Smoke and Mirrors (Sloane Monroe Book 8)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

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

  First US edition August 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Cover Design Copyright 2019 © Indie Designz

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781089212560

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, given away or re-sold in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, etc.) without the prior written permission and consent of the author. Thank you for being respectful of the hard work of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  About Cheryl Bradshaw

  Books by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Cairns, Australia

  Grace Ashby was having an unusual dream. A dream so real it seemed like her mum was beside her, sleeping in the same bed she was. But her mum wasn’t in her room. Her mum was screaming—emitting high-pitched, grisly shrieks of terror that startled Grace awake from her hellish nightmare.

  The screams echoed through the hall for a few moments and then stopped, and the house returned to its usual quiet tranquility. Grace remained still, listening to the familiar creaks and groans she’d grown accustomed to over the years. Then she drifted off to sleep again, soothing her fears by assuring herself that what she had just experienced was nothing more than an all-too-realistic dream. But her self-soothing was short-lived, bursting like a popped balloon when she heard her mum shouting a slew of muffled sentences Grace couldn’t string together.

  Nervous about what was happening, Grace wanted to remain in bed where it was safe, where her mum had told her to stay, but something about the tone in her mum’s voice wasn’t right. It was different. She sounded ... frightened. Grace reached a hand through the darkness until she felt the cold metal of the bedside lamp. Sliding a hand up its base, she found the switch, turned the light on, and canvassed her room.

  She was alone, and the house had gone quiet again.

  “Mum? Are you okay?” Grace called out. “Is something wrong?”

  There was no reply.

  I’m too far away from her. Maybe she can’t hear me.

  Grace cleared her throat, raised her voice, and repeated the question.

  The outcome was the same.

  Grace was afraid to leave her bed. She didn’t want to walk across the long, dark corridor leading from her room to her mum’s, but no matter how nervous she was, she knew sleep wouldn’t find her again until she was sure her mum was all right. She peeled back the covers, took a deep breath, and crept to the door, sliding one eye out just enough for her to peer down the hall. She looked out, seeing nothing but a faint sliver of light emitting from a crack beneath her mum’s door at the opposite end of the house—just enough to light the way for her.

  She tiptoed down the hall, reached her mum’s door, and paused, hearing the whisper of a man’s voice on the opposite side. It was gruff and emotional.

  Grace pressed a finger to the door, pushing it open just enough for her to glance inside. She slapped a hand across her mouth, stifling a scream as she saw her mum sprawled on the floor, unmoving. A man was hunched over her mum’s body. Grace stepped into the room, and the man’s head snapped back to look at her, his face grim and vexed, like her presence irritated him.

  The man’s name was Hugh Beaumont. Over the last two years, he and her mum had been in a relationship. Grace had liked him at first, but in recent months, his behavior had soured after he’d knelt down and proposed marriage, sliding a ring on her mum’s finger before she’d had the chance to respond to his offer. Her mum had flat-out refused, taking the ring off, and handing it back to him, saying she cared for him, but she felt blindsided. She told him she wasn’t ready and that he should have discussed the idea of becoming engaged with her first before making such a grandiose gesture. Undeterred, he’d grabbed her mum’s hand, pushing the ring onto her palm as he said, “Keep it. Think of it as a promise ring, a sign of my commitment to our relationship.”

  And she’d accepted it. He’d fooled her mum, but he hadn’t fooled Grace. She’d known the ring symbolized far more than a simple token of his devotion. It symbolized his power over her, a power he seemed to be exerting now.

  Hugh stared at her a moment, then said, “Grace, you shouldn’t be in—”

  “What’s wrong with my mum?” Grace asked. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. You don’t understand.”

  She understood plenty. His face was sweaty and red. Her mum was unconscious, or worse. She couldn’t tell yet. But there was one thing she knew for sure—he was to blame.

  Grace charged forward. “Move! Get away from her!”

  Hugh didn’t budge.

  “I mean it! Get out of my way, Hugh.”

  She stepped around him, noticing something she hadn’t until now—blood—and lots of it. It had soaked through her mum’s shirt, oozing drops of red onto the rug on the side of her body. Grace’s knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor. She leaned in, placing an ear over her mum’s mouth. There was nothing—no air, no signs of life. She grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll. “Mum, please. Wake up. Mum!”

  When there was still no response, Grace sprung to her feet, stabbing a finger into Hugh’s chest. “She’s not breathing! And the blood ... you! You did this to her!”

  “Look, Grace, this isn’t the time to ... I mean, I don’t know how to explain ...”

  He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. Before the call could go through, Grace lunged for the phone. “Give it to me! Let me have it!”

  “Stop it, Grace! Stop it right now.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom door. “Go back to your room and wait for me until I come get you, all right?”

  He was trying to get rid of her ... Why?

  And whom was he calling? A friend? Someone to help cover up what he just did? Was she next?

  Eyes blurred with tears, Grace thrust her hands into his chest, shoving him backward. The phone clattered to the ground. She snatched it o
ff the floor, waving it in front of him. “You’re nobody! You’re not my dad. You’re not her husband. You’re nothing, and you don’t get to tell me what to do. Get out of here right now! Get out of our house!”

  Hugh grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the bedroom door. She wrestled away from his grip and ran into her mum’s bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it. Heartbroken and scared, Grace’s thoughts turned to the only man she’d ever trusted, a man she needed more than anyone right now. Glancing around, she eyed a window on the opposite wall—a window that was just big enough for her to fit through.

  Redondo Beach, California

  One week later

  I stood in front of the full-sized mirror in my bedroom, staring at myself. My wedding dress was delicate and thin, with a vintage look reminiscent of a gown Grace Kelly wore in the1950s. Mine had short sleeves and was far simpler, but it was perfect, just the way I liked it. After dating Cade for the last seven years, the day we’d been talking about for so long had finally arrived. I felt ready in some ways, and not so ready in others, and even though I was happy and content, nervous jitters flowed through me like restless fireflies. In the next hour, I would wed a man I considered to be the best, most loving person I’d known in all of my life, and yet my anxiety still showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Not only was I nervous, my OCD was in full-on mode as I fiddled with a hairpin I’d positioned and repositioned in my hair at least four times. And that was just in the last five minutes.

  “Leave it alone. It’s perfect,” a woman’s voice said.

  I turned to see my closest friend standing in the doorway. Maddie was wearing a wine-colored, floor-length dress she’d chosen herself. Her long, blond hair had been curled into soft, wavy locks, a departure from her usual pigtails or braids. Yesterday she seemed a lot younger than a woman like me in her mid-forties. Today she was all grown up. We both were.

  “Everything is perfect—your dress, your hair, your makeup,” Maddie said as she slid up beside me at the mirror. “You don’t need to change a thing.”

  She was right. I didn’t. But we both knew I was going to do it anyway.

  “Your hair is amazing,” I said.

  She scratched her scalp. “Well, don’t get used to it. After the reception, this sophisticated princess is going back to a tracksuit and braids. I don’t know how some women spend so much time on their hair every day. It took me almost two hours to pull this together, and another thirty on makeup. Other than snazzy events like this, it’s a ridiculous waste of time.”

  I laughed. “Even Medical Examiner Barbie needs to get fixed up from time to time.”

  Maddie was an ME. One of the best in the country. Recently she’d ditched life in the lab and had started touring, giving lectures about her work and discussing some of the forensic breakthroughs she’d discovered over the years. She was bright and fearless. She was also a tomboy.

  My grandmother entered the room and smiled. “Oh, just look at you, dear. So beautiful. You ready? It’s almost time.”

  I nodded and repositioned the hairpin one last time.

  “And where’s our little man?” Gran asked.

  I pointed to a chair, where Boo, my Westie, was pawing at the satin hat tied around his head, trying everything he could to get it off. I hoped it would last another thirty minutes, just long enough for us to get our rings out of it before it was destroyed.

  “I may have put the hat on him too soon,” I said. “He doesn’t like it.”

  “There’s no sense taking it off now,” Gran said. “It’s go time.”

  Maddie scooped Boo off the chair and looked at Gran. “I’ll take him. You take her.”

  With no parents left in my life, and no sister, Gran would be the one walking me down the aisle.

  I stood up, and my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I walked over and picked it up. The number was one I didn’t recognize, and it looked international. I assumed it was probably an accidental dial and pushed it to voice mail. I looped my arm around Gran’s, and she patted my hand.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  We entered through the chapel doors of the old, restored church, and I scanned the room, my eyes coming to rest on a small gathering of people I loved seated in my section. They weren’t family, but over the years, they’d become friends. Close friends. Even Coop—Park City’s chief of police—was smiling. It was hard to believe a day had finally come where we were no longer at odds with each other. But come it had, and I couldn’t have been happier.

  I walked down the aisle, resting my eyes on Cade, whose smile removed the jitters inside me. He took my hand as I reached him, rubbing my palm with his fingers. The pastor began, taking us through the ceremony with ease and grace, and with Maddie’s assistance, Boo walked the rings to us like he’d prepared his entire life for this moment. Not long after, we were officially a married couple, with the pastor announcing, “You may kiss the bride.”

  I was now Sloane Monroe-McCoy.

  Cade leaned in, pausing a moment before the kiss.

  “I’ve waited all my life to start one with you.”

  And as we embraced a tear trailed down my cheek because I felt the exact same way.

  Two weeks later

  I returned from a relaxing but adventurous honeymoon in Africa to several missed calls on my business line from a senator in Australia named James Ashby, a man I assumed I’d never hear from again. We’d met several months earlier in Cairns when I’d traveled to Australia to help my friend, Nick Calhoun, investigate the disappearance of his wife Marissa, who was traveling Down Under to attend her friend’s wedding. James was to be the groom, but once I’d solved Marissa’s murder, and he’d learned his bride-to-be had been keeping secrets from him that pertained to the murder, he’d called off the wedding.

  The voice mail James left me was vague: “Call me when you get this message. Something has happened here, and I’d like to hire you. I need your help.”

  After listening to it, I stood there, staring at my phone as if it were sand in an hourglass, while I considered whether to return the call or not. I wasn’t sure I wanted to travel to another country at the moment. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to offer whatever help he needed. When we’d first met, I had formed the wrong impression of him after hearing rumors about the kind of person he was, but in the end, he’d proved himself a better man than I initially believed him to be. Still, I speculated there was a side of him I hadn’t seen, a side he concealed from others. I didn’t know how I knew. I just did, and I wasn’t sure getting involved with him again was in my best interest.

  On the other hand, I’d never been one to shy away from risk. And though hard for me to admit, I’d recently come to realize my life was the most fulfilled when accompanied by a moderate amount of danger. It was something I lived for, something I needed in order to thrive, and as the sand in my imaginary hourglass began to run out, I decided I should at least talk to him before coming to a decision.

  James answered the call on the second ring, saying, “Does it always take you this long to call your clients back?”

  “I was on my honeymoon,” I said. “I’ve only just returned, and you’re not my client.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t aware you’d gotten married. Congratulations.”

  “I was surprised you called. You mentioned needing my help, but you’re a senator. Aren’t there plenty of people who are equipped to handle your needs more than I could be?”

  “There are, but none of them are you.”

  I accepted his flattery and got to the point. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can get here as soon as possible.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “A few weeks ago, my sister Caroline and the man she had been seeing were murdered in her home.”

  Whatever I’d expected him to say, this wasn’t it.

  “I ... I’m really sorry to hear it,” I said.

  My thoughts turned to his niece, a sweet teenager with D
own syndrome. I’d met her on my previous visit.

  “What about Grace?” I said. “Please tell me she’s all right.”

  “She’s fine. I wouldn’t say she’s doing well, but we’ll get there again one day. She’s staying with me now, and I’m doing everything I can to help her.”

  “Where was Grace when Caroline was murdered?”

  “She was in the house, sleeping. Caroline screamed, which woke her. She went down the hall to investigate the noise and found Caroline on the floor, bleeding and unresponsive. Hugh, Caroline’s boyfriend, was crouched over her, mumbling, but Grace couldn’t hear what he said.”

  “I thought you said he was dead.”

  “He is. That is to say, he was alive and appeared unharmed when Grace first discovered Caroline, but he’s dead now.”

  “I’m confused,” I said.

  “I was too. There are a lot of moving pieces here. A lot of things which don’t make sense, but they will once we find the man who did this.”

  Or woman.

  “How are you sure it was a man?” I asked.

  “I’m not. It’s just a hunch.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “From what Grace has been able to piece together, we know Hugh was alive initially. When Grace saw him leaning over Caroline, she assumed Hugh had killed her. She locked herself in the bathroom and escaped through the window. She ran to a neighbor’s house and called me. I headed straight over. When I arrived, Hugh was dead. He’d been found at the bottom of the stairs, and it looks like he either fell down them or was pushed.”

  I visualized Hugh having a confrontation with Caroline’s killer. I assumed a chase had ensued at some point, wherein Hugh ended at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Grace never heard or saw anyone else in the house?” I asked.

  “No one. But her memory of the night’s events hasn’t been great. She was quite shaken up. It’s still a bit fuzzy.”

  “It’s understandable. I’m sure she’s confused about everything right now.”

  I found the whole thing strange. Caroline had been dead when Grace found her, but Hugh had been alive. Minutes later, he was also dead, but the two had died in different ways. I wondered if Grace was confused at the time, so overcome with shock and grief at seeing her mother dead on the floor that she’d missed things. Clues. Maybe the killer had still been there in the house before she escaped out the window. I also wondered if Hugh had been an intended victim, or if he’d been killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe he hadn’t been murdered at all. Maybe he’d just suffered a heart attack or something and just toppled.