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

by Miranda Smith

  Celia lived with her aunt and three cousins in a two-bedroom house by the railroad tracks. She was a B-average student, who excelled at cheerleading and volleyball. Friends describe her as “bubbly,” “happy-go-lucky,” and “always looking for a good time.” Like most Whisper Falls teens, seventeen-year-old Celia spent the summer working as a lifeguard at the lake.

  As many of us can remember, a summer in Whisper Falls is best spent splashing around in the cloudy waters, toes stuck in the mucky bank. On Friday, June 16, Celia ended her shift patrolling the shores. Like most lifeguards, she made plans to meet up with friends. What she did that day remains a mystery. Did she go fishing under Watts Bridge? Spark a bonfire by the south bank? Climb Miner’s Peak and swing from the rope swing? All these suggestions floated around, but no one knows exactly what Celia did. She was last seen with Cooper Douglas, her high school sweetheart.

  Cooper later met up with friends at a party, but Celia wasn’t with him. No one was concerned at first. She wasn’t reported missing until three days later. This enacted a days-long, multi-state search. Most people thought—even hoped—Celia had crossed state lines to be with one of her estranged parents or embarked on a road trip with friends.

  All hopes were extinguished when her body was found floating in the waters of Whisper Lake. Wherever Celia ended up that day, it appears she didn’t go very far. Decomposition suggested she’d died around the time she was reported missing. What led to her death was equally difficult to pinpoint. Water in the lungs made the official cause of death drowning, but a fractured skull proved she was hit with a heavy object shortly before entering the water.

  The coroner ruled her death accidental, a decision that caused an uproar. Many people in Whisper Falls demanded more information be collected. Several unanswered questions remained. Where was Celia in the hours between when she was last seen and her death? Why did it take ten days for her body to be found? What caused her head injury?

  People spun their own theories for years. Celia’s mother made several trips to Whisper Falls, vowing to find justice for her daughter. Rumors about Cooper Douglas’ involvement ran rampant, prompting the Douglas family to hire their own private investigator to re-open Celia’s case. Two years after her death, the hired PI concluded Celia had fallen from a great distance and hit her head on an unseen rock in the water. This conclusion satisfied most, but for some, questions still linger…

  “Good morning,” Coop says. He walks into the kitchen dressed and ready for work. He stops when he sees the shock and fear on my face.

  Sixteen

  Madison

  “What’s wrong?” Coop asks. He moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. He twists off the top, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Nothing,” I stammer, looking away. My first reaction is to deflect my emotions, but it’s pointless; I’m obviously shaken. I scoot the laptop in his direction. “There’s an article online. About you and Celia.”

  “What?” He pulls out the chair beside me and scans my laptop. “The Falls Report?”

  I nod. “Read it.”

  He pulls my computer closer, scrolling his thumb against the trackpad. When he finishes, he shakes his head. “This website is only a gossip forum. If you knew the writer—”

  “I do know the writer,” I say, defensively. I cross my arms. “She didn’t tell me she had written anything about you.”

  “Of course she didn’t.” He returns to the fridge and retrieves a carton of orange juice. “Bumping into you was probably planned.”

  “My name wasn’t mentioned. But you… the way she wrote about you, she was all but accusing you of Celia’s murder.”

  “Like I said. It’s one step above a Facebook rant. You can’t let this sort of thing get to you.”

  “It’s not just the article,” I say, kicking back my chair with my feet and looking out the window. “We’ve barely been here two weeks, and it seems like all I can think about is Celia Gray. People are making comments and writing articles. There’s a memorial bench beside your sister’s restaurant. It’s like I can’t shake her.”

  “What happened to Celia scarred this community. Bad things don’t happen here. It’s different than the city. It’s harder for people to let go.” He returns to his seat, leaning over the table. “We already went through all this last week.”

  “I know, but I can’t just shake off what people say about you. That article was thick with innuendo.” I slam the laptop shut. “Doesn’t it make you angry?”

  “At the time it would have. The only thing that makes me angry now is seeing the toll it takes on you.” He covers my hand with his. “We know the truth. All that matters is that we’re on the same page. Everyone else can eff off.”

  I smile reluctantly, wishing I could adopt his self-assured mindset. Perhaps he’s more bothered than he’d like to admit, only putting on a brave face for my sake. One detail in the article still nags at me.

  “What about your parents? The article said they hired an outside investigator to look into her death.”

  “They did.” He leans back. “They were fed up with people saying I killed Celia. The easiest way to refute those claims was to prove there wasn’t any foul play. The investigator confirmed her death was accidental.”

  “If the facts prove there was no murder, why wasn’t that enough for people to stop blaming you?”

  “You’re a journalist. What’s the better headline: ‘Girl Drowns After Falling from Cliff’ or ‘Teenager Murdered by Wealthy Boyfriend’?”

  Coop isn’t just brushing things off. He’s conditioned. He’s used to being placed under this speculative microscope, determined to walk past the accusations with his head held high. Innocent people shouldn’t have to live like that, making the choice between their reputation and their dignity. He wouldn’t be subjected to such treatment if we lived anywhere else.

  “Coop, why did we come back here?”

  “I always wanted to build a life here. I’m not going to let a few people and their opinions take that away from me.” He stands, pushing his chair under the table. “Besides, someone had to run the Gazette. It’s not like Roman can do it. Regina would dry the place up just to spite my mother. I need to move past this so I can restore my family’s honor. It’s my fault it was taken away.”

  Something inside me drops at the thought Coop still blames himself. That he believes this tragic incident tarnished his family name. I hate that I’ve resurrected those feelings now. We could have had a peaceful morning if it weren’t for my snooping. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned the article.”

  “It’s natural for you to have questions. Just don’t let what people say get the best of you.” He gives me a hug. When he pulls away, he smiles. “We should grab lunch today. Forget about this morning and enjoy ourselves.”

  “I wish I could,” I say, regretting I started the day with an interrogation. “But I’m meeting with the wedding planners.”

  “Say no more,” he says, walking to the front door. “I hope you find the right person.”

  I already have, I think, smiling as he walks away.

  Seventeen

  Helena

  I’ve started drinking again. Not because I enjoy the taste, but because I’m trying to work up the nerve to follow through with my plan. I’ve let my grief lie dormant for years. I surrendered to the idea I’d exhausted all my options. That was until I saw that engagement announcement. It made me realize I still have some fight left, and I’m going to funnel it all into ensuring Cooper Douglas doesn’t get the happily ever after he’s stolen from me.

  In many ways, Madison is my only hope now. Everyone else is tired of listening to my story, but Cooper’s role in all of this affects Madison as much as it does me. Taking her from him will give him a taste of what it’s like to lose the person you love. If I could only make Madison understand why I’m convinced Cooper is dangerous! His behavior in those early days spoke volumes.

  After two days of unanswered phon
e calls, I knew something was wrong. No one had heard from my daughter. Not my ex. Not our extended family. I hoped there was a simple explanation for her absence. I found myself pulling apart every detail of her life, trying to find someone who might know her whereabouts.

  I was ashamed I didn’t know more about her friends. The closest thing I had to a contacts book was her social media posts. I went through each one, messaging every person tagged in the past six months. All of them responded, but none of them had spoken to her in recent days.

  I contacted the police department with limited information to give, but the most important piece was that my daughter was gone. “You don’t understand,” I pleaded with them. “She wouldn’t just take off. She’s not like that.”

  “Young girls are unpredictable sometimes,” the officer told me, rambling on about some stunt his own daughter had pulled. He didn’t mention that his daughter, despite whatever wild, outrageous thing she’d done, would be home for dinner that night. She’d be sitting across from him, safe and sound. My daughter was gone and no one—her friends, parents, police—knew where she was.

  “Look into the boyfriend,” I told them. “It’s Cooper… something.”

  “It would help if you could provide a last name.”

  “I can’t remember his last name!” I shouted, weak from the lack of sleep and beginning to shake. “He was with her the last time we spoke. It’s a small place. You have a first name. He can’t be that hard to find.”

  I could feel their judgment. They didn’t appreciate an outsider coming into their community and giving them orders. “We’re doing all we can,” they said.

  That was the first in a series of lies. They weren’t doing enough because they still hadn’t found her. Our family made flyers and posted them around town. Some of her friends contacted me; they didn’t have useful information, but they offered to help in any way they could. In the blur that was those first, frightening days, I never heard from a friend named Cooper.

  She’d been missing a week when her classmates organized a vigil. I didn’t much like calling it that because a body hadn’t been found. I still had hope, but at least they were trying to raise awareness. More people arrived than I could have dreamed. Of course, drama attracts an audience. Always has. There were so many faces, most of them young, some tear-stained, all curious. Did any of them really know her? Did they know where she’d gone?

  After a while, it became too overwhelming. I slipped away from the crowd and rushed to the outdoor bathrooms. I’d meant to splash my face with water but ended up throwing up. Fear really sank in that day. She’d been gone a week. Seven days. My girl would never put me through this heartache intentionally. What if she never came back?

  I exited the stall, defeated and alone. Outside, I stood by the water fountain, watching my daughter’s mourners in the distance. All this grief and hoping and prayer. The weather was sunny and perfect, much like in the park on the last day I saw her. Surely that wouldn’t be our last moment together. It couldn’t be.

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  I turned to see who was speaking and saw a tall young man with a pale complexion, his blond hair swiped just above his brows.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, caught off guard.

  “Sorry,” he said. Like me, he appeared to be avoiding the crowd. “I thought you were with the vigil.”

  “Oh, that. Yes, I am.”

  “Did you know her well?”

  “All her life,” I said. I resented the extra attention I’d received in recent days. I didn’t want sympathy, I only wanted to find my daughter.

  “She was really special,” he said, looking over the crowd, then down at his feet.

  “Were you friends?” I did enjoy the stories people shared about her. I thought maybe he had one, a happy memory that could bring her back, if only for a moment.

  “For a while.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Cooper Douglas.”

  My jaw dropped as I realized this mystery boyfriend wasn’t only at the vigil but standing right in front of me. “Helena,” I said, refusing his hand.

  My name connected immediately. We’d never met, but surely she’d told him about me. He took a step back. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He darted away. I could almost see the tail between his legs!

  “Cooper, wait.” I chased after him. “I’ve been trying to contact you. I’m hoping you might be able to tell the police—”

  “I’ve already talked to the police.” He turned his back to me. Turned his back. At my own daughter’s vigil. He tried to ignore me.

  “She told me the most wonderful things about you, you know.” I wanted him to view me as friendly, not some sniveling mourner. Maybe he wouldn’t be quite so on edge. “I know you were with her the day she disappeared. You could know something helpful and not even realize it.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to the police,” he said. “And I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  He turned and I saw his face. I saw the fear. He was too young to hide it. That’s the moment I knew he was involved. Why else wouldn’t he try to help me? Why wouldn’t he search high and low, as I was? Unless he knew there was no one to find.

  “What did she talk to you about that day?” I asked, chasing him through patches of grass until we reached the gravel parking lot. “Can you tell me? Please.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He hopped into a truck and drove away.

  I’ve never forgotten his reaction that day. His cruelty for not answering my simple questions. He was younger then, afraid and intimidated, but that didn’t stop all her other friends from coming to her defense. I hoped our chance meeting had only spooked him and he would reach out later with more information. Instead, his parents hired a lawyer to conduct communication with the police. Cooper never contacted me again.

  The entire situation could have been handled differently. He made his choice then, as we all do. As far as I’m concerned, Cooper Douglas deserves every ounce of heartbreak I’m about to throw his way.

  Eighteen

  Madison

  I lead Mrs. Phillips to my front door and bid her goodbye.

  “Josephine has my contact information, if you need me,” she says, holding her handbag in front of her.

  “I appreciate you making the trip here,” I say, propping the door open.

  She leaves. I return to the living room and collapse onto the sofa. It’s been a bizarre day. I went from confronting Coop to parading wedding planners around the house.

  I’ve met three potential candidates so far: Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Teague and Mrs. Phillips. All women differed in both appearance and personality, and yet they managed to present the same ideas. They’d suggested we have the ceremony at First Presbyterian, as planned, but instead of a reception by the lake, they thought we should renovate an old barn on the property. Slap walls with white paint and string fairy lights. Barn weddings were all the rage, they claimed. Even their color suggestions had been the same: burgundy, navy or orange. I’d spent the entire morning listening to the same event described by three different people. I’m undecided if this is a lack of originality, or Josephine’s indirect way of inserting her opinion.

  The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of my last consult. The woman standing on our porch looks much like the others, wearing black slacks and a coral sweater.

  “Are you Madison Sharpe?” asks the woman when I open the door.

  “I am.”

  “Then I must be at the right place.” She gives the front porch another look, then holds out her hand to shake mine. She smiles weakly. “Anne Richards.”

  “Come inside,” I say.

  Anne, like the others, absorbs her surroundings like a sponge. She’s inspecting the place for potential and wealth. Even if her preliminary assessments disappoint, she knows I’m marrying a Douglas, and that alone is enough to impress.

  “Let’s go into the dining room,” I say.

  I can see Anne has a thick binder tu
cked inside her handbag. She takes a seat and pulls out the notebook, placing it on the table. There’s a slight tremble in her hands. She’s nervous, unlike the previous candidates who oozed confidence and flair. “It’s been years since I’ve been in Whisper Falls.”

  “You’re from Knoxville?”

  “That’s right.” Her mouth twitches as she begins to speak, then pauses. “To be honest, I’ve not done a lot of events lately. Some of my examples might seem outdated.”

  “That’s fine,” I say. “My expectations aren’t very high.”

  Anne laughs, as though she understands the hidden meaning that Josephine’s are. She clears her throat. “Can you remind me what you’ve established so far?”

  “I have my dress. The ceremony is at First Presbyterian, and we’d like to host an outdoor reception somewhere on the Douglas property. That’s what I mainly need help organizing.”

  “Beautiful.” Anne nods along and takes notes as I speak.

  “Have you been there?”

  “Ages ago. The Douglas family is very philanthropic. No telling how many parties they’ve hosted over the years.”

  “I started planning this back when we lived in Atlanta, so most decisions are set. But we don’t have a caterer. Or entertainment. Or flowers. I’m hoping that’s where you come in.”

  “I can certainly help.” She stops writing, puts down her pen and stares at me. “Tell me, Madison. What do you want for your big day?”

  I cross my legs and think. I’m certain the other planners didn’t ask this question. Instead, they rambled about what was on trend or what they’d done before. “I’ve always been a fan of white weddings,” I say. “You know, when the attendants wear white, too.”

  “It’s nontraditional, but that can be very beautiful.”