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Authors: Darlene Gardner
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heard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Cara? Are you okay?" Gray's voice slowly ebbed into her consciousness. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
A ghost. A hysterical giggle bubbled in her throat as she wondered if that's what she had seen. If the little boy she'd witnessed flying through the air had simply been the ghost of Skippy Rhett practicing aerial maneuvers. Maybe he'd gone to a circus before he'd died and had been enchanted by the high-wire act. Maybe he'd been practicing to become what he’d never lived to be.
And maybe she had finally cracked, like a walnut caught between the handles of a nutcracker.
"Cara?" Gray prompted, and the world came into focus once again. He was standing, hovering over her like a hard, unyielding guardian angel, and everything about him was startlingly clear. The gray-blue of his eyes. The rich brown-black of his hair. The bronze of his skin.
Her fingers itched to touch him, just to make sure he wasn't a phantom. Gray was gazing at her as though he expected another outburst. The realization sobered her.
"I'm fine," Cara said, straining to regain her equilibrium. Gray regarded her for a moment as though he didn't believe her. Then, finally, he sat back down.
"You gave us a scare, dear girl." Bergie's voice hadn’t yet regained its bluster, and his smile seemed forced. "Show Gray and me some boxes to carry or some bugs to kill, and we're your men. Hit us with a fainting spell, and we don't know the first thing about handling it."
"I wasn't about to faint," Cara denied, but skepticism was thick in the air. Fool, she thought. She was a fool for letting the sound of the boy's name drain the lifeblood from her face, jeopardizing her quest for information. "I'm a little overtired, that's all. I've been traveling, and I never sleep well in hotels."
"I thought," Gray said slowly, his tone accusatory, "that it was something Dad said."
"No." Cara shook her head. "Although it was a terrible thing, I imagine. A boy as young as that being hit by a car." She made her voice deliberately light. "You say he was called Skippy?"
Another zing of recognition jolted her. She couldn't grasp why the name was familiar. She only knew that somehow, somewhere, she had heard it before.
"I suppose the Rhetts thought Reginald was a cumbersome name for a little boy,” Bergie answered, his eyes kind. His son watched her closely, possibly waiting for her to slip and reveal exactly why she was in Secret Sound asking these questions. How could she answer that when she didn't know?
"Was that all there was to the accident?" she prodded. "Just a little boy running in front of a car when it was too dark to see?"
"That about sums it up." Bergie gave a single nod, as though he couldn't imagine what else there was to tell. Cara waited for him to continue, but he was silent.
"I heard a rumor the boy was all by himself when he died," Cara ventured. "Considering Skippy was only five years old, that seems pretty strange."
"What makes you think you can believe rumors?" Gray asked. "Especially when this rumor is almost as old as you are?"
Cara sat as straight as she could manage. She didn’t think she was imagining the sudden chill at the table. For some unfathomable reason, neither father nor son wanted to talk about Skippy Rhett.
"I wasn't saying I believed the rumor," Cara said with as much composure as she could muster. "I was merely asking if it were true that he was alone when he died."
Bergie cleared his throat and stared at her through his glasses. For a long moment, Cara thought he wouldn't say anything at all. She stole a look at his son. Gray’s countenance was as stony as the face of Mount Everest.
"It's a hard thing for an old man to admit, but I don't remember much about the case," Bergie said finally. "The memory gets a little foggy after you've been on this planet for as many years as I have."
Cara considered whipping out the old newspaper stories with his byline that proved he was privy to information about
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Cara? Are you okay?" Gray's voice slowly ebbed into her consciousness. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
A ghost. A hysterical giggle bubbled in her throat as she wondered if that's what she had seen. If the little boy she'd witnessed flying through the air had simply been the ghost of Skippy Rhett practicing aerial maneuvers. Maybe he'd gone to a circus before he'd died and had been enchanted by the high-wire act. Maybe he'd been practicing to become what he’d never lived to be.
And maybe she had finally cracked, like a walnut caught between the handles of a nutcracker.
"Cara?" Gray prompted, and the world came into focus once again. He was standing, hovering over her like a hard, unyielding guardian angel, and everything about him was startlingly clear. The gray-blue of his eyes. The rich brown-black of his hair. The bronze of his skin.
Her fingers itched to touch him, just to make sure he wasn't a phantom. Gray was gazing at her as though he expected another outburst. The realization sobered her.
"I'm fine," Cara said, straining to regain her equilibrium. Gray regarded her for a moment as though he didn't believe her. Then, finally, he sat back down.
"You gave us a scare, dear girl." Bergie's voice hadn’t yet regained its bluster, and his smile seemed forced. "Show Gray and me some boxes to carry or some bugs to kill, and we're your men. Hit us with a fainting spell, and we don't know the first thing about handling it."
"I wasn't about to faint," Cara denied, but skepticism was thick in the air. Fool, she thought. She was a fool for letting the sound of the boy's name drain the lifeblood from her face, jeopardizing her quest for information. "I'm a little overtired, that's all. I've been traveling, and I never sleep well in hotels."
"I thought," Gray said slowly, his tone accusatory, "that it was something Dad said."
"No." Cara shook her head. "Although it was a terrible thing, I imagine. A boy as young as that being hit by a car." She made her voice deliberately light. "You say he was called Skippy?"
Another zing of recognition jolted her. She couldn't grasp why the name was familiar. She only knew that somehow, somewhere, she had heard it before.
"I suppose the Rhetts thought Reginald was a cumbersome name for a little boy,” Bergie answered, his eyes kind. His son watched her closely, possibly waiting for her to slip and reveal exactly why she was in Secret Sound asking these questions. How could she answer that when she didn't know?
"Was that all there was to the accident?" she prodded. "Just a little boy running in front of a car when it was too dark to see?"
"That about sums it up." Bergie gave a single nod, as though he couldn't imagine what else there was to tell. Cara waited for him to continue, but he was silent.
"I heard a rumor the boy was all by himself when he died," Cara ventured. "Considering Skippy was only five years old, that seems pretty strange."
"What makes you think you can believe rumors?" Gray asked. "Especially when this rumor is almost as old as you are?"
Cara sat as straight as she could manage. She didn’t think she was imagining the sudden chill at the table. For some unfathomable reason, neither father nor son wanted to talk about Skippy Rhett.
"I wasn't saying I believed the rumor," Cara said with as much composure as she could muster. "I was merely asking if it were true that he was alone when he died."
Bergie cleared his throat and stared at her through his glasses. For a long moment, Cara thought he wouldn't say anything at all. She stole a look at his son. Gray’s countenance was as stony as the face of Mount Everest.
"It's a hard thing for an old man to admit, but I don't remember much about the case," Bergie said finally. "The memory gets a little foggy after you've been on this planet for as many years as I have."
Cara considered whipping out the old newspaper stories with his byline that proved he was privy to information about
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