Search for Contentment

by Marlene Bierworth

  Search

  for

  Contentment

  Georgia Peaches Book # 3

  By

  Marlene Bierworth

  Can Love be found with a heart of discontent?

  Copyright © 2020 Marlene Bierworth

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission of the author, Marlene Bierworth, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, character and events are the product of the author’s imagination. While the author has tried to be historically correct, her goals in this book are great characters and storytelling. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, is purely coincidental.

  About the Series

  This is a multi- author, Christian, Contemporary series, but each book is a stand-alone, romance story written for your reading pleasure.

  Books in this Series

  A Persevering Heart, Book 1

  Lisa M. Prysock

  A Pursued Heart, Book 2

  Elaine Manders

  Search for Contentment, Book 3

  Marlene Bierworth

  The Heart of Mercy, Book 4

  Tanya Eavenson

  A Servant’s Heart, Book 5

  Rachel Skatvold

  A Peach by Any Other Name, Book 6

  Laura Walker

  Desperately Needed Girlfriend, Book 7

  Jo Noelle

  A Heart’s Treasure, Book 8

  Nina Jayne

  About the Book

  Melanie Braxton is a police officer in South Carolina fighting for freedom from her family’s affluence.

  Trevor Knight is a lawyer, struggling to keep what remains of his family together.

  Trevor and Melanie join forces to solve the mystery of his niece’s death, while Cupid aims his arrow at their unsuspecting hearts.

  See what happens when Melanie is forced to face her past to secure the future that she desperately wants. Faith and love are tested in this Christian, contemporary, mystery romance.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all hearts

  searching for peace and contentment.

  Be content in all things, at all times. It is God’s positioning for great things to come.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to:

  To the Lord, Jesus Christ, who inspires me daily to write.

  To all the ones at home that support and encourage me along this path.

  To my editor, Elise Sherman Abram and my cover artist, V. McKevitt who did an awesome job.

  To the great authors in this series, especially to Lisa M. Prysock, who birthed the plans for Georgia Peaches.

  And to all the wonderful readers who continue to read and enjoy my books. It is for you I write this story.

  Search for Contentment

  A stand-alone mystery/romance

  Book 3 in the Georgia Peaches Series

  by

  Marlene Bierworth

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright & Contact Me

  About the Series & Books in the Series

  About the Book & Cover

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  Search for Contentment – Book 3: Georgia Peaches

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 through Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  The End

  From the Author

  What’s Next in the Series

  Letters can change the course of one’s life and start us down a new path. God has provided love letters in the Bible to show us how to follow his ordained path.

  Chapter 1

  There was a knock on the door and Trevor Knight called out, “Enter,” without so much as a glance upward. His attention remained glued to the computer screen, even when his butler’s familiar voice announced, “The mail is here, sir.”

  “Thank you, Spencer. Just pile it here.” His fingers tapped a clean spot on his oak desk, as he gave an eager shout “Yes, finally!”

  “Sir?”

  Trevor recalled that his hired man was still in the room. “I found a loop-hole that will help my client get a fair trial.”

  “That is excellent news, Mr. Knight. I’m sure he will appreciate your efforts in his case.”

  Trevor chuckled. “He’s the lucky name I drew from the system of unrepresented men stuck with wanna-be-lawyers who haven’t learned how to clean behind their ears yet.”

  “It’s an exceptional deed you do, sir.” The butler moved toward the door.

  “Don’t want a pat on the back, Spencer. This is my way of giving back to the community. Not everyone has been born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”

  “Sure enough, but not every advocate gives of his skill and finances to help his fellow man.” Spencer slipped quietly from the room, closing the door to the private office behind him.

  It was true. Georgia had few lawyers that would work for the underdog with the same diligence as the ones paying the outrageous fee the going-rates required – but Trevor did. Once a month, he skimmed the backlog of public cases to find an interesting one to bless. Many were ear-marked for prison just because they could not afford an experienced attorney. Helping them only seemed the right thing to do in God’s sight.

  Trevor sighed and closed his computer. He picked up the pile of snail mail, leaned back in his leather office chair and flicked through, focusing on the return addresses. There was nothing pressing. He opened the second desk drawer and was about to toss in the letters when he halted midway. Lying in the near-empty interior was a blue envelope with Chrissy’s South Carolina address in the corner. His heart pounded with pent-up eagerness. His niece had left him a note most likely when she had visited the week before. Trevor chastised himself for not seeing it earlier.

  His deceased brother’s daughter – who was barely ten years his junior – had been difficult to curtail. She had a rebellious streak as long as the distance between the family’s Georgia mansion to her “new digs,” as she’d so accurately described her meager excuse for an apartment. The girl refused to take a penny from her trust fund, calling the money contaminated. Sure enough, her father had not been entirely upfront as to the origin of his earnings. The senior Mr. and Mrs. Knight had spoiled their firstborn, and Charles had done likewise with his two daughters. But young Chrissy had fled and now lived at the opposite end of the cash pool – that is to say, poverty – while Chelsea, her sister, lived down the street and was his greatest source of irritation.

  Trevor tore open the seal. He unfolded the single page inside, eager for news from his favorite niece, and read:

  Dear Uncle Trev,

  I enjoyed our brief visit and hope you approve of my roommate, Melanie. (I suspect you do because I saw a new twinkle in your eye.) Although she is a fellow Georgia rebel, she is kind and encouraging. With both of us working, the bills get paid, and we rarely dwell on the life we left behind. You needn’t worry that the landlord will kick me out onto the streets to live as a vagabond.

  Now, to a more pressing matter: my father haunts me, even from the grave. I’ve noticed men following me to the point of harassment after I returned home. I assume they think I’m privy to information they want, but they are mistaken. I snapped a photo when they weren’t looking and have included a hard copy in this mailing. I fear for my life, as they are becoming aggressive in their dealings with me. Perhaps you can find out who they are?

  It pains me to invol
ve you, as I realize that I have bucked you every step of the way since my father’s passing. Being saddled as my appointed guardian has stretched you to go the extra mile the Good Book requires of you. Officially, your responsibility will shortly be over as I am about to turn the ripe old age of twenty-one.

  I’ll close now. I must admit: I feel relieved to chat with you about this, even if only on paper. I should have mentioned it when I visited, but you know – independent me figured I could handle it on my own. It somehow makes me less nervous, knowing you are aware of my stalkers. You were always good to me and the only responsible one in our cracker-box family. I am also going to the police tomorrow to file the complaint legally.

  Respectfully, Chrissy.

  Trevor bolted to his feet and stared at the picture. He’d seen these men before. His brother had done business with them, and they’d attended his funeral. He stuffed the photo inside the envelope and placed it in his suit jacket pocket. A trip to his city office was the new order of the day; then, tomorrow, off to South Carolina to drag Chrissy home, shouting and kicking if he had to.

  A loud burst of air escaped Melanie’s lips, a life-giving breath that jolted her into the land of the living and assaulted her nostrils with a rancid stench. Her eyes opened wide, only to discover her vision impaired by a thick veil of darkness. Terror crept into every inch of her body. She struggled to wiggle free of her prison-cocoon. Melanie’s wrists throbbed against the pressure of the duct-tape, and her legs longed to unroll from the fetal position imprisoning her curled, stiff frame.

  The confining material that encased her slipped against her clothes, feeling much like the fabric of a hockey bag – was it hers? She played at the local arena – if you could call her contribution to the team effort “playing.” They’d given her a nickname – Miss Prissy – in fun, not because she hadn’t tried every waking moment to break loose of such branding, but because leaving her pampered past behind was harder to achieve than she’d imagined when she’d run away from home a year earlier.

  Melanie shook free of the identity crisis she had brought upon herself, and forced her mind to focus on her dire situation. A sports bag would explain the nasty smell. Melanie’s forehead wriggled against something cold and sharp – was it a zipper? Yes – she was in a sack of some kind, and she preferred the hockey option to the only other possibility: a body-bag. She shuddered and avoided thinking along those lines.

  Her panic-driven brain registered another person lying next to her. The body was warm and soft but remained motionless. She poked it with her elbow to see if it would spring to life – somehow, the thought of a fellow prisoner brought a touch of comfort to her predicament. When she received no response to her nudges, all traces of reassurance deserted her. Could the person be dead? The ragged breathing in her ear answered the question. Whoever shared her space was unconscious but still very much alive.

  Melanie felt squeamish, and she attempted to push away from it. It? She’d demoted another human being to the category of “it.” She squirmed harder within her tight confines, feeling the terror strangle her throat. Just breathe, she told herself. Eventually, the thunderous pounding of her heart settled into a quick, steady beat. She inhaled deeply and forced her body to relax. This was not the time or place to lose her homegrown feisty nerve. Melanie’s survival depended on soundness of mind, the same as it always had.

  She heard gravel crunching beneath tires, sensed the motion of swerving into a slow turn, and the clatter shifted to the sound of breaking twigs. She was in the trunk of a motor vehicle, maybe even her own, considering the hockey bag scenario.

  After a short, bumpy ride, the car braked hard, and she rolled forward to hit against something metal. Pain streaked through her skull like sharp knives. The sudden stop jammed the second victim against her back. Melanie felt nauseated and willed herself to breathe once again.

  Then, all motion ceased except for the movements of the occupants up front. The mumbling at first, then their raised voices permeated the silence. The door slammed shut, and Melanie knew the rest of her nightmare was about to unfold, whether or not she wanted to take part. The men quarreled, but she couldn’t make out the words. The accent sounded Asian. She wondered if they were arguing about the two bodies they’d stashed in the rear of the automobile.

  What had begun as a mild shuffling between the two, intensified into a full-fledged fight, the skirmish banging and kicking against the side of the car. Melanie’s world rocked. The encounter was short-lived. A single gunshot pierced her ears, and a weight fell to the ground just outside her fiberglass prison. Dread consumed her. A killer would momentarily open the trunk, and she would fall victim to his ruthless plot.

  A third man spoke. They were standing within earshot, and she strained to listen.

  “Trying to bring the world down on us?” someone asked.

  “Out here in the middle of nowhere? Not a chance.”

  “What are you going to do with Charlie?”

  “Dump him in the lake with the girls.”

  “Sounds quiet in there. Think they’re both still drugged?”

  “No matter. They will die either way.”

  “Yeah, well, it makes it easier when they don’t fight back.”

  “There are more bullets in the gun. There’ll be no struggling with those two.”

  “Feeling trigger happy, I see.” The man chuckled as if taking a life was a joke. “Did you get any information out of them?”

  “No, they’re tight-lipped. One looked confused, probably an innocent bystander, but the other definitely knows too much, but after today, she won't be talking to anybody."

  “I could have persuaded her to talk if you’d called me.”

  “Nope, don’t need the mess. Just help me dump the garbage in the lake and we'll move on with the plan.”

  “Everything in place for the end of the month?”

  “With our insurance policy tucked away, payday is just around the corner. Enough chatter. Lots to do before the sun comes up.”

  Keep our mind fixed on the finisher of our faith. He will always provide a way through.

  Chapter 2

  The key turned in the lock and the trunk swung open. One man held a flashlight and aimed it at her bag. Even through the prison canvas, the glow blinded Melanie. She closed her eyes and lay still, letting them believe the effects of the drug lingered in her system. She’d watch for an opportunity to run.

  Rough hands seized her legs and swung them out over the edge of the trunk. Melanie bit her lip to hold back the shriek triggered by the hasty move. The man gripped her middle and slung her over his shoulder in one easy movement.

  “You get the other one,” he said.

  Her trunk companion chose that moment to squirm. It was bad timing, for the kidnappers showed little patience. Melanie heard the woman’s muffled scream, and the stern voice threatening her.

  “You missed your chance to come clean.” The stifled ranting accelerated. “Now, shut up, or my buddy here will shut you up.”

  The man who was holding Melanie swore and dropped her like a sack of potatoes. “Throw that one out here on the ground, and I’ll finish her off. Got no time for a squawking female.”

  Could he have meant Chrissy? She’d been in the apartment with Melanie when the doorbell rang, but try as she might, that was all she remembered. Her mind buzzed with confusion, most likely the result of the drug the kidnapper had mentioned.

  Melanie heard the shot all too soon, and froze. Chrissy?

  Hot tears threatened to squeeze through her closed lids. Melanie had known the girl less than a year, but had taken a vested interest in her plight by agreeing to let Chrissy move into the apartment to save her from becoming another homeless statistic. The heiress was your typical sassy Georgia gal – even more so than Melanie – stubborn, nonconforming, and creating waves wherever she went. That reckless element was what had attracted Melanie to the girl, for hers was dwindling fast, living in her new reality.

  Tw
o lives had been slated to end that night – one was already gone, and hers was next in line. The sad thing was that she didn’t know why. Was it because of something she knew? Melanie’s mind drew a blank. Perhaps she had been the one referred to as the innocent bystander. Nothing made any sense inside her buzz-induced brain.

  “Get the cement blocks out of the backseat and put them in the bags.”

  "Good idea. Bricks are a guaranteed sink. Keep their bodies under the water until this deal is over, and we’re long gone from America.”

  The two men moved away. Melanie debated making a move, but they remained too close for comfort. She’d never escape a bullet at that range. Although she feared forfeiting her opportunity, Melanie waited motionless inside her prison bag, praying for another break. Thankfully, the block landed conveniently beside her when it was pushed into her bag. She felt certain she’d have gasped involuntarily had it landed on her stomach.

  Melanie remained immobile as the bag re-zipped.

  “This one is still out cold. Easy garbage to dump.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Too bad she stayed home tonight.”

  It appeared Melanie had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. Could it be that simple?

  She bit her lip as the man dragged the bag away from the car instead of hefting it over his shoulder as he had the first time. The added weight of the brick probably had something to do with that choice. Her body traversed sharp twigs and protruding tree roots as they passed through a cluster of prickly bushes before reaching the edge of the lake. She heard the gentle lapping of the currents and knew the time had come.

  Escape might prove easier, given that her hands were bound in front of her. When the next bump hit and her body fell victim to it, she used the movement to locate the zipper and grasp it tightly with the fingers on both hands. She inhaled and exhaled deeply to prepare her lungs and waited for the final push; she didn’t have to wait long.