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

by Miranda Smith

  An hour later, I’m still wallowing in it. This defeated feeling. My daughter is gone. Her quirky laugh and her adorable sneeze. Her inquisitive nature. I’ve not experienced her warmth in years, a realization that leaves me hollow. And yet, Cooper Douglas continues not only living, but thriving. Taking over the family business (oh yeah, I noticed the recent inclusion of his name to the masthead). Getting married. I slam my drink against the table, as if the disruptive clack of glass on glass will make me feel better. It doesn’t. Nothing does.

  Madison Sharpe. Thanks to the oversharing of her generation, it doesn’t take me long to uncover more about her. She has all the standard social platforms. With her white-blonde hair and edgy dark eyebrows, she looks every bit the city girl. Her petite frame is usually swathed in crop tops and rompers, a noticeable change from the cardigan and dress she wore in the engagement photo. She must already be conforming, molding herself to better fit the monster standing at her back.

  Scrolling through her feed, I see she used to post pictures at brunch with friends, department store shopping and late nights in the back seats of taxis. That’s stopped; she hasn’t uploaded a photo in more than two months. Cooper must have a hold on her, already tightening his grip and forcing her to leave her life—her real life—behind. Now he’s further isolated her, moving her to that backwoods Tennessee town. Looks like she worked as a journalist for the Atlanta Chronicle, then abruptly stopped. Did she leave her job for him? Forfeit her life?

  I inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, all the while repeating the positive mantras my grief counselor suggested I chant when on the verge of overwhelm. I imagine I’m in this protective bubble and no one can pierce it. Try as I might, all I see when I close my eyes is him. Cooper Douglas, with his wealth and privilege, never forced to be punished for all he’s done. Now all the ideas are returning, all the fantasies I’ve concocted over the years of ways I can punish him. They’re irrational, yes. But no one describes revenge as rational. They say revenge is sweet. Oh, so sweet.

  I swore I wouldn’t return to Whisper Falls. My last visit accomplished little. If anything, it hurt my campaign to turn others against him. Gave the whole Douglas clan a reason to be on their guard about what I’d do next. That’s why I won’t target them this time, I decide; I’ll go after her. I pick up the paper and look at the picture again. Madison Sharpe. Does she know her fiancé is a murderer? Does she? If not, she needs to.

  If only I could have given my daughter the same warning. Of course, I had no way of knowing what danger she was in. How could I when she seemed so happy? I think back to the last time I saw my sweet girl. Of course, I didn’t know it would be the last time. Maybe that’s why it was so perfect.

  She jabbered on and on about the end of the school year, a healthy mix of annoyance and interest about her classes. Kids that age love to complain about their routine, but they’re a little afraid to try anything new. This time, she was different. She was in love.

  “What’s his name?” I asked. We walked along the uncrowded streets during one of our day visits.

  “Cooper Douglas.” She smiled wide and cracked her knuckles. “I don’t know, Mom. I think this guy is the real thing.”

  The real thing. No words to describe it, really. Nothing adequate. The real thing makes you glow from within, ache with feeling. Man, did she glow that day.

  “Tell me about him,” I said, panning my hand from her shoulder to her elbow. “How did you meet?”

  “At school.” She tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes, a tic that reminded me of my younger self.

  “See, school can’t be that bad.”

  “No, it’s not bad.” She grinned. “Nothing really seems bad anymore.”

  The real thing makes you think that at first.

  “How long has it been?” I asked.

  “Several months.” She braced, like she was afraid I’d shoot her down. “I know we’re young, but he’s so understanding and supportive. He really listens. And he makes me laugh.” Then she was laughing, some recent memory appearing in her mind. “At the same time, he’s serious. He’s guarded. I think it’s because his family is loaded.”

  “Wealthy doesn’t hurt,” I said, poking her ribs.

  That’s what you do when talking about boys. Make fun and kid. But I could tell by the way she spoke this wasn’t just any boy. This boy might become a man she’d one day marry. The real thing. The intensity of it all made my head whirl.

  “Don’t move too fast,” I said, afraid of a lot of things, but more than anything that my giddy, bright girl would end up hurt.

  “We’re not. I mean, the feelings are there. We’re taking things slow, but I am spending more time with his family.”

  “When do I get to meet him?” I hooked my arm into hers, leaning into her weight.

  “Soon.”

  We didn’t linger on the topic long. Thank goodness. It’d be that much harder to live with myself if our entire conversation that day revolved around Cooper Douglas. We kept talking about school and the latest season of The Bachelor and had a random debate over which was superior, cookies or brownies? That led to us getting ice cream, and we sat in the park until sunset.

  Then, I hugged my vibrant, glowing girl goodbye. Never once did I think it would be the last time I’d see her. I’ve almost memorized every detail of that last embrace. Her vanilla smell and plush shirt and wet cheeks. Just because we didn’t see each other often didn’t mean we didn’t want to. She missed me when I was gone, and I missed her. I still do.

  Even the happy memories hurt now. It’s unfair. All of this is so unfair. But I need to stop rehashing the past and focus on the present. On retribution. It’s time Cooper suffers for everything he has taken away.

  Eight

  Madison

  Coop’s workload carries over into the weekend. His responsibilities as editor-in-chief are more taxing than his role at the Chronicle. Most people would take it easy, not let the pressure of running a newspaper get to them because their family calls the shots. Coop’s not like that. He wants to prove himself, probably because he’s a Douglas. He wants people to respect his first name as much as they do his last.

  I’d wanted to go furniture shopping. The limited furniture we brought from Atlanta barely covers a quarter of our new space. I’m running out of storage, which puts the rest of the unpacking process on hold. Coop suggested I go shopping with Josephine instead. She’s got a better eye for decorating, he said. This first week, I’ve seen my in-laws more often than I’ve seen Coop. It’s a different dynamic here, though. Family plays a larger role because there’s little else to soak up the time.

  I’m waiting on the front porch when a black SUV pulls into the driveway. The windows are tinted, but transparent enough for me to see Josephine in the passenger seat and Roman behind the wheel. It’s hard for me to put my finger on what Roman’s like exactly. He exudes Coop’s charm but lacks his responsibilities.

  “Nice day,” he says as I slide into the back seat.

  “It really is,” I say, my gaze turning to the lush woods surrounding our house. Each day, the view alters slightly, the leaves an ever-changing presence. “I’m surprised by how beautiful it is here.”

  “Tennessee is breathtaking in the fall,” Josephine says, as Roman backs out of the driveway. “That’s when tourism spikes.”

  “I can see why,” I say. I’d never thought of this pocket of the country as being a vacation destination, but according to Coop, I’m wrong. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in the city, and time away usually meant booking a week at the beach. “Does Whisper get many visitors?”

  “More the surrounding areas,” Josephine says. “Gatlinburg and Knoxville and Chattanooga.”

  All places I’ve heard mentioned but have never been.

  “Whisper could have been a tourist trap, but Mom put an end to that,” Roman says.

  “How so?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Back in the early aughts, outside investor
s took an interest in this place. They thought Whisper Lake would be an ideal destination for a luxury resort,” she says, as though retelling a fond memory. “They wanted to buy a hundred acres of land.”

  “Could have been our ticket out of here,” Roman says. His reflection in the rectangular rearview mirror is smiling, but I sense an edge in his voice. “Could have made millions.”

  By all appearances, the Douglases are wealthy as is. I can’t believe they were in the position to be worth even more. “What happened?” I ask.

  “Mom refused to sell.”

  “They were offering you this money?” I ask Josephine.

  “I owned most of the property. All landowners were required to be in agreement, and I was majority stakeholder.” Somehow, she speaks about her finances and sounds self-assured, not greedy. “Roman’s right. I held up the deal.”

  “It was like winning the lottery and refusing to cash in,” Roman says, turning into the downtown area.

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask.

  “Not everything in life is about money,” Josephine says.

  “Says the rich woman,” Roman goads.

  “Whisper Falls is charming and quaint. There aren’t many places like it anymore,” she says, speaking as though describing an old friend. “I couldn’t imagine these same streets being littered with Burger Kings and mini-golf establishments and bait shops. Change isn’t always good.”

  “You still seem a little bitter about the decision?” I say to Roman, wavering my voice to make it clear I’m only kidding.

  “Yeah, yeah. I was a kid at the time. It wasn’t my decision to make. It’s something I like to think about now and then, though. How this place could have been different.” He stretches his arm and squeezes Josephine’s shoulder. “Really, I just like to give Mom a hard time.”

  It certainly would have changed the area. Aside from the profits for the Douglases, a deal like that could have brought more money to the area. Job opportunities and tourism. Do the people here even know about the opportunities Josephine has taken from them? Looking out the window, I imagine a different type of Whisper Falls. Try to decide if I’d be happier in that place. The car stops, and I see we’re outside a large warehouse called Turner’s.

  “You’ll see once we get inside,” Josephine says, turning to look at me in the back seat. “This place has a little bit of everything.”

  Inside, Josephine introduces me to the owner, a man named Fred. He’s short and round and all too eager to have us in his store. I’d only planned on picking up some pieces for the living room, but Josephine assures him we’ve got an empty house to fill. Watching the way Fred’s eyes pop at the remark makes me blush.

  We walk from one setting to the next: a living area, a patio set, a bedroom display. Josephine can’t keep away from Fred, the two of them conversing back and forth. Roman walks to the back of the store and chats with the workers. There’s a couple beside me talking to a salesperson. The worker looks familiar, but that can’t be possible; I’ve not been here long enough to really know anyone. As I walk closer, watching her, I remember she’s the blonde from last night. The name tag on her royal blue vest confirms it: Bridgette, Rising Star.

  The couple shopping for a new washer and dryer step away. Her attention turns to me, and I enjoy the quick flicker of recognition in her eyes. I move closer, unable to resist watching her squirm. Like I’m Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman giving it to the snotty salespeople on Rodeo Drive. She looks different now, her confidence from last night gone.

  I’ve got her cornered between a display of dishwashers. She can’t just ignore me, not with Fred and Josephine standing so close. Finally, she looks up and offers a strained smile.

  “Need help finding anything?” she asks.

  “You look familiar,” I say, relishing this moment. I replay her comment from last night in my mind. Hope she can swim. Now I’m the one with the upper hand, and I like it.

  “Bridgette Rollins? Is that you?” Josephine, standing behind me, steps forward and embraces Bridgette. I’m caught off guard considering how rude this woman was to Regina.

  “Nice seeing you, Mrs. Douglas,” Bridgette says. Her head over Josephine’s shoulder, we lock eyes. I’m unsure if she’s thankful for an interruption or if she’s genuinely happy to see her.

  Josephine pulls away, motioning to me. “Bridgette, I’d like you to meet my future daughter-in-law, Madison. She’s just moved here from Atlanta.”

  “We met at the football game last night,” I say, dryly. I can’t help dangling the possibility I might bring up last night’s comment, although I won’t. I’m not yet comfortable enough with Josephine.

  “That’s right,” Josephine says. “Your son is the quarterback, right?”

  “Stepson,” Bridgette says. “He’s the second-string linebacker. Still only a sophomore.”

  “You must be so proud.” Josephine turns to me. “Bridgette was one of my girls back when I sponsored the cheerleading team. Feels like ages ago, doesn’t it?”

  “Is that how you know Regina?” I ask Bridgette.

  Bridgette and Josephine chuckle in unison. “Regina wasn’t on the squad, not for lack of trying,” Josephine says. “The school was short a sponsor, and I stepped up. Only did it for a year or two. Sometimes I miss being so involved.”

  “We had some good times,” Bridgette says, her eyes bouncing from Josephine to me. Judging by her job and bitter attitude, I’d say it was the best of times for Bridgette.

  “Lovely running into you,” Josephine says, lightly touching Bridgette’s hand.

  “Let me know if you need help finding anything,” she says, scurrying off.

  She’d probably get a hefty commission if she stayed around, but she seems intimidated.

  The remaining hour we’re in the store, I barely see Bridgette. I’m too busy committing to furniture I don’t have the funds to buy: a new sofa, some bookcases and a bedroom suite. The sign at the front of the store offers financing, so I can at least pay on my purchases between now and the wedding. At the sales counter, I’m stunned when Josephine announces she will buy everything.

  “You can’t,” I say, beginning to sweat. “It’s too much.”

  “Please,” she says. “It’s my duty as part of the renovation. I’m not going to throw the responsibility of furnishing the place on you.”

  “But it’s our house,” I say, my eyes darting to Roman. “I don’t want you to think you owe us anything. You’ve already done plenty.”

  “Word of advice,” Roman says, his voice low. “Mom’s going to get her way. She never passes up the opportunity to spoil someone.”

  “I really do insist,” she says, handing her card to Fred. “Go on outside. On the way home, we’ll talk about what else the place needs.”

  I’m not used to such graciousness. The entire time we’d been shopping, I’d mentally calculated how much everything would cost, what the monthly installments might be and the potential down payment. I’m used to working for what I want. Sometimes, even with work, I end up disappointed. But, as Roman says, Josephine delights in indulging those she loves. I’m now one of those people.

  As I walk to the car, I spot Bridgette outside. She’s leaning against the brick wall of the building, smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey, Bridgette,” I say, marching toward her. I’m too close for her to walk away or duck back inside. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “My break is almost over,” she says, eyes flitting for an escape route.

  “You seemed chummy with my mother-in-law,” I say. “I wonder how she’d feel about that dig you made last night?”

  “Look, lady. I don’t know you—”

  “You don’t have to know me. What you said was rude. Making a joke about a girl drowning?”

  She titters, taking another drag of the cigarette. “We don’t need to get into this.”

  “Why? Because you know who I am?” Who I am. What do I mean by that? A Douglas? In a few short days, it’s
like the privilege has gone to my head. I take a deep breath and redirect. “I thought Celia was your friend.”

  “She was my friend.” Bridgette tosses the cigarette on the ground, stomping it with her foot. “And Cooper killed her.”

  The scent of smoke rising from the ground turns my stomach. I step back, processing the magnitude of what Bridgette just said. Coop? Killed her? Then the anger returns. “What did you say?”

  Bridgette smiles, having reclaimed control of the conversation. “You know that’s what everyone in Whisper thinks, right? People don’t say it anymore, out of respect for Mrs. Douglas, but we all know Celia’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  I’m confused. Of course Celia’s death was an accident. That’s all Coop ever said. How could anyone think he’s capable of hurting—let alone killing—someone?

  “Celia drowned,” I say, my words sounding more like a question or guess than a statement.

  “Yeah, the water in her lungs killed her. That doesn’t explain why her skull was cracked. I’m guessing Cooper didn’t tell you that part of the story.” Bridgette looks over my shoulder. I turn to see Josephine and Roman exiting the store.

  “Coop would never hurt anyone,” I hiss, low enough so they can’t hear.

  “If you say so,” Bridgette says, slinking around the side of the building. “Welcome to Whisper.”

  For a few moments, I stand there. I can barely think. I’m trying to process what Bridgette said and what it means, then I hear Roman calling my name from the parking lot.

  “Are you coming?” he hollers.

  “I’m going to run by the Gazette,” I say, standing still. I don’t want them to see the rosy flush in my cheeks. “I need to visit Coop.”