Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries

by K L Montgomery

  So he refused to talk to me after all this time. He never got past the fact that our children found comfort in each other’s arms. Not to mention the secret I’ve kept closely guarded in my heart all this time. So many years have passed, and he still won’t acknowledge what happened. It ruined my relationship with my daughter, and while I was never close with my son, it didn’t help matters there either.

  When I arrived home, I did the only reasonable thing:

  I sent him a fresh batch of my rhododendron honey.

  October 2nd

  It’s been a while since I have found time to update my journal. I’ve been busy with another project. After a lengthy search for someone to publish my memoirs, I finally found success with Harrington. They’ve sent me a contract, and I plan to have my attorney friend Bert Coleman look over it before I sign on the dotted line.

  After all these years, Bryce Beach and the rest of the world will learn the truth about our affair. And its aftermath.

  October 19th

  I sent Carlton another batch of my soon-to-be-famous rhododendron honey. I see no reason not to make it a monthly delivery. As a matter of fact, I plan to set that up with a courier at my first opportunity. The regular shipments will ensure I’m not soon forgotten, even when I’m lying in my grave!

  If I must go mad with memories of our time together, then he should be forced to go mad as well.

  I signed the contract for my memoirs. They’re already written, but I want to do another editing pass. The manuscript is kept in a top-secret location that no one knows about. I love my housekeeper, Harriett, dearly, and she’s provided loyal service for decades now, but I don’t trust her not to snoop. And Lord knows if my kids come nosing around, even though they haven’t for years now, I don’t want them stumbling across the truth of Carlton and my affair before it goes to print. They might try to stop me from making my story public. It likely won’t reflect well on any of us.

  I have my reasons for going forward, not the least of which is to fund the account I have set up for my heir.

  November 6th

  The honey season is over, but I should be able to supply Carlton’s honey all winter long. I wonder if the hallucinations have kicked in. So far, the honey has been sent anonymously, but I shall be sending him a special Christmas batch with an excerpt from my forthcoming memoir.

  How dare he ignore me at the expo. It is high time the world knows about the sacrifices I made for him. And others.

  December 26th

  It is done. The honey and the three chapters of my book that pertain to him have been delivered. Now…I wait.

  Yes, only three chapters. You think that man encompassed the entirety of my life? He might have been the most scandalous part of it, but he is not the whole story.

  January 2nd

  It took longer than I suspected, but Carlton showed up on my doorstep today with flowers. He took me into his arms, and it was like all the years and distance between us melted away.

  He begged me not to publish the memoirs, or to leave his story out.

  I haven’t decided what to do yet.

  I looked at the clock—three in the morning. I hadn’t been able to stop reading since I logged into the deleted account the way Liz showed me how. There were years of drivel and unimportant observations about the town, the council, the mayor, the mayor’s wife, and even our church. It took time to get to the juicy parts, but now that I was here, it was like my eyelids were being pried open. How was I supposed to go to sleep when it was just getting good?

  And more importantly, what in the world was in this memoir that would have Carlton begging her not to publish it? Their affair wasn’t exactly secret—the whole town knew about it already. So it had to be something beyond that. And what kind of sacrifices was she talking about? I couldn’t wait to find out.

  A blaring alarm awoke me a few hours later.

  No. Wait a second. That’s my phone ringing.

  I scrambled from the sofa, wiping the drool from the corner of my lips. When I spotted my phone, I made a dive for it, trying to get to the green answer button before the call went to voicemail. Anything was better than listening to a voicemail. I hated them with a fiery passion, with the intensity of a thousand suns.

  “Hello?”

  “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” a voice sang. “Happy birthday, dear Sunshine, happy birthday to you!”

  What on earth? I looked down at my phone, thinking I must be caught in some weird dream. It was my mother, and it was 7:23 AM. Oh, right. The official time it was fair game to harass your offspring. We’d established that a few months ago.

  “Mom,” I grunted, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I had a crick in my neck, and my back felt like it was broken. Was I really another year older? Apparently so.

  “Happy forty-third to my firstborn,” my mother said in a voice with far more perkiness than should be legal this early in the morning.

  “Thanks, Mom. I fell asleep on the sofa last night. I forgot what today is.”

  “Well, I would never forget!” my mother gushed. “Forty-three years ago today, I was pushing a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. Hard to forget that kind of pain!”

  “Mom!”

  “You’ll be coming for dinner tonight, will you not?” she pressed.

  I knew it was best to just agree. It would mean getting off the phone so much faster. “Alright, see you then.” I was still trying to get her fruit-themed analogy out of my head. I’d be battling that image all day. Thanks, Mom.

  “Have a wonderful day at work, sweetie! See you soon!” she chirped.

  I hung up and ran my fingers through my greasy curls. It was going to be a long day.

  “There’s the birthday girl!” Molly’s voice rang out across the library as I made my way in from the back. I’d stopped by the café for some coffee, and Jennie had remembered it was my birthday too. I got my mocha on the house.

  I took a sip of my coffee. “How does everyone remember such a random date like August fifteenth is my birthday?

  “There’s no official federal holiday in August, you know,” Tom said, stepping out from behind the reference desk to greet me. “So I move we make Sunshine Baker’s birthday an official federal holiday. All those in favor, say aye!” He thrust his paper coffee cup—also from the café—above his head.

  “Aye!” came a chorus of much-too-enthusiastic-for-this-early-in-the-morning voices.

  The entire library staff emerged from the stacks, raising their coffee cups in agreement with Tom’s proposal. And then, much to my complete mortification, a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” erupted from my colleagues’ mouths. Even our newest colleague, Falcon, joined in. I couldn’t imagine they participated in this type of silliness at the state university library—surely they only held dignified, understated, refined birthday celebrations.

  Lord, please help me get through this, I prayed as I sprinkled the crowd with appreciative grins. One by one, the staff came over to extend their official birthday greetings. Jada, Linda The Denim Queen O’Neal (not disappointing in her cropped denim jacket over a denim pencil skirt), Bruce, Barbara, and all the workers from public services and tech services combined.

  Then Molly presented a huge vase of flowers that she’d been hiding behind her back.

  “So this is why you came back into work today!” I accused her.

  “Well, duh!” She laughed and walked over to put the flowers on my desk. “Happy birthday, Sunshine! We’re taking you out to dinner tomorrow night. We’re assuming you’re going to your parents’ house tonight?”

  I nodded. “Yes, my mother called me bright and early. To be honest, I forgot all about it. I’ve been so wrapped up in the case. You won’t believe what I learned last night! I was up past three AM reading.”

  Evangeline smirked. “Save it for lunch, okay?”

  “Alright.” My disappointment couldn’t be hidden. Talking about the details would help me unravel the puzzle, and I was d
esperate to share them with someone.

  “Oh, I got ahold of Knox Monroe,” Evangeline said before she turned to go upstairs to her office. “He’ll be coming by later to meet with me about the project and fill out some paperwork. Can you bring him up to my office when he gets here?”

  “What time?” I checked.

  “Ten.”

  “And you didn’t have any…issues with him?”

  “What kind of issues?” She furrowed her brows.

  “He can be a little squirrely, that’s all.”

  She scoffed. “Well, he was fine with me.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring him up when he gets here.”

  Molly had already returned to her desk, as did Tom and Barbara. Jada marched the tech services folks back into the labyrinth netherworld of acquisitions, cataloging, and serials.

  There was absolutely no way I could focus on work when my head was full of the entries from Mrs. Monroe’s journal I’d read the night before. How could I be expected to concentrate when so much was up in the air?

  I’d fallen asleep before finishing the last entries. I’d made it to March, when she started seeing Carlton semi-regularly. From what I could tell, he was starting to convince her not to publish the memoirs, but I still didn’t understand what the big secret was.

  What was she hiding? I had to know. It was going to drive me absolutely crazy!

  I was not expecting to be snapped out of my thoughts by a freckled face and pale blue eyes. “Ms. Baker?”

  “Knox!” I exclaimed, surprised to see him hovering over my desk. How did he sneak up on me like that?

  He carried a stack of books in his arms, which he set on my desk. “I wanted to thank you for letting me borrow these. I learned a lot from them.”

  He wore a sincere smile on his face, which was much cleaner than the last few times I’d seen him. He was still wearing ratty clothes, but at least the dirt was gone. Judging by the appearance of his foster mother, Knox’s fashion choices were his own. Mrs. Shaw seemed like a very hygienic person, at least the one time I met her.

  “You’re here by yourself today?” I looked around to see if his guardian was lingering anywhere.

  He nodded. “It’s a test, I suppose.” He rolled his eyes.

  “To make sure you don’t take off?” I gave him a knowing smile.

  “Something like that. I’m supposed to meet with the director about my community service?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I can take you up to her office. Are you ready now? We’re a bit early.” He was not only here on time, but ten minutes early. Maybe he really was trying to turn over a new leaf. Maybe he wanted the Shaws to give him a second chance and consider keeping him on full-time.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

  Typical teen response. I stood up, my vertebrae popping in protest. My spine was still unhappy about my awkward positioning on the sofa last night as I slumbered away, visions of Mrs. Monroe’s bees buzzing in my head. I had to figure out where that manuscript was. It would unlock all the clues. I just knew it!

  “Follow me,” I said to Knox, gesturing toward the staircase. He fell in step behind me as we trudged up the stairs to the second floor. I started to lead him to Evangeline’s office when I caught sight of a pair of figures in the stacks down the aisle from the activities room.

  “Can you wait right here?” I pointed to a bank of seating as I went to see if the patrons in the stacks needed help.

  “Sure.” Knox took a seat and gave me a stiff smile before I rushed off toward the stacks.

  As I grew closer, it became apparent the pair was a couple, their limbs intertwined. They were making out! Ewww. Not in my library!

  My mouth flew open, prepared to tell them in no uncertain terms that the word “public” in “Bryce Beach Public Library” didn’t mean Public Displays of Affection would be tolerated. That was when I realized it was our new cataloguer, Falcon Roberts. I recognized that dull blond hair and gray-tinted skin anywhere.

  Seconds later, I discovered his partner in passion was none other than my boss, Evangeline.

  Double ewww! What the flim-flam was going on here?

  I rushed back to where Knox was sitting, probably looking as though I’d seen a ghost. Make that two ghosts—they were so pale, after all. What was I going to do now? Oh, Father, please bestow your infinite divine wisdom upon me! After a second to further contemplate the situation, I amended my prayer: Even hitting me with a touch of regular wisdom would go a long way.

  “Is something wrong?” Knox’s freckled nose scrunched up as he stared at me.

  “No, no. Let’s go tell Miss Pam you’re here to speak to Ms. Dupree.” I mustered up an uneasy smile, smoothed down the skirt of my dress, and gestured for him to follow me to the office.

  The library director’s office had its own waiting room where her secretary’s desk sat, along with some seating for visitors, and another door led to her actual chambers. I greeted Pam, “I didn’t see you down there this morning during my birthday celebration!”

  She pursed her lips and stared at me. “Someone had to watch the phones.”

  “Oh, right.” I expected her to wish me a happy birthday, but she didn’t. She wasn’t my biggest fan, as we’d had a wee bit of an issue under the former director, but surely she wasn’t going to hold a grudge against me forever. “Well, we’re here to see Ms. Dupree about this young man’s community service.”

  “Let me just call her real quick. She stepped out for a moment.”

  So “stepped out for a moment” was a euphemism for making out in the stacks with your employee, apparently. Sigh. It was so wrong. And so unexpected for my friend. I was still at a loss about how to handle it. I supposed just keeping it to myself was the best course of action at the moment.

  Moments after Pam called Evangeline’s phone, she sashayed into the office on her laced-up black ankle boots, her slim pencil skirt hugging her svelte figure. She had more spring in her step than I’d ever seen before. “Good morning! Good morning!” she greeted us both.

  “This is Knox Monroe,” I introduced the young man. “I can’t wait for you to see his artwork. It’s simply brilliant.”

  I was pretty sure the teen blushed at my compliment. See, he did have a soul in there somewhere, a tender soul, if I was reading him correctly. He seemed like a totally different person than the one who had tried to steal the library donation box only a couple of weeks ago.

  “Knox, we have some paperwork for you to fill out. Did you bring the forms of identification I asked for?” Evangeline seated herself next to us in the waiting area, not bothering to take us into her office. Unsurprisingly, Pam looked annoyed by that, like we were cramping her style being in her space.

  Knox nodded and pointed toward an envelope he’d been clutching this whole time. He slid out a series of documents. Without thinking, I picked them up and thumbed through them. Evangeline shot me a nasty look, but I couldn’t help gawking when his birth certificate popped out.

  His father’s name was Carlton Piers Monroe.

  Fourteen

  The rest of the workday was a bit of a blur. I just kept rolling Knox Monroe’s birth certificate around in my head. His mother was Angela Lynn Thomas, which didn’t sound familiar. Her birthplace was New York. But Carlton Piers Monroe, with a birthplace of Santa Ana, California, immediately caught my attention. All I could think about was the story Matilda Monroe told me in her mother’s parlor about being forced to give up the child she’d carried with absolutely no clue what became of the infant.

  What if her infant was Carlton Piers Monroe, Knox’s father? Was that even possible? I couldn’t come up with any other explanation for him having a Boxbury first name and Mrs. Monroe’s husband’s first name as a middle name. Not to mention the last name, of course, even if it was common.

  I had a feeling all the answers I needed lay in the late Mrs. Monroe’s memoir. How on earth was I supposed to get my hands on it when I had no idea where it was?

  I h
oped the rest of her journal would provide a clue, but I wouldn’t get an opportunity to read any more of it until I got home. And there was no way I was getting out of my birthday dinner at my parents’ house.

  After I helped Knox fill out his paperwork, Evangeline sent me back downstairs so she could talk to him about her secret project. I didn’t like being in the dark, but I did as I was told. I took that opportunity to try to learn what happened to Knox’s parents.

  If his father was Mrs. Monroe’s grandchild, did she know? And if she did know, how did Matilda not know? How could she keep that information from the child’s mother?

  All I knew about Knox’s parents was that they’d died in an accident last year, and he’d been sent to live with a foster family. I wasn’t sure where he lived before. Googling the name Carlton Piers Monroe, I found much more information about Piers Allen Monroe, Mrs. Monroe’s late husband, than I did about Knox’s father. I learned that, prior to his marriage to Willa Bryce, Piers Monroe’s family had owned a good percentage of the shoreline on this part of the coast, from Moon Point up to Fernville. The only town where he didn’t own a significant amount of land was Bryce Beach.

  Interesting. Perhaps that was why he pursued a young Willa Bryce, an heiress who owned substantial property in our county, including the lovely 1890s three-story brick Victorian she lived in for most of her life. I was piecing this together, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to prove Knox was related to her.

  Does it matter? I wondered. Would Matilda want anything to do with him now? She seemed set in her ways and rather self-absorbed. Thinking of herself as a grandmother might be a real blow to her self-image.

  It did seem unfair for the kid to be bounced around from foster family to foster family if he had flesh and blood related to him who could take him in. But Matilda still lived on the West Coast, and from what I understood, she was going to be heading back as soon as her mother’s estate was settled.