by Beth Ziarnik
HER DEADLY REUNION BY BETH ANN ZIARNIK
Published by Lamplighter Suspense
an imprint of LPC Books
2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC 27614
ISBN: 978-1-946016-57-7
Copyright © 2018 by Beth Ann Ziarnik
Cover design by Elaina Lee
Interior design by AtriTeX Technologies P Ltd
Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: ShopLPC.com
For more information on this book and the author visit: www.bethziarnik.com
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Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.
Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION r. NIVr Copyright c 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations taken from Holy Bible, New Living Translation (NLT), copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas: Eddie Jones, Shonda Savage, Darla Crass, Andrea Merrell, Brian Cross, Judah Raine, and Brenda Kay Coulter.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ziarnik, Beth Ann
Her Deadly Reunion / Beth Ann Ziarnik 1st ed.
Printed in the United States of America
Acknowledgments
My deepest gratitude to all who contributed to the completion of this novel. Whether your name appears here or not, God bless you. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Special thanks to:
Mom, the first writer in our family. The one who taught me to love libraries and reading, and in her own quiet way, encouraged my writing down through the years. When my first novel released, she told me she loved it. Three months later—two weeks before she went to be with the Lord—she said she planned to read it again, something she did with every book she thoroughly enjoyed. High praise indeed.
Michelle Knight, friend and adopted daughter of Beth Hmurovich (my friend and pen pal for thirty years). Reunited with her birth mother, Michelle reviewed the story for emotional accuracy.
Linda Holtger, a writer friend who made many mission trips to Haiti before and after the 2010 earthquake, helped me with countless aspects of this interesting island nation and its people.
My niece who is an attorney and her husband, a detective, who kindly advised me on legal and police matters.
The staff at the Pabst Mansion who have shown me around the fascinating Milwaukee WI, house that I borrowed as the main setting for this novel. Confession: I made a few “alterations,” but otherwise, the house remains as any visitor might find it on tour. www.pabstmansion.com
The amazing people in the publishing industry who work behind the scenes as I write: Agent Jim Hart and the tireless staff at LPC Books, including publisher Eddie Jones, managing editors Darla Crass and Rowena Kuo before her, Andrea Merrell, the promotions, book cover and design teams, and many others. A book requires many hands to bring it to completion.
My support teams: ACFW critique partners, Gloria Clover and Karen Witemeyer. Word & Pen critique buddies Pedar Bloom, Kathi Bloy, Kristine Orkin, and Christine Stratton. Prayer team Carol Belongea, Lois Wiederhoeft, and Michele Zraik. And the readers of my first novel who continually encouraged me with “Can’t wait for the next one!”
Most of all, to our beloved Lord God who makes all things possible. Even the dreams of an awestruck novelist journeying through the exciting but challenging land of published books.
To
Dorothy Angeline Belongea
who inspired me to love books and believed I could write them.
Thanks, Mom! Love you!
Love covers a multitude of sins.
1 Peter 4:8 NLT
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
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Chapter One
Never look for your father. Promise me!
Minutes from her birth father’s home, her mother’s words of pleading echoed through Jill Ashley Shepherd’s heart, growing more insistent. Was she making a terrible mistake?
Seated beside Clay Merrick, she gazed at his dear face as he steered his old Ford F-150 truck through Milwaukee’s snow-filled streets. Was it only six months ago they had fallen in love? So strong was their bond, it seemed they had already loved for a lifetime. How she treasured his emotional support at a time like this.
A stray curl of his dark hair fell against his forehead as he glanced at her, his gray eyes soft with concern. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
She blinked and swallowed hard, then turned to stare beyond the windshield at the large, lazy snowflakes drifting from a white Wisconsin sky. Snowy mounds frosted the ledges of business windows displaying Christmas delights and grew on streetlights festooned in evergreen wreaths and bright red bows. Cheery Christmas lights winked at passersby from every direction.
But reminders of Christmas failed to lift her spirits.
Was this the right day to meet her birth father? “Absolutely,” she squeaked out.
Clay’s raised brows said it all.
For years, she had dreamed of the father-daughter relationship she’d been denied. Yet for years, she had wondered. Did she resemble him? What had separated her parents so long ago? Would her father have a place in his heart for her?
She pulled in and then blew out a deep breath. “If I don’t go now, I might never have the courage. What if Mother really knew something that would send me running? If only I �
�”
“We can come back another time.” His subdued suggestion, no doubt, was meant to comfort her, but she had waited so long to heal this gaping hole in the fabric of her heart.
“Waiting won’t help.”
“All I’m suggesting is that you hold off until I return.”
Meeting her father together had been their original plan. It had seemed such a glorious prospect. Until last night’s phone call. Now, Clay would be whisked away, and she would meet her father alone.
He spoke quietly into the silence. “Not exactly the Christmas we dreamed of, is it?”
Jill looked into her lap and clasped her trembling hands. “I just wonder if God orchestrated this sudden change of plans, trying to warn me that Mother was right.”
Clay slowed the truck behind a minivan crammed with brightly wrapped packages. It signaled a right turn. “That’s one possibility. But what if meeting your father—even without me—is God’s gift to you?”
“A Christmas gift from God?” Jill’s breath caught. She sank back against her side of the truck’s bench seat. With Clay’s old Ford rumbling beneath her, hope slowly unfurled. A smile tugged at her lips.
“That’s better.” Clay reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”
Yes, she would. All through the years of her parents’ separation, her mother continued to love her father. Whatever Susannah Bradwell Shepherd had feared, it wasn’t him.
Clay turned the truck onto Wisconsin Avenue. “Your circumstances have changed too.”
True. Not only had her mother passed away, her father became a widower, and her two older half-sisters were now adults. They might be as eager to welcome her as she was to meet them. Oh, Lord, please.
So many unknowns waited ahead of her this day.
Clay continued to hold her hand as if not willing to break their connection. His brow furrowed a deep V between his eyebrows. “I wish Francesca had scheduled her conference for another time.”
“But she didn’t,” Jill said. “And like it or not, you have to go. You can’t afford to lose this contract.”
Clay gently massaged her fingers before moving his hand back to the steering wheel. “I could call her and …”
She shook her head. Though appreciating his willingness to put her need before his own, she couldn’t encourage such a sacrifice. “You’ve already done that once and know the answer. Save your business, Clay. Don’t throw away your big break. As it is, you should be on your way right now.”
The muscles along his jawline twitched. “Not before I make sure you’re safely in your father’s house. It’s the least I can do.”
Sweet, but totally impractical. “Fine, but just drop me off. You can’t miss your flight.” The snow was falling more thickly than before.
He gripped the steering wheel. “Manny said he’d wait.”
Jill’s heart squeezed at the thought of Francesca Camil’s business-jet pilot standing by at Mitchell Field International, ready to fly Clay to Haiti. So far away. She touched his shoulder, savoring his nearness for whatever minutes remained. His soft leather jacket warmed beneath her fingers.
He frowned deeply. “I can’t leave you like this.”
She let her hand slide from his shoulder, and he captured it in his, igniting a delightful warmth within her. How she longed for him to stay, but how wrong.
Lord, what can I say to keep him from risking his business for my sake?
An idea sprang up. She could at least give it a try. “Times are hard in the construction industry, right?”
“Yes.” He slid her a suspicious glance.
She pressed on. “This project will save your restoration business, right?”
“Correct.”
“And it’s all that’s presently available?”
“True.”
“Then you must go. You love your business. You’ve invested so much of yourself in it. If it failed because of me, how could I live with that?” She rushed on to keep him from interrupting. “You’re passionate about restoring historic buildings. More than that, God has gifted you for it. Please. Don’t jeopardize your project for my sake.”
His jaw relaxed almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t been watching closely, she might have missed it.
“Besides,” she offered with a sly smile, “what if this is God’s gift to you?”
He glanced at her once more. Was that a crack in his resolve?
“You won’t be gone long,” she rushed on, “and in the meantime, just as you’ve said, I will be fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”
Clay’s shoulders relaxed. Still focused on the road, he lifted her hand. Turning it palm up, he pressed a tender kiss in it. “I’ll go,” he conceded.
Her heart flooded with unspeakable joy.
“But I’ll return tomorrow.”
“Don’t promise, Clay. We both know Francesca has her own sense of timing.”
He flashed his endearing grin before refocusing on the snow-filled road. “That’s just the Haitian way. But you can count on it. I’ll be back in time to kiss you under the mistletoe.”
As she savored the thought, her cheeks warmed, and she tossed him a teasing smile. “And if there is none?”
His bright gray eyes danced. “I’ll bring my own.” The wipers whapped back and forth as he peered through the windshield. “We’re here.”
The imposing, three-story mansion perched on a snowy rise. Her father’s home. Its stepped gables reached into the sky. Its red-tiled roof and tan ornamented brick remained mostly visible despite the thickly falling snow. Beneath a lofting stone porch, two evergreen wreaths peeped from a huge, two-door entrance.
Somewhere within those walls, her father waited.
A tiny tremor climbed up her spine. She pulled on her gloves and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Her stomach lurched, and she hugged harder. Oh, Lord, please. This is no time for me to throw up.
Clay’s phone warbled. “What’s up, Manny?”
“You’d better get here pronto. The weather won’t hold much longer, and the boss says to return with or without you. She said to tell you, if you’re not on board, she will understand and find someone else.”
Jill squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, don’t let him lose this contract.
Clay’s breath whooshed as he directed his truck up her father’s driveway. At the top of the hill, he stopped to the left of steps leading up to the porch. “How soon do you need me?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
He set the parking brake. “We’re at the house. Give me five, and I’ll be on my way.”
“You don’t have it, Bud.”
Clay grimaced. “I can’t just dump her, Manny.”
“I’ll hold on as long as I can.” The pilot ended the call.
Jill grabbed her purse and rushed from the truck, slamming her door as Clay yanked her suitcase from behind his side of the seat. As he hurried around to meet her, the snow fell even heavier. How long could Manny wait and still take off safely?
She reached for her luggage. “Go, Clay.”
He maintained his grip and took the porch’s snow-covered steps two at a time while she skimmed past to turn and block him. Placing her hand firmly against his solid chest, she gave him a look she hoped would stop him. “I’ve got this.”
Seconds ticked by as his troubled gaze held hers. Finally, his eyes softened. He brushed her cheek with his gloved hand. “I know.”
He set her suitcase on the porch and pulled her into his arms. After brushing her lips with his own, he leaned in and claimed her mouth with a tender kiss. “Never forget how much I love you.”
Jill nodded and stepped away. She blinked back tears as he raced to his truck. With a last wave, he jumped inside and backed down the drive onto the snowy street.
Lord, please give him success and bring him back safely.
Clay’s truck disappeared beyond the five-story building east of her father’s property. It was time to enter her father’s house. Jill he
sitated in the chilled air. Scanning the perimeters, she couldn’t help but notice how isolated his home was—like an island in a sea of businesses.
How had this lone residence survived the zoning laws? Someone had powerful influence.
She shivered as snow stung her face, acutely aware she was now alone.
At the gentle rebuke in her heart, she straightened her shoulders. “You’re right, Lord. I’m not alone. You’re with me, and your Word says that with you I can do all things. Even enter this house of strangers.”
Juggling her purse and wheeled luggage, she approached the carved oak doors. The artistic wrought iron grills over the windows caught her attention. The grandeur of this house far outshone others of its time. Others she had become familiar with in her work as a house genealogist in Nona Anderson’s Chicago agency.
Would she fit in with her father and his family?
She neared the doors, and the piney fragrance of the wreaths tickled her nose. Her heart beat rapidly as she reached out and pressed the old-fashioned doorbell. It vibrated beneath her gloved finger.
Hardly able to breathe, she stepped back to wait. And wait some more. Had no one heard? She reached to ring again, and one half of the heavy door swung back.
A thin, wizened woman in a black, long-sleeved dress with starched white collar, cuffs, and apron, squinted at her from a slightly bent position. “Yes?”
“Mr. John Ashley Taylor, please.” Jill blinked, her mouth suddenly dry as her father’s name passed over her tongue. “I’m—”
“The Mister is too ill to see anyone.” The woman frowned and slammed the door.
Jill couldn’t believe it. The woman hadn’t even taken her name. Was her father that ill? Her heart thudded. She couldn’t leave until she knew. She rang the bell again.
After some moments, the door opened, revealing a stout woman in an exquisite wool dress, her silver hair carefully coiffed. “Yes?”
“Excuse me, I’m Jill Ashley Shepherd, here to see my father.”
For a flickering moment, the woman paled. “Your … father?”
“Yes, John Ashley Taylor.”
The regal woman stared at her with icy blue eyes. “That is impossible. Mr. Taylor has two daughters, and you, Ms. Shepherd, are not one of them.” She folded her arms across her ample chest. “I don’t know what you hope to gain by this charade, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would go away.”
