Buried Secrets (New Adult Dark Suspense Romance) by Emme Rollins Page A

braid and went downstairs. The deep roughness of her father's voice was as unmistakable as the familiar smell of bacon. She walked into the kitchen and sat at her usual spot at the table, as if they hadn’t just buried her brother yesterday.
    Her father shook the sports section of the Richford Journal as he turned the page, glancing over it at her but not saying anything.
    “Eggs? Bacon?” Julia pushed her chair back from the table. She was wearing the pink silk robe Nick had given her last Christmas and her blond hair was pulled up into a loose bun. She was a very pretty woman, svelte, petite, everything a man could want in a trophy wife. It was the only reason Dusty could imagine her father had for picking Julia—that, and the fact she was domestic. She was endlessly cooking and mending and cleaning. Her father’s shirts never went to the cleaner’s anymore. Julia ironed and starched them herself.
    “Nothing, thanks.” Dusty picked up a section of the paper her father had left on the table just to look busy. “I don't have much of an appetite.”
    Julia sat back down, picking up a silver pen, and continued writing thank you notes.
    Dusty glanced over at her father, hiding again behind his paper. The business section now.
    Just any other morning.
    Dusty felt tears pricking her eyes and blinked them back.
    “Do you want anything else, Jay?” Julia didn’t look up from her careful, perfect writing.
    “No, thanks.” Her father folded the newspaper and set it on the table. “If I don't leave now I'll be late.”
    He slipped the sports section into the briefcase waiting next to his chair.
    “God forbid,” Dusty said under her breath. She was incredulous. How could he go to work the day after his own son’s funeral?
    “Will you be late getting home tonight?” Julia stuffed a card into an envelope. The cards were a crisp cream color with the words Thank You For Your Kindness in a script font on the front.
    “Afraid so. I’ve got a council meeting.” He shrugged his coat on. Her father had served a stint as mayor of Larkspur for a few years, and still had a spot on their little town council. “This expansion is a pain in my ass, but it should bring more money into this little town than we’ve seen in years. Did you say something, Dusty?”
    “No.” She lowered her head, pretending to read the paper, but the words blurred, running together. Her father was some sort of executive for a major drug company—Pharmatech—but she still didn’t quite understand what he did all day. When she went to his office for “Take your kids to work day” in elementary school, it was in the tallest office building in Millsberg—ten whole stories—and he’d spent most of his time on the phone and in meetings.
    As far as she could tell, he didn’t sell the drugs. He also didn’t develop, make or produce them—although Pharmatech had received a government contract for something, she didn’t know what, and they were building some sort of factory in Millsberg. That was the “pain in the ass” her father endlessly talked about, the one that would bring all sorts of new business to the neighboring little town they lived in—Larkspur.
    She watched her father pick up his briefcase and had an urge to run to him, like she used to when she was young. Looking up at him back then, he’d seemed giant, invincible. Now, in the early morning light, he looked small and old, his eyes lined at the corners. He went twice a month to get his hair dyed—for business, not vanity. That’s what he always said. But she knew if he let it go, there would be a considerable amount of silver threads running through his hair.
    When did he get old? It was like she’d blinked and missed it. Maybe it had happened suddenly, overnight, like those ghost stories about a shock turning hair white. Or maybe Nick’s death had opened her own eyes to things she hadn’t ever seen before.
    “Have a good day, Dad.”
    Her father blinked at her, surprised.