Hanover House: Kickoff to the Hanover House Chronicles

by Brenda Novak

  Lorraine made a clicking sound with her tongue. “It always amazes me that these cases aren’t connected sooner. What about the last wife? Why didn’t he kill her?”

  “Courtney Lofland? I have no idea.” Evelyn set the file aside. “But she’s remarried and living in Kansas.”

  “Lucky girl. I bet you’d love to talk to her, see what she has to say about Garza’s behavior.”

  “I’ve already sent a letter,” Evelyn said with a smile.

  Lorraine shook her head. “I should’ve known. With you, no stone goes unturned.”

  Evelyn ignored the reference to her diligence because she knew the compulsion she felt had turned to obsession long ago. “If she agrees to be interviewed, I’ll fly out there and meet her.”

  “And get away from all this?” Lorraine spread her arms to indicate the sprawling, two-story complex, of which Evelyn’s office comprised only a small part of the third wing.

  Outside, snow was falling so heavily Evelyn could no longer make out the Chugach Mountains. They’d had sixty inches since she arrived in September, and it was only January thirteenth. “It’d be nice to feel the sun, warm up,” she admitted.

  “I wish I could go with you. I haven’t been much farther from home than the prison.”

  Evelyn pulled her gaze from the window. “You’d have to fight off the mental health team first. I think they’d all love to return to the lower forty-eight.” Homesickness had driven Ely Brand back to Portland, where he was from. It wasn’t easy adjusting to such a hostile environment. The echoing halls, clanging doors, occasional moans or crazy-sounding laughter were hard enough to cope with. Add to those realities the long dark winter and lonely evenings spent with more files and psychology journals than people, and the memories of countless conversations filled with blood-curdling details, and saying life here was harsh went well beyond the weather.

  “Will you take one of them along?” Lorraine asked.

  Evelyn shook her head. “We don’t have the funds. I’ll be lucky if the Bureau of Prisons approves my ticket.”

  “So who’ll be working with Mr. Garza?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Not you—you’re already juggling a lot more than the others. As it is you don’t get time to think about anything besides your patients.”

  Evelyn offered her a rueful smile. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but there’s not a lot to do in Hilltop besides work, especially this time of year.”

  “You could get a social life.”

  “Which would include...what? Drinking at The Moosehead?” She’d tried that once, last summer, would never forget the night. But she didn’t want to focus on the memory or she wouldn’t be able to avoid thinking of that dance with Sergeant Amarok, the Alaskan State Trooper who served as the town’s only police presence.

  “Why not? I heard you once had a good time there”—her lips curved into a meaningful smile—“with a certain police officer.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Shorty, of course.”

  Shorty owned the Moosehead. Evelyn liked him a lot, but she didn’t appreciate him talking about something that was better left in the past, especially since she hadn’t been capable of following up on what had started between her and Amarok that night. “Why’s he spreading rumors like that?”

  Lorraine gave her a searching look. “Is that what they are? Mere rumors?”

  “Of course. Nothing happened between the sergeant and I. He was merely doing his job, trying to help me with some vandalism we had here during construction.” The relationship had actually extended a bit beyond that. She’d felt something for him and, for a short while when she went back to Boston and they were talking over the phone, it felt like those feelings might develop into more. But once she returned to Alaska with plans to stay, she hadn’t been able to cope with the amount of trust such an intimate relationship required. She was too damaged from what she’d suffered in the past.

  “Then maybe you should try to get something going,” Lorraine said. “What can it hurt? Lord knows there isn’t a more handsome man in all of Alaska.”

  “I’m satisfied with my work,” Evelyn insisted. For the most part, she believed that to be true. But there were moments when she wished she were capable of more—like when she saw a young couple holding hands or carrying a baby. It was hard to accept that she’d never have a family.

  “Oh, come on,” Lorraine said. “I’ll go with you, if you want. I bet Glenn would, too.”

  Glenn Whitcomb, one of the correctional officers, had sort of taken it upon himself to look after the both of them, as well as some of the other women who worked at Hanover House. When he could, he walked them out to the parking lot, carried anything that was heavy or helped scrape the snow off their windshields.

  “Like you, Glenn lives in Anchorage,” Evelyn said. “He doesn’t need to be staying here in Hilltop any later than his work requires.”

  “Why not? What’s he got to go home to? His married sister? He needs to find a mate, too.”

  “He’ll meet someone eventually.” Regardless, she couldn’t become any friendlier with him. There was no romantic interest between them, but she still had to be careful. Getting too chummy with any of the guards wasn’t professional and could undermine her authority at HH.

  “You have to overcome the past at some point,” Lorraine said.

  She was spitting Evelyn’s own words back at her. “I’ve made peace with my past. I’m happy as I am,” she responded, but she knew she bore more scars than the one on her neck. After Jasper’s first attack, she’d spent nearly a decade in therapy, and the fact that he’d found her again, just last summer, had set her back years. She hadn’t returned to counseling—she didn’t think that would be wise considering she needed to appear completely stable in order to accomplish her professional goals—but she certainly felt the damage on the inside. That close call had destroyed her sense of security again, what small amount she’d managed to build up since high school. She honestly believed, without that most recent encounter, she might’ve been able to make a relationship with Amarok work. They’d definitely been moving in the right direction...

  “You’d rather be lonely for the rest of your life?”

  She almost told Lorraine what her latest encounter with Jasper had done to her, but that would only cause Lorraine to fret. Evelyn had to stay strong if she hoped to command the respect and confidence of those who worked at Hanover House, couldn’t give them any reason to doubt her leadership. Besides, she hadn’t actually seen Jasper’s face last summer, so there were those who claimed the person who kidnapped her could’ve been a copycat.

  “I don’t need a man. I’ve filled my life with other things.” Suddenly realizing that she was hungry, Evelyn pulled the carrots out of the sack. She needed the distraction, so she wouldn’t have to think too deeply about what she’d lost when she couldn’t allow Amarok to touch her. She also thought eating might help her get her second wind.

  “You mean with psychopaths?”

  “A purpose,” she said, tearing open the plastic. “And to fulfill that purpose, I can fit one more inmate into my schedule.”

  She tsked. “You’re pushing too hard. Driving yourself right over the edge.”

  “I appreciate the warning—and the lunch,” she said. “What would I do without you in all of this? But I’m okay. Really. So...did Glenn’s uncle get your security alarm installed?”

  Lorraine gave her a look that let her know she recognized the deliberate change in subject. “Last week, right after he finished with yours. But I have to tell you, that high-pitched tone that goes off when I open the door nearly sends me to the moon.”

  Evelyn chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I guess it’s a wise thing to have.”

  “It is.” Especially because Lorraine’s husband had moved out six months ago, and she was now living alone. Evelyn thought it might provide her with some peace of mind—once she became accustomed to ho
w it worked.

  “I’d better get back downstairs before all hell breaks loose,” Lorraine said. “But I wanted to ask you...have you heard anything from Danielle?”

  “Connelly? The gal you hired to help in the kitchen? Not yet. Why?”

  “She didn’t come in this morning.”

  “Have you tried calling her house?”

  “Of course. Over and over. There’s no answer.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t talk to the warden or another member of the team? Maybe she’s sick. Maybe she turned off the ringer on her phone so she could get some sleep.”

  A knock interrupted, right before her assistant, 4’9” Penny Singh, poked her head into the room. “Receiving just called. Anthony Garza has arrived.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you want to talk to the marshals?” Penny asked.

  “Of course.” Evelyn felt it was important to thank the escorts. Sometimes they had warnings or other information to convey. She also made it a habit to meet with every single inmate the second he arrived so she could create his chart, make some initial notes on his attitude and psychological state and whether he was likely to be a problem.

  “You’ll have to hurry,” Penny prodded. “They can’t wait. They’re worried about missing their flight, don’t want to get snowed in.”

  Evelyn couldn’t blame them for being antsy. With the monstrous cold fronts that rolled through Anchorage, getting snowed in was a real possibility—and it could mean they’d be trapped for a week or longer. “I’m coming.” She turned to Lorraine. “About Danielle—can you get away long enough to drive by her house?”

  “Not during work hours. Not when I’m short-staffed. But I’ll stop on my way home.”

  “Perfect. Call me if for some reason she’s not there.”

  Lorraine nodded as Evelyn brushed past. But it wasn’t ten seconds later that Evelyn forgot Danielle. She didn’t believe anything serious had happened to her, and what the marshals had to say about Anthony Garza made her nervous. Especially when, right after they left, the intermittent honk of the emergency alarm punched Evelyn’s heart into her throat.

  WHITEOUT will be released September 2016, but you don't have to wait until then to enjoy another Brenda Novak novel. THE SECRET SISTER is already out:

  Did she once have a sister? Has her mother lied all these years? Why?

  After a painful divorce, Maisey Lazarow returns to Fairham, the small island off the North Carolina coast where she grew up. She goes there to heal—and to help her brother, Keith, a deeply troubled man who's asked her to come home. But she refuses to stay in the family house. The last person she wants to see is the wealthy, controlling mother she escaped years ago.

  Instead, she finds herself living next door to someone else she'd prefer to avoid—Rafe Romero, the wild, reckless boy to whom she lost her virginity at sixteen. He's back on the island, and to her surprise, he's raising a young daughter alone. Maisey's still attracted to him, but her heart's too broken to risk…

  Then something even more disturbing happens. She discovers a box of photographs that evoke distant memories of a little girl, a child Keith remembers, too. Maisey believes the girl must've been their sister, but their mother claims there was no sister.

  Maisey's convinced that child existed. So where is she now?

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of this exciting story!

  THE SECRET SISTER: Chapter 1

  MAISEY LAZAROW’S BROTHER met her at the ferry—alone. Part of her, a big part, was grateful her mother wasn’t with him. Even after ten years, Maisey wasn’t ready to confront the autocratic and all-powerful “queen” of Fairham, South Carolina. The fact that Josephine hadn’t deigned to come with Keith made it clear Maisey would not be easily forgiven. Only after her mother had punished her sufficiently would she be welcomed back into Josephine’s good graces.

  Although Maisey had expected as much, coming up against that reality nearly made her balk. What was she doing here? She’d sworn she’d never return to the small island where she’d been raised, that she’d never again subject herself to Josephine’s manipulation and control.

  But that was before, when she’d set off to build her shiny new life. And this was now, when that shiny new life had imploded on her. She was coming back to Fairham because her brother needed her but, truth be told, she needed Keith, too.

  At least her mother wasn’t currently married. The men Josephine chose were almost as bad as she was, just in different ways.

  What Maisey needed most was her father, she realized as she stood at the railing, peering through the passengers crowding the gangway.

  Breathing in the island air, smelling the salty ocean and wet wood of the wharf, it all reminded her of him. But Malcolm had died in a boating accident when she was ten. That was when her mother had grown even more overbearing. Without Malcolm, there was no one to soften Josephine’s sharper edges, no one to hold her in check. Not that the buffer he’d provided was the only reason, or even the primary reason, she missed him...

  “There you are!” Keith called across the distance, waving to make sure he had her attention.

  Grabbing the handles of her two suitcases, which contained everything she hadn’t shipped to the island in boxes, she stepped into the flow of people so she could disembark. It was too late to change her mind about moving home. She’d given up her apartment in Manhattan and depleted most of her savings, thanks to the exorbitant fees of the divorce attorney she’d had to hire.

  “You look great,” Keith told her as she moved closer.

  Maisey conjured up her best approximation of a smile—she seemed unable to smile spontaneously these days—and embraced him. “Thanks.” She was wearing an expensive white tunic with Jimmy Choo shoes and Chanel jewelry, but she’d never looked worse and she knew it. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating well—not since that day two years ago, the worst day of her life. It didn’t help that her brother was also going through a difficult time. Once she’d learned about his suicide attempt, she’d been so manic about selling her furniture and what she could sacrifice of her other belongings so she could return to Fairham to be with him that she hadn’t bothered to do much shopping or cooking, which had caused her to lose even more weight. Her color wasn’t good, either.

  But her brother didn’t look much better. Nearly six-foot-six with a set of broad shoulders that gave him a nice frame, he could stand to gain some weight, too. And he had dark circles under his eyes—the same blue-green eyes she possessed that always drew so much attention.

  “You look good, too,” she lied, and suppressed a wry chuckle. She was home, all right. The pretense was already starting. Her ex-husband’s frank honesty was one of the things that had attracted her to him, which made his actions at the end of their marriage seem especially ironic.

  “How was your trip?” Keith pulled her thoughts away from the past, where they resided far too frequently.

  “Not bad,” she replied. No way did she want to regale him with stories of how difficult she found it just to walk out of her apartment building. She’d spent weeks at a time holed up in bed, but he didn’t need to know that only the urgency of his situation had been sufficient motivation to get her on her feet again. “How’s Mom?”

  He shot her a look that acknowledged the tension any reference to Josephine created. “The same. She might not act like it, but she’s excited to have you home. She’s had a room in the east wing prepared for you.”

  The guest wing? The significance of that didn’t escape Maisey. If there’d been any doubt that she was to be treated with cool disdain until she’d done her penance, this proved it.

  The anger that flared up, making her stiffen, surprised Maisey. Apparently she wasn’t completely cowed and broken. The idea of walking into Coldiron House— named after Josephine’s father, Henry Coldiron, who’d owned most of the island before Josephine inherited it—brought back a hint of her old defiance. She couldn’t cope with living there, couldn’t s
ubmit, as she would have to submit, in order to regain her mother’s approval.

  “I won’t be staying at Mom’s,” she said.

  Keith had started to reach for her suitcases. At this, he straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I have to find somewhere else.”

  He measured her with his eyes, and she found them so hollow she grew frightened for him all over again. Was he doing as well as he claimed? He didn’t seem to be particularly robust—in body or spirit.

  “I understand it’ll be a bit uncomfortable for you at first.” He glanced away as if he could tell she was trying to see behind the front he was putting on. “But trust me. Mom will come around. You’ll piss her off if you don’t stay at the house, and that’ll only make matters worse. After a few weeks...”

  “No.” She broke in before he could get any further into his appeal. “I can’t do it.”

  He stared at her. “You’re serious. You’ve barely arrived, and you’re going to make her angry? She has too much pride to put up with the rejection.”

  “She rejected me first. And I don’t have a relationship with her, anyway,”

  Maisey said. “We communicate through email or her housekeeper, for crying out loud. I’ve spoken to her only a handful of times over the past decade.” And when they had talked, there’d been more silence than anything. There’d even been silence when Maisey had desperately craved consolation.