NOTORIOUS
Susan Andersen
Contents
Copyright
Dedicated, with a whole lotta love,
CONCORD DAILY STAR
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
Epilogue
Before you leave…
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Susan Andersen
All rights reserved. In accordance with US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book, other than for review purposes, prior written permission must be obtained from the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights and her ability to earn a living.
ISBN: 978-0-9974412-0-8
Created with Vellum
Dedicated, with a whole lotta love,
To my critique group: Lois Dyer, Rose Marie Harris and Krysteen Seelen. And to my editor Ellen Price. Each of you taught me something new, and it doesn’t get any better than that.
This is also for
Victoria Alexander. You are the cleverest of the clever, girl! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for my
best cover ever.
Hugs and smoochies and thanks to you all.
I so appreciate your generously
given time and effort.
You guys rock!
~Susan
CONCORD DAILY STAR
MARCH 11, 2016
Elusive Widow’s Silence Sparks New Dialog on Capital Punishment
First in a four-part series
Lawrence Wilson, 21, of Concord, New Hampshire, robbed a clerk at gunpoint in a local 7-11 on June 17, 2012. Customer Dennis Prescott disarmed him, wrestled him to the ground, and held him until police arrived.
Wilson had no priors, and as his gun proved to be a toy, he was sentenced to three years for aggravated robbery. He was paroled for good behavior on April 25, 2014, after serving a year and a half.
That evening he murdered Dennis Prescott in cold blood.
The victim’s wife Hayley Prescott identified Wilson as the man she saw exiting her house when she arrived home. Inside, she found her husband bleeding on the floor. He was rushed to Concord Hospital Trauma Center, where he remained in a coma before succumbing to his injuries on August 29, 2014.
In early 2015, Wilson was convicted of first degree murder and after two failed appeals is scheduled to be executed on August first. Unless granted a stay of execution, Wilson will be the first New Hampshire inmate put to death since Huey Long was hanged in 1939.
The Widow’s testimony played a large part in placing Wilson on Death Row, yet she shuns all media contact. Her refusal to comment on the death penalty has renewed debate on the subject. Attention shown this case from news outlets far outside New Hampshire indicates it is a topic with wide reach.
By: Joshua Kepler,Concord Daily Star staff reporter
Second Installment March 18, 2016
One
The sun set late mid-June in the Pacific Northwest. Ordinarily going on eight in the evening looked more like five p.m. did back in Concord, New Hampshire, where Hayley Prescott had lived since college. But in the final seven miles before the turnoff to her hometown of Gravers Bend, Washington, branches from the immense evergreens lining the highway met in a tangle overhead to form a tunnel-like effect that created a false dusk. She drove through the long dim stretch with the top down, greedily inhaling the Douglas fir and pine scenting the cool air blowing her hair around her head.
Her final year in Gravers Bend had totally sucked, but she never denied it was a beautiful, beautiful little corner of the world that sometimes smelled so divine it could bring tears to your eyes. The notoriety that hounded her back then had kept her from coming back for anything lengthier than a flying visit. The last time was three years ago in the wake of her mom’s unexpected death. But more than twelve years had passed since high school and she’d discovered in that time real trouble was having your husband murdered and finding yourself the center of a media circus.
Anticipation began to build in her chest, because she would soon see Kurstin McAlvey nee Olivet. Kurstie was the closest thing to family she had left, and she needed her right now. Quite desperately, she needed her.
The old Pontiac's engine faltered and choked as she took a left off the highway. It hesitated on the edge of a stall, and she held her breath. Then the engine smoothed itself out and she exhaled in relief. Hang in there, she exhorted silently, sparing a quick glance at the odometer. Only five and a half miles to go.
The lake road’s winding length was less thickly forested, and shafts of sunshine speared through gaps in the branches overhead, dappling the hood of her car and the asphalt beneath her wheels. Then, as she rounded Devil's Outcrop, the forest dropped away on the shore side and there, spread out in all its glory, was Lake Meredith.
On impulse she cranked the wheel and the car swerved off the road onto the scenic overlook. Before the car quit rocking on its shocks, she’d begun double guessing herself. What on earth was she doing? Time was getting on and there wasn’t much point in stopping here—she didn’t even dare turn off the engine for fear it would refuse to start again.
Then she shrugged and switched off the Oldies station that had been fading in and out for the past several miles. The Cowboy Junkies died in mid-static crackle.
Immediately, the peaceful hush of her surroundings, the quiet lap of water against the pebbled shore below, seeped into her soul, soothing her. So, big deal, she wouldn't turn the engine off. And why not take a moment? This lake held a lot of personal history for her.
Hunched over forearms crossed atop the steering wheel, she propped her chin on her uppermost one and narrowed her eyes against the glare coming off the water. Buttery sunlight flooded the lookout, shining unimpeded from over the treetops across the lake and glittering off the myriad wavelets feathering the water's surface. Its heat baked her through the windshield while the shade at her back chilled her shoulders.
A tourist would look at Lake Meredith and see spectacular scenery with the added potential for a photo op or two. Hayley looked at it and saw the first eighteen years of her life. She had rowed boats and water skied on this lake. Gone skinny dipping with Kurstin. She’d traversed the train trestle across Big Bear Gap with her best friend and drunk beer at illicit bonfire-lit keggers with Kurstie and assorted schoolmates.
Lost her virginity on a blanket in the woods with Jon-Michael Olivet.
Heart inexplicably pounding, she stuffed her memories back into a compartment in the rear of her mind and determinedly sealed it. The Pontiac's engine throbbed warningly and she pressed her foot against the accelerator to feed it the measure of fuel she had learned through trial and error would stop it from stalling. Easing the gearshift cautiously into reverse, she backed onto the lake road again, and pointed the hood
toward Kurstin's. Just an other mile or so, she mentally assured her clunker of a car, reaching to pat its cracked, imitation-leather dashboard. Do not die on me now.
Everything she owned was packed in the trunk or thrown on the back seat of her car. If worse came to worst, she was now at least within walking distance of Kurstin's house. She would rather forego the pleasure of finishing her journey on foot, though. Coming home again after twelve and a half years of keeping her distance had been a tough enough decision as it was. She preferred not to arrive on Kurstin's doorstep like some ragtag Gypsy queen, her ratty little pile of belongings piled at her feet.
Easing the Pontiac along the twisting shore road on the final leg of her journey, she noted the development that had taken place along Lake Meredith since her last visit. It was surprisingly minor given the growth rate of other areas she'd seen along the way. She’d give decent odds, however, that it chapped the bejesus out of Kurstin's father’s hide. Richard had always felt rather proprietary about the area.
Hayley swallowed a snicker. Rather proprietary…that was good. Renaming it Lake Olivet would have seemed reasonable to Richard.
The Olivet estate hadn’t changed in the least. Hayley brought the Pontiac to a full stop at the apex of the circular drive, rammed the gearshift into park, then simply sat a moment looking up at the back of the rose-brick mansion.
Everything was precisely as she remembered. The lushly manicured, fully landscaped grounds still rolled between stands of trees down to the lake. The same black shutters framed sparkling windows, and oversized terracotta pots of flowers still flanked the kitchen door painted the same black enamel. Slowly, Hayley reached for the ignition key and turned it off, rolling her eyes in disgust when the engine continued to cough and chug and struggle to shut itself down.
Nothing like making a memorable entrance.
The back door banged open and her oldest and dearest friend came running across the brick patio. "Oh God, Oh God, you’re here!" Kurstin screamed.
A laugh exploded out of Hayley's throat and she threw her door open, clambering out of the car. She didn't get two steps before she was engulfed in the welcome warmth of her best friend's arms.
They clung to each other for a long moment before Kurstin finally pulled back. Holding Hayley at arm's length, she inspected her from head to toe. "I thought you would never get here," she exclaimed. "I left work at noon because I was positive you’d arrive early."
"I told you it would probably be around eight."
"I know, I know. But I was so anxious to see you I convinced myself you'd be premature."
"I am often immature—does that count?"
Kurstin laughed. "Oh God, I am so glad to see you, Hayley. I have missed you. Who else would say something so completely asinine to me?"
"Well, please, premature? You still haven't figured out that real people don’t talk like that. And look at you!" She reached out with both hands to muss Kurstin's immaculate blonde hair and then leaned back to eyeball her friend's sleek shantung silk capris. "Don't you own a pair of jeans these days?"
"Certainly I do. They’re at the cleaners."
Hayley laughed. This was the very reason she had returned.
Unlike Kurstin, she was from a strictly middle class family, but they had been best friends since the first grade. When Hayley's dad had abandoned her and Mom a couple of weeks after her twelfth birthday, it was to Kurstin she had run. Her bestie had soothed her with unconditional love and assurances that it was not Hayley’s fault he had left as she had feared. A couple years later, she had done her best to comfort and support Kurstin in return when her friend's sweet, warm-hearted mother died of an aneurism. And, of course, had continued to do so whenever Kurstin’s own father let her down.
Which, unfortunately, had been far too often.
The Pontiac chose that moment to give its final attenuated rattle and die an undignified, wheezing death. Open-mouthed, Kurstin watched its antics. Turning back, she cocked a brow. "Nice car."
Hayley gave her a crooked smile. "I'm so glad you like it. I thought I’d sign over the title to your father as a thank you gift for letting me stay here a while. What do you think about just leaving it where it is and planting it full of flowers? We could tell him it's the latest arrangement from FTD?"
"I think we’d better push it down to the garage before he shows up. My God, Hayley." She walked around the car to view it from every angle. "This gives a whole new dimension to the term lemon." She prodded a tire with the toe of her pristine Gucci flat. "Where did you get the thing anyhow?"
"Happy Hal's Auto Barn in Manchester." Seeing Kurstie’s eyebrows furrow, she added, “The New Hampshire city, sweetie, not the little town in Washington.”
Kurstin grinned. “Okay, that makes more sense. I wondered why you’d go though the hassle of buying a used car when you were only an hour or so from us.”
Hayley unlocked the trunk and reached in for one of her boxes. She hauled it out, boosted it into position with her knee, and secured her grip on it before pinning Kurstin in her sights over its top. "This puppy is pretty much a case of you get what you pay for. Don't knock it, though; it brought me from one coast to the other. I'm satisfied I got my money's worth."
Kurstin shot her friend a look as she reached in the trunk to grab out two suitcases. "I guess it’s been pretty abysmal for you financially.”
Ignoring the urge to razz her friend over her ten-dollar adjective, Hayley simply answered the concern she heard. "We were wiped out by the time Dennis died," she agreed. "We hadn’t much of a savings, I was still paying off the remainder of my student loans the small inheritance from Mom’s estate didn’t cover, and our insurance had a ceiling that maxed out in no time."
She adjusted her grip on the box. “But I talked to the financial people at the hospital, who forgave a good sized chunk of the debt. And when I decided to come back here, I sold everything I still owned to pay off what was left. But, hey.” Deliberately lightening the mood, she smiled crookedly and shrugged. "I’m free and clear now. Dead broke, maybe, but I can truthfully say I am no longer in debt."
Kurstin dropped a suitcase to give Hayley a fierce one armed hug. “I’m so glad you decided to come home. You won’t regret it, Hayley; I promise you." Turning her loose, she picked up the abandoned piece of luggage again and led the way indoors. "You know I’ve missed you like crazy." She glanced over her shoulder at her bestie as they climbed the back staircase to the second story. "And I've worried about you since all this shit with Lawrence Wilson began. I am so sorry you had to go through so much of it alone."
"I know you are. I was grateful for the times you were able to get back there. Your phone calls and letters really helped, too."
"It hardly seems sufficient." Opening a door midway down the hall, Kurstin made a sweeping gesture, inviting Hayley to step past her into the room. "I hope this will do," she said.
"Oh, Kurstin, it’s wonderful." Hayley carried her box in, dumped it on the bed, and looked around with appreciation at the spacious, beautifully appointed room. She turned back to her friend to assure her earnestly, "I won’t overstay my welcome here, I promise. I have an interview tomorrow, so once I get a few paychecks under my belt—"
"Don't be absurd," Kurstin interrupted her impatiently. "You stay as long as you need. My house is your house."
"Yeah, well, frankly I was surprised you moved back here after your divorce. Don't you find it a tad awkward living with Daddy again?" Especially when one’s father was the cold and controlling Richard Olivet.
Kurstin flashed her warm, charming smile, clearly not offended by Hayley's blunt question. "Nope. Father doesn't spend any more time here now than he did when we were in high school." Both women remembered high school events that Richard had never attended and the two of them arriving home late at night to find this huge, isolated house dark and unwelcoming. Hayley had spent many an unplanned sleep-over on Friday and Saturday nights so Kurstin wouldn’t have to stay alone except for the garde
ner and housekeeper/cook, whose apartment was over the garage, and who still kept the house and grounds running impeccably. Her brother had generally arrived home even later than she did.
Kurstin shrugged now and added, "If he’s not working, he is at the club, and he still has that apartment on the other side of town. Which is a long way of saying I have the place pretty much to myself. Living here is convenient."
"Well, blow me away." Hayley studied her friend as they left the room for a last trip to the car. "I'm still trying to get used to the fact that you went to work in the family biz." Kurstin had once harbored a great deal of resentment toward her father's workaholic tendencies and the family-owned business that made him the richest man in Gravers Bend. So it had caught Hayley flat-footed last year when, via one of their two-hour long phone conversations, her friend had announced she was the newest hire at Olivet Manufacturing. Hayley was freshly amazed every time she thought of it and never failed to say so.
"Yeah, well, get over it," Kurstin advised. "I told you I had no desire to remain in the city after Marcus and I split. Where else in this burg am I going to make enough money to support me in the style to which I am accustomed?"
"You got me there. What’s it like to work with Richard?"
"Not bad. I know it's difficult to believe, but he actually leaves me to run Human Resources my own way. Jon-Michael's the one who butts heads with him all the time."
Even after all these years Hayley could feel her features stiffen at the mention of Kurstin's brother. Considering the events of the past few years, a more-than-decade-old humiliation she had suffered at Jon-Michael’s hands should be a minor snag in the overall tapestry of her life. And for the most part it was. But perhaps because it was a humiliation dealt her during her impressionable teenage years she had never been able to completely shrug it off. The face she turned toward her friend now did not encourage a conversation that featured Jon-Michael as its primary subject.
Notorious Page 1
