Gilt Hollow

by Lorie Langdon

  “A fast-moving mystery with just the right amount of romance. Gilt Hollow is a perfect fall read.”

  CAROL LYNCH WILLIAMS, PEN Award winner and author of Never Said

  “The charm of Gilt Hollow goes far beyond the delicious mystery at its center. The beautifully rendered atmosphere and the heart-tugging romance between Ashton and Willow will keep readers guessing, and hoping, to the end. Langdon gives readers more than a bit of intrigue in Gilt Hollow—this book is full of heart.”

  NATALIE D. RICHARDS, author of Six Months Later

  “A romantic page-turner that will keep you guessing until the very end!”

  MELISSA LANDERS, author of the Alienated and Starflight series

  “A gripping tale with the intrigue of Pretty Little Liars and the romance of Sarah Dessen, Gilt Hollow will keep you turning pages well into the night!”

  CAREY CORP, New York Times bestselling author of The Halo Chronicles: The Guardian

  Other books by Lorie Langdon (with Carey Corp)

  Doon

  Destined for Doon

  Shades of Doon

  Forever Doon

  BLINK

  Gilt Hollow

  Copyright © 2016 by Lorie Moeggenberg

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Blink, 3900 Sparks Drive SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  ePub Edition © August 2016: ISBN 978-0-310-75189-2

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the publisher, nor does the publisher vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to persons living or dead are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover design: Brand Navigation

  Interior Design: Denise Froehlich

  16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 DCI 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my sons Ben and Alex—You both inspired parts of Ashton with your strength and sensitivity. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’ll never have challenges; it’s how you face those challenges that inspires others. Love you to the moon and back!

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER One

  Brilliant sunlight stabbed Ashton’s eyes as he stepped into the exercise yard for the first time in a week. He raised his hand to his forehead and paused just outside the door, fighting a wave of dizziness. After five days in solitary, the last thing he wanted to do was appear weak, as if it had beaten him. So he squinted, lowered his hand, and strode forward with confidence.

  His first time in “the void,” as everyone called it, had been torture. Locked inside the eight-by-eight windowless cell with nothing but his own thoughts, an aching jaw, and a broken rib had forced him to face his demons. And it hadn’t been pretty. But as much as being cut off from everything and everyone sucked, when Ashton’s gaze landed on Stanley Swindoll standing in the corner, his dark, toothpick arms pumping the basketball as if it were his only friend, he knew he’d do it all again.

  Right about then Stanley spotted him. His eyes widening, he raced across the concrete, driving the basketball like an extension of his hand. “Ash! You’re back. I’m so sorry, man. I had no idea—”

  Ashton clasped the boy’s bony shoulder. “Don’t, okay? They had it coming.”

  “But when those guys jumped you—”

  “Seriously, kid. I don’t need a play-by-play.” The heat of a heavy stare pulled Ashton’s attention to the bleachers. DW—aka Dip Wad—glared in his direction. Ashton flashed him a grin, thrilled to see that the bruise around the bully’s left eye had turned into a molten mess of yellowish brown.

  “Did Dip Wad or the others give you any trouble?” Ashton asked, keeping his easy grin in place as DW bared his teeth in a grimace, his mammoth frame stiffening. Ashton seriously had no idea how the guy maintained his girth on the slop they were fed in this place.

  “Nope.” The rhythmic slap of the basketball began again. “Not since they transferred Jay.”

  Ashton’s gaze jerked down to Stan’s dark eyes. “Wait. What did you say?” As hierarchies went, Jay was the king of JJC. If you wanted something smuggled in—cigarettes, candy bars, drugs—you went through Jay. His uncle was the assistant warden, so he got away with everything short of murder. And the jerkhole couldn’t handle that a thirteen-year-old black kid could wipe the court with him every single time.

  “Jay’s gone.” A smile the size of Texas spread across Stan’s face. “The ward called me in day before yesterday, and I told him everything. How Jay had been threatenin’ me since that day I trounced him one-on-one. How he put that junk in my food that made me sick. How you jumped in when they pulled the knife on me. Guess the ward had been doing an investigation of Jay because some district head guy’s comin’ in next week for an inspection.”

  Stan paused in his dribbling and palmed the basketball with both hands. “That’s the rumor anyway.” He shrugged and set the ball in motion again.

  Struck speechless, Ashton followed the five-foot-nothing kid over to the court. No wonder Dip Wad had stayed glued to the bleachers—without Jay, he was a powerless meatbag.

  For the first time in three years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days, Ashton felt a spark of warmth in his chest. He figured after the beat-down he’d given Jay and his buddies, it would only be a matter of time until it was his turn. In solitary, he’d gone through countless strategies on how to avoid the inevitable retaliation—only to find out now, it would never happen. He’d cut the head off the beast.

  Ashton slapped the ball out of Stan’s hands, faked right, and then used his height advantage to lay the ball in the hoop.

  “Smooth!” Stan praised. “I might make a player out of you yet.”

  Ashton grinned, even as he bent over and clutched his aching side.

  “Keller!” A guard approached the court, one who had repeatedly turned deaf ears to Ashton’s complaints about Jay’s reign of terror. “The warden wants to see you.”

  Ashton passed the ball to Stan and cleared his face of all expression. Even if he’d just broken out in a cold sweat, he wasn’t about to show fear.

  Stanley smiled and nodded his encouragement, as if the ward intended to give Ashton a medal or something. But he’d been around long enough to know that wouldn’t happen. Even if he had saved the kid’s life, the fact remained that he’d beaten up several inmates in the process, breaking t
he zero-tolerance policy for fighting.

  The guard turned and walked away, expecting Ashton to follow. His feet like bricks, Ashton trudged after him.

  “Hey, see you at dinner,” Stan called.

  Ashton lifted a hand without looking back. The guard pulled his club as they passed the bleachers and pointed it straight at DW. “Daniel Winston, you’re next.”

  Any hope of an accommodation dissolved in that moment. If Dip Wad was on deck, this couldn’t be good. Ashton stared DW down as he passed.

  But apparently the jerk was even less intelligent than he appeared, because he shouted, “I ain’t followin’ no murderer.” Then he hawked a loogie that arched straight onto Ashton’s boots.

  Red washed over his vision, and Ashton rushed toward the bleachers. With Jay as a shield, this coward had tormented him for years. No more. Ashton threw back his fist, and DW flinched hard.

  But the blow never landed. The guard caught Ashton’s arm from behind and hissed, “Throw that punch, Keller, and you’re back in the void.”

  Blood roared in Ashton’s ears. No longer a scrawny kid, he outweighed the guard by at least thirty pounds. He could easily pull away and get in a good slam to DW’s blubbery face before the other guards could reach him. He’d already screwed up—why not go big?

  He wrenched his arm out of the guard’s grip but then lowered his fist. This pissant wasn’t worth another week of confinement. Instead, he leaned in and growled, “Touch Stanley or any other kid here again and I’ll put you in the ground.”

  Another guard approached and yanked him back, but not before Ashton saw a satisfying quiver of fear pass over DW’s face. He stared him down until the guards forced him away. He’d had enough of others controlling his life. Those days were over.

  Ashton let the guards escort him into the building without a fight. Their boots echoed down the long hallway like jackhammers pounding in his temples. He clung to the familiar heat of anger, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the questions. Did the ward want to hear his take on the Jay situation? No, that didn’t seem necessary now that Jay was gone. Or could this be a status change? If they took away his work assignment on the farm, he would freakin’ lose it. The afternoons bailing hay, tending crops, and looking after the animals were what kept him sane. But the ward wouldn’t mess with calling a face-to-face meeting for something so mundane. He’d just send new work orders through the chain of command.

  Then as they climbed the stairs to the administrative wing, it hit him—this was the meeting to inform him he’d blown his chance at early release. All the blood drained from his head and sloshed into his stomach. He’d expected it was coming, but the thought of another year of nights lying in his bunk staring at the ceiling, of holidays when no one came to visit him, and endless hours gazing at the world through a barbed wire fence almost brought him to his knees.

  They stopped at the last door at the end of the hall, and the first guard shoved his baton into Ashton’s chest. “Don’t move a muscle, kid.”

  He disappeared behind a door marked Conference Room.

  That’s when Ashton realized the warden’s office was at the opposite end of the building. He searched his brain for a reason why anyone would call him here, but before he could grasp onto a theory, the guard returned, seized his arm, and ushered him through the door.

  Three men sat at a long table. The guard led him to the single chair on the opposite side and ordered him to sit.

  Memories of his police interrogation flashed; the rapid-fire questions, men screaming in his face, the mind-numbing fear that had kept him silent—and taken away almost four years of his life. Stiff as a board, he lowered into the chair.

  “That will be all, York.” Warden St. James nodded, and the guard left, shutting the door behind him with an ominous thud. The ward had always reminded Ashton of Samuel L. Jackson. Not just his wiry muscles or his clean-shaven head, but his no-nonsense, I-could-put-you-down-in-a-heartbeat attitude.

  Silence filled the room, and Ashton took stock of his situation. On St. James’s right sat his counselor, Mr. Larkin—or Bob, as he encouraged Ashton to call him in their weekly sessions. And to the warden’s left was a middle-aged man Ashton didn’t recognize, his thinning hair pulled into a low ponytail.

  Warden St. James cleared his throat. “Relax, Mr. Keller.”

  Realizing his shoulders were hunched, Ashton ratcheted them down a notch but remained alert.

  “This is Mr. Reed.” The ward gestured to ponytail man, who stood and reached across the table, his hand extended.

  A handshake was a show of respect that hadn’t been offered to him by an adult since his incarceration. Following a moment’s hesitation, Ashton rose to his feet and shook the man’s waiting hand. “Good to meet you, Ashton. Call me Zane.”

  “Okay … Zane.” With no idea who the guy was, the greeting came out more like a question.

  The ward continued, “And I think you know Mr. Larkin.”

  Bob gave him a brief wave. The man resembled a teddy bear, but Ashton knew his beady stare could turn hard as coal when he didn’t obtain the answers he wanted.

  Ashton nodded in Bob’s direction and took his seat again.

  “Mr. Keller, you’ve just finished a stint in solitary, correct?” St. James asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The warden shuffled the papers in front of him before raising reluctant eyes back to Ashton. “I must apologize for that. But it was for your own safety.”

  Ashton blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Sir?”

  St. James ignored the question in Ashton’s tone and continued. “When I became aware of Jay Hanover’s unwarranted power within this facility, I took swift action. He has been transferred to Warren County and his uncle discharged.”

  Ashton cocked an ear to make sure he’d heard right. A dozen other kids had reported Jay before, but the warden had never cared. “What changed your mind?”

  The warden leveled a sharp stare in his direction. “Excuse me?”

  Ashton clenched his jaw, thinking about all the kids who’d been tormented by Jay since he’d been there and the fear they’d all lived with waiting to see who would be Jay’s next victim. He folded his hands on top of the table, mirroring St. James’s posture. “Why believe us now? We’ve been telling you, Bob, the guards, anyone who would listen, about Jay for over a year. Why now?”

  St. James pressed his already thin lips together as his gaze burned into Ashton. But Ashton didn’t look away. He’d take whatever punishment they were about to give him, but he wouldn’t waste this chance to make them see the truth.

  “Mr. Keller, this is unnecessary and disrespectful,” Bob said in his odd, singsong voice.

  Ashton felt the comforting heat of anger descend on his shoulders like a buffer against the world. He leaned forward but kept his voice even. “You say you took swift action, but I have a broken rib and a friend who was almost stabbed to death that say otherwise.”

  The warden steepled his fingers in front of him. “Mr. Keller, I’ve already stated that I took care of the issue as soon as I became aware of it. And it is not your place to question the management of this facility. Nevertheless, this … incident has raised my awareness to the vulnerabilities of our inmates, and I assure you, their safety is my number one priority.” St. James paused and regarded Ashton over his glasses. “However, it is no longer yours.”

  Every function in Ashton’s body seemed to freeze as he waited for the other hammer to drop.

  St. James continued. “Your willingness to stand up for a fellow inmate, even at risk to your own safety, demonstrates strength of character and confirms the positive progress you’ve made in Mr. Larkin’s recent reports.” He gestured to Bob, who nodded.

  Sickening anticipation began to rise in Ashton’s gut, like the feeling he got inside an airplane as it hurtled toward its point of takeoff.

  “But”—St. James leveled his fierce stare at Ashton, sending his hope straight off the runway—“that does n
ot mean I condone your methods. Fighting is still a first-grade offense in this facility.”

  Realizing his fate hung in the balance, Ashton bit off the smart reply on the tip of his tongue and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Given your demonstration of leadership, your high GPA, and your strong service reports from the agricultural center …” St. James cleared his throat and glanced down at his paperwork. “Your early release has been approved.”

  Ashton sucked in a sharp breath and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. Was St. James joking? He wouldn’t be so cruel. Would he?

  The ward continued, “Mr. Reed—”

  “Zane,” ponytail man interrupted.

  St. James’s eyes gave an impatient flicker, and he pronounced the name by holding out the vowel. “Zaaane here is your parole officer. After today you’ll be required to report in to him every month …”

  But Ashton didn’t hear the rest over the roar of the jet engine as it rocketed into the atmosphere, taking his stomach with it. He felt weightless. Light-headed. He was out of here? Today? He glanced out the second-story window at the tree line on the other side of the fence and felt the insane urge to crash through the glass, jump to the ground, and sprint as far and as fast as his legs would carry him. But then a single word sucked him back into reality.

  “… mother signed the release.”

  Ashton turned to St. James. “Wait. What did you say about my mother?”

  “Your mother signed the papers for your discharge last week. But since you turned eighteen yesterday, it became unnecessary. You can be released into your own custody now.” St. James’s lips pressed together.