The One Before: A totally gripping suspense thriller with a shocking twist

by Miranda Smith

  Regina pretends to curtsy, then faces me. She looks me up and down, and I can’t help wondering if she’s comparing me to previous girlfriends she’s met before. “You must be Madison.”

  I smile, swallowing down my nervousness. Something about the look on Regina’s face makes me feel like a consolation prize. “It’s great to finally meet you. Coop’s told me all about his family.”

  “I’m sure.” Regina rolls her eyes, then shoots a look in Coop’s direction. “Where’s Roman? Won’t he be joining?”

  “He had some errands to run,” Josephine says, inspecting the pie in front of her. “Regina is our personal chef of sorts. She owns Nectar, the best restaurant in town.”

  Coop stands and cuts three slices. He serves Josephine, me, then himself. Regina walks into the kitchen, returning with a plate of vegetable pie. For several minutes, there’s silence as everyone eats.

  “This is the best part about moving back,” Coop says, covering his mouth. “You’re the greatest cook in the south, Regina.”

  “It’s really impressive,” I say, flattening the napkin in my lap. “I can’t wait to visit Nectar.”

  Josephine finishes chewing and looks at Coop. “You think that’s the best part about returning to Whisper Falls?”

  “One of the best,” he says, his tone dulled.

  Regina’s eyes narrow, bouncing between Coop and Josephine. “Say, this is brunch, right? I could whip up some Bloody Marys and mimosas.”

  “That’s distasteful this early on a Sunday,” Josephine replies, shooing at her with a fork.

  Regina tilts her head to the side and guzzles her lemonade. “Maybe if Roman were here.”

  Beside me, Coop’s face reddens. I know he wants me to be comfortable around his family, an impossible feat when they can’t be at ease around each other. Regina’s suggestion has merit; I sense Douglas family functions run smoother when alcohol is involved.

  “What are your plans at the Gazette, Cooper?” Josephine asks.

  “It’ll be a busy week. My calendar is already filled with a slew of community events and meetings.”

  “Your father would be so proud,” she says, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “He always knew you’d be the best person to run the business.”

  I hear a sigh coming from Regina’s direction, but I don’t look. Coop told me his maternal great-grandfather started the Whisper Falls Gazette, and the publication has remained in the family ever since. When Coop’s father died, his second-in-command took over until Coop could.

  “I feel guilty for the time I’ll be stealing from Madison,” he says. “I’d like to establish a routine before the wedding rolls around.”

  “I’m happy you mentioned the wedding,” Josephine says, holding up her glass. “We have loads of planning to discuss.”

  “Here we go.” Regina rolls her eyes, but I sense she enjoys watching the family tension unfold.

  “There’s not much left to do,” Coop says.

  Josephine turns to me. “Cooper booked First Presbyterian for the ceremony. I assume you have a dress.”

  “I do,” I say. “We finalized most of the decisions before the move.”

  She looks at Coop. “You still need flowers and decorations and entertainment.”

  “Madison is capable of planning her own wedding,” he says.

  “Yeah, Mom. Give the girl a break,” Regina says. “She’s not working right now. She’ll have loads of time on her hands.”

  We all stare at Regina. I feel slighted by her unnecessary comment, but I don’t think she can help herself. In the half hour I’ve known her, I’ve picked up on her innate ability to aggravate people.

  “It’s not about that,” Coop says, jerking his head away from his sister. “This is Madison’s big day. She should be free to do as much or as little as she wants.”

  “I’ll give you the names of some event planners I’ve used in the past,” Josephine says, turning to me. “Most are based out of Knoxville. You wouldn’t want to use anyone in Whisper.”

  “That would be great. Thank you,” I say, hoping this will end the conversation. Josephine is straddling the line between helpful and intrusive. I squeeze Coop’s knee under the table, signaling him to stand down.

  The back door opens, and Roman, the oldest of the Douglas children, walks onto the porch. It must be him because he looks just like Coop, minus the blond locks. He’s tall with thick hair that hovers over his eyes in curly brown tufts. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Did I miss anything?”

  “We’ve covered religion, the wedding and Coop’s job,” Regina says, crossing her legs. “What’s next, Mom? Politics?”

  “Relax, Reggie.” Roman rustles her hair a bit too harshly. “It’s Sunday.”

  “I’m Madison,” I say, standing to greet him.

  “So, you’re the woman who stole ol’ Cooper’s heart?” He gives me a hearty hug, lifting my feet into the air.

  “Easy,” Coop says, helping me back into my seat.

  “It’s great to finally meet you,” Roman says, before he starts stuffing his face.

  “Are you still managing Mom’s rental properties?” Coop asks him.

  Roman nods. “Yep. And I’m in charge of the landscaping around the house.”

  “This property is beautiful,” I say, turning to take in the complete view. “Josephine, you have a gorgeous home.”

  “Thank you,” she says, scanning the faces of each person at the table. “I’m just happy to have everyone back. The place feels complete now.”

  After our meal, we enter the library—a symbol of privilege in itself. I’ve never been to a home that had an entire room dedicated to books and trophies. Roman walks to the bar cart by the fireplace and pours a drink. Given his ruddy complexion, I don’t think it’s his first.

  “Before you get settled, I have a small surprise,” Josephine says, walking up behind us and placing one hand on Coop’s shoulder, the other on mine. “I’ve asked Roger to snap a picture of the happy couple.”

  “A picture?” I ask.

  “Do we have to do this now?” Coop asks, his irritation from earlier rekindled.

  “Hush it up. You’ve been engaged for months,” she says, tapping his shoulder. “We need to put your announcement in the social’s section.”

  “They’ve just moved back,” Roman says. “Madison doesn’t even know anyone.”

  “It’s only a declaration of your engagement,” she says. “We like to feature those sorts of things in the Gazette. And this is a particularly important announcement. You’re the first Douglas to get married.”

  Both Roman and Regina flinch, as though the comment was intentionally meant to hurt them. Clearly Coop is Josephine’s golden boy, in more ways than one. She exits the library.

  “Roman’s right. Madison doesn’t know anyone,” Coop says, sitting in a velvet armchair. “I was thinking maybe you could show her around, Regina?”

  Regina looks at Coop, then me. “Sure. It would give us a chance to get to know each other. How’s Friday?”

  “Great,” I say. “Hopefully I can unpack between now and then.”

  “It’s a date.” Regina returns to whatever she was doing on her phone. Moments later, Josephine escorts Roger into the room, a slender man in his sixties with a camera in his hands. She introduces him as her house manager and most loyal confidante.

  “Where do you want us to stand?” I ask, wanting to appear a good sport.

  “By the fireplace,” says Roger. “We’ll get a nice sliver of the bookcase in the back.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Josephine says, stepping behind Roger so she can see the frame.

  Coop stands behind me, placing his hands on my waist. I put my left hand atop his, making sure the ring has all the attention it deserves.

  “You both look wonderful,” Josephine says before Roger starts clicking.

  “Mighty fine couple,” says Roman, taking another sip of his drink.

  We stand motionl
ess, smiling. When Roger puts the camera down, Coop leans forward and whispers in my ear. “See? They already love you.”

  I smile wider and squeeze his hand. Maybe I’m built for this life after all.

  Four

  Madison

  Downtown Whisper Falls is exactly what I pictured it would be. Quiet. Traditional. Boring. Market Avenue is the center of the community. The street is littered with brick rectangular buildings, each no more than three-stories tall. Much like the autumn leaves, their colors range from red to orange. Between each building are narrow, shadowed alleys lined with weeds, nature’s attempt to retrieve what has been taken.

  It’s a short walk to the Gazette headquarters. A small bell jingles overhead when I enter. The lobby is cramped, but I can see the space stretches beyond the receptionist’s desk. The secretary, whose placard reads Misty Walsh, is peeling stickers and placing them on folders. Her hair is curly, and her bangs are straight. She’s wearing a denim dress with buttons down the front.

  “How can I help you?” she asks, smiling.

  “I’m here to see Coop— eh, Mr. Douglas.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” I’m sure Misty would know if Coop was expecting a visitor.

  “No, just popping in.”

  Misty picks up the phone. “What’s your name, sweetie? I’ll see if he’s busy.”

  “Madison,” I say. “I’m his fiancée.”

  Misty puts down the phone without pressing a button. “Goodness, girl. Why didn’t you say anything?” She pulls on a latch and swings the counter upward.

  Misty pulls me into an embrace. My arms are scrunched against my sides as she continues to squeeze. When she pulls back, she scans my face, then torso. “You’re a looker. Guess you’d have to be to lock Cooper down.”

  “Thank you.” I think. I’m not really sure how to take that comment, or such a lively hug from a complete stranger. Gosh, this place is nothing like the city.

  “I’ve been working the front desk since Cooper was a kid.” Her palms touch and she smiles. “His father would be so proud with how he’s turned out.”

  “Care to show me his office?” I ask, making my voice airy and light. I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m not used to encountering strangers who know so much about Coop’s life.

  Misty leads me to the back corner and knocks on a door. There’s a glass window overseeing the workspace. The blinds bounce upward, revealing my handsome fiancé. He’s holding a cell phone to his ear. When he sees me, he motions for me to enter.

  “I’ll be up front,” Misty says, closing the door as she leaves.

  Coop’s still on the phone. I look around the room, which reminds me of my own editor’s office back at the Chronicle. Three bookcases behind his desk are filled with style guides probably not touched in years. Two chairs are positioned in front of his desk. I sit in one. After a few minutes, he puts the phone down and releases a big breath. He walks over to me and kisses my lips.

  “This is a nice surprise,” he says. He sits in his chair and spins in my direction. “Bored at the house, huh?”

  “A little.” More than a little. I’ve never lacked obligations and responsibilities and meetings of my own to attend. I’m not used to living life on the sidelines. “I have other motives for being here, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Lunch,” I say, holding up a Tupperware container of sandwiches. “It should be about that time, right? I thought I could steal you for an hour.”

  Coop walks from behind the desk. He places one hand on my shoulder, using the other to twirl a strand of hair. I don’t flinch, like I did when Misty was pawing at me. I welcome his touch. “I wish I could, but I have a Kiwanis luncheon I have to attend. It starts in a half hour and I can’t get out of it.”

  “Oh.” I rack my brain, trying to remember what a Kiwanis is. “Well, maybe after?”

  “My calendar is filled up. I’m still struggling to find my footing here. Maybe sometime next week?”

  It’s not like Whisper Falls has a lot of breaking news. In Atlanta, Cooper and I covered all types of stories. Crime and coercion and politics. The Gazette mainly focuses on community, unless something extraordinary happens. He’s the face of the paper, the face of Whisper Falls.

  “Okay. It’s not like I’ll have plans.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Coop says, pulling me into a hug. “Give this place a chance. It’s never going to be as exciting as Atlanta, I’ll admit that, but you’ll find your place.”

  “I know.” The words sound like a lie, even to me.

  “Thanks for the sandwich. Maybe we can plan lunch sometime next week. You still need to try out Nectar.”

  “Yeah, that would be nice,” I say, backing toward the door.

  “Don’t take off right away,” Coop says. “Let me tour you around the office.”

  “Maybe next time.” I don’t feel like being introduced as Coop’s fiancée to a dozen different people. I pat my stomach. “Hunger calls.”

  As I make my way to the front door, I soak up the room around me. The controlled chaos of people talking on phones, typing to meet deadlines and skimming Facebook feeds. Everyone working in their own productive bubble on either side of a cubicle. It’s like a miniature version of the newsroom at the Atlanta Chronicle. Looking back, it was a humdrum I never knew I would one day miss.

  I wasn’t expecting to get fired. In fact, I was eyeing a promotion. One of our key staff writers had snagged a position on the west coast, and his vacant desk was like a glowing neon sign making the entire newsroom salivate. Everyone wanted his job, but very few were in the running. I was one of those few. That’s why when I sniffed out a promising story, I chased it.

  Bernard Wright had already been in the Atlanta news for weeks. He was a fancy restaurateur in the area known for making millions by turning abandoned shacks into 5-star dining establishments. His restaurants attracted national reviews, and one was even featured as the set for some reality cooking show. In recent weeks, however, Wright wasn’t in the news for being a businessman. His face was plastered across every publication because a handful of female employees had alleged sexual misconduct against him.

  One of his former employees reached out to me. ‘Chrissy’. That wasn’t her real name, but it was the alias I used in my article. She told me how she’d started working for Bernard Wright during the summer between her sophomore and junior years of college. It started as a part-time gig, until she realized she raked in more money serving steamed lobster and chilled shrimp than she ever would in elementary education, her chosen study track.

  By the time ‘Chrissy’ was meant to resume her fall classes, she had dropped out, and Wright hand-selected her to work in one of his new restaurants downtown. Her income increased even more. She wasn’t just a server; Wright gave her managerial tasks, which meant she often worked late nights checking inventory. She said Wright was flirtatious with her at first, but friendly. Like the father of a friend, always respecting the boundaries between them.

  As the months passed, his behavior became more aggressive. He’d put his hands on her hips and whisper in her ear, his lips touching her skin and making her freeze. She told me Wright eventually made a pass at her, then another. Until one night, she was too scared and intimidated to protest his advances. She thought their arrangement was exclusive, until she heard about the lawsuit being brought against him by other employees. The other women’s stories inspired her, reminded her she wasn’t alone and gave her the strength to speak. That’s why she reached out to me.

  We had several interviews; each time she revealed more details about her relationship with Wright, a man already labeled as a monster in the regional media. Understandably, she wasn’t ready to open up right away. As she divulged more details during our conversations, I felt sick. When I was alone, I cried. I hated hearing the first-hand details of what another woman had endured under the heavy fist of male authority. But more than anything, I was proud of ‘Chrissy’ for coming forward
with her story, and I felt honored she’d entrusted me with telling it.

  Her vivid account of working alongside Bernard Wright was meant to be the feature that landed me the new title I desperately wanted. It was like my entire future was unfurling before me: the wedding with Coop and the prestigious promotion with the higher paycheck.

  I had never been more wrong.

  Five

  Madison

  It’s finally Friday. Regina knocks on the door fifteen minutes late, which means I’ve been sitting alone, fully dressed, in the living room for the past half hour. She’s wearing black pants and a leather bomber jacket. Her hair is curled, pinned up on one side with a barrette she likely pulled from the Douglas heirloom collection.

  “You look cute,” she says, scanning my black skinny jeans and off the shoulder top.

  “Thanks,” I say, closing the door and locking it. I’d invite Regina inside, but I’m afraid she’d see the house’s state of disarray. “Where are we going?”

  “The most popping place in town,” she says, sliding into her car. All the Douglases have nice cars; I figured that out when I visited Josephine’s home. Her driveway looked like the miniature lot of a luxury dealer.

  “Are there many bars here?”

  “More than you’d think,” she says, starting the ignition. “There’s one bar for every two churches. People have to have a place to sin so they can have a reason to repent.”

  “I see.” I take out a tinted balm and slick it over my lips. “Coop called in between leaving the office and heading to some fundraiser. He told me to text him where we end up and he might join us.”

  “Coop. That’s cute.” She shrugs. “Do you always call him that?”

  “Most of the time, I guess.”

  “Fun, fun, fun,” she sings. I can’t help but feel Regina is pulling a prank, and I’m not in on the joke. I start to put two and two together as we get closer to town. We drive past the Gazette and all the places I thought we might end up and pull into the crowded high school parking lot.