The One Before
A totally gripping suspense thriller with a shocking twist
Miranda Smith
Books by Miranda Smith
The One Before
What I Know
Some Days Are Dark
Available in audio
What I Know (Available in the UK and the US)
Some Days Are Dark (Available in the UK and the US)
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
What I Know
Hear More from Miranda
Books by Miranda Smith
A Letter from Miranda
Some Days Are Dark
Acknowledgments
To Whitney, Jennifer and Allison:
You are far better sisters than the characters I write. I’m happy you’re mine.
Prologue
June 16, 2006
Celia stepped outside and met the sizzling heat, a stark contrast to the icy air pumping from her Honda Civic. As she left the parking lot, gravel and bronze sand slid between her flip-flops and feet. Once she reached grass, she hopped out of her shoes and wiped them clean. Now she was perfect again, from her braided blonde hair to her red-tipped toes.
“You’re late,” Ronnie said as he passed. He was wearing sunglasses and a visor, but she knew his eyes were on her. He liked to look at her. Everyone did.
She shifted the weight in her hips and smiled. “You gonna hold it against me?”
Ronnie started to say something but shuffled away instead. Celia loved the power she exerted over men. It was a God-given gift—one she planned on using until she took her last breath. She wiggled out of her tank top and Soffe shorts, folding the clothes neatly inside her duffel. She draped a whistle around her neck and started rubbing sunscreen into her already tanned skin, careful to reach the spots that would peek beneath her red one-piece.
Once ready, she pulled down her sunglasses and climbed the white wooden lifeguard stand, adjusting the attached umbrella to an angle that was just right. She sat there, looking out at the liveliest place in her sleepy hometown. Families had come in swarms to Whisper Lake that year, one of the busiest seasons she could remember. She’d been coming here most of her life, but this was only her second year as a lifeguard. Everyone in Whisper Falls frequented the lake during summer; not much else was offered, except for the County Fair at the end of August.
Celia settled into a comfortable position, peering over her rims at all the people she recognized. She spotted her youth minister, a former math teacher and the man who changed the oil in her car. Several classmates were in the sand preparing a volleyball game. Throughout her shift, each person she knew would catch sight of her and wave. Even people she didn’t know eventually ogled her. All of them admiring her beauty, her athleticism, her strength.
This was Celia’s favorite place in the world. A hot summer day at the lake, sitting on her throne, looking down on those around her. It’s going to be a good day, she thought, leaning back and closing her eyes.
She could never have predicted this day would be her last.
One
Madison
It’s my fault we’re moving.
I always knew we’d end up in Whisper Falls; agreeing to marry Cooper Douglas cemented that future. Still, I thought I had some time. At least five years, maybe ten. I’ll miss the city, the pulsating excitement just outside my door. I feel that life source dimming with each mile marker I pass. The traffic thins, and the landscape flattens. I think we’ve reached the other side of nothingness, but the GPS insists we keep going, until we’re off the highway completely, traveling narrow, two-lane streets.
The route leading to our house is bare of civilization but filled with natural beauty. The only mark of human intervention is the narrow road with its faded white median. Tall trees—don’t even ask me what kind—stand along the edges, their fallen leaves resting politely on the grass as if by design.
Finally, I see the house. Our house, I suppose. Before we left Atlanta, Coop and I decided to play a game where I told him what I expected the house to look like, without seeing any pictures. I’m about right. Two stories. Wraparound porch. There’s no shed in the back like I imagined, and the house is white brick, not red.
I park in front of the detached garage. I step outside, staring at the house, and take in a deep breath. It’s true what they say. The air is cleaner here. Soothing. It can almost rid me of my anxiety with a few deep inhales. Almost.
Behind me, Coop turns into the driveway. He’s hauling a rented trailer, which contains all the belongings from our apartment. My things filled less than a dozen boxes. Coop had more stuff, and he’d only been in Atlanta for two years. He exits his vehicle, stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“So, what do you think?”
“Pretty close to what I imagined,” I say. I lean my head to the left, my hair blowing in the breeze. “I think I like the white brick better.”
He squeezes me, then walks to the porch. I follow him. “Of course, this house is temporary, if you want it to be. We can always buy our own, or even build.”
“Give me a tour. I can’t decide if I like the place until I see the inside.”
After a brief walkthrough, I decide I definitely like the place. The wooden floors are original and clean. There’s a fireplace in the massive living room. Upstairs, there are four bedrooms. The master is the biggest and has a small balcony overlooking the front lawn. I stand there, my fingers wrapped tightly around the iron railing. I look ahead at the Great Smoky Mountains in the distance. I try to picture every morning like this. Can I do it? Can I be happy here?
I think back to when we made the decision to move, after I told Coop what I’d done. It no longer made sense to stay in the city when he had the Douglas publishing empire to tak
e over. He would have stayed in Atlanta for me, but I ruined that.
Coop never made me feel that way, though. Like I’d done something wrong. Instead, he kicked the Whisper Falls sales pitch into high gear, pulled up photos and highlighted our substantial cost-of-living cuts. I agreed moving was the best decision, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. My life in the city was unsalvageable; the least I could do was follow Plan B quasi-enthusiastically.
Coop joins me on the balcony, kneading the tension from my shoulders.
“You said this used to be your aunt’s house,” I say. “How long has it been vacant?”
“Five years or so. Mom kept the lawns maintained and renovated the interior. It feels brand new.”
“Your aunt. Did she, you know—”
“Die in the house?” He grins, despite the morbid topic.
“Yeah?” Although beautiful, the house is over a century old. It screams of hauntings.
“You and your active imagination.” He kisses the top of my head and walks back inside.
Coop’s aunt isn’t the only ghost on my mind. He’s told me several stories about his hometown in the two years we’ve been together. The most memorable was about his high school girlfriend, Celia Gray. She drowned in the waters of Whisper Lake the summer before he started college. The event was a defining moment in his life; it haunts him, and now it haunts me. We both knew moving here would disrupt his past, but I’m hoping, at the same time, it will erase mine.
Two
Helena
I miss my daughter.
For a few years, I felt her presence with me wherever I went. Now I only feel her absence. Grief has carved me up inside, leaving me hollow in some places, tattered in others.
You can’t overcome the loss of a child. It’s the most unnatural of occurrences, the heaviest of losses. If you lose a parent, you’re an orphan. If you lose a spouse, you’re a widow. What are you when you lose a child? You’re me. Bitter and cold and angry.
Plenty of other people are in my position. I see them each week at the meetings. At some point, the others pull their lives back together. Find a new purpose. Those parents always say the hardest part is not knowing why. Never understanding what happened. Not seeing what their child could have one day become. I’ll tell you what’s worse than that. It is knowing. Because I know what happened to my daughter. I tried—time and time again I tried—to get someone, anyone, to listen. No one would. They wanted proof. They wanted evidence. All things I couldn’t provide.
I could only give them a name. Cooper Douglas. I know he killed my daughter, and one day I’m going to make him pay.
Three
Madison
We’re off to join Coop’s family for Sunday brunch. I know little about my in-laws. Coop’s father died a few years back, and I’ve never met his siblings. His mother, Josephine, visited Atlanta once; she insisted on buying dinner to celebrate our engagement. Seeing her again feels different now that I’m one of them. On their turf. The water thinning their bloodline.
Coop describes his family as close-knit, yet he made the conscious choice to separate them from our relationship. When we lived together in the city, he never suggested I accompany him on his visits to Whisper Falls. He’s kept me at a distance; moving here bridges that gap. As we make the short drive to Josephine’s house, I sense Coop’s nervousness rising. He’s quiet, with a tight grip on the wheel.
“Are you okay?” I ask, after several minutes of silence.
Coop exhales and forces a smile. “I don’t know what I’m so worried about. I know they’re going to love you.” He squeezes my knee. “I suppose I’m adjusting to the idea of living here again.”
I’m also adjusting, still reeling from the move and the life we’ve left behind. “What do they know about me?”
“All good things. They know you’re a journalist. Born and raised in the city.” He laughs. “They know you make me happy.”
I smile, fiddling with the ring around my finger. Suddenly, I feel a pang of sadness, like I’m some ragamuffin the Douglas family is rescuing. I wish I had someone other than Coop with whom I could share this new life, although, truthfully, I’ve been on my own longer than I’d like to admit. I don’t have a relationship with my parents or anyone from my childhood. Beth and Matt, my closest friends, are back in the city.
“Here we are,” Coop says, stopping the car outside a black gate. He rolls down the window and punches a code into the security system. The gates open, leading us down a twisty drive lined with more trees.
“Wow.” I knew his family had money, but I wasn’t quite expecting this.
“A dramatic entrance, eh?” There’s a hint of embarrassment in his voice. Not many people can relate to his family’s level of wealth. I wonder what that does to a person, coming from so much? It must make one guarded with everyone. Friends. Schoolmates. Lovers.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, trying to hide the shock in my voice. In the distance, the sun hovers over a large body of water. It seems to have appeared out of nowhere, hidden behind the greenery of the massive landscape. “Is that a lake?”
“The back end of the house overlooks Whisper Lake. You’ll see more as we get closer.”
Suddenly, I remember Celia, and it’s like this ghost from his past is sitting in the car with us. Whisper Lake is beautiful, but I know the murky currents hold secrets. They hold danger.
We take a sharp turn, and now the Douglas manor is in full view. As we pull closer, it becomes larger. It’s two-stories, but wide, easily spanning six thousand square feet. Dark wooden beams hoist a large balcony on the second floor. Coop parks our car beside a circular fountain at the front. We both sit in silence, staring at the massive house.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, too intimidated to speak. I can’t shake the feeling I’ve entered into a world meant for someone else.
We don’t knock. Coop uses a key to unlock the front door. Somehow, that simple action makes this place feel real. Like it’s part ours. I can’t believe Coop, the same person who shared my one-bedroom apartment, calls this his childhood home.
“We’re here,” Coop calls out. His voice echoes. Echoes throughout the large space. There’s a grand staircase ascending from where we stand. Coop walks forward, and I follow him, trying to appear at ease. Like I belong. I’m hoping his family won’t realize within minutes that I don’t.
Coop leads me through several rooms until we reach two French doors. He pushes them open, and we walk onto the back deck. There’s a dining table there, already covered with a white linen cloth and multi-colored chrysanthemums. Josephine is standing there tampering with the centerpiece. She turns.
“Finally, you’re home,” she says, holding out her arms to hug Coop. He bends down and embraces her.
“It’s good to be back.” Coop releases his mother and straightens his posture, placing his hand on my lower back. “You remember Madison.”
“Of course.” She gives me a hug. “Lovely to see you again.”
“I love your outfit,” I say to Josephine, sensing my jersey dress is informal brunch attire. She’s wearing a bright red skirt and blazer, a pearl broach fastened to her left lapel. Unlike Coop’s golden mane, she has dark curls that stop at her chin. There are soft lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes.
“I always dress up on Sundays,” she says, sitting at the head of the table. “You and Cooper should consider joining us at church.”
“Don’t start,” Coop says, taking a seat.
“Have I said something wrong?” Josephine leans back with both hands in the air. She looks at me. “Are you religious, Madison?”
“Yes.” I skid my chair closer to the table as I sit. “I’ve not been a member at a specific church in a while, though.”
“Sounds like that should change,” she says, unfurling a napkin. “First Presbyterian has a wonderful congregation. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
“We can find our own church,” C
oop says, failing to mask his annoyance.
“Sure you can. I just think it would be nice to have someone join me besides Roman. It’s not like Regina will go.”
The back door opens, and a slender young woman walks out carrying a tray. She’s wearing a cream turtleneck, and her straight hair almost reaches her waist. Her mane is darker than her mother’s, though. It’s intentionally dyed black, which only heightens the alabaster hue of her skin.
“My little heathen joins us at last,” Josephine says, pouring lemonade into her glass.
“I brought food at least.” Regina places the tray in the middle of the table. “This one is a chicken pot pie, and I’ve got a vegetable pie in the kitchen.”
“A heathen and a tree-hugger.” Josephine wears a sardonic smile.
The One Before: A totally gripping suspense thriller with a shocking twist Page 1
