by Rachel Woods
She’d assumed she would be with a degenerate with homicidal tendencies—a man like her father.
“What about some dessert?” Beanie tossed his napkin onto his plate, covering the few remnants of the coq au vin he’d ordered.
Noelle nodded. “First, I want to call Sarah and see how the boys are doing.”
Sarah Linde, one of the students from the Palmchat Pharmacy Internship program, had become close to Noelle during the two months when they were mentor/mentee. Sarah’s mother was the director of an early childhood development center, and the young woman had spent her teen years assisting teachers who cared for toddlers. When Noelle’s mother was unable to care for the boys, she trusted Sarah to watch Ethan and Evan.
“Helicopter mom,” said Beanie, teasing. “The boys are just fine, Elle.”
Noelle said, “I know, but …”
“But, let’s order dessert,” Beanie suggested. “What about the strawberry shortcake?”
“Sounds good,” said Noelle as she pushed back from the table and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve been drinking wine all evening,” she said, grabbing her purse from the back of the chair.
“Give me your phone,” Beanie said, smiling at her.
With a resigned sigh, Noelle opened her purse, took out her phone and tossed it at him. Giving Beanie what she hoped was a grumpy look, Noelle turned, leaving him laughing at her. He knew her too well, she thought as she headed to the ladies room.
It was a lovely night, with a warm breeze and stars twinkling overhead in an expansive indigo sky. The perfect night for a romantic dinner with the man of her dreams. Clinking glasses and whispered conversations floated through the air as Noelle navigated the tables in the beachfront dining area. She passed the U-shaped bar and strode to the alcove where the restrooms were located, near the back of the restaurant, close to the bustling kitchen.
In the ladies room, Noelle went into a stall, locked the door and leaned against it. She felt a bit bereft, and slightly adrift, without a phone to check on her boys. Beanie was right, though. The boys were okay. She trusted Sarah. If an issue came up, the young woman had strict instructions to call Noelle immediately.
Still, when she wasn’t with the boys, she did get a bit obsessive and spastic, Noelle supposed. Beanie didn’t understand. He couldn’t because he hadn’t carried the boys in his womb. She had been responsible for the boys in a way he never had. Together, they had created life, but she’d had to sustain that life with her own life. Ethan and Evan had depended upon her for their very existence. Sometimes, she probably was a little too overprotective, but it was only because she finally had something important and precious to love and protect. She never thought she would have a family of her own. Now that Beanie and the boys were her world, she was desperate to make sure nothing bad happened. She couldn’t lose what she knew she didn’t deserve.
Exiting the stall, Noelle washed her hands at one of the sinks. Checking her appearance in the long, wide mirror above the counter, she studied the high cheek bones and full lips, the sculpted face and smooth skin the color of West Indian mahogany, and the long column of straight black hair. Beanie always told her she was the prettiest girl in the Palmchat Islands, but Noelle didn’t always agree with his opinion. She knew she was attractive, but sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see the pretty, polished pharmacist.
Often she saw the girl she’d once been staring back at her—fifteen-year-old Noelle “Nobody” Chartres with the sneer and the scowl, hiding behind the tough exterior.
Sometimes, Noelle wondered if she was still Nobody. Maybe the reinvention was just a façade. A mask she wore to fool people. I know the truth about you. Noelle pushed Helen Farber’s words from her mind. Her past wasn’t the only truth about her.
The truth was who she’d become, the woman she was right now—wife, mother, pharmacist.
Moments later, as she walked out of the restroom, Noelle collided with a waitress and dropped her purse.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” The waitress gave her a pained look of frustration and embarrassment. “I’m so dumb! I need to watch where I’m going!”
“No, it’s okay,” Noelle said, figuring the girl was hurrying to take a quick bathroom break.
“Sorry,” the waitress continued her profuse apologies as she headed into the ladies room. Noelle shook her head, remembering her purse. Glancing down, she frowned.
Her purse was gone.
Heart slamming, she scanned the floor. Her confusion quickly turned to suspicion. Had the collision with the waitress been an accident? Or some distraction, designed to—
“Looking for this?”
The voice, low, deep and much too close to her ear, sent the chill of dread through her body. Determined to manage the fear and anger battling within her, Noelle turned.
She almost gasped but managed to keep her composure in the face of Grady Palmer’s lewd smirk.
Noelle hadn’t seen Grady in fifteen years, but time hadn’t changed him. He didn’t seem much older than the twenty-year-old bad boy who was known in Handweg as Psycho. When they used to hang out, and occasionally hook up, Grady had been known for his unpredictable mood swings. One minute he was seductive, the next sinister.
Noelle stepped back, glaring at the past she’d left behind and never wanted to visit again.
One reason Noelle had felt comfortable returning to St. Killian was because many of her old friends and enemies had left the island in the past fifteen years since she’d been gone. There were still a few enemies around, but fifteen years was a long time, and many of them had either forgotten about her or weren’t interested in her transformation.
Handweg Gardens wasn’t a place she could avoid since her mother still lived in the rough neighborhood. Nevertheless, there were certain people she didn’t want to see again, people she couldn’t face again, people who might try to force her back into her old life, the life she’d resolved to give up for good.
People like Grady Palmer.
“Give me my purse,” she said, her tone calm and even. The urge to rely on old instincts she’d developed and honed in Handweg Gardens was strong, but she resisted. Using violence to solve her problems wasn’t an option anymore.
Grady held out the purse to her.
“What the hell do you want?” She snatched the purse from him, glancing around, fearful and furtive. “Did you follow me here?”
“Let’s go have a seat,” he said, clutching her elbow, practically shoving her toward the divan.
“Get your hands off me,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“Careful, Mrs. Bean,” said Grady, pulling her down with him as he took a seat. “Don’t want to make a scene. Don’t want nobody to know that beneath all the fancy exterior, you’re still just a Handweg Ho.”
Noelle yanked her arm away from him.
“You think because you left the island and went to some expensive private school and a fancy college that you’ve changed. You think you’re somebody now?” Grady shook his head in amazement. “You think you’re different now because you found some punk to put a ring on it?”
“My husband is not a punk,” she said. “He’s a better man than you will ever be.”
“And there she is,” said Grady, smiling as though he’d made some startling discovery. “The Handweg ho. I knew she was still there. You can try to pretend she doesn’t exist but we both know the truth. You may look like some uppity educated bitch, but you’re still the girl who used to—”
“What the hell do you want?” She cut him off, not wanting to be reminded of the things she’d done.
“You know what I want.”
“And I’m not going to do it,” she said. “I won’t.”
“You’re not really in a position to tell me what you’re not going to do.”
“You’re not really in a position to make me do a damn thing,” she snapped.
“I’m in a position to make your life hell
, bitch,” Grady said, grabbing her arm, digging his fingers into her flesh as he leaned toward her. “I’m in a position to hurt people that you care about.”
Trembling, Noelle cut her gaze toward him, trying to ignore the horror of his words.
“You and I go way back,” Grady said. “You know what I’m capable of and you know I don’t make empty threats.”
“You don’t understand,” Noelle said. “I can’t do what you want.”
“I think you can and you will,” he said. “Because you know what will happen if you don’t.”
“You try to hurt my family,” she said, the anger taking over, “and I will kill you.”
Scoffing, Grady gave a wry smile as he stood. “I knew you hadn’t changed.”
Shamed by the veracity of his judgment, Noelle looked away, disturbed by how quickly she’d reverted to her old way of reacting to confrontation.
“I trust you understand what’s at risk, Mrs. Bean,” he said. “So, I’ll be in touch. Don’t ignore my texts.”
As Grady walked away, Noelle let out the breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. Tears threatened, but she blinked and pressed a finger beneath her eyes. She didn’t need Grady Palmer to tell her what was at risk. Everything was at risk. Her entire life. Her husband. Her children. Her career. Her freedom, most of all.
Noelle stood, taking another breath to get her bearings. Grady was wrong. She had changed. She wasn’t a Handweg Ho anymore, but she was still a fighter. She wasn’t about to let a psychotic bastard destroy everything she loved most in the world.
If Grady Palmer went after her family, Noelle would kill him.
Chapter Seven
Roland “Beanie” Bean read the message he’d just received from Sarah Linde.
Beautiful boys sleeping peacefully, dreaming sweetly!
After Noelle had left to go to the bathroom, Beanie had used her phone to text the babysitter and make sure the boys were okay. When she returned, he would show her the text, which would ease her mind.
Beanie teased Elle about being a helicopter mom, but he hovered over their boys as much as she did. He just wasn’t so obvious about it. Worrying was part of parenting, he’d learned. When Noelle had told him she was pregnant with Ethan, he had been ecstatic but apprehensive also. Before he knew if he and Noelle were having a boy or a girl, Beanie began questioning himself and his abilities. Was he ready to be a father? Who was ever ready to be responsible for the nurturing and care of another life? Of course, he wasn’t ready, but he was eager and excited and more than sure that he and Noelle were capable of being good shepherds and positive influences. They would raise compassionate, intelligent, empathetic young boys who would have integrity, be strong in their convictions and strive to help others and do no harm.
What he worried most about was providing for his children. He’d grown up loved and well-rounded, with parents who had honest intentions and a strong work ethic. What they didn’t have was tons of money. He knew he wouldn’t have wealth and privilege to offer his children, but he could give them a strong sense of purpose and the spirit of enterprise and industry he’d been exposed to, which could take them far in life if applied correctly.
Nevertheless, Beanie wondered if he hadn’t gone far enough in life for his kids. He wanted to give them the best life possible. At times, he doubted his choice of profession, which had been chosen when he was young and wasn’t thinking about any future responsibilities.
Now, he thought maybe he should have been a doctor or a lawyer. Maybe he should have chosen a profession which would have guaranteed him a generous salary with no worries about his employment outlook, which was sometimes unstable, at best.
Last year, when Burt Bronson bought the Palmchat Gazette, Beanie feared he would lose his job.
The publishing legend was known for buying small-market publications and for his gruff demeanor, which was sometimes overbearing and intimidating. Besides his critical editorial demands, Bronson was notorious for brutally cutting expenses through workforce reductions.
Bronson had spared most of the staff reporters to Beanie’s immense relief. Still, once the threat of unemployment no longer consumed his mind, Beanie began to realize that the paper wasn’t offering him any real career advancement.
With Bronson in charge, Beanie had expected to write stories that made a difference to the people of St. Killian. He’d wanted to move past just reporting the facts about crime in Handweg Gardens. He wanted to craft in-depth analysis pieces about the systemic reasons for the crime in Handweg. Many of the Palmchat Gazette headlines read, BODY FOUND DEAD IN HANDWEG GARDENS. There was more to those stories than just the corpse and the cops giving their standard “no comment” response. There was a victim who deserved a voice and a suspect who had to be understood so that other crimes could be prevented.
Beanie had spoken to Bronson about his ideas, and the man had seemed amenable.
So, why was he still monitoring the police scanner? Well, he couldn’t really blame Bronson. The man had recently suffered a major heart attack, and his vision for the Palmchat Gazette was on hold.
While Bronson recuperated, his son, Leo, was in charge.
Beanie had mixed feelings about working for a guy who obviously would have rather been chasing crazy African warlords instead of babysitting a group of island reporters. Noelle had encouraged him to give Leo Bronson a chance, and he’d agreed. Secretly, Beanie thought he might be jealous of Burt’s cavalier son. Maybe his aversion to working for Leo was more about his own stalled and stymied career.
More than a year ago, Beanie had hoped to give his career a shot it the arm by taking over the crime beat, but when Vivian Thomas was hired, she was a natural for the position. Having spent years in Africa exposing the high crimes and atrocities of brutal dictators, Vivian brought a confident experience to the paper which was reflected in her stellar investigations.
Sometimes Beanie felt like a great reporter without a great story.
“Everything okay, Mr. Bean?” The waiter asked.
Beanie nodded. “Everything is great. The Coq au vine was especially good.”
He and the waiter chatted a bit more, and then Beanie put in the strawberry shortcake order. As the waiter drifted to another table, he wondered, where was his wife? From their table near the beach, Beanie had a direct view of the restroom alcove at the back of the restaurant, but another waiter standing at a table a few feet away blocked his line of sight.
When the waiter stepped away from the table, Beanie stared directly across the restaurant.
He frowned, a fissure of apprehension passing through him.
Normally when Beanie saw something suspicious, he went into journalist mode, looking for the who, what, when, where, why, or how. But, was he staring at something suspicious? Beanie hoped not. He didn’t want to be suspicious of what he saw. He wanted to evaluate the facts he knew so far, but he found it impossible to process the situation like he would a news story.
The only way he could deal with the situation was as a husband who was confused, trying to manage the emotions churning within him as he wondered what the hell was happening.
Why was Noelle sitting much too close to another man on the couch in the restroom alcove?
Chapter Eight
“Who was that guy you were talking to at the restaurant?” Beanie asked.
Shocked, Noelle took a breath and tried not to panic.
Beanie had seen her talking to Grady Palmer. Filled with fear and frustration, she tried to think of an answer to give Beanie, something believable that would put his mind at ease.
“Are you taking the coastal highway?” Noelle asked, straining against the seatbelt as she peered through the front windshield. “Because it would be quicker if you took—”
“Are you avoiding my question?”
Picking up on the hint of irritation in his tone, Noelle fought the urge to scream and curse. She had to diffuse the situation before it got out of control. She didn’t want to lie to h
er husband. When they’d made their vows before God and their family, they’d promised to forsake all others, but she couldn’t tell Beanie about Grady Palmer.
Her husband could never know the truth about her past.
As far as Beanie was concerned, she was a Handweg Gardens success story.
“Noelle …” Beanie prompted, a hint of some other emotion in his voice. Jealousy? Why? Beanie couldn’t be jealous, could he? Didn’t he realize by now that there was no other man she would ever want but him? Had Beanie seen her talking to Grady and thought she was interested in that savage son of a bitch? God, she hoped not. She prayed Beanie didn’t think she would ever cheat on him.
“Oh, you mean the guy I was talking to by the restrooms?” Noelle asked, trying to project a tone somewhere between confusion and realization.
“Yeah, that guy,” said Beanie.
“One of my customers who came in to have a prescription filled today,” Noelle said, hating the lies she had no choice but to tell. “As soon as he recognized me, he had a hundred questions about his medication. I should have told him you were waiting. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Beanie said, with a trace of relief. “I know how much you care about your customers.”
Disgusted by her dishonesty, Noelle said nothing. She was thankful for the dark interior of their SUV and the minimal street lights on the stretch of road leading back to their house in Oyster Farm Estates, a modest neighborhood of single story Colonial houses on generous plots of land. At least Beanie couldn’t see her face, which she was sure reflected the guilt coursing through her veins.
Beanie chuckled softly, steering the SUV around a slight curve in the road.
