by J. M. Madden
His head bobbed up and down. “Five years after we parted ways, June called me. She said she no longer felt right about keeping the truth from me. She told me I was Will’s father, said she knew it the night we broke things off. She planned on telling me, but her anger at the time prevented it.”
“What did you say?”
“I wanted to see him, be a part of his life. She said no. Will thought his father was her husband, and she wanted to keep it that way.”
“And you didn’t push it?”
“I should have. I kept wondering how much damage it would do to Will if the truth came out and he discovered everything he believed in was a lie. I thought I was protecting him by agreeing to stay quiet, but I robbed myself, and I robbed him. He deserved to know me. He deserved to know the truth about who he was.”
“What happened after the phone call from June?”
“We lost touch again for many years. I talked to her now and again. Not often. Once a year or so. “
“How did the two of you reconnect?” I asked.
“When I heard her husband passed, I called her. She wanted to see me, so I flew out. One visit turned into several, and before long, we were planning a future together, a future I’d never thought we would ever have. She said once enough time had passed for her children to grieve for their father, she’d tell them about me.”
“Tell them everything?”
“Eventually.”
“And then June was murdered, and so was Will. Your wife’s not the sweet, nice woman she pretends to be, is she?”
Cade rounded the corner, his hand firmly gripped on Carol’s arm.
She squinted at Sebastian and said, “Stop talking, Bash! Not another word!”
“No, Carol,” he said. “I won’t lie for you anymore.”
In truth, he looked relieved. She’d be in prison for the rest of her life, and he’d be rid of her.
I turned to Carol. “I know you killed June, then tried covering it up by making Wren look like the guilty one. Must have been painful standing there in June’s living room, seeing the photo of her and Will, knowing soon he’d know who his real father was.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carol spat. “Not true. None of it. All lies.”
“You weren’t satisfied killing only one Bancroft,” I said. “You had to kill both. What’s troubling me is—how did you find out about them in the first place? When did you discover your husband was leaving you, and that he had a son?”
She turned her nose up, refused to speak.
“When I was away on my business trip, she found a letter I’d stashed away,” Sebastian said. “The one I planned on giving her later, the day June moved to California and we started our lives together. She didn’t tell me until after you came here poking around, and—”
“Shut your mouth, Bash!” Carol shouted.
I looked at Sebastian. “Finish what you wanted to say.”
“She threw the letter in my face, said I’d never see June or my son again. She’d taken care of them. If I tried to tell anyone, she’d take care of me too.”
Clearly Carol was the dominant one in the relationship. I imagine when she confessed what she’d done, he’d been gripped with terror, and she hadn’t let him out of her sight a moment since.
“June and Will were both stabbed once, both wounds precise, deadly,” I said. “How did Carol know how to cause a single, fatal blow?”
“Medical school,” Sebastian said.
A police car pulled into the drive. Two cops got out, and Cade explained all that had transpired. Carol and Sebastian were cuffed, placed in the back of the squad car. Cade made a call, updating everyone at the station in Jackson Hole. He said he’d flown out after receiving a tip he received from local police. I called Patty. She wept, but even through her sorrow, there was a sense of relief.
Calls completed and squad car gone, I took my cell phone out of my pocket. “I guess I better get us booked for a flight back home.”
He placed a hand over my cell phone screen and smiled. “I haven’t been on a beach in ages. What’s the rush?”
I smiled.
There wasn’t one.
THE END
ABOUT CHERYL BRADSHAW
Cheryl Bradshaw is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She currently has two series: Sloane Monroe mystery/thriller series and the Addison Lockhart paranormal suspense series. Stranger in Town (Sloane Monroe series #4) was a 2013 Shamus Award finalist for Best PI Novel of the Year, and I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe series #3) was a 2013 eFestival of Words winner for best thriller novel. To learn more:
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BOOKS BY CHERYL BRADSHAW
Sloane Monroe Series
Black Diamond Death
Murder in Mind
I Have a Secret
Stranger in Town
Bed of Bones
Flirting With Danger (Novella)
Hush Now Baby
Dead of Night (Novella)
Addison Lockhart Series
Grayson Manor Haunting
Rosecliff Manor Haunting
Till Death do us Part Short Story Series
Whispers of Murder
Echoes of Murder
Boxed Sets
Sloane Monroe Series (Books 1-3)
Sloane Monroe Series (Books 4-5)
Stand-Alone Novels
Eye for Revenge
LILAH BY MIDNIGHT
By
Carra Copelin
Carra Copelin
ISBN: 978-1493604500
Copyright 2015 Carra Copelin
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
SUMMARY
Lilah Canfield has one last chance to save her career as a country music performer with a performance at Billy Bob's Texas in Fort Worth. Bad thing is the worst snow storm in a century has hit the Texas Panhandle making passage on the highways dangerous at best and closed at worst. When her motor coach slides off the road into a snow bank outside her hometown of Mistletoe, Texas, will Lilah make her gig and save her career? Or will she give it all up for a second chance at love?
Two years after the death of his wife, Sheriff’s Deputy Jack McCommas is ready to move forward for himself and his eight year old daughter. When he and a friend stop to help the folks in a stranded motor coach, he can't believe Lilah Canfield's standing in front of him and is literally shocked to realize the old spark is still there when they touch. He uncovers a plot to sideline Lilah’s career and realizes he has a dilemma. If he solves the mystery and she chooses her music, will he be able to let her go a second time? Or will he try to convince her to stay in Mistletoe?
ONE
MISTLETOE, TEXAS, LATE DECEMBER
Sheriff’s Deputy Jack McCommas sent his Aunt Carolyne a silent thank you as he easily navigated the icy walkway to the back of Hunter's Service Station and General Automotive. The Get-a-Grips Traction Spikes she'd sent him for his boots were a butt saver in December at twenty-eight degrees and with an inch of ice.
Not seeing anyone, he called out to his childhood friend and station owner, “Riley? Where are you?”
“Over here.” Riley Hunter pushed out from under the tow truck. The
wheels of his crawler slid on a patch of ice and he grabbed the bumper to halt his forward motion. He stood and extended his hand in greeting. “I'm sure glad you can help out for a while. The Interstate’s a mess out there.”
“Yeah, the last report that came in before I headed over here said this band of winter storms will likely go from Oklahoma City to Fort Worth. It’ll be days before it stops snowing and the ice begins to melt.”
“Hey, did you get Callie taken care of?”
“I left her inside the house with Tara. She's all excited about learning to crochet booties or something.” Jack smiled at his daughter's enthusiasm over spending time with Riley's wife, who was expecting their first baby any day now. “I'll need to go back out to the ranch before dark to spread more hay and break the ice on the water for the cattle, but I can give you a few hours.”
“I just appreciate Sheriff Farley loaning you out. I saw on the news a while ago how the highway's already littered with cars and jack-knifed eighteen wheelers sliding off the road. We can't pull them all out of the ditch, so for most, we'll be rescue only.”
“Copy that.”
While Riley went to the living area at the back of the station to tell his wife goodbye, Jack opened the tow truck's passenger side door and climbed into the cab. He situated his backpack behind the seat where he noticed Riley had stowed chains, cat litter and piles of extra clothes and boots. Knowing his friend as he did, he felt sure anything they might need could be found in the small space. Anyone they rescued would have to bundle in tight with the supplies.
He looked up in time to see Riley hug and kiss his wife, Tara. He allowed himself a touch of the green monster at the intimacy they shared, exactly what he lacked in his own life. A woman he could love and a mother for his eight year old daughter, Callie. Seeing the keys in the ignition, he reached over and started the engine to get some heat going in the cab and to keep his thoughts from heading down a dangerous path. A winding route that would never be any brighter than the gray wintry sky above him.
The driver's door opened and Riley threw a grocery sack and two thermoses into the middle of the bench seat and sat behind the wheel. He glanced over at Jack. “Tara said take it easy out there and don't be a hero.”
Disgruntled, Jack cleared his throat. “What the devil did she mean by that?”
“She meant remember your limitations and don't make me save your sorry ass.”
Jack thought of a few times they'd bitten off more than they could chew and gotten into trouble. “If she only knew how many times I pulled your fat out of the fire.”
Riley laughed out loud. “I’d appreciate it if you kept that bit of info under your hat.” He pulled the gear shift into first, and drove down the town's main street toward the U.S. Highway 287.
* * *
“What do you mean, we're stuck?” Lilah Canfield’s arms hugged her waist as she stood knee-deep in a snow drift beside the Winnebago as huge white flakes swirled around her.
“I mean we are high-center, buried up to the wheel-wells, stuck.” Taggert Swift, good friend and bus driver extraordinaire straightened and slapped his gloved hands against his thighs to remove the caked-on snow. “We're not going anywhere.”
“Can't we rock it back and forth or something to dislodge it?” She knew the absurdity of her question. This was a Winnebago Motor Coach for goodness sake. But she couldn't give up until they'd exhausted all their options. “We have to be in Fort Worth at Billy Bob's Texas in a matter of days for the most important gig of my career.”
Tag pinned her with a stare, hands on his slim hips and mouth agape. “We're standing next to snow drifts already two feet high, and skating on ice an inch thick.”
“Are you absolutely sure we're—”
“Stuck.” Tag pulled up the zipper on his jacket. “You have friends around these parts, don't you?”
“No one I’d want to contact. Besides, I haven't seen or talked to most of them in years.”
“Well, I suggest you try calling somebody, unless you want to spend the night out here.”
Lilah dug her phone out of her coat pocket, unlocked the screen, and tapped in the number for Tara Hunter, the only name she'd kept in her contacts list.
“No Service” popped up on the screen.
She held the device out to her side and over her head in all directions trying to find at least one bar and still nothing.
“No Service.”
“I'm not getting anything.” She wanted to scream her frustration. And, while a tantrum wouldn't help their situation, she might feel better. Her personal life and her music career had taken too many hits in the last year. She absolutely had to be at Billy Bob’s to honor her commitment. In her career she’d never missed a performance or shown up late. Her reputation as a performer depended on it. She wasn’t one of those performers who demanded this and that and thought she should be treated as a queen, in spite of rumors to the contrary.
Tag opened the door to the coach. “Come on, let's get in out of the wind before we freeze our backsides off. With any luck, maybe somebody’ll come along and rescue us before the night's over.”
Turning off her phone to save the battery, she entered the coach ahead of her driver and friend and plopped onto the couch.
“Tag, do you think the boys are okay?” She worried about the members of her band. They'd left ahead of her and Tag in the small van owned by the drummer. The last time they'd talked, the snow had just started to fall.
“If they're smart, they pulled off somewhere before the roads got bad.” He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Which is what we should've done an hour ago.”
“I know but you heard Connor. If we miss one show, we’ve reneged on the terms of our contract. He’ll give our spot to that newest Idol winner, Jessie Duke. She’s already there visiting her family for Christmas. If he does that, we'll miss our shot with the record company.” Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she swallowed the past year’s disappointments that threatened to overtake her. She would not give up on this opportunity until all options had been exhausted.
“Lilah, we've been together a long time.” Tag sat beside her on the couch. “I know how important this gig is to you. But killin' ourselves for sure won't get you back into the Nashville inner circle.”
“You're right, it's just . . .” Scooting down, she rested her head on the back cushion, emitting a defeated sigh. “It's so frustrating.”
“Why don't you check your phone again, see if you have a signal yet. If you do, maybe the boys have left you a message.” He stood and pulled on his gloves. “I'm going back out to look at the engine. There was something going on before we hit that icy bridge.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know but I had to add oil when we stopped at the Oklahoma-Texas state line back up on I-40 and the oil light had just come on again.”
“Be careful, Tag.” Her words bounced back at her as he closed the door against the frigid air. She turned on her phone and waited for it to load.
Truth be known, she had mixed emotions about regaining communication with the rest of the world. On the one hand, yes, they needed to get the coach out of this ditch as soon as possible to revive her professional status in the music community. On the other, signal bars would add serious baggage to her already sinking personal life by putting her in contact with the nearest town.
Mistletoe, Texas.
Her hometown.
Oh, Lord.
Sometime later, Lilah woke with a start. After blinking a few times, she remembered where she was and realized she was alone in the coach. Tag must still be outside. A look out the side window found him using a small shovel to dig snow out from behind the driver-side wheel. Her watch confirmed she'd only dozed for a few minutes, but he had to be frozen, none-the-less.
Since she was more than a little hungry and figured Tag was, too, she started digging around in the coach for anything they could eat. This morning, before they'd driven out of Oklahoma C
ity, she'd noticed water, some canned goods, and blankets. The only food she found that could be eaten straight from the can, though, were sardines and pork and beans so she set those on the counter. The blankets were in the built-in storage under the bed. Something had the drawer stuck and she got down on hands and knees to try and pull it out.
When she heard the door open, she called out, “Hey, Tag? Can you come back here and help me with this?” Unfamiliar foot falls drew her attention but before she could see who stood behind her a very familiar voice caught her off guard, causing her to lose her balance and fall headfirst into the bed frame.
“I'll be damned. If it isn't Lilah Marietta Canfield.”
TWO
Jack hadn't meant to startle her. But, swear to God, she still possessed the nicest ass in six counties. He took a couple more seconds to admire the view and then helped her to stand. She seemed flustered and more than a little cranky.
“Holy crap. Jack McCommas, what are you doing here?”
He stood in the narrow doorway to the bedroom mesmerized by her voice, the musical way she said his name. Soft. Breathy. Sexy as all get out. “I'm riding shotgun with Riley today, trying to help folks either get out of the ditch or into town.”
“Fantastic! Tag and I have to be in Fort Worth as soon as possible. How long do you think it’ll take to get us out of here and on our way?”
“I'm sorry, that isn't going to happen anytime soon, sweetheart.”
Lilah looked at him like he'd grown an extra head and then suddenly pushed past him, her whiskey-colored eyes glaring at his as their bodies touched from shoulder to thigh in the small opening. The gardenia scent from her flowing light brown hair shot his imagination into overdrive. “Did you say Riley's here?”
“Yes, but—” Totally unprepared for the effect her warm curves would have on him and his libido, Jack lost the ability to form words and found himself unable to move right away. When he joined them a few seconds later, in the main part of the coach, Riley was explaining what they'd discovered.
