Mask of Innocence

By Deanna Burke

Although worlds apart in their values, Joshua Moore and Brad Stevenson are best of friends—inseparable friends—until a horrific accident ends their friendship abruptly. Both Moore and Stevenson hold a secret—a secret so dark neither can reveal it—a secret that only Gillian Richards is remotely suspicious of.

Gillian Richards has tried to bury the memories that haunt her, hiding behind her profession and the man she loves. More than ten years pass before a phone call comes, revealing a shocking truth, making her relive the painful memories she has tried so hard to forget. On one small hunch, she sacrifices everything she has, and in a relentless search to uncover the truth, she seeks out Joshua Moore.

Mask of Innocence takes us on a journey of faith and friendship—of love, betrayal, and deceit—as the lives of the two boys unfold. Through the wine regions of New South Wales, the breathtaking beauty of the Blue Mountains, and the magnificence of Sydney’s North Shore, Moore and Stevenson are haunted by a past that can’t be forgotten—and by a woman who insists on revealing it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 21, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595902187

Deanna Burke

DEANNA BURKE presently lives near Niagara Falls, Ontario, where she worked in media as a managing editor, scriptwriter, and producer. While living in Australia, the beauty of the land captivated her and provided the inspiration for her first novel, Mask of Innocence.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Scott McCullough leaned his hands on the desk and stared into the eyes of the woman seated behind it. Could he possibly be mistaken about what she just said? He took a few steps back and sat down in the leather high back chair, the long uncomfortable silence making both of them uneasy.

Scott, you have to understand...

Understand what? he barked angrily. Understand how you can pack up and leave without any explanation at all? Don’t you think you’re asking too much of me?

It’s not that easy. There are circumstances...

Then enlighten me Gillian. Tell me what those circumstances are. Help me understand why they take precedence over us.

She stared blankly into his eyes. Her porcelain face was even paler than normal—her dark hair wisping carelessly around her face. I want the job, she answered.

No, he cut in roughly. It’s not the job.

Standing, he sighed heavily, reaching up and pressing the bridge of his nose. Look at this place, he said, sweeping his hand across the room. Look at what you’ve done here.

She let her eyes fall on the plush interior of the large office space. She’d worked so hard to achieve what she had—putting every penny she’d earned back into this place. For a brief moment she let herself remember the dreams she had when she first entered this office.

"This is what you’ve worked for, he said angrily. I’ve watched how you’ve built it over the last three years—how much love and dedication you’ve put into it. It’s the one saving grace that keeps you from agonizing over the past you can’t seem to bury."

That’s not fair, she said resentfully.

It’s not? And what do you find fair? The fact that you can get up and leave me after everything we’ve been through—without any explanation at all? Is that what you call fair?

She stared at him accusingly, and with a heavy groan, he thrust his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window. He could deal with her anger or her pain, but he knew it was a losing battle when she turned cold on him. He stared out over the city of Perth, wondering how he could let her push his buttons like this. Living with her was like being on an emotional roller coaster—one day he was on top of the world, and the next day he was down. Today was just another day in the turbulent relationship he’d shared with her over the last four years. He’d given everything he could to her—as much as one person was capable of, and now she was pulling the rug out from under him.

Is this permanent? he asked, trying to control the defeat in his voice.

For the first time during their conversation, she moved from behind the large oak desk and walked towards him. I’m not sure, she said with uncertainty. Her voice quivered, and he resisted the temptation to take her in his arms and beg her not to go. He didn’t want her to see the weakness taking over him.

Is it someone else? he asked wearily.

No, she said without hesitation.

He paused. It’s more than the job. I know it is. She didn’t respond. Why Gillian?

She crossed her arms in front of her in a protective gesture. Trying to keep her voice from breaking, she said, It’s something I have to do—for myself. You wouldn’t understand.

He hung his head and looked down at the carpet. I don’t know what you want from me. Are you asking me to wait?

She hesitated, trying to fight back the emotion welling up inside. I’m not asking anything of you Scott. What you do is completely up to you.

He stood for quite some time before finally turning to look at her. She was fighting back tears. It was the first hint he’d had that this decision was hurting her as well.

What if I decide to come with you?

Their eyes locked together as she stared at him in disbelief. Here it was—his dying words of devotion. His willingness to give up everything he’d worked for over the last eight years in order to follow her on a whim—without any knowledge of why she was leaving. What was she doing? Why was she putting him through this? Putting them both through this? Was all of it worth the pain?

I can’t let you do that, she finally said with regret. You’ve just been promoted to State Manager. You’d lose everything you’ve worked for.

He glanced out the window, the impact of her words hitting him harder than if he’d flung himself onto the concrete below. He knew that he was being unrealistic. He knew that he’d have to start all over again if he moved to Sydney, but for one fleeting moment, and he knew it was crazy, he’d be willing to throw it all away—just to stay with her.

Her refusal was too hard to take. Slowly he moved toward the door. He rested his hand on the gold latch, turning it without looking at her. Then I guess this is it.

I guess it is, she replied quietly.

He looked back at her one more time. Her eyes were filled with tears, her body trembling. She was so beautiful—so fragile—and he felt the sudden need to put his arms around her and protect her from whatever demons were haunting her—like he’d done so often in the past.

Gillian...please stay.

I can’t, she whispered, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

He stood watching her for what seemed eternity before he opened the door and walked out. She tried to catch her breath when she moved back behind the desk, the sickening ache inside her growing. She sat down and twisted the engagement ring around on her finger, stifling a cry and staring at the door, subconsciously willing him to come back, but knowing that he wouldn’t. Leaving Scott was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but he would never understand if she told him her reasons for going. She knew what he’d say. Gillian, you have to forget the past—no matter how horrible it was. Things happened a long time ago. If you don’t let go of the memories, eventually they’ll destroy you.

Looking over at the photograph of her nine-year-old brother David, she picked it up and stared at it through tear-stained eyes. The picture had been taken right before her parents’ accident—one month before David went missing—more than thirteen years ago.

Miss Richards? In her mind she could hear the telephone call that had come two days ago. It’s Detective Morris from Mudgee. Miss Richards, I fear we have some terrible news. She remembered hearing the detective pausing, clearing his throat uneasily before carrying on. "It’s about your brother. We think we found his remains out near Glen Ridge. Do you think you can come out as soon as possible? Miss Richards…are you there? Miss Richards?"

With trembling fingers, she put the picture down and opened her desk drawer, pulling out the pack of cigarettes she’d kept hidden from Scott. She lit one and put it to her lips, inhaling slowly as the nicotine lulled her into a sense of calmness. She repeated her action and smoked the cigarette halfway down before resting it in the crystal ashtray.

Reaching into her desk, she pulled out the article she’d clipped several months ago from the business section of The Sydney Financial News, glancing at the picture before reading the brief article on Joshua Moore and Paul Shaver. Both Moore and Shaver had been key players behind Garrison’s new hi-tech division, using a combination of innovative marketing techniques and financial strategies, launching Garrison into the global marketplace. The company was now a major competitor on the world stage.

Slowly she closed the file and slipped it back in the drawer. It had been over thirteen years since she’d seen Joshua Moore. She wondered if he’d recognize her. She’d have to be very careful in her plan to meet with him. It was her last hope of finding out whether he was involved in her brother’s disappearance—in her brother’s murder.

Gillian…please stay.

Scott’s words echoed in her mind, and in an effort to block out his voice, she put her hands over her ears.

Forgive me Scott, she whispered to herself. I love you, but you won’t understand what I’m about to do.

MUDGEE, NEW SOUTH WALES

2010

CHAPTER 1

Joshua Moore geared down his Honda and braked slowly until he came to a full stop. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no traffic was coming. The last thing he wanted, being the first day on the road, was to cause an accident at the top of this mountain. His leather jacket fluttered in the wind and his pulse raced with excitement as he looked down at the town of Kelona. He’d waited forever for this moment. He knew that driving down this mountainside was ludicrous, but it was something he’d wanted to do since moving here two years ago. In his mind, there was nothing comparable to riding this steep incline on the Great Dividing Range.

He revved his bike, hesitating as he shifted gears and began the descent. He was a novice driver, and he knew he was riding his brakes somewhat, but he didn’t care. The sensation he’d expected was there—that exhilarating feeling of risking something no other seventeen year old would dare risk with such limited experience.

A few minutes later, as he rounded the curve, his excitement began to diminish. He wasn’t near the base of the mountain yet, but for some reason the ride seemed too simple—too easy. When he finally reached the bottom, he stopped the bike and looked up at the depth he’d just conquered. Was this a ride no other seventeen year old would try? He shook his head. Probably not, but he guessed he was pretty cool anyway.

He looked down at his watch, realizing there was time to kill before his dad needed him. Brad had called earlier, insisting he come over, so he decided to stop by and see his friend on the way back. He revved his bike, zigzagging slowly through the small town’s maze of streets, picking up speed as he drove towards the endless stretch of sloping hills and valleys.

He thought of his favorite driving song and grinned, his pulse beating with every kilometer he traveled. He couldn’t believe he was driving his own bike. He’d begged his parents for the last two years for one, so when his seventeenth birthday came and they called him into the backyard, he couldn’t contain his excitement. The Enduro was only a 250 cc, but it was far superior to any other bike he’d seen—and a gift way beyond their means. He smiled to himself. There was nothing better than driving his own bike, the open air stimulating all of his senses.

He drove past the sloping valleys until he passed Windamere Dam, the highway paralleling the gently rolling countryside. When he finally reached the outskirts of Mudgee, he let off on the gas, slowed down, and veered onto a private road off the main highway. Brad’s house was hidden away from view, tucked away behind a mass of lush elm trees.

As he coasted into the driveway, he brought his bike to a halt, looking around at the cars parked on the lawn. The Stevenson’s owned one of the wineries where tours and wine tasting were a regular weekend formality. Judging by the vehicles here today, Mrs. Stevenson was giving another one of her tours. Brad usually helped her out, but Josh knew the only reason was to catch a few nips of wine.

He took his helmet off and was greeted by Sigmund’s excited bark, sidestepping out of the way when the awkward mix of Shepherd and Collie came barreling towards him. Josh didn’t mind the animal, but Sigmund’s bladder seemed to dysfunction whenever he got over-excited. Roughing the dog up, he ran playfully with him until he reached the large stone addition at the back of the house.

Leaving Sigmund behind, he flipped the iron latch on the heavy wooden door and pushed on it, entering the dimly lit concrete room. Glancing over the group of noisy tourists, he noticed Brad sitting on top of the cedar bar, waving him over. Drops of perspiration formed on his forehead as he fought his way through the crowd. Even though a large wagon-wheel fan spun slowly on the ceiling, the normally cool and musty room was sweltering.

How can you stand it in here? he asked.

You get used to it, Brad replied. Where have you been?

They let me take the bike for a drive.

Awesome! Did you go to Kelona?

Josh nodded. Spectacular—definitely worth it.

Brad was disappointed. You should’ve called, he said in an accusatory tone. It hasn’t been the most exciting day.

Josh felt an edge of guilt. He was going to call, but lately Brad had a way of sidetracking him. Besides, it was his first try on the mountain and he wanted to do it alone. What’s the deal? he asked, changing the subject. Why did you call?

I’ll tell you in a minute. Just keep watch for me.

Brad slipped off the bar, disappearing behind it when Mrs. Stevenson called out to the crowd. He could see Brad wrestling with some of the boxes on the floor.

Hello and welcome to Stevenson’s Wineries, she began. My name is Tracy Stevenson, and I’ll be giving you a tour of our winery. Shortly after the tour, we’ll return to the bar where we’ll sample some of our wines.

She gestured in Josh’s direction. A number of people looked over their shoulder to where he stood. Feeling anxious, he pulled himself up on the bar stool.

"As some of you might know, Mudgee is an aboriginal name meaning ‘Little Town Nestled in the Mountains.’ Our mountains can be seen from every direction. For those of you spending time here, I’m sure you’ve discovered the uniqueness and beauty of our land."

The crowd buzzed with chatter as she moved in front of a large picture. It was of Brad’s father, who stood tall and shirtless in a field, loading wooden crates on a tractor. Josh wondered when and where it was taken, as he’d never known Mr. Stevenson to take an interest in physical labor of any kind.

She almost lost her balance when she motioned to it. Josh could tell that she’d been drinking again. He wondered if the slur in her speech and her cautious movements were noticed by anyone else in the crowd.

Mudgee is becoming a unique tourist attraction, as more and more people discover the quality of our wines. When she moved toward a narrow flight of stairs, a handful of tourists moved with her, reminding him of a herd of sheep. He snickered quietly to himself.

Are they still there? Brad called out in annoyance.

They’re just leaving.

In the next room we have a video of the entire wine-making process here at Stevenson’s Wineries. I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating...

Brad stood up, frustrated. A gentleman dressed in expensive casual clothing stepped away from the crowd, eyeing Mrs. Stevenson. How long has wine-making been popular here? he asked in a heavy American accent.

In the 1850s and 60s, gold discoveries in this area brought hopeful diggers from all over the world, she replied, smiling at the handsome tourist. Many of the surrounding villages had upward of 20,000 people, but they soon became ghost towns.

He gave her a flirtatious smile and she flushed.

What an ass, Brad seethed under his breath.

Mudgee didn’t rely on gold, she explained. Our wealth came from this countryside. It wasn’t too long after the gold rush that people realized the importance of the rich soils here on the Great Dividing Range. We now rely on winemaking as one of our ways to keep the town prosperous.

The tourist grinned when she stepped aside to let the others pass. He remained behind, placing his hand on her waist, ushering her out of the room.

I thought she’d never shut up! Brad said irately. He bent down. A loud ripping noise sliced into the silence.

What are you doing? Josh asked curiously.

What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting wine for the dance.

He leaned over to watch Brad shove two bottles into a khaki-colored knapsack. I can’t believe you’re stealing from your own mum.

Brad’s face twisted in annoyance. She’s too drunk to notice anything’s missing, he replied flippantly. Besides, they’re sample bottles—she won’t even notice. He placed a piece of packing tape on the box before reaching for the knapsack. Okay…let’s go.

Once outside, it took him a few minutes to adjust to the brightness. Sigmund annoyed them as they walked to his bike, following along and barking at their heels.

Here, Brad said, holding out the knapsack.

What? I don’t want it.

Come on. Just drop it off at the cave.

Why can’t you do it?

It’s on your way back! What’s the big deal? Brad asked, exasperated.

Josh reluctantly tied it to the back of his grid. What if I get caught?

You won’t. You worry too much.

Are you forgetting that my dad’s the pastor here? he replied. He threw his leg over the bike and thrust on the starter. The bike didn’t respond.

We still on for hunting tomorrow?

Josh grimaced. He hated hunting, but it was Brad’s favorite pastime. I guess so, he said without enthusiasm, trying the bike once again.

Brad didn’t take notice of Josh’s reluctance. Instead he stepped back to admire the bike. That’s some beauty, he said. I can’t believe the crap I’m driving.

You didn’t consider it crap when you got it last year.

Brad glanced over at the mud-stained bike resting in the shade. Yeah—well, I want a new one. I’m telling my old man to buy me a Yamaha.

The statement didn’t surprise Josh. Every time he got something new, Brad had to do him one better. Do you think he’d go for it?

Why not? he sneered with resentment. He’s got the money.

Josh turned his attention back to the bike, raising his body one more time, pushing his leg down forcefully. This time it started. He could hear Brad yelling over the sound of the engine. Hold on—keep an eye out for me.

Brad hurried towards a silver colored Mercedes parked a few feet away. He took out his pocketknife and pushed the blade into the thick rubber tire, twisting as he did.

Are you crazy? What are you doing? Josh shouted.

That’ll teach the bastard for coming on to my mum, he said caustically. He tried to push the blade in one more time.

Don’t be an idiot! Josh yelled. He won’t be able to leave!

Brad paused in thought before folding the switchblade and putting it back in his pocket. Oh yeah…you’ve got a point mate.

Josh shook his head in frustration, annoyed at his friend. I have to go—I’m going to be late now.

Later, Brad waved. Don’t forget to drop that off, he said, pointing to the knapsack.

I won’t, he yelled over the sound of the engine.

As he drove off, Sigmund chased him out to the highway, nipping at his heels until he left the dog behind in the dust.

*****

He drove hurriedly along the river, searching for the hidden path. It was hard to see with the sun in his eyes, so he reached in his pocket for his sunglasses, his motorbike wavering as he put them on. When he noticed the dirt road, he turned quickly, driving for a short time along the rugged path before reaching the entrance to the cave.

He got off his bike and tripped over the makeshift fireplace on his way in. He turned on his cell’s flashlight and looked around. The ground was a mess, littered with cigarette butts, motorcycle magazines, bottles of wine, and now nudie magazines. Obviously Brad had been here several times without him.

He ran the light along the bottom of the cave and found the odd shaped rock. He moved it back, puzzled to see something inside the hollowed out hole. He reached in and pulled out a book—a novel he’d been assigned in English class—one that he thought he’d lost at Rugby practice. There was a note inside. Hey mate. Found this in the grass. Not a fan of contributing to school work, but thought you might need it.

He shook his head, feeling a pang of guilt. It was probably the reason Brad sent him here in the first place. He wasn’t the type who liked to be acknowledged for his kindness.

He placed the wine bottles in the hole and pushed the rock back in place, panicking when he looked at the time. He rushed out of the cave, jumped on his bike, and raced in the direction of home.

CHAPTER 2

Josh hurried through the front lobby and raced through the double doors of the auditorium. Even though his heart was pounding, the ambience in this room calmed him immediately. It never ceased to amaze him how peaceful it felt in here, even when it was empty. As he moved toward the stage, he noticed his dad talking quietly with someone at the podium.

Sorry I’m late, he called out apologetically.

His father raised his eyes briefly. I’ll be with you in a moment Son.

He took a seat on the cushioned chair, thankful for the rest. He was already twenty minutes late after dropping off the wine, a detour he could have done without, especially on such an important day. He had to run all the way here after leaving his motorbike at home.

He tried to quiet his breathing as he looked around, noticing how spacious this place seemed now that the renovations were complete. His dad and the board recently purchased this old theatre—right before it was scheduled to be torn down. They replaced the archaic chairs with comfy padded seating, added two large screens, and upgraded the lighting and sound equipment. Although the space only held 350 people, there was rarely a seat left at any of their events.

As he sat there waiting for his dad to finish, his thoughts shifted back to Brad. He’d been getting himself into a heap of trouble after learning about his parents’ divorce a few weeks ago. Mr. Stevenson was a film director in Sydney, and rumor had it that he’d taken up with an actress on location. He’d been away for five months now, and the longer he stayed away, the more trouble Brad got into. Josh couldn’t reason with him anymore. He wondered if he should talk to his father about it.

He shook his head, knowing that it couldn’t be today. There were more important things to think about. They had a guest speaker flying in from Brisbane, and he and his brother were playing guitar tonight, along with a ten-piece band from Sydney. Even though they’d spent hours setting up last night for the event, there was still a lot of work to do.

He noticed his father looking at him, motioning for him to come down. Josh recognized the person he was talking to as Mrs. Callaghan, one of the board members. After Mrs. Callaghan left, he approached his father, noticing he looked pale.

Are you okay Dad? he asked with concern.

Fine...yes, I’m fine Son, his father replied in a distant voice. Did you see your mum?

No…I came in through the lobby.

His father went silent for a few moments, preoccupied in thought. It was a complete change in demeanor from his enthusiasm this morning.

Josh, some of this equipment has been cutting out. I’m wondering if you could you do a sound check on the instruments again. Take a look at the lighting as well. Your brother should be here shortly.

Sure, he replied without hesitation.

Actually, before you do that, could you check the office to see if your mum is back? I need to talk to her. Tell her it’s important.

Okay Dad, he answered dutifully.

Instead of going through the lobby, he took the shortcut behind the stage. He pushed the curtains back and felt around in the dark, taking the stairs to the back parking lot. He jammed a wooden peg in the door and crossed the driveway, his eyes sweeping the office once inside. It was empty, except for one of the volunteers.

He made his way back, kicking the peg away before feeling his way down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he could hear two people talking in hushed tones. Through a crack in the curtain, he could see his mum. She must have come in through the front entrance.

He stepped back, feeling awkward. He could sense something was wrong. Should he let them know he was here?

John? he heard his mother ask quietly. What’s wrong?

His father took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There’s been an accident. He looked distraught, his voice unsteady.

Josh moved along the curtains, hiding himself from view. He thought of going back up, but it was dark. He wasn’t sure if he could find the staircase without making noise.

What kind of accident? she asked worriedly.

He hesitated, not knowing how to tell her. Helen and Bob Mead were driving home last night, he said uneasily. A bunch of young kids were out for a joyride—they’d been drinking. They ran a red light…

From where Josh stood, he could see the color in his mother’s face drain. Are they okay? she asked, her voice trembling.

His father took a deep breath before answering. I’m sorry sweetheart. They didn’t make it.

She put her hand over her mouth, stifling a cry. Helen Mead was a good friend of hers and a vital part of the school, volunteering in her classes every week. Bob Mead was a psychologist who helped counsel young offenders in the community.

What about the children? she asked through tears.

His father sighed. Gillian is in serious condition—she went through the back windshield. They’ve air-lifted her to Sydney. He paused before continuing, trying to contain his emotions. David is all right—he was in the back seat with Gillian. Somehow he escaped injury.

I can’t believe it, she cried.

Sylvia is on her way over to watch David. Bob’s sister flew in from Perth—apparently she’s at the hospital. He paused. She’s going to let us know Gillian’s progress. She’s asked if we could help out.

His mother nodded, the tears spilling down her cheeks. Of course, of course, she said, brushing them away. I’ll make some calls…

I’m late for picking up Bill at the airport. I’m sorry I have to leave you. He hugged her tightly. It’ll be all right sweetheart, he said in a comforting voice. They were good people. They’re in God’s hands now.

He put his arm around her and guided her out. Josh stood watching until the double doors shut behind them. A sudden wave of sympathy fell over him for Helen and Bob Mead—and for the children he didn’t know.

He came out from behind the curtain and picked up one of the wires leading to his guitar, his hands unsteady, upset when a brief image of his parents being killed in an accident crossed his mind. He pushed the darkened thought away.

Hey kid, he heard his brother call out. He looked up to see Rick and one of the band members walking toward the stage.

Hey, Josh replied, plugging the cable in the amp. He turned up the volume and strummed on his guitar. As he made adjustments, he couldn’t let go of the morbid image.

Where’s Dad? Rick asked.

He just left. He wants us to test the equipment—and the lighting.

Again? Rick questioned. We just did it this morning.

Josh shrugged his shoulders. Maybe he forgot, he said, tapping his finger on the keyboard, the note sounding empty in the spacious room.

He stepped off the stage and headed to the sound booth. He didn’t mind checking everything again. They would probably be adding a few more songs tonight in honor of the Mead family, so he wanted to make sure everything was in perfect working order.

CHAPTER 3

The last two weeks had gone by quickly. Josh sat in silence, looking down in frustration at his book and the notes scattered across his desk. Over the last several days, he’d struggled with four different openings on his assignment, but so far nothing sounded right.

He excelled in most of his subjects, but history was becoming his most hated one. He’d been trying to keep his marks up, hoping to win a rugby scholarship, but he wondered if it was worth the effort. He didn’t know what he’d be taking after finishing high school, but he knew, without a doubt, it had nothing to do with history.

He turned the page and rubbed the end of the pencil across his fore-head, trying