The Secret Hour: A Novel - Softcover

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Luanne Rice is the author of twenty-one novels, including Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer’s Child, Silver Bells, Beach Girls, and Dance With Me. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.

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One of America's most mesmerizing storytellers, Luanne Rice enthralls readers with her moving tales of ordinary people in crisis--and how they are transformed by the enduring power of love and family. Now the author of Safe Harbor, True Blue, and other "New York Times bestsellers presents the gripping story of a man fighting for his family, a woman searching for her sister--and the promise of a new life where both least expected it...
The Secret Hour
Beneath his careful and controlled demeanor, attorney John O'Rourke is a man whose life is in turmoil. Since the death of his wife, he has been juggling the rigors of a controversial capital murder case and the demands of raising two children. Eleven-year-old Maggie's crooked bangs and rumpled clothes eloquently reproach John's earnest but haphazard attempts at mothering. Teddy, John's stalwart fourteen-year-old, has quietly assumed responsibilities far too weighty for his young shoulders, as he longs for the way things used to be and tries to ignore the hostility that has swirled around his family since his father took on the defense of a killer whose crimes have rocked Connecticut.
A brick through the window one autumn morning signals a dangerous new level of hatred. But a quieter event also takes place that day. A woman arrives on the O'Rourke doorstep to find a household on the brink of chaos but brimming with love--and, she hopes, answers. Kate Harris is searching for the key to her own mystery. Six months ago her younger sister fled far from their beloved home following a devastating confrontation. After mailing a single postcard from the New England shore, Willa Harris vanished. With only a postmark to go on, Kate takes aleave of absence from her job as a marine biologist to come to the seaside Willa adored--and discovers the one man who may be able to help her.
Compelling and evocative, at once suspenseful, heartbreaking, and triumphant, The Secret Hour is an unforgettable novel that explores the power of sisterly love, the gift of second chances--and the way magic can sometimes be the most real thing in the whole world.

"From the Hardcover edition.

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Chapter 1

The kitchen was quiet. The kids were trying so hard to help. Sitting at the breakfast table, his back to the cove, John O'Rourke tried to concentrate on the legal brief he'd stayed up last night finishing. Maggie buttered a piece of toast and slid it across the table. He accepted it, nodding thanks. Teddy hunched over the sports section, scowling at the scores, as if all his teams had lost. Brainer, the dog, lay under the table, growling happily as he gnawed an old tennis ball.

"Dad," Maggie said.

"What?"

"Are you finished reading yet?"

"Not quite, Mags."

"Is it about Merrill?"

John didn't respond at first, but his stomach twisted in a knot. He thought about his eleven-year-old daughter knowing about Greg Merrill, his all-time most time-consuming client, the Breakwater Killer, the star of Connecticut's death row and, as such, the talk of barrooms and courtrooms everywhere. John wanted people talking; it was part of his strategy. But he didn't want his daughter knowing.

"It is, honey," he said, lowering the brief.

"Are they going to kill him, Dad?"

"I don't know, Maggie. I'm trying to make it so they don't."

"But he deserves it," Teddy said. "For killing those girls."

"Everyone's innocent till proven guilty," Maggie intoned.

"He admits he's guilty," Teddy said, lowering the sports section. "He confessed." At fourteen, he was tall and strong. His eyes were too serious, his smile a shadow of the grin he used to flash before his mother's death. Sitting across the wide oak table, John reflected that Teddy would make a fine prosecutor.

"He did," John said.

"Because he did those things--murdered girls, ruined families. He deserves what's coming to him. Everyone says he does, Dad."

Outside, the wind blew, and a shower of autumn leaves fell from the trees.

John stared at his brief. He thought about the confession, the sentencing--to death by lethal injection--the months Greg Merrill had already spent on death row; and he thought of his current strategy--to argue before the Connecticut State Supreme Court that Merrill deserved a new sentencing hearing.

"Ruined families?" Maggie asked.

"Yes," Teddy said, glancing at his sister. "But don't worry, Maggie. He's in jail now. He can't hurt anyone anymore. People want to make sure it stays that way, which is why our phone rang ten times in the middle of the night--even though we have an unlisted number. You should hear what people say when we go by. They want you to stop what you're doing, Dad."

"Okay, Teddy," John said softly.

"But it's his job," Maggie said, her eyes filling. "Why is it his fault, our fault, that he's just doing his job?"

"It's not your fault, Mags," John said, staring into her deep eyes. "Everyone in this country has rights."

She didn't reply, but nodded.

John took a slow breath in and out. This was his hometown, yet he felt the outrage of his friends and neighbors and strangers alike. Most of all he hated that his children were being made to suffer.

The critical issue in Merrill's case had always been his mental condition at the time of the crimes; John intended to argue that Greg Merrill suffered from a mental illness that made him physically unable to control his actions. His first act upon becoming Merrill's attorney was to engage a top psychiatrist--to examine his client and aid in his defense. John's unpopular work would, he hoped, result in Merrill's being resentenced to multiple life sentences without the possibility of release.

Teddy stared at his father, green eyes dark with gravity and sorrow. Maggie blinked, her blue eyes--the same shade, exactly, as Theresa's-- framed by the raggedy bangs John had trimmed the night before. His daughter's bad haircut filled him with shame, and his son's solemn gaze seemed an admonishment of the worst, truest, most deserved kind. Since his mother's sudden death, Teddy had become the self-appointed protector of women everywhere.

"It's your job, right, Dad?" Maggie asked, squinting. "Protecting everyone's rights?"

"You'd better get ready for school," John said.

"I am ready," Maggie said, suddenly stricken.

John surveyed her outfit: green leggings, a blue skirt, one of Teddy's old soccer shirts. "Ah," John said, inwardly cursing the last baby-sitter for quitting, but--even more--himself for being so hard to work for. He'd called the employment agency, and they were supposed to send some new prospects out to interview, but with his track record and late hours, John would probably just work her ragged and blow the whole thing by Halloween. Maybe he should just move the whole family over to his father's house, let Maeve take care of them all.

"Don't I look good?" Maggie asked, frowning, looking down and surveying her ensemble.

"You look great," Teddy said, catching John's eye with a warning. "You'll be the prettiest girl in your class."

"Are you sure? Dad didn't even think I was ready for school--"

"Maggie, you look beautiful," John said, pushing the papers away and tugging her onto his lap.

She melted into his arms, still ready to cuddle at a moment's notice. John closed his eyes, needing the comfort himself. She smelled of milk and sweat, and he felt a pang, knowing he had forgotten to remind her to take a bath after the haircut.

"I'm not beautiful," she whispered into his neck. "Mommy was. I'm a tomboy. Tomboys can't be beautiful. They--"

The peace was shattered by breaking glass. Something flew through the kitchen window, skidding across the table, knocking milk and bowls and cereal all over, smashing into the opposite wall. John covered Maggie's body with his own as squares and triangles and splinters of glass rained down. His daughter squealed in terror, and he heard himself yelling for Teddy to get under the table.

When the glass stopped falling, the first sound was Brainer barking, running from the broken picture window to the front door and back. A big wave crashed on the rocks outside, down by the beach; the sound, unmuffled by window glass, was startlingly loud. Maggie began to sob--whimpering at first, then with growing hysteria. Teddy crawled out from under the table, kicked glass away, and scuttled across the room.

"It was a brick, Dad," he called.

"Don't touch it," John said, still holding Maggie.

"I know. Fingerprints," Teddy said.

John nodded, realizing there wouldn't be any. People, even noncriminals, had gotten sophisticated about evidence. Even the local hotheads--whose prior worst crime might have been overzealous letters to the editor or loud protests outside court--had absorbed plenty of information about fingerprints and hair and fiber from the cop shows they watched and the legal thrillers they read.

Drops of blood splashed on the floor. Focused, John examined his daughter to make sure she hadn't gotten cut. When she looked up into his face, her eyes widened with horror and she shrieked in his ear.

"Dad, you're cut!" she cried. Touching the side of his head, he felt a spot of warm liquid; grabbing a green-and-blue napkin, he held it against the gash. Teddy ran over, pushed Maggie aside, looked at his father's head. John rose and, holding his kids' hands, walked into the bathroom.

"It's not too bad," he said, peering at his reflection in the mirror. "Just superficial--looks a lot worse than it...