Praise for More Than We Remember
“A beautiful page-turner full of depth and hope. A reminder that faith and friendship can see us through even the most impossible situations. Don’t miss this gift of a story.”
—Catherine West, award-winning author
Praise for If We Make It Home
A Library Journal Best Book of 2017 and a 2017 Foreword INDIES Book of the Year
“Nelson’s fiction debut is a tension-filled tour de force of suspense and human emotions. Fans of Cheryl Strayed’s Wild and Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild will love this.”
—Library Journal
“If you love discovering new authors with lyrical, literary voices, then you’re in for a treat. If you like those voices to also deliver a powerful, engaging story with true emotional depth, then you’re in for a feast. Highly recommended.”
—James L. Rubart, bestselling author of Pages of Her Life
“I turned the final page of If We Make It Home with a sigh of satisfaction. Christina Suzann Nelson is a writer to watch! The adventure these three friends found themselves on had me wide-eyed and holding my breath, but their inner journeys were even more breathtaking. High stakes for each of the characters, yes, but a payoff that is so worthwhile.”
—Deborah Raney, author of Chasing Dreams
“If We Make It Home is a powerfully well-written novel layered with complex characters, witty dialogue, and superbly plotted collision courses of divine destiny. . . . [It] moved me with its gut-wrenching honesty and profound wisdom. . . . Christina Nelson has created an absolute must-read masterpiece.”
—Camille Eide, award-winning author of Wings Like a Dove
Praise for Swimming in the Deep End
“An exceptional read and one that will live with me long after I close the book.”
—Jaime Jo Wright, Christy Award–winning author of Echoes among the Stones
© 2020 by Christina Suzann Nelson
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2269-2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch/Black Kat Design
Author is represented by the Books & Such Literary Agency.
To my husband.
A man worthy of my trust.
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
Author’s Note
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
The perp was a mama raccoon.
Deputy Emilia Cruz turned her sheriff’s department SUV onto the highway connecting her county to the rest of the world. Her foot pressed the gas pedal a little harder than usual. Thirty minutes of road twisted between her and West Crow, where she might actually do some good. Again, she’d been relegated to pest patrol. That was the problem with city people deciding to throw off their urban ways for the quiet life of the country: They tended to call in the police, taking time away from actual crimes to investigate any number of sounds or concerns that turned out to be wildlife.
Emilia opened her window. Cool summer night air drifted over her arm and woodsy scents floated in as the highway curved around the side of a towering hill. For a moment, she permitted her worries to blow away on the wind.
The last bit of turn gave way to a straight stretch, and in that fraction of a second, tranquility shattered as crumpled metal burst into view. Emilia slammed her foot on the brake, coming to a stop behind a blue Maxima. Dust still hung in the air, as if she had only just missed the moment of impact. She grabbed her radio. “This is Deputy Cruz.” Emilia thrust the door open.
“I’ve got you, Emilia. What do you have?”
“Looks like a two-, maybe three-car collision on the Darlington-West Crow Highway, six miles from the northern county line.”
“I’ll get help to you as soon as possible.”
Emilia flipped on her flashing lights, then stepped out of her vehicle. She shook off the immediate shiver of dread crawling up her back, replacing it with her most professional demeanor.
She approached the Maxima. The dome light shone, but the doors were closed. Emilia knocked on the driver’s-side window.
Two girls, both appearing to be teens, startled.
“You two all right?”
Their heads bobbed with tiny nods.
“Could you step out of the car, please?”
The driver’s door squeaked open, and a girl with long straight brown hair, approximately five foot five and slim, stepped out, eyes rounded. Her mouth hung open, but she didn’t say anything.
Emilia ran the flashlight up and down her. “Were you injured?”
The other girl, a much taller blonde, came around the front of the car. “No, ma’am. We witnessed the accident, but we weren’t part of it.”
“Don’t leave the site. I’ll need your names and information.” Emilia didn’t wait for them to respond, doubting the first girl would even be able to speak in her shocked state.
A red Jetta lay on its roof, steam billowing from the engine crushed into the remains of the car’s body, the back tires still spinning while the front seemed to have disappeared into the accordion of metal.
Emilia bent down and shone her flashlight through the broken glass on the driver’s side. Scarlet blood pooled along the pavement, the stench almost more than her stomach could bear. Popping open one of the compartments on her belt, Emilia yanked out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them onto her hands. She tugged loose glass until the victim was clearly visible.
The assessment was immediate: This woman had not survived. Emilia pressed the button on her radio as she rose to check the other car. “Claire, it’s Emilia again. We have a 12–16A. See if you can get the major traffic collision team from Benton County over here.”
“Copy that. Ambulance
is eight minutes out. We have fire and rescue en route from Darlington and West Crow.”
Glass and plastic fragments crunched under Emilia’s boots as she jogged across the highway to the green pickup pressed into the side of the hill. Her stomach wobbled. The image of the woman from the first car was tattooed on her brain for life. Hardened against scenes like this? Never.
Emilia looked down the road, willing help to arrive before she reached what remained of the passenger door, but the accident was nearly the center point between Darlington and West Crow. Eight minutes would tick by slowly.
The deflated airbag blocked the remnants of the passenger window. Emilia swiped her light beam under the vehicle and found no trace of gas. Then she clambered into the pickup’s bed, retrieved her baton, and punched a hole in the back window. Once the glass was cleared away, she pushed close, the light illuminating a man with a long laceration to the scalp.
Blood flowed over his right eye and down his jawline. It didn’t look good for him, either.
A moan cracked through the silence.
“Sir? This is Deputy Cruz. Can you hear me?” She reached her arm into the opening she’d made earlier and touched his shoulder, careful not to move him.
Another moan, but no words.
Emilia spoke into her shoulder mic. “Claire, advise responders we have one alive. Looks to be a man in his midthirties to early forties. Severe laceration to the head.”
“Got it.”
Emilia cleared a larger hole, then pressed her arm and face into the cab. It smelled of perspiration and chemicals from exploded airbags. “Sir, we have help on the way.”
The man’s body lurched, and he retched onto his lap, his head collapsing on the steering wheel.
A familiar stench filled the air.
Emilia jerked back.
This man was no victim. He was drunk.
EMILIA GAVE THE side of the ambulance two firm smacks before it left the scene, carrying away the deceased body of Georgianna Lynn Bosch. No sirens. No need for speed. Georgianna’s life had poured out of her purse like the synopsis of a book. She was a single mother of three boys who, from their pictures, looked to be high-school age. A work ID showed she was a nurse with the local hospice agency. There didn’t seem to be any other family, at least not close enough to warrant photos.
Emilia rubbed circles into the tight muscles along her neck. A hospice nurse. No doubt Georgianna had sat beside countless patients, easing them from this world with as much peace as she could manage. How gut-wrenching for those who loved her that she had died alone in a senseless and violent collision.
Once again, life wasn’t playing fair.
Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, Emilia made her way to the unaffected car, where the two girls remained as ordered. A line of vehicles waited on the Darlington side for the lanes to be cleared on the route to West Crow. They’d be better off taking the detour even with the additional half hour on gravel roads. This wasn’t going to be a quick investigation or cleanup.
Both girls sat so still, their heads resting together, that Emilia wondered if they had dozed off. She tapped the window with her knuckle. Two sets of eyes shot their gazes toward her as the girls startled to attention.
“I’m going to need your statements.” Emilia spoke loudly to be heard over the rumble of fire truck engines and rescue workers.
The teen behind the wheel opened the door.
“Could you both step out for a moment? I want to go over what you witnessed tonight.” Normally, she would have gotten to this questioning earlier, but they were short on deputies with Chadwick in Florida on vacation. That gave her little wiggle room and would keep her at the station late doing more than her share of paperwork.
The blonde was around the front of the car before the smaller girl even stood.
Emilia flipped open her notebook. She should really conduct these interviews separately, but it was well past midnight, and the brunette looked like she’d burst into tears if the other girl was taken away from her. In the distance, metal cried out as the hydraulic ram pushed the front of the pickup out of the rescuers’ way, allowing access to the trapped man.
A deep voice carried over the noise. “We’re thirty minutes into the golden hour, people. Let’s move.”
The girls leaned their backs against the side of the Maxima.
“Can I get your full names and identification, please?”
“I’m Harper Jane Hampton.” The blonde reached into the purse strapped over her shoulder and handed Emilia her driver’s license. She pressed her fingers into her collarbone. “And this is Ivy Lenaya Smith.”
Emilia looked to Ivy for confirmation.
The girl nodded as she handed over her identification, but her eyes kept flicking to the scene where the fire department continued their attempt to free the man from his crumpled truck.
“Don’t worry about what’s going on over there. These people know exactly what they’re doing. It’s your job to tell me what you saw so we can handle the part that comes next.”
Ivy’s eyes pooled with tears. Flashes of red and blue from the emergency vehicles colored her face. “I . . .” A tear cascaded down her cheek. “Is . . . is the other driver . . . dead?”
Emilia cringed. This could be her own little girl in just a few years, scared and away from her mother when tragedy crashed in. “Have you contacted your parents?”
They nodded.
“It happened so fast.” Harper put her arm around Ivy, pulling the other girl into her side. “The truck crossed the center line and ran smack into the car.”
“What happened next?”
Harper shook her head. “It was loud. . . . I may have closed my eyes. I’m not sure.”
“Did you notice anything about the way he drove? Anything unusual prior to the collision?”
“No. It was very sudden. Maybe he fell asleep or something.”
Ivy started sobbing into Harper’s shoulder. She would be little help tonight.
“You’re from Darlington, but you were heading away from there. Where were you two going?”
Harper pulled Ivy closer. “Ivy forgot her sweater at our friend’s house in West Crow. We were heading back to get it.”
“You were going all the way back for a sweater? Ivy, is that right?”
The girl’s eyes were swollen and red, yet tears flooded her cheeks like there was an endless supply. She turned toward Harper, resting her forehead on the taller girl’s shoulder, and gave a slight nod over her shaking.
“Do you have someone who can pick you up?” Emilia closed her notebook. “Ivy is in no condition to drive tonight.”
“It’s fine, ma’am.” Harper ushered Ivy around to the other side of the car. “I can drive us home. Our parents said I should. They’re waiting. We promised to come back as soon as we’d spoken to you. And no cell phones or anything. You know.”
“Please let them know I’ll be contacting them tomorrow. We’ll set up a time for a formal interview.”
Harper paused with her hand on the door handle. “Is that necessary? There isn’t anything to add.”
“It’s procedure in a case like this. Drive safe.” Emilia held a hand up to the line of waiting cars.
Harper took three tries to get the car turned around, then drove off along the empty lane and around the wide corner decorated with flares.
Three victims and counting. Those two would never be the same after what they’d seen. And neither would Emilia Cruz. This guy was going to pay a heavy price for his night of indulgence, and she would make sure he produced every single cent.
Emilia hollered to one of the volunteer deputies, whatever the guy’s name was. “Hey, get these cars out of here.” She motioned to the line growing around the corner. Why were so many people out on the highway in the middle of the night? West Crow and every town within a hundred miles closed down when the sun set.
The back of the second ambulance was open, a stretcher waiting for the moment they moved th
e man from the truck. A minute later, they eased him out, strapped securely to a board, then set him on the stretcher.
“We have a wallet here.” A firefighter climbed from the open truck cab.
“I’ll take that.” Emilia stretched out her hand, then pulled it back when she recognized the face below the yellow helmet. A new wave of disgust washed through her.
“Em. I didn’t realize you were out here.” David took a step closer, opening the wallet and retrieving the driver’s identification. “Whoa. That’s Coach Kilbourn.”
Coach Kilbourn? A town like West Crow wouldn’t take kindly to having their hero prosecuted as a drunken murderer. And a final blow, the man delivering the message was her husband’s former best friend. Emilia couldn’t fault him for abandoning Roger. She’d been tempted to do the same.
“I’ve meant to come by.” David had the good conscience to avoid eye contact. “It’s been busy, you know, with Barbara and the kids. Maybe this weekend.”
The back of the ambulance slammed shut. “We’re good to go,” the driver interrupted.
Emilia took the wallet from David and tossed it to the driver. “Make sure I get toxicology screens. I’ll be at the hospital after I finish up some other details.”
The ambulance driver nodded, then switched on his sirens, speeding off toward Darlington.
The night promised to be a long one, and Emilia didn’t have energy to make nice with one of Roger’s many friends who’d found it too difficult to be around her husband since his injury. Emilia and her daughter didn’t have that option.
“Don’t worry about it, David. Roger has a full weekend.” Emilia checked in with another officer before returning to her car for the first time in nearly an hour. Now came the hard part. She’d have to deliver the news to Georgianna Bosch’s family. She’d send another officer to notify the Kilbourns.
2
A twin bed was a tight squeeze for Brianne Demanno and her puppy, Chester. At twelve weeks, the dog was at least twenty pounds heavier than Brianne had anticipated. The Humane Society guessed him to be a quarter heeler and half border collie, with at least a quarter unknown. The math didn’t add up to the beast of fluff with the lazy brown eyes of a Saint Bernard currently pushing her over the edge of the mattress.
More Than We Remember Page 1
