Stolen Secrets Read online

  Stolen Secrets

  © 2016 by Cayce Poponea.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

  Cover design by Judi Perkins

  Editing by Elizabeth Simonson and RE Hargrave

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Author photograph Fancy Nancy Photography

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Contact Information

  Other work by Cayce Poponea

  Dedicated to Angela “Big Ang” Raiola.

  “Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

  - Benjamin Franklin

  “ARI, YOU PROMISED.”

  I ignored Meadow’s frustrated voice, choosing instead to watch the slow progression of trees lining the highway go by. Traffic had been at a slow crawl for the past half hour. Meadow had wanted to leave yesterday, to avoid the masses making the annual pilgrimage to sin and debauchery commonly known as Mardi Gras. I had won the initial argument, though; reminding her I’d agreed to get out of the house for Fat Tuesday, not an Ordinary Monday.

  “I’m in the car, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but you could be a little more excited. Like those bitches.” Meadow pointed to a truckload of scantily clad girls dancing around in the cab, flashing their breasts as men in other cars either watched slack-jawed, snapped photos with cell phones, or tossed beads in their direction. Others honked their horns in support, hollering their heads off in encouragement. “You know what I mean, you can’t just sit back and let life pass you by. Corey wouldn’t want it.”

  Instead of rolling my eyes or asking her if she really understood what her brother had wanted from me, I did what was expected of me and remained silent, keeping my attention elsewhere.

  Meadow cracked the window of the car and pulled a rolled joint from her bra. She would be looking for a new supplier, one to get her the shit she used and a new job, which was comical since she hadn’t worked an honest day in her life.

  After taking a long drag from her joint, Meadow tried to pass it to me. “Oh, sorry.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she struggled to hold the smoke in her lungs and speak at the same time. After Corey died, Meadow had appointed herself my warden. She wanted me to quit my job and work with her, selling her poison to the chemically addicted souls she preyed upon. Meadow had been her brothers biggest dealer, pulling in money hand over fist, too bad she didn’t have a single thing to show for all the money she had earned, not that Corey left behind much either.

  When Deputy Spencer had come to my door to inform me Corey had been killed, and that his death was ruled an accident, I hadn’t been surprised. His car had burst into flames against the cement side of an overpass. Slick streets were blamed for the crash. Funny that, seeing it hadn’t rained for a month before the crash.

  Corey Winters, Townsend Parish’s resident hero, swooped in when the church needed roof repairs or the park could use a new swing. He wrote checks to banks to keep citizens safe in their homes and donated money to every need the Parish had. Not a day went by where someone didn’t mention how blessed we were to have Corey in our city. Not once did anyone question how he was able to give so much money when he didn’t have a job, no rich family tree to pull money from, and no inheritance waiting with his name on it.

  At first, I’d assumed people accepted a little dishonesty when it benefited them, but the more I watched and listened, it became clear Corey was as dirty as they came. He was also the best-kept secret in town.

  Corey and I had met when I moved in with my dad after the death of my mother. He and his brother Caleb told my father they would keep an eye on me. Corey took me to hang out with him and his friends, getting into a fight when one of them said something about my ass. At first I’d thought it was nice of him to defend me, but it didn’t take long to see his real intentions.

  The summer after I graduated, he showed up on my doorstep and asked my dad if he could take me out. Again making everyone, including my father, see the person he wanted them to see. I’ve always been a people watcher and when he wasn’t looking, I noticed things.

  The first time he went inside a convenience store to get me a coke, I watched him steal a pack of cigarettes when the clerk answered the phone. Next time, his friends wanted a ride to the mall. He told my father he wanted to take me to a nice restaurant; instead, I watched as he lifted boxes out of the back of a truck parked behind a major retail chain.

  “You don’t see anything, do you hear me?” If I’d heard it once, I heard it a thousand times.

  For the last four years I listened, never speaking of the gun he carried or the baggies he filled and hid under floorboards. I “didn’t see” the girls who came out of his bedroom when he lived with his friends. Nor did I ever see the bloody knuckles or rolls of cash he seemed to always have. I didn’t see any of it and I didn’t tell anyone. It was easy to figure all of those things I “hadn’t seen” would eventually catch up to Corey.

  Two years ago, my father responded to a domestic violence call. The house was known to be vacant so he’d thought it was a prank. Walking in on a prostitution ring when he arrived, he was shot at point-blank range and died a few hours later. At the hospital he made Corey swear to him that he would protect me. What my father hadn’t known was Corey was the one I needed protection from. He was the man who’d organized the ring which was one of many under his control.

  After my father died I found comfort in flowers. With our town being so small, the only shop was owned by Mr. Connors. When I’d asked him for a job, I knew he’d given it to me out of gratitude for who Corey had been and what he’d done for the community. Didn’t matter, though; it took me making a few arrangements for him to be happy he had. I begged him to let me do the spray we displayed on Corey’s casket so I could get him back for what he had given me f
or years—pissing on my feelings and dreams. Mr. Connors had thought it was to give Corey a perfect send off. I’d let him believe whatever he wanted.

  When Corey died, the town shut down. Everyone who had ever been helped by him showed up to pay his or her respects. Reverend Thomas was one of those who didn’t know the truth about Corey. Never knew about the late hours Corey kept or the variety of friends he’d had around. Had no clue Corey had a lengthy rap sheet or how many warrants were out for him. He had no idea how many girls I’d seen him out with, or the amount of children he’d fathered. The good Reverend only knew about the checks Corey had given to the church and the twice-a-year attendance he’d boasted about. To most of the town Corey had seemed like the good son who stayed behind while his twin went off to war. He’d given a promise to a dying man that he would take care of his only daughter—me. In a public place, Corey had proclaimed his love for the girl and given her a ring, never bothering to wait for my answer.

  During his funeral, I’d kept my eyes on Caleb, his twin brother, who had spent the service at the side of Corey’s casket. He had rushed home from Afghanistan, arriving as the service began. His white hat rested on his bowed head, the tailcoat of his Marine jacket fluttering in the wind. Standing as still as a statue, his honor for his brother bigger than his need to do the right thing. Caleb had left the second after graduation ended, boarding a bus to the Carolinas. He knew full well what Corey did and how he had everyone fooled, yet he turned a blind eye to the drugs and girls, heading off to fight a war he had a better chance of winning. If this town craved a hero, they had chosen the wrong twin.

  After the Reverend finished the service, the townsfolk gave me their heartfelt condolences.

  “Corey Winters was taken from us in the prime of his life.”

  “Corey was a good man, a loyal son and a good provider for his family.” “He will be truly missed.”

  “Arianna, if you need anything, anything at all, you know my number,” Mrs. Carter said as she patted my hand.

  “Thank you. I don’t really know what I’m going to do now.” Those words had been the biggest lie I’d ever told. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Everyone had tiptoed around the fact Corey and I were to have been married less than a month after his death. I’m sure they all thought it would upset me; again, the things people didn’t know. “Well, there is no rush to do anything. Mr. Parsons has assured me you will get all of your money back from the… well, you know.”

  A few weeks after Corey’s funeral a white envelope appeared in my mailbox, on a Friday. I tucked it into my purse and made my way inside the house I shared with my father. Corey had tried to move in with me, but I’d made it known to the gossipers I wanted to go to my marriage bed pure as the driven snow. Corey had backed off then, wanting to keep the All-American boy persona everyone believed from the lies he so carefully constructed. He didn’t know I had lost my virginity at summer camp before I moved here. Like Corey, I’d kept secrets, too. Secrets which would have gotten me killed if I ever told anyone. Like the insurance policy I had taken out on him.

  New Orleans was alive with celebration, colorful masks and music welcomed us on every corner. “You stick to my side, you hear me?” Meadow had returned from her meeting with a satisfied smirk on her face. She bragged how Riggs was all too eager for a partnership with her. While she explained the details, I tuned her out. Instead, I continued to look the part of the grieving girlfriend, left behind to maneuver my way through a cruel world that could care less about my misery.

  Zulu parade, named as such by the giving of the Zulu coconuts. Years ago, the treasured nut was tossed into the crowd from the passing floats, but as society changed and lawsuits became frivolous, the nut is now handed out by themed dressed individuals.

  Bright purples, greens, and golds blanketed every available surface. Feathers and sequins adorned the clothes and decorations of all around me. Wall-to-wall people stood waiting for a glimpse of the first float. Faces painted ghostly white sang and danced as the parade began.

  Meadow, with her bright purple hair, tattooed skin, and dozens of piercings, blended into the party crowd. “There are only two things people come to New Orleans to see—vampires and ghosts. Once they’ve drunk enough hurricanes, they’ll swear they’ve seen both.” Meadow had prattled on about all the things she wanted to show me. She, and the rest of my friends, had come up with the idea to attend the parade as a way of getting my mind off Corey.

  “Hey.” She took my hand. “I know you miss him, we all do, but you have to move on.”

  Zydeco music blared from the speakers around us as the infamous beads began to rain down. Meadow’s eyes widened as much as they could when she turned her attention to the passing float. She joined the masses who were jumping up and down while shimmering strands of tiny beads found their way to her waiting hand. The faster the beads came, the more the crowd behind me pushed forward. Meadow kept a tight grip on my hand; I worried she may never let go and allow me to carry out the plan I’d carefully constructed over the past three weeks.

  Before we’d left town I’d visited with Tom, Corey’s dad. The poor man had taken to his bed after the funeral, proclaiming it should have been him who’d died, instead of his son. His grief was real; not fabricated, like mine. Tears of pain had filled his eyes ever since the news was delivered. I made him dinner and did a little housework for him. He praised me, telling everyone who visited what a wonderful wife I would have made for his son. As I said goodbye to him, I removed the engagement ring Corey had given me, setting it on his side table. It was something he could put away with the rest of Corey’s things. I hated the large, round diamond solitaire surrounded by rose gold leaves and dusted with diamond chips on the edges of the leaves. The joke of a ring represented a life I neither asked for nor wanted. What was traditionally a ring of devotion, to me, was the leash and collar for a dog. I had no doubt it was fake, perhaps even stolen.

  “Oh, my God! It’s Riggs,” Meadow shouted.

  The second she let go of my hand, I took a step back. When she didn’t turn around, I took another and another, until the sea of people swallowed me whole. Fighting a crowd to get to the front of it was difficult, letting the person behind you have your place was a breeze. I kept silent, avoiding eye contact as I moved backward until my back hit the wall of the storefront.

  All of Corey’s family, Meadow included, assumed I’d spent my nights lying in bed crying over his death. In reality, I’d celebrated his death, ecstatic fate had given me a break. Instead of wallowing away in my house at night, I snuck out to scour his old hangouts, looking for the drugs he’d left behind, and destroying them. Night after night I would take the weed, pills, and powder I found and flush it all down the toilet.

  During one of those late nights I broke into his apartment, having saved it for last, using the light of my cell phone. I searched every inch of the space he’d used to hurt people, cheat on me, and profit at the demise of those around him. When the sun warned me of a new day, I stepped into his closet to check his pockets where a squeaky board under the carpet caught my attention. I almost ignored it as the house was old and had survived hurricane Katrina, but something told me to pull back the carpet and have a closer look. Among the spider webs and piles of dust rested a large black duffel bag. Carefully sliding the zipper to the right, green and white paper greeted me. Not just any paper, but the kind printed by the government.

  Money, thousands and thousands of dollars, stacked and secured neatly in dozens of rows. After I discovered the money and flushed the supply of drugs, I found myself wandering around the darkened corners of New Orleans. I can’t explain why I felt the need to walk around the above ground cemeteries. The city was too far below sea level to allow bodies to be buried in the ground, so tiny house-like tombs held the inhabitants for the rest of eternity. Unless, of course, you were among the centuries old crypts at the edge of the city. The same hurricane which had given me the clue to the money, had also gi
ven me a place to sit and rest.

  The body of William T. Johnson, who died in the eighteen hundreds, no longer rested in the broken vault his family had placed him in. Weeds and vines now covered the space he once called home. Vandals had removed any valuables left behind after the storm. Once Meadow came to me with her plans for this vacation, I made more trips to my hideaway, bringing items I couldn’t live without, nothing too big or noticeable. My mother’s ID, the only picture I had of her left, and the envelope with the check for Corey’s life insurance settlement. There was more money which had been left to me by my father’s estate, but to close the account would’ve raised suspicion when I was discovered missing. For now, it would have to sit untouched, safe from prying eyes.

  Attending the parade had placed me on Jackson Avenue, five blocks from my hiding place. While Meadow met with Riggs earlier, I’d run to the cemetery, stashing a bag of items I’d purchased the previous week three towns over. Taking no chances of someone recognizing me during my attempt at escape. Ducking behind dumpsters, blending into groups of people as they drank the plentitude of alcohol while enjoying the party this city is famous for.

  Darkness kissed the city, inviting the shadows to come out and be free. My body was covered in sweat despite the cooler temperatures the lack of daylight provided. Storm clouds had threatened all day and as the tomb came into sight, the heavens opened up, giving the city a much needed bath. Rain would thin the crowds, but nothing would call off the largest party of the year.

  I had to hurry if I wanted to keep to my time schedule. It was after six, giving me a little over an hour to do what I had to finish here, destroy the evidence, and then leave the city. Pulling the white bag from the vault, I used the last ounce of light creeping in through the open door, rays of bright orange escaping around the ornate iron work on the opening which had once been sealed.

  Mixing the black hair dye, my corn silk blonde hair would be a distant memory. I’d wanted to color my hair for the past few years, nothing as drastic as what I was about to do, some low lights throughout, but Corey forbade it. He preferred my blonde, nearly white hair. Just one of the many things I hadn’t been allowed to do—no makeup, no tan lines, and no perfumes or body wash. I wasn’t even allowed to show my legs even in the sweltering heat of the summer. If he couldn’t see the goods, no other man was going to enjoy them either.