Secrets Never Die

Chapter 1

Sherry Joy had the best lemon bar recipe in all of Caldwell Cove. They were more than a culinary delight; they were a sensory symphony that danced through the air, tantalizing noses before the first bite. As she glided into my house, carrying a plate adorned with golden treasures, the sweet aroma of citrus enveloped the room, mingling with the warm scent of baked goods and the faint hint of vanilla from the candles flickering in the corners. Every eye in the room fixated on the plate she held, drawn by the promise of zesty sweetness. I was unable to greet her, but from my vantage point, I watched as the line formed behind her before she could even put the plate down on the table so full with covered dish after covered dish that the table let out an actual moan when Sherry set down the lemon bars. She didn't bother to unwrap them. Instead, she searched the crowd of familiar faces. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned the crowd until they locked onto Deedee Smith, her unlikely companion in this dance of grief and gossip.

Deedee Smith and Sherry were unlikely friends. Sherry strove for perfection, whereas Deedee tended to lean into disaster. Unlike Sherry, Deedee had purchased fried chicken from the local supermarket hot case, placed the pieces in her own white dish with delicate blue flowers, and brought them to the event. The neighbors all knew that Deedee had not made the fried chicken and were secretly pleased that she brought something edible that didn't require the intervention of the fire department.

"Bradley, I am deeply sorry for your loss," Sherry comforted, her voice smooth as silk and words laced with a hint of something more. The air around them crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken questions and hidden motives. "Your mother was a pillar of Caldwell Cove. If you need anything, please reach out. We are your community, and we are your support." Her words, though comforting, left a lingering question in the air: why was it her husband, not her, who held the town's highest office?

"Yes," Bradley diverted his eyes to the floor. As Bradley faltered in response, his eyes briefly flickered to the floor, where my cherished Persian rug lay, a testament to meticulous care in a world of chaos. I had cared for the rug like it was my child, and despite Bradley, in many ways, the carpet was my only child. It was clear that under Bradley's reign, the no-shoes-in-the-house policy did not carry on in my afterlife, and I was stuck bearing witness to its trampling by spiked heels. I secretly suspected he enjoyed watching my beloved rug trampled.

"Oh, Brad, it just makes no sense," Deedee interjected, pulling him into an embrace that seemed to linger a moment too long, a moment fraught with unspoken desires and hidden agendas.

I doubt he would have resisted; he had always been a fan of Deedee's form but never one for her chatter.

"Yes, well..." Bradley started again with no finish. He always struggled with the finish. Even in his law practice, he had a reputation for settling cases. It became the theme of his life.

"What can we do?" Deedee offered as she pulled away to inspect Bradley's face.

Bradley took a moment to take a less-than-subtle glance down Deedee's low-cut neckline, cleared his throat, and backed away from my former neighbor friend.

Sherry redirected the conversation with a glance that spoke volumes, her words cutting through the air like a surgeon's scalpel. Yet beneath the facade of sympathy lurked a hint of something darker, a shadow that danced on the edge of perception.

"It is much too soon to think of what is needed," Sherry proclaimed, her tone a mixture of reassurance and restraint. But behind her composed facade, the wheels of suspicion turned, fueled by a primal instinct for self-preservation. "Just know that we are here for you," she added before releasing my poor, pathetic son from their clutches.

Like most who interact too closely with the ladies, Bradley stumbled away weary, confused, and feeling a bit like something had been taken from him, something more than his time.