The Sierra Files Box Set: Books 1-3: Plus a bonus Christmas novella!

by Christy Barritt

  My mom had aged, I realized. Logically, I’d known that she would. But seeing her now caused an unknown emotion to crush against my heart.

  Dad was also first-generation Japanese. He was short with graying hair and a pudge just starting at his stomach. He loved golf and jigsaw puzzles and rarely smiled. Maybe that made him good at his job as an oncologist.

  The two had been childhood sweethearts and had moved to the States for medical school and ended up staying. They had their perfect family—my brother and sister. Then I came along accidentally eight years later. They had no idea what to do with me. I didn’t fit into the busy schedule that was necessary for them both to be successful doctors. I’d been relegated to nannies and housekeepers and, eventually, sent off to boarding school.

  Instead of throwing their arms around me—they weren’t the type—they ambled over and looked Chad over like they were appraising a cow, trying to deem whether it was worthy of being sacrificed to their hunger.

  When they finished, my mom raised her nose and addressed me. “Sierra. So glad you could make it.”

  “Mom.” I nodded properly, suddenly remembering my boarding school days, which I’d thought were long forgotten.

  “Glad you could make it home, Sierra.” My dad stood stiffly with one hand stuffed in his pocket.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it.” I grabbed Chad’s hand again, realizing that some time during this crazy exchange, I’d released it, perhaps as a subconscious way of buying time before I had to explain who the man beside me was. A sickly feeling gurgled in my stomach as I sucked in a deep breath. “Mother. Father. This is Chad.”

  I just couldn’t bring myself to admit that we were married. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for the fireworks that might explode. I needed to ease into this. Dip my toe into the water first.

  Being timid was so not my thing. But my parents brought out a different side of me.

  “Chad,” my mom repeated with a curt nod. There was no “Nice to meet you” or “Pleasure to have you here.” Instead, she stared, something in her gaze akin to a lion eyeing its prey.

  “An old friend has stopped by to see you, Sierra,” Dad announced. He cast a wary glance at Chad before looking back toward the kitchen.

  I followed my father’s gaze and sucked in a deep breath at the figure I saw standing there. “Greg?”

  I hadn’t seen him in . . . years. Years. Yet he still looked the same. Five foot eight, thin with a head full of black hair and perceptive brown eyes. He wore a sweater vest, khakis, and sensible brown loafers.

  Dread pooled in my stomach when I saw his face light with pleasure. I already regretted coming here. It was all a mistake. A big, horrible mistake.

  Was it too late to turn around and run? We could just hop back in the Vanagon and drive all the way back to Virginia. That wouldn’t be weird, right? I could pretend like this never happened and zoom back to my comfortable life, the life I’d made for myself away from my parents. A life that included being who I wanted to be, whether or not that involved making gobs of money or hanging out with connected, affluent people. I could be my own person with no one who mattered to judge me.

  “Greg?” Chad whispered in my ear.

  About that time, Greg strode across the room and stood in front of us. “Sierra Nakamura, you look just as lovely as ever.” He took my hand and kissed it, his lips lingering a little too long.

  I felt Chad bristle beside me, and I snatched my hand back.

  “Greg, this is Chad. Chad, Greg.” I didn’t add that Greg was the man my parents had wanted me to marry. He was everything they thought was worthy in a good spouse: he was Asian, rich, and successful.

  He was everything Chad wasn’t. At least, in my parents’ eyes.

  Chad was a surfer, skier, former mortician, and present-day crime scene cleaner. We had very little in terms of material possessions, but we had everything in love. That’s what really counted.

  My parents would never, ever understand that, though.

  “Greg has just joined Connecticut Pediatric Specialist Group,” my mom continued. “He moved back to the area a few months ago. We knew as soon as we heard you were coming that the two of you would want to catch up.”

  Awkwardness fluttered both around me and inside me until I felt off balanced.

  Everyone stared at me, maybe not realizing that I was way better at dealing with animals than I was people.

  I had no idea what to say or do. I envied groundhogs. At the moment, I wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

  “If it isn’t Sierra!” a screechy voice said.

  I didn’t have to look to know that sound came from my crazy aunt Yori. She was my mom’s older sister and lived in one of the spare bedrooms at the house. She’d been married once, but her husband died more than twenty years ago, and she had no kids. From as far back as I could remember, she’d been a little loopy.

  She was the polar opposite of my mom. She was heavyset, had flyaway gray hair, and said whatever came to her mind—and she said it with flourish. For her entire life, she’d bounced from job to job, unable to maintain a steady career.

  Right now, she charged toward me, her arms outstretched. She pulled me into a hug, pulled Chad into a hug, and then pulled me into a hug again. “You look good. Really good. Being away from home has treated you well, I see. Have you put on some weight?”

  Tension pulled tight again. What did I say in response to her home comment? And had I put on weight? I didn’t think I had, yet suddenly I felt fatter.

  Thankfully, a squeal at the back door drew everyone’s attention from me. I turned and saw a huge dog galloping inside. The brown-and-white canine had a mischievous glint to his eyes, a bounce in his gait, and a long tongue that hung out the side of his mouth.

  My sister ran in behind him, her gaze frantic. “Stop him!”

  The dog dodged several guests, sent one woman screaming and jumping on the couch like she’d seen a mouse, and nearly toppled Greg before coming to a stop directly in front of me. The canine sat down, tongue hanging out, and looked up at me as if I’d been his end goal this whole time.

  My sister, usually composed and reserved, came to an abrupt stop behind him. She bent over, out of breath, and scowled at the dog before looking up at me. “Sierra, you’re home. Welcome.”

  I fought a smile before rubbing the dog’s head. He responded by leaning into me and eating up the attention. “Who’s this?”

  She shook her head, still gulping in air. “I have no idea. I found him in the backyard and tried to check his collar for tags. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Then, as soon as I opened the door to come back inside and get help, he pushed by me, and now here he is.”

  I rubbed behind his ears some more. The dog’s brown eyes were charming and intelligent. His coat had a smattering of brown dots in between swaths of chestnut and ivory. Floppy ears made him appear friendly and huggable.

  “What a pretty boy,” I murmured, more to the dog than anyone else.

  When I looked over and saw my dad shielding my mom from the dog, I realized I needed to at least act more concerned. I reached down and checked the collar. There was no tag. It looked like there had been at one time, based on the silver half circle of wire with a gap in it. Maybe it had gotten hung up on something and ripped off.

  “You ever seen him before?” I asked my parents.

  “It’s ‘Have you ever seen him before?’” my mom corrected, stepping out from behind my father. “Certainly you haven’t forgotten how to speak properly while living in Virginia?”

  My cheeks heated, but I decided to ignore her. Respect was really important to my parents, so that meant not talking back and not embarrassing them in front of others. To do either of those things would be an atrocity to our already strained relationship.

  “So, about the dog?” I questioned instead. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  My mom shook her head, her lips pursed. “No, I have not.”

  “He couldn’t ha
ve gone too far,” Reina said, taking a better look. “His fur is still clean, not matted, and no burs are in it. I’d guess his home is close.”

  “What I don’t understand is why that mutt is still inside my home!” my mom said, anger simmering in her voice.

  “That’s too bad. Things just got interesting, too,” Aunt Yori muttered before hobbling back toward the kitchen.

  I glanced at Chad, already feeling like I was suffocating here. I knew an escape route when I saw one. “You know what? The dog seems to like us. We’ll see if we can find out where he lives.”

  “But you just arrived.” My mom raised her hand, palm up, not in confusion but in exasperation.

  I had to make sure this didn’t look like I was desperate to get away—which I was—and instead appear like I was trying to be helpful. I’d had years to perfect this with my parents. “I know. But I can sense the stress the dog is causing here. We certainly can’t put him out on the street. That would just be cruel. It should only take a few minutes to see if he lives nearby, and we’ll be right back.”

  “Have it your way.” My mom scowled and crossed her arms.

  “We’ll be back soon,” I assured her. “I promise.”

  I grabbed the dog’s thick collar and led him outside. As soon as the door closed behind me, I let out the breath I held and turned to Chad. “I am so sorry.”

  “I know you tried to warn me about your family, but wow. I thought you were exaggerating.” His eyes were wide and maybe a little scared. Anyone in their right mind would feel the same way after the experience.

  I shook my head, heading toward the van with the dog beside me. “I wish. It’s not too late to turn around and run. What do you say?”

  Hope invaded my voice. Maybe I didn’t have to endure this weekend. Maybe we could say something came up back home, and we could hit the road again. My mind raced with ideas.

  “What kind of impression would that leave? They’d really think I was good for nothing, a bad influence, and unfit for their daughter. And when exactly do you plan to tell them we’re married again? That was never clear to me.”

  The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. I paused and laid a hand on his chest. “I will. I promise. I just have to wait for the right time.”

  “I hope the right time is before that Greg guy puts his lips against your hand again.”

  I shuddered, still moving toward the van. “That was unfortunate.”

  “It’s going to be unfortunate for him.” He made a mockingly tough, angry face.

  I knew Chad wasn’t that kind of guy. But still, the whole encounter had been awkward.

  “Chad—” I started to explain.

  He opened the van. “I think I have a leash in here for the Bark in the Park event we went to.”

  Some of the tension left me. He wasn’t bent out of shape—thank goodness. He was just joking. I couldn’t handle another stressor at the moment.

  “Found it.” He emerged from the van’s recesses with a bright blue lead with bones stamped down the side.

  “You never know when one will come in handy. Isn’t that what I always say?”

  “Always.” Humor dripped in his voice as he grabbed the leash and hooked it around the dog’s neck. The canine sat down, looking up at us happily and panting.

  “I wonder what kind he is. I’m thinking he’s an English Spaniel. What do you think?” I patted him behind the ears again, and he raised his head as if to ask for more love and attention.

  Chad leaned down to examine him more closely. “It’s a good guess. Maybe a Welsh Springer Spaniel? Either way, pretty dog. He might be a purebred. A lady I used to work with at the funeral home had one of these. I think this breed is expensive.”

  “Breeds are just a ridiculous way of—”

  He raised a hand, probably sensing I was about to launch into one of my speeches about the evils of dog breeding. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  I straightened, trying to focus on the task ahead. “Before we go back to the pit of vipers known as my family, let’s see if we can get Big Boy back home.”

  We started walking down the road, and I tried to ignore the sense of trepidation that filled me. I should have stuck to my guns, told Chad this was a horrible idea, and stayed in Virginia. But, no. I had to trek back up to my old home in Connecticut and reconnect with my family.

  Growing up, Mom and Dad had worked too much. I’d been raised by a series of nannies and comforted from my nightmares not by people but by my cats—usually strays that I snuck inside and nurtured back to health.

  My parents had wanted me to follow in their footsteps and go into the medical field. Instead, I’d horrified them by becoming an animal rights activist. Even my recent promotion to director of the organization probably wouldn’t impress them.

  “Why don’t we start here?” Chad said, pausing by a Georgian-style house with highly impressive flower beds. A cheerful green Volkswagen Beetle was parked in the driveway with a “Here Comes Treble” bumper sticker.

  We crossed the manicured lawn, Big Boy walking happily beside us. I noticed he didn’t particularly pull us toward the door, as if he was familiar with it, or like a horse running home. Animals had those kinds of instincts. He seemed content by our side instead.

  We tried the house anyway, despite my gut feeling that this wasn’t the place. We rang the doorbell, and before we could even step back, a woman answered. She had a bundle of red curly hair atop her head and wore a sleek pantsuit. “Can I help you?”

  “We found this dog and we’re looking for his owner,” I started. “We’re going door to door to see if anyone recognizes him.”

  Her gaze fluttered down toward the dog. “I do believe he belongs to the Lennoxes. They’re two doors down in the house with the blue shutters and slightly overgrown grass.”

  “Thank you,” I called as we started down the steps.

  “You must be one of the Nakamuras,” she called behind me, her voice sounding uninterested, a stark contrast to the fact that she was trying to continue the conversation.

  I paused. “I’m their daughter.”

  “Well, God bless you, then.” She turned her nose up and shut the door.

  Apparently, my family had made quite the impression on this street. Wasn’t that just fantastic?

  We continued through the neighborhood until we reached the house with the blue shutters and the slightly overgrown grass. The first thing I noticed was that the front door was cracked open. Second, I noticed the trail of blood leading down the front walk, stopping at the very place on the driveway where a car had probably been parked.

  Before I could voice my observations, Big Boy let out a long-drawn-out howl.

  Realization dawned in my gut, spreading through me until mourning captured every cell.

  Big Boy knew something we didn’t.

  He knew that something was seriously wrong.

  Chapter Two

  “We should call the police,” I muttered, my gaze fixated on the trail of blood.

  “You call the police. I’m going to check inside and make sure no one is hurt,” Chad said. “We don’t know for sure if that blood is leading to or from the house.”

  With trembling hands, I pulled my phone out and dialed 911. After taking a breath to calm myself, I explained to the operator what had happened, and she promised that the police were on the way.

  I stood on the lawn for a moment with a howling Big Boy. Each second I heard the sound only compounded my emotions. I found myself inching closer to the house.

  What was taking Chad so long? Was he okay? What if a killer was still inside?

  The thought caused my heart to lurch into my throat.

  Though something in my subconscious urged me to stop before I did something stupid, I crept toward the front door. Big Boy stayed at my side.

  I reached the porch and, with hesitant movements, peeked inside the lavish house. “Chad?”

  No answer.

  As more trepidation filled me, I took
another step. My gaze perused the entryway. It was a contrast to my parents’ house. The walls were painted pumpkin orange and other jewel tones. Everything was accented with dried flowers and artfully arranged vases of sticks.

  There, in front of me, was that trail of blood. Not a stream. Not a line. Just small drops sprinkled like bread crumbs.

  Something bad had happened here.

  Almost in a trancelike state, I began following the path across the bamboo floor. I walked through the entryway and toward the living room on the far side of the house. I made sure that Big Boy stayed far away from the blood so we disturbed nothing.

  A deep voice startled me. “What are you doing?”

  I twirled around and saw Chad standing at the base of the stairs. My hand covered my heart, which now beat double time. “You scared me to death.”

  “I thought you were waiting outside,” he said.

  “I got worried when I didn’t hear anything.”

  He closed the distance between us. “The house is empty. There’s no one here.”

  “Any signs of foul play?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Just that blood. It starts in the kitchen and ends at the driveway. Otherwise, I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Strange. Big Boy definitely thinks something is wrong.” I absently rubbed the dog’s head again.

  Chad took my elbow. “Let’s wait outside for the police to come. The last thing we need is for them to tell us we compromised a crime scene.”

  Fifteen minutes later the police arrived. We explained to the detective in charge what had happened, and she took our statements. She’d introduced herself as Detective Meadows. She was on the tall side, extremely thin, and probably in her early thirties. She had long blonde hair that had been pulled into a bun, and didn’t wear any makeup. Her oversized suit made her look a bit dowdy, but she seemed to know what she was doing.