The One Before: A totally gripping suspense thriller with a shocking twist

by Miranda Smith

  “We can give you a ride,” Josephine says, opening the passenger side door.

  “No thanks,” I say. “I’ll walk.”

  Nine

  Madison

  The distance between the warehouse and the Gazette is longer than I expected, but I need these moments alone. I need to process what Bridgette, with her wicked smile and chipped fingernail polish, said. Coop killed Celia. Could people actually think that?

  In the two years we’ve been together, he talked about Celia periodically. There’s been times I’ve wanted to dig deeper, ask more questions about her death, but I think to do so would be cruel. It’d be like demanding someone relive the worst day of their life over and over again, and for what cause? To ease my own insecurity? After all, Coop has graciously overlooked my own shortcomings.

  I playback everything I know about the tragedy. Coop never mentioned foul play, let alone that people suspected him. And why would they—how could they—think Coop was to blame? He’s the most mannerly and respectful man I’ve ever met.

  As I get closer to Market Avenue, I see groups of people enjoying the Saturday sunshine. They’re sitting on park benches and strolling along the sidewalks. On the surface, this place is beautiful, welcoming and warm. I can’t help wondering if this is all some kind of façade. A shield this town wears to hide its nastier underbelly.

  By the time I reach the Gazette, Whisper Falls feels like a ghost town again. Most businesses on this side of the street are closed for the weekend. Coop’s the only one pulling extra hours, which is why the front door is locked.

  I bang against the glass, simultaneously reaching for my phone to call Coop. I’ve almost finished tapping his name when the front door opens. Coop stands there, looking a bit startled.

  “Madison?” His worried look drops slightly, and he smiles. He must be wondering why I’m here.

  “Can we talk?” My voice is low and unenthusiastic. I step inside the building to find Coop isn’t alone. There’s another man here. He’s shorter with thinning hair and pockmarked cheeks. He removes one hand from his pocket and initiates a handshake.

  “Jim Nelson,” he says, his firm grasp displaying the confidence his outward appearance lacks. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “I’m Madison,” I say, looking to Coop for an explanation. His name sparks recognition. Jimmy, one of his old high school friends. Coop has mentioned him before.

  “This is my fiancée,” Coop says. He places a hand on my hip.

  “Pleasure to finally meet you,” Jim says. “Cooper and I go way back.”

  “Jimmy is the Whisper Falls Police Chief now,” Coop says.

  The last thing I wanted was to be introduced to yet another family acquaintance. A friend, actually. Not after what Bridgette just told me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “No,” Jim says, clapping his hand on Coop’s shoulder. “I’m not here on business. Just noticed the car parked across the street and thought I’d check in on my old friend.”

  “You’ll have to come by the house for dinner soon,” Coop says. “Madison’s spent the day furniture shopping.”

  “I’d like that,” Jim says, nodding to me. “You should check out Turner’s. They’ve got some great stuff down there.”

  I nod. It’s been difficult trying to contain my upset at this impromptu introduction, and I’d rather Jim leave so I can talk to Coop.

  “You still have my number?” Jim asks as he walks out. They stand on the front step, laughing and high fiving. Beneath their suits and titles, they seem little more than young boys reliving their youth. Coop is smiling when he walks back inside, shutting the door and locking it.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I say, looking away and taking a seat in the armchair beside the window, the cracked leather poking at my skin. “I just heard something really awful.”

  “What is it?” Coop leans against the front desk, crossing his arms. “Did something happen with my family?”

  “Nothing like that,” I say, thinking back to how I reacted in the parking lot with Roman and Josephine. They must have deemed my sudden departure rude, especially after Josephine had paid for our new furniture.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” he says. “You’re worrying me.”

  I take a deep breath, considering where to start. “Last night, Regina and I went to the football game.”

  “I know.” He’d been asleep when we returned from the lake, and I barely had time to speak with him this morning before he was off to the office again. He laughs. “I bet you stuck out like a sore thumb.”

  “There was this woman there. Bridgette. She made a rude comment to Regina about Celia.” I struggle to say her name. “Bridgette works at Turner’s. When I saw her, I tried confronting her. That’s when she told me people think you killed Celia.”

  Coop stares at me, waiting to see if there’s more, then he looks down. “Bridgette doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “I gather she’s not the most reliable source,” I say, scooting closer to the edge of the chair. “But is what she said true? Do people really think you had something to do with Celia’s death?”

  He exhales, and I can see his body stiffening. “Some people.”

  I stand, dropping my bag on the chair. “That’s crazy. Why would people think that?”

  “It’s a nasty rumor that got started years ago. I didn’t tell you about it because I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  “What makes me uncomfortable is hearing about this from strangers. I don’t want to be blindsided by catty comments.”

  “Did Regina say something—”

  “That’s not the point,” I say, defiantly. “Whatever story there is about you and Celia, I need to hear all of it. Now.”

  He holds eye contact, then nods. “We were both lifeguards at Whisper Lake. The day she went missing, we spent an hour or so at my family’s dock. I left to go to a party. People thought I might be involved because I was the last person seen with her. And that’s it. There’s nothing connecting me to her death.”

  He’s told me about that day before, but the scenario materializes more clearly now. I have a frame of reference, locations and faces I can picture in my mind. And a sickening twinge in my gut about the accusations being made. “Bridgette said her head—”

  “Her skull was cracked.” For the first time, he looks angry. I’m entitled to these details, but they’re understandably hard for him to give. I’m dredging up memories he’s long buried. “She drowned. Probably knocked her head against something while she was in the water. There’s a lot of dangerous spots on the lake.”

  “Why wouldn’t you tell me you were accused of killing her?”

  “I’ve defended my honor enough to the people around here. I shouldn’t have to do it in my own home.”

  “I’m not accusing you, Coop,” I say, hurt that he’d even suggest it. I know Coop isn’t capable of something as horrendous as murder. Of course, from his perspective, I can see how this might feel like an ambush. I take a deep breath, lowering my voice. “You have to understand, I was shocked when Bridgette said that. I only wanted to know why it was said.”

  “You called her a source,” he says, his voice hurt. “You’re treating this like it’s some type of lead. We’re talking about my past. My life.”

  It’s my nature to investigate. That’s what made me a great journalist, but I’ve learned to curtail that impulse when it comes to my personal life. I only snooped through Coop’s belongings once, when he first moved into my apartment. He had a stack of old Gazette papers. I went through them and found a picture of another woman. It wasn’t a scandalous photo, but my insides boiled with envy, which simmered into shame. Had I been younger, the discovery would have initiated a weekend-long squabble. With maturity came the realization I couldn’t go through other people’s belongings and be upset over what I uncovered. Coop was entitled to his privacy, and I let it go.

 
; But this is different. I’ve been confronted with something I knew nothing about, and I won’t be able to move past it until I have all the answers. Coop must have known I’d hear the rumors eventually. Why wouldn’t he give me a fair warning before moving here? I’m about to ask more questions when the phone rings. It’s not one of our cells. The ringing is coming from the landline behind the receptionist’s desk. Coop flips the counter, picking up the receiver.

  “Whisper Falls Gazette… yeah, it’s me… no, I haven’t found it yet.” He starts rummaging through a folder, then slaps his hand against the desk. “I will… give me a minute.” He covers the phone with his hand and looks at me. “I’ve got to sort something out, but I want to finish this conversation. Can we talk at home?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I stand hurriedly, then remember I have no way of getting home. “I don’t have my car.”

  “I shouldn’t be much longer.” The look in his eyes tells me he feels guilty, torn between his work and trying to provide the comfort I need right now. “Wait across the street at Nectar, if you want. I’ll be an hour. Tops.”

  I don’t say anything, just release a deep breath and stomp out of the office.

  Ten

  Madison

  Unlike its neighbors, Nectar looks like it was built this century. Black framing outlines horizontal panes of glass, making the entire dining space visible from the sidewalk. Given the warm weather, the windows are lowered, allowing a nice breeze to follow me inside.

  Round, wooden tables are scattered around with metal chairs tucked underneath. The walls are decorated with abstract paintings, nothing remarkable, but nothing ordinary either. In the center of the room, there’s a large workspace covered with various breads and baked goods. Regina stands there, sprinkling flour onto a gigantic mound of dough. I’m impressed; I’d been expecting a diner, and instead got a friendly reminder of Atlanta farm-to-table bistros.

  “What can I get you?” asks a girl with an olive apron covering her bottom half and a floral tattoo cascading down her arm. Her name tag reads Maple.

  I’m still looking around, taking the place in. “Is there a menu?”

  Maple points above, and I see a hanging chalkboard with each item written out by hand. “Daily specials are by the front.” Maple walks away, grabs a coffee pot and refills the cup of a nearby customer.

  Regina is still smacking and kneading the dough when she sees me. She wipes a fallen hair away from her face, leaving a smear of flour on her forehead.

  “Didn’t think I’d catch you here,” she says, wiping her hands clean and walking toward the counter. “I thought Mom and Roman took you shopping.”

  “They did. I’m waiting on Coop to finish up at the office.” I’d rather Regina not pick up on the fact I’m upset. “I love the design of this place. It’s so modern and—”

  “Not Whisper Falls?” Regina finishes my thought.

  “It’s not what I was expecting.”

  “Cooper’s not the only member of the Douglas family to leave Whisper. I attended culinary school up north and spent the summer after graduation working at all these enviable little restaurants. When it came time to open my own place, I decided Whisper Falls needed some culture.”

  “Well, it looks great.” My eyes float to the menu dangling above our heads. “Of course I haven’t tried the food.”

  Regina laughs. “Prepare to really be impressed.”

  I’m not hungry, but I order something anyway. I settle on a salmon BLT paired with garlic potato wedges. Regina said it was a favorite dish, and Maple seconded the opinion. I find a table in the corner, next to a small stage with a barstool and microphone. This seems like the type of place to offer live music on the weekends. To my left, I see a corkboard littered with business cards and flyers. Advertisements for the local florist and dry cleaner and tax preparer. A bright orange poster advertises a website called The Falls Report.

  It’s getting close to dinner time and people are starting to pile in, their arrival made known by the ding of a bell. The turnout is decent. There’s a cluster of young adults plugged into their laptops at the table next to mine. A woman in a navy coat sits by the window drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, probably the Gazette. Occasionally she looks at me, offering a stare that says you’re not from around here.

  My phone buzzes with a text message. It’s Beth.

  Checking in, stranger. I miss you!

  I feel guilty. The stress of the move and this past week has prevented me from reaching out as much as I should.

  Miss you. How’s the baby?

  Beth and Matt are expecting a baby girl. I’m happy for her, even though the timing of the delivery means she won’t be able to attend the wedding. She doesn’t need to make the drive from Atlanta so late in her pregnancy, and I wouldn’t want her to take any risks on my behalf.

  Twenty-six weeks and healthy, she replies.

  Much love. Promise to call soon.

  What I want to say is I’m lonely. That I’m insecure about my role in this family and bothered by what my new neighbors still say about my fiancé. That everywhere I turn in this town, I’m faced with another reminder of the mysterious Celia Gray. But I won’t tell her any of this. Unlike me, everything is going right in Beth’s world. Her career and husband and baby. I don’t want to be a buzzkill.

  By the time I’ve finished texting, Regina moseys over, ignoring the lines of people standing by the register. She’s holding two trays of food in her hand. “Thought I’d join you,” she says, pulling out a chair.

  “Aren’t you working?” I ask, nodding toward the front.

  “I still have to eat. We have another hour before the place really gets busy,” she says, squirting a mound of ketchup on her plate. I notice the bottle says organic, homemade. “Besides, I want to know what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing,” I say, picking up and dropping a potato wedge.

  “Bullshit. Something’s got you all sour. Mom getting on your nerves yet?”

  “She’s been great,” I say, making a mental note to call Josephine later tonight. I regret how I took off earlier. I debate whether to open up about what happened at Turner’s. Something about Regina reminds me of home, like we’re both not cut out for Whisper Falls. We could be friends, if only she’d let her guard down. I think she’s so used to being different she doesn’t know how to react to someone genuinely trying to earn her approval. “Remember that girl from last night? Bridgette?”

  Still chewing, Regina drops her shoulders and rolls her eyes. “What I’d give to forget.”

  “I saw her again today. She works at Turner’s furniture store.”

  Regina nods. “I forgot about that. I don’t think she’s been there long. She usually can’t hold a job for more than a few months.” She wipes her mouth. “Did you talk to her?”

  “Briefly. I wanted to confront her about that comment she made. She told me the people here think Coop killed Celia.”

  Regina leans forward. “You didn’t know?”

  “Did I know that people think my fiancé is a murderer? Your brother? No, I didn’t know that.”

  Regina shakes her head. “Don’t let Bridgette get to you. She’s a nobody.”

  “It’s the fact other people think Coop was involved. How am I supposed to build a life here knowing people think that? My gosh, I just met the police chief.”

  “Jimmy is a family friend. He knows Cooper had nothing to do with Celia’s death. Lots of people do. It’s just people like Bridgette who won’t let the past go.”

  “Why do they think Coop was involved?” In some ways, it feels like a betrayal to have this conversation with his sister, but she’s being more forthcoming, and these are things I need to know.

  “Rumor was Cooper got angry and hit her with something before she went into the water. People look for someone to blame after a tragedy, and they’ve waited generations for the great Douglas family to fall.”

  “Could someone have really done that? Hit her over the
head?”

  My mind returns to last night’s conversation at the lake. I didn’t expect Regina to have so much anger toward Celia, a girl who died thirteen years ago. Her words were filled with hate, a stark contrast to what Coop has said. Of course, he doesn’t talk much about Celia. When he does, he portrays a girl taken before her time. Regina portrayed something else.

  “He had nothing to do with it, if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s the first time her voice lacks that sing-song element. She’s tense and defensive.

  “I know. Celia drowned.” She needs to know I’m on her side. When it comes to Coop, I’ll always be on her side. “But doesn’t it bother you? Knowing people still say these things about him?”

  “It does, but we’ve been defending him for a long time. Some people are determined to believe what they want to believe. Around here, people will take rumor over fact any day.” She leans back. “We know the truth. That’s all that matters. I think Celia climbed to the top of Miner’s Peak to jump off the rope swing and hit her head on the way down.”

  “Regina?” Maple shouts from the register. “Someone has a question about the gluten-free menu.”

  “Be right there.” Regina sighs. “Just talk to Cooper. It’s a hard topic for him. For all of us, really.”

  “Thanks,” I say, noting my meal has barely been touched. Nothing to do with Regina’s cooking, rather my own nerves. I stand and push past the people crowding around the entrance. Coop still hasn’t texted, and I don’t feel like returning to the Gazette headquarters. Instead, I stroll until I reach a small courtyard in the center of downtown. The plaque on the sidewalk reads: Whisper Falls Memorial Gardens: Always Remember, Never Forget. There’s a small gazebo covered in flowers and a series of benches circled around it. I choose one and sit, waiting for Coop to finish at the office.