughes smiled and hoisted her purse up onto her shoulder. Spencer was her grandson and had just turned ten, if the math Dusty did quickly in her head was correct. “Doing real good in school now that they got him one of those parapros.”
“I’m so glad.” Dusty remembered Julia saying something about a prayer request at church for them. Spencer had been diagnosed with autism and his mother was single and had lost her job and was having a hard time making ends meet or getting her son the help he needed. Sounded like life was looking up for them though. That was one thing about small towns—when people needed help, the community often banded together. She found herself edging toward the door of the florist, looking for an escape route. “Give him and your daughter my best.”
“I will. You take care.” Rita put a hand on Dusty’s arm and she winced like she’d been burned, knowing what was coming but unable to stop it. Like an oncoming tornado. Or a freight train. “Nick was a good boy. It's a terrible shame.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Dusty felt that lump in her throat again. Why did people insist on mentioning it, especially out in public? It made it so immediate. Inescapable. She realized how much she sounded like Julia, even to herself, as she turned and left Rita standing there, going into the florist.
She was surprised to see Ryan Clark standing near the register, working on an arrangement. His
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