by B. T. Lord
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jace asked as he knelt down beside her.
She continued to shake her head, unable to speak through the rush of emotions. Seeing his mother on the verge of hysterics, Jace stood up. “I’m getting you to the hospital,” he announced.
His words only made her more distraught. Looking around frantically, she suddenly grabbed onto Cammie’s arm.
“You don’t understand,” she wailed.
“What don’t I understand?” Cammie asked.
She stuttered against the tears. Then she whispered, “Pru couldn’t have killed Walt. She never left the house that night.”
EPILOGUE
It took several moments for both Jace and Cammie to understand Pamela’s hysterical words as she struggled to expiate the horror of what she knew. “I knew she’d called Walt that night from the kitchen phone. She was determined to finally confront him over how badly he’d treated her over the years. The meeting was set for 2 am beneath the town Christmas tree and I was to drive her. However, she was so ill, she never made it.” She looked wildly at the two of them. “She never left the house that night,” she repeated frantically.
“Then who killed Long?” Jace asked.
Pamela looked up, met his gaze, then bent over and began to sob again.
Cammie caught her breath. Pamela’s eyes had said it all.
She believed her husband was guilty of murder.
After telling Harold Pamela was overcome by the death of her sister, Jace and Cammie got her to bed where they gave her some sleeping pills. When she was finally asleep, the two slipped out of the bedroom and went into their own where they closed the door.
“Jesus,” Jace said as he sank down on the bed. Cammie sat next to him. “What do we do with that information? Do we bring it to Knowlton? Do I actually turn in my own father?”
“There’s no proof. Just Pamela’s words,” Cammie replied lamely.
“I can’t see her repeating what she told us to the police.” Jace leaned over and covered his face with his hands. “Why did she say anything? How am I going to live with that for the rest of my life?”
Cammie didn’t know. So she said nothing.
With the exception of Pam, no one slept in the Northcott household that evening. Cammie threw the bedding onto the floor where she spent the night holding Jace in her arms. She’d never faced a dilemma like this before and had no idea what to do. Should she call Dale and tell him what Pamela said, knowing the woman would never back her up? Or should she let it go?
Could she live with the fact that she was letting a murderer go free?
She thought about Pru as the clock ticked interminably on during a night that seemed to go on forever.
She’d loved Harold so much that she was willing to create a false confession in order to have him released. She’d loved her sister so much that she’d sacrificed whatever time she had left on this earth to free her brother-in-law. But in doing so, she’d unwittingly condemned her sister to a life of knowing that her husband of forty-six years was a cold-blooded killer. How was Pamela ever going to survive such a heavy burden? How was she going to go to bed at night, lying next to a man who her sister had given up her life for? How was she going to get through each day, looking into the face of a killer?
Cammie knew she couldn’t do it.
She was therefore shocked the next morning, when she and Jace went down to breakfast, to find Pamela serving her husband his eggs and bacon. She looked up and smiled when she saw them in the doorway.
“Just in time! I was afraid your eggs would get cold. I made them extra fluffy just the way you two like them. And crispy bacon. Nothing worse than soggy bacon.”
Cammie stared at her, wondering if she’d stepped into the household of a Stepford wife. She watched as Pamela literally flew around the kitchen, serving everyone their meal. When she finally sat down, she turned to Cammie.
“Harold and I spoke this morning, and we both want to offer you our deepest apologies. We appreciate all you did to try and exonerate him. It’s terrible the way it ended, and we’ll always keep Pru in our hearts. She was a wonderful sister and we’ll miss her terribly. But we want to acknowledge how hard you worked. We can only hope you’ll forgive us.”
“Having been through the process myself,” Harold said gruffly. “I can now appreciate why you did what you did with Jace three years ago.”
Now Cammie truly felt as though she’d stepped right into an alternative dimension. She surreptitiously pinched herself under the table to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“Um, uh…” she stammered. She glanced at Jace and saw that he was just as flummoxed as she was. He, however, managed to recover quicker than she did.
“Thanks. You don’t know what that means to me. To us.”
Cammie turned her eye towards Harold. She observed him as he ate his breakfast, seemingly recovered from his ordeal. There was a relief palpable in his being. Glancing again at Pamela, she marveled at the wall she’d surrounded herself with. It was a wall that gave her permission not to acknowledge that she was sitting next to a murderer. A wall that allowed her not to acknowledge what her sister had done for her.
A rage welled up inside the sheriff. She felt slimed by their despicable behavior. She wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. She looked down at her eggs and knew she’d throw up if she attempted to eat them. She pushed her chair back and stood up.
“I received a phone call from my deputy this morning. I’m sorry, but we need to get on the road. Something’s come up that needs my attention.”
It saddened her to see, despite their lofty words of forgiveness, the relief on Harold and Pamela’s faces. Jace threw her a bewildered look, but something in her stance warned him not to question her sudden decision to leave. Or to question the lie he knew she was telling.
Without waiting for Jace, she went upstairs to their bedroom where she began to throw things haphazardly into her overnight bag. With each item she threw in, the more her temper increased until she knew if she didn’t get out of there ASAP she was going to explode. She was furious at Pamela for not giving Pru’s sacrifice the attention and compassion it deserved. She was furious at Harold for killing a man because he confessed to still loving his wife. And she was especially furious at herself for feeling so damned helpless.
The bags were downstairs by the front door. They were in the process of saying good-bye – Cammie trying very hard not to smash her fist into Harold’s face – when her cell rang. Looking at the display, she saw it was Dale Beecham.
At first, she didn’t trust answering his call. She was still so upset at how this had all played out that she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t blurt out what Pamela had told her. Yet, at the same time, she was curious to know why he was calling. They’d already said their good-byes on Christmas Eve. So why call her now?
She took a step away from Jace and his parents.
“Sheriff Farnsworth,” she answered.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Dale said.
“There’s a lot of stuff I don’t believe these days, starting with Santa and his flying reindeer,” she answered morosely.
“I’m telling you, you better sit down for this one. The department is in a complete uproar.”
Sensing his shock, Cammie did as he asked and perched herself on the couch.
“Okay, I’m sitting.”
“We arrested Debbi Grant this morning for the murder of Walter Long.”
Harold, Pamela, Jace and Cammie were seated in the living room as she repeated what Dale had told her.
“Debbi had a six-month affair with Walter. She went into it believing that once he retired, she’d be promoted to manager upon his recommendation. Unfortunately, Walter’s interest waned long before that. She was one of the two associates who stayed at the bank the night he was killed to work on the loan with him. As soon as the other associate left, Walter took the opportunity to break it off with her. He told
her he’d found someone younger and prettier and that she was becoming too clingy for his taste.”
“Did she actually turn herself in and confess to all of this?” Jace asked, incredulous as everyone else was at this unexpected news.
“Not quite. Remember Samantha, the young teenager who works at the hardware store? Apparently, she told her mother that she’d seen Walter and Debbi getting very touchy feely in the back of the store several times when they came in together to buy stuff. Her mother thought it was important enough to tell the police. Of course Knowlton was prepared to ignore it. As far as he was concerned, Pru’s journal proved she was the murderer, and the case was officially closed. But Dale thought otherwise. He went to Debbi’s house where he confronted her. She folded like a house of cards.”
“So this was a crime of passion?” Harold asked.
“Yes. She was accustomed to working late to prove she was management material, so she always carried a revolver for protection. Not only was Walter incredibly nasty to her that night, but she was hoping the promotion and the raise that came along with it would get her out of debt. When he reneged, she completely lost it. She knew he was meeting someone at 2 am – she overheard the phone conversation. Thinking it was the new woman in his life, she followed. When Pru never showed up, and with her anger mounting over the way he’d treated her, she took advantage that he was alone and shot him.”
“So there never were phone calls behind closed doors or a married woman he was sleeping with,” Jace replied.
“They’ll confirm that when the bank’s phone records come in, but Dale thinks it was part of her cover-up.”
Pamela reached over and took Harold’s hand in hers. “I always knew you were innocent. I’m just so sorry Pru didn’t live long enough to see that as well.”
Cammie’s stomach turned. She turned to Jace and said tersely, “Let’s go.”
By the time they arrived back at their cabin on Mkazawi Pond, Cammie had managed to calm down. At least the real killer was now behind bars and she could rest her conscience that she hadn’t allowed a murderer to go free.
As for Jace’s parents, she pushed them completely out of her mind. Before they left, Harold made the useless announcement that they’d decided to stay in Beachport. It took all of Cammie’s willpower not to accuse him of compounding one lie with another. She knew very well they’d never planned to return to Twin Ponds. Instead, she thought it best to keep her mouth shut.
On the ride home, the topic of Harold and Pamela was avoided. Yet there were moments when she glanced over to Jace and saw the disappointment in his eyes. Knowing him as well as she did, he knew he was thinking the same thing she was. He’d seen his mother’s face. He knew she’d believed her husband to be a killer. Yet, once he was set free, she was ready to forget her suspicions. When Debbi was arrested, she was more than ready to forget her sister’s sacrifice. How he would reconcile this, she had no idea. He’d need time to process and heal the wounds this Christmas had left. But Jace was, at heart, an optimist. He would eventually forgive them.
Which was more than she could say for herself.
While Jace unpacked the truck, Cammie hurried inside and got the wood burning stove going. By the time they were done putting everything away, the house was nice and toasty.
She sat down on the couch and watched as Jace crossed the room to plug in their Christmas tree.
“No offense, but I think I’m all Christmas’ed out,” she said. “This holiday took a lot out of me.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that, because there’s one more Christmas thingy I need to do.”
“Christmas thingy?” she laughed.
He turned on the tree, then walked over to where she sat. Instead of sitting down next to her, he took something out of his pocket.
“I know this wasn’t exactly the Christmas I promised you, but I’m hoping this will make up for it.”
She cocked an amused eyebrow. “What are you up to?”
To her shock, he suddenly got down on one knee. “You’re my world. From the first moment I met you, I knew you were the one. I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you and will always love you.” He opened his hand and she saw a sparkling diamond ring sitting in the center of his palm. “Camilla Farnsworth, will you marry me?”
Cammie’s smile faded as she stared back at him in disbelief. And a deepening sense of fear and dread, growing in the pit of her stomach.
T H E E N D
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Like Cammie, Christmas is my favorite time of year. Throughout this story, you’ll find references to my thoughts, feelings, hopes, and wishes as this holiday rolls around each year. And to my all-time beloved Christmas movies – Holiday Inn (1942) with Bing Crosby and the wonderful Fred Astaire, and The Bishop’s Wife (1947) with the handsome and debonair Cary Grant playing an angel. It doesn’t get better than that!
I’ll be marking two years since I started this amazing journey into writing these stories and I thank you again for supporting my work. I love hearing from you, so please drop me a line at [email protected]
If you haven’t already, please sign up for my newsletter through my website at www.btlordwriter.com
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I’ve included an excerpt of the next installment in the Coffin Islands Paranormal Mysteries, due out in early 2019. Enjoy! And happy holidays no matter what time of year you read this book. As Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, it would do the world good if we emulated Ebenezer Scrooge by honoring the spirit of Christmas in our hearts and trying to keep it all the year.
Preview of
Book 2 in the
Coffin Islands Paranormal Mystery Series
***
Visions of Death
***
Available in early 2019
PROLOGUE
I’ve often heard darkness is simply an absence of light.
Be the light and there won’t be darkness, etc. etc. What those delusional idiots fail to acknowledge is that there are some of us who don’t want the light. Who find it obtrusive. Obnoxious. Unnecessary. You see, it’s easier to hide things in the darkness. Secrets that no one should ever see.
Those are my favorite kind of secrets.
To be honest, and I suppose I must be honest, if only with myself, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about what I did. Next to cannibalism, it’s the ultimate taboo, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to wantonly take a human life. Life is sacred. Life is a gift.
The truth is, I enjoyed taking that human life. It filled me up in a way that was indescribable. Call it what you will. Power, ego, selfish pleasure. But the fact remains. I relished it.
I suppose I could justify it by saying she deserved it. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she didn’t. Who am I to judge? I saw a need and filled the void. Let’s just say, there’s one less bitch in the world. She’s gone now.
Into the darkness. Which is a safer place to be than in the light.
Dara Clemons shot up in bed. Her heart racing, her mouth dry, fear exploding from every pore. She shook her head several times to dislodge the horrifying image, but it seemed to take forever before it’s immediate impact began to fade. Yet the feelings were still there. The choking. The inability to breathe. The frigid water.
Why can’t I open my eyes? Screamed over and over again.
Knowing she’d never fall back asleep, Dara climbed out of bed and instantly felt a cold shiver throughout her body.
“Ugh,” she muttered as she grabbed the afghan off the bed and wrapped herself within its warmth.
The chilly rooms were the price of living in a century’s old house that ne
eded a complete renovation. Winter winds whistled through the poorly insulated windows, making the rooms feel as though she were living in a refrigerator. Still, the rent was affordable; space heaters and blankets strategically placed about helped to keep her somewhat comfortable.
Padding into the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water. She took a gulp, put the glass in the sink and went over to the sofa where she plopped down.
Tucking her legs beneath her, Dara sat in the dark, the afghan wrapped tightly around her. The only light came from the streetlamp standing outside the window.
Living above a card shop, on what was considered the downtown portion of Eagla Island, there was always some sort of noise on the street below during the summer months. The island filled with tourists flocking to take advantage of the natural beauty, white sand beaches and bountiful nightlife. However, once winter set in, the mainland visitors were as rare as the Atlantic puffins who made their home on the other side of the island, disappearing in August to return to the open ocean.
Tonight the street, and her apartment was silent. She laid her head back against the sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Immediately, she saw the dream once more loom up in front of her. She tried to jerk her mind away, but it was no use. It had never worked before, and it wouldn’t work now. This was a vision insisting to be revisited. Whether she wanted to or not.
Once again, she saw herself arriving at one of the small ponds that lay in the interior of Eagla. She was a strong swimmer, and in the summer when she wasn’t working, that’s where she could usually be found. In the dream, she’d waded into the water and dunked her head to refresh herself from the hot sun. She then swam out a few yards from shore where the water was over her small 5 ft. 3 inch frame. She took a deep breath and submerged herself, her long jet-black hair trailing in the water above her. She’d just surfaced and was about to continue swimming when she suddenly felt something slither around her ankle. Annoyed that it could be the weeds that lingered just beneath the water, she once again dove under to disentangle herself.