Saint or Sinner: A Contemporary Romance Novel

by Jolie Day

  He had said that Russell had basically only been a puppet — a sidekick — and he had simply been in the right place at the right time. With that he had meant the rushed wedding with her sister and then the take-over of the company. Russell confessed and told them that it had been he who had hired the man who had shot at Mira. He had also said that he didn’t want her killed and that the shot was only supposed to scare her.

  The papers he had hidden underneath that drawer in his desk had been the email address and bank connection details for this man. The police had the person in custody before he was able to spend all of his money.

  “Luke is a liar,” Suzanne suddenly pitched in. “He must have been the killer.” She took another sip of her coffee and shook her head. “There is no other option. He had been friends with Russell back then — they were able to prove that.”

  Mira bit her lip. This would have been such an obvious and convenient solution, but something didn’t feel right. So far, they had not yet been able to find out if they could get Luke the death penalty for her father’s murder almost two decades ago, but did that even matter at this point? It was almost as good as in the bag that they would give him the death penalty regardless.

  “Well, that’s not yet one hundred percent sure,” Peter interrupted. “We have your testimony, Mrs. Forbes, but the prosecutor is still working on finding an independent witness. A good lawyer will tear your testimony apart and prove that you are biased in this case. Not just in your role as the wife of Russell Forbes, but also as the daughter of Jack Dumont, the victim.”

  Suzanne shrugged her shoulders. “I am certain that he is the one who killed my dad.” She got up and Peter followed her. He exchanged a look with Connor and then said his goodbyes.

  “I will walk you to the door,” Suzanne offered. “And then I’m on my way to the doctor. He wants to take more blood, this vampire. So, you two lovebirds will have some time to yourselves.”

  “Let’s go into the garden,” Connor suggested when the door fell shut behind them and it was finally quiet. It was already late afternoon and the sun fell onto the autumn flowers and made the garden literally burst vigorously with lots of color. Connor threw his healthy arm around her waist and led her to one of the benches.

  “I assume we have seen Peter for the last time today,” Mira said as they sat down. She snuggled into his arm and thought about the miracle that had happened. He was alive and breathing and he would fully recover with no other damage done.

  “I hope so,” Connor replied. “I for one don’t have any desire to see him again. He is like an albatross. Whenever he appears, bad weather is brewing at the very least. More like a hurricane.”

  “You don’t owe him anything anymore,” Mira said, knowing exactly what he felt, without any further explanation. Back then, Peter had helped him out with an alibi and since then, Connor had always faithfully believed that he had to pay Peter back for something.

  “Yes, we are square,” he confirmed. Mira moved a little bit away from him and looked at him inquisitively. There had been a strange undertone in his voice that didn’t match his words.

  “What’s the matter?” Her heart began to beat faster and harder.

  He turned his head and stared at her. “There is something that Peter didn’t mention before,” he admitted. “Peter said that he wanted to leave it up to me to decide whether to tell you or not.”

  “Tell me what?” Mira swallowed hard.

  “There is something that Bishop said in his testimony.”

  “Connor, please tell me already. It can’t possibly get worse than it already is.”

  He grabbed her hand. “You must understand that they don’t have any proof of it, but Bishop is adamant that he didn’t shoot your father. He said that it was your mother. And Russell Forbes knows it too.”

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  That was finally the moment when all of the puzzle pieces fell into their precise slots. Russell, who had married Suzanne. Suzanne, who had immediately said yes, even though she had hardly known him at the time. Luke, who became Russell’s right hand at Dumont Ltd almost a little too quickly.

  “And Suzanne knows it too.” The more she thought about it, the more it all made sense. None of the doctors had been able to explain their mother’s condition. There had been no physical reason for it, the physicians told them over and over again. When she was old enough to understand patient files, she had simply assumed that it had been the incredible shock about the violent death of her husband, that had rendered her speechless and unresponsive. Thinking back now, she remembered that her sister had always evaded the search for answers. Mira’s heart felt like a big old lump of coal in her chest. Suzanne had taken so much onto herself just to protect her little sister! For Mira, the worst thought was that of Suzanne marrying Russell for just that reason. She hoped that she could truly make it up to her one day.

  Connor nodded. “I think so too.”

  “Did you…” she was searching for the right words. “When dad was shot — did you really not see anybody?”

  He didn’t blink once, but Mira still saw the regret in his eyes. “Everything happened so fast. At first, I was absolutely certain that I had seen a woman run through the garden, literally only that. I hadn’t been able to make out the hair or anything else that could have helped with the identification. The way she was moving led me to believe that it was a woman. That’s all.”

  “Did you ever think that it could have been Mom?” Mira tried to imagine her mother as a murderess and failed immediately. Back then, she had still been very young — how much had she really understood about what was going on around her, or with her mom?

  “Never,” he replied without hesitation. “I knew that she was desperate, and that she feared for your and Suzanne’s safety, but I would never have guessed that she would be able do anything violent.”

  It made sense in a terrible way that her mom had shot her dad to protect her two daughters.

  “I am sorry,” Connor said, and she felt that he truly meant it. “I don’t believe that your mother was a cold-blooded killer and that she planned it, even though you might think that right now.” He paused for a moment. Mira let all this sink in, asking herself if he was right, or if he just wanted to protect her from the worst-case scenario now, just as Suzanne had. Mom had used Connor so she could create an alibi for herself. She had knowingly lured him into a trap, just so she wouldn’t raise any suspicion herself. The open patio doors, the exact timing of the deadly gunshot… Mira felt nauseous.

  “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” she answered after what seemed like an eternity. “It is a thousand times better to know the truth, than to be trapped in the darkness.” She stared past Connor into the garden. Looking at it was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she managed to keep it together. Just as she wanted to say something, Connor started to move. He pulled her towards him and spoke to her without words, by touch alone, and told her that there was nothing that could ever come between them.

  “I am convinced that your mother was not a bad person,” he murmured. “Don’t forget that I knew her well. She was a very caring and loving mother to both of you and to Jack a loyal wife — for as long as she could. But when everything she held dear, everything she loved and cared for was threatening to fall apart, she didn’t know what else to do, and acted accordingly. Francesca must have been heartbroken by what she did.”

  His voice sounded husky. Mira raised her head and watched him, surprised. “And you still feel guilty, despite all that you know?” She suppressed the tears that threatened to blur her vision. How had she ever thought of him as being cold and heartless? He was everything but cold or heartless!

  The view of the house was wonderful from here, but she knew that she did not want to live there anymore. Suzanne could keep it or sell it or whatever, she didn’t care. As for her father’s company… she had already made that decision. She would not sell it, even thou
gh her gut feeling and every fiber of her being told her to get rid of the last piece of ballast.

  But she would not run away.

  Why should she? She had found a man who she loved and who had risked his life for hers. She would be strong with him by her side. Together, they would be able to face any fate and everything that would come their way in the future. Living with Connor would not be easy, that she was also sure of, but she also knew that when she looked back on her life in her last days, she wouldn’t regret one hour she had spent with him.

  Never.

  THE END

  Sneak Peek

  Max Stormwell is out for revenge. After losing his father to the ruthless leader of a bike gang known as the Cottonmouths, he swears to end the life of the man who’s taken everything from him, Caesar Alvarez. When he returns to the town where his father was killed, he has only one place to stay; Carlisle’s Pub, run by Regina Carlisle, the beautiful owner and barmaid. Available in Amazon Stores: OUTLAW.

  Reading Sample:

  Carlisle’s Pub was as packed as it always was on a Saturday night and Regina Carlisle was as prepared as ever—that is to say, not at all.

  She couldn’t understand why—no matter how many times it happened or how much alcohol she ordered ahead of time—the bar always ran out before closing time at three AM. Every week, she found herself reaching into her own stash of scotch and whiskey and tequila and serving it to her customers, both old and new, for crappy tips and crass remarks about her ass. She didn’t expect much more out of a bunch of drunks, though.

  When she was a child, her father had owned Carlisle’s and ran it with a skilled hand and an intelligent mind. She had spent many a night perched on her own stool, watching him mix drinks and joke with the patrons. Her mother worked there as a waitress, carrying drinks back and forth and running her hand over Regina’s back as she passed. She made Shirley Temples for her daughter and helped her out with any homework that Regina had spread over the bar in front of her. Regina’s father, Danny, would sneak kisses over the bar top and Regina would cover her eyes and stick out her tongue, calling them “gross”, but secretly she’d be watching through the spaces between her fingers.

  Ever since she was a child, she wanted a love like that.

  “Hey, baby, can I get a shot o’ whiskey over here!”

  Regina blinked out of her thoughts and turned towards the gruff voice, sighing at the sight of one of her regulars smirking over at her. Jimmy Porter was one of the more recognized town drunks and he practically had one of her barstools molded to his ass, he was here so often. Regina found herself wondering where he got the money to drink from open to close, but she’d never really questioned it out loud. After all, he always paid.

  “What have I told you about calling me that, Jimmy?” she sighed, reaching under the bar for the whiskey and frowning when she saw that there was barely enough for a couple more shots, despite the fact that it had been completely full just an hour ago. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached for his shot glass, topping it up for him.

  “Your mom never minded,” Jimmy responded, fisting the glass and raising it to his eyes like it held the secret to life.

  “I’m not my mother,” Regina pointed out, reaching for her own shot glass and pouring herself some whiskey. She might as well get some for herself before she completely ran out.

  “That’s a shame,” Jimmy huffed, then raised his glass in her direction. “Here’s to Pam; God rest her soul.” Regina sighed and clinked the rim of her glass to his, before they both downed their respective shots. The burn of the whiskey felt good as it slid down her throat. It was always her favorite.

  Her father’s, too.

  Regina shook her head and took a deep breath. “Rest in peace,” she agreed, her voice soft and reverent.

  Both of her parents had passed away within months of each other. Her father had died in a car crash and her mother had died of a cancer that had plagued her body for years. Regina was fresh out of college when she inherited Carlisle’s and instead of selling the bar—as many of her friends had suggested—she had decided to carry on her father’s—and grandfather’s, before him—legacy.

  She’d learned, first-hand, how to pour and mix drinks and had even helped her mother as a waitress to pay for college. She wasn’t yet as skillful as her father, who’d ran the bar for over thirty years and went to school for bartending when he was younger than she, but Regina did alright. She’d been running this business for over half a decade now and she hadn’t come close to shutting down yet.

  But that didn’t mean everything was easy.

  She had yet to find a waitress that she liked—most of the ones that passed through her bar were young and just looking to make a little spending cash on the weekends; they didn’t take the job seriously and she’d often caught them sneaking sips on the clock, stealing from her—and her current girl was named Brandy (ironically). She had long blonde hair and even longer legs. She was as graceful as a ballerina, but often got distracted by some of Regina’s tougher patrons.

  Regina was also certain that Brandy was the reason she so often ran out of alcohol before the night was up. As much as she’d tried to teach Brandy how to pour and how much alcohol was to be used in mixed drinks, she was sure that the blonde used too much. She’d chastised her about it several times, but Regina wasn’t exactly in a position to be hiring or firing anybody at the moment. Brandy, at least, was willing to work for a below-average salary and was a real hit with the guys that played pool in the corner.

  In addition to the bar, Carlisle’s also had two rooms for rent on the second floor. Regina had grown up watching people climb up and down those rickety old steps in the back. Musicians and bikers and sometimes amorous couples—who only ever rented the room for a couple of hours at a time—were a staple in her life. When she was growing up, her father also hired a maid to come in once a day, after the last guests had left, to tidy up the room and switch out the sheets and towels in the bathroom. Her name was Barbara and she worked for less than she deserved, but Danny Carlisle had always given her a free meal and drinks and she’d been satisfied.

  When Regina’s parents died, Barbara had continued to work until she could no longer stand on her arthritic knees. Regina still invited her to the bar for drinks on the house and dinner once a week. After Barb, though, she decided that a maid was unnecessary for work she could get done herself.

  It was tough for a young woman to run a bar and inn herself, but she got through the work week and still had energy to stand for the long Saturday night shift, which would come to an end in about…ten minutes. Regina breathed out a sigh of relief and reached for a washcloth, starting the process of cleaning off the bar top.

  “Alright, everybody,” she called, raising her voice as much as possible in the boisterous bar. “Last call!” The men playing at the pool table looked up and gave her their usual glares, but they finished off their game and she ignored the way money changed hands. Brandy made one last sweep around the room, returning with closed tabs and gave Regina her last drink orders. The older woman poured the last of her tequila and scotch into shots and lamented the loss, but welcomed the extra profits, shoving them into the pocket of her apron as she went back to wiping down the bar.

  One by one, the patrons started to filter out of the pub and Regina felt her shoulders begin to relax with the release of tension as the noise began to dissipate and she felt herself breathing a bit more easily. It was always like this at the end of the night, when she finally got to relax on a Saturday night, instead of work. She didn’t really mind the work so much, but it could get overwhelming at times—especially when she was constantly running out of her own alcohol.

  “Have a nice night, baby,” Jimmy said, slapping a generous tip down on the bar top and giving her a wink (which looked more like a twitch, honestly) and slipping off his stool. He had a surprisingly straight walk for a man who’s stomach contents were 60% whiskey and 40% bar peanuts, but he’d always been l
ike that. And he always left a good tip. Regina plucked the fifty-dollar bill off the bar and slipped it into her back pocket. She watched as the last few patrons started to taper off and Brandy cleaned off the tables and shoved her own tips into her apron.

  By the time she returned to the bar, Regina had already swept off the entire bar, tossing every piece of trash and peanut shell into the garbage bin she kept hidden away. Brandy handed over the dirty shot glasses and Regina placed them into the sink, to be cleaned the next day after her guests in the inn left and she cleaned the sheets.

  “Have a good night, Brandy,” Regina said. “Get home safely, love.”

  “Good night, Reg,” Brandy replied, getting her purse from behind the bar and hanging up her apron after relieving it of her tips. She folded them and placed them in her purse pocket.

  Brandy was out of the door with three minutes to spare before Regina even had to lock up. She walked around the bar and grabbed the broom, sweeping up whatever mess was left on the floor. Thankfully, there weren’t too many spills tonight.

  She was just starting to place the chairs on tabletops when she heard the door to the bar open and close and she sighed, turning around. “We’re closed,” she said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Besides, we’re out of alcohol, too.”