Little Broken Things
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Cheryl Bradshaw
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Little White Lies
Enjoy Little Broken Things?
Books by Cheryl Bradshaw
First US edition August 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Cheryl Bradshaw
Cover Design Copyright 2021 © Indie Designz
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781393720720
* * *
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, given away or re-sold in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, etc.) without the prior written permission and consent of the author. Thank you for being respectful of the hard work of the author.
“Human nature will not change. In any future great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall have as weak and as strong, as silly and as wise, as bad and as good. Let us therefore study the incidence of this, as philosophy to learn wisdom from.”
* * *
Abraham Lincoln
Prologue
Olivia Spencer reclined in her office chair, listening to the creaks and groans of the timeworn floorboards echo throughout the aisles of her mother’s antique bookshop. It was ten minutes past five, and she’d just switched the sign in the store’s window from open to closed. She slid off her heels, kicked her feet up on top of the desk, and blinked at the row of engagement photos pinned to the corkboard on the wall in front of her. Five prospects remained, all of them similar to the untrained eye, but not to Olivia. She could spot the subtle differences. In the first photo, one of her fiancé’s eyes was open more than the other. In the third, one of the sleeves on his button-up shirt was askew. In another still, he looked fatigued.
Olivia leaned forward and removed the fourth photo from the left. She smoothed a hand over its matte finish and smiled, reminiscing about the day she and Casper had first met. Preoccupied by a text message she’d received on her phone, she’d smacked right into him on the way out of the coffee shop. The plastic lid on her latte popped off and splashed all over his white T-shirt. Embarrassed, she’d grabbed a handful of napkins off a nearby table and made an unsuccessful attempt to blot the coffee stains off his shirt. He reached down, took her hands in his, and as she met his gaze, she felt something she never had before—love, real love.
A whirlwind romance ensued, one neither of them had expected. Three months into the relationship, they backpacked through Morocco. Two months later, he proposed, and much to the chagrin of her parents, she didn’t hesitate before saying yes.
“You have a scholarship to Berkeley,” her father had said. “You’re going to throw it all away to backpack the globe with a guy who has no set plans for his future?”
“You’re nineteen years old, Olivia—much too young to be getting married,” her mother had said. “There’s no need to rush it. Why don’t you wait a while? Take the time to get to know each other first.”
Her parents may have needed time. Olivia didn’t. Casper was her soul mate. No one had ever treated her the way he did. And though he didn’t know it yet, he’d saved her, rescuing her from a past she was desperate to strip away and leave behind.
The buzz from Olivia’s cell phone snapped her out of the memories and back to the present moment. She grabbed it off the desk and read the text message her fiancé had just sent.
Casper: Hey babe, wanna go out to dinner tonight?
Olivia: Sure. What time?
Casper: Seven o’clock? I’m thinking Chinese or Korean? I’ll swing by and pick you up and we can decide.
Olivia: Perfect.
Casper: See you then. Love you. xx
Olivia: Love you more. :)
Olivia placed the engagement photo she liked most inside of her wedding planner, gathered her things, and headed for the front door, stopping when she remembered one last task she hadn’t completed. She exhaled a heavy sigh, pivoted, and headed to the back room to retrieve a pile of Diane Capri’s newest thriller novels to display in the store’s front window. She grabbed the books off the shelf and was about to head toward the front of the store when she detected a flicker of movement along the wall on the opposite side of the room.
She poked her head around the shelf, blinked at the wall, and froze in place.
One minute passed … nothing.
Then two.
Silence.
Get a grip, Olivia.
I’m sure it’s just an insect of some kind.
Had it been a bug or an insect, though?
For her own sanity, she needed to be sure.
Olivia slid the books back onto the shelf and tiptoed to the other side of the room, relieved when she found nothing to validate her overactive imagination. The moment she turned back, a moth appeared out of nowhere and fluttered past. Olivia gasped, slapped a hand against her lips, and tried not to scream. She backed against the wall, bent down, and allowed the accelerated rhythm of her heart to return to normal before she went back for the books she’d abandoned. She had half a mind to leave the front display until morning, but then rejected the notion. She’d promised her mother it would be changed before day’s end, and even though it meant she wouldn’t have time to freshen up before her date, it didn’t matter. She always kept her promises.
The bells on the shop’s front door jingled.
Olivia moved a hand to her hip and sighed, irritated she hadn’t locked the door when she’d flipped the sign from open to closed.
Now what?
She cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and shouted, “I’m sorry, we’re closed. We open again at nine o’clock tomorrow.”
There was no response, and when the bells didn’t ring out a second time to indicate the customer had left, Olivia stepped back into the bookshop and glanced around. She saw no one, and aside from the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning, all was silent.
“Hello?” Olivia said. “Is anyone there? Did you hear me? We’re closed.”
Still nothing.
A quick look through the store convinced her the after-hours patron was no longer there. She grabbed the keys to the shop off the desk, locked the front door, and dimmed the lights to avoid any further distraction. A few aisles away, she heard a loud bang. It sounded like a book had fallen off a shelf. Olivi
a followed the sound to the collectible-books aisle and discovered a rare copy of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre had slipped off the shelf.
The aisle was empty.
But something told her she wasn’t alone.
Someone was there with her … close by.
She could hear the whir of his staggered breath.
Her voice cracked as she whispered a weak, “Hello? Who’s there?”
Silence.
Olivia eyeballed the tote bag she’d left on top of a stack of bargain books near the shop’s entrance. It was twenty feet away, maybe less. Inside the bag was her cell phone. She had to get to it—now.
Olivia broke into a sprint. Fifteen feet … then ten … then five more to go.
Almost there!
A dark figure stepped in front of her. Based on the size and shape, she assumed it was a man, but was it? One of his hand’s was raised above his head, fisted around a long, slender pipe. His arm swooped down, and the pipe cracked against the side of her head. Thrust to her knees, a warm, sticky wetness dripped down the side of her face. She swiped her fingers through it and lowered her hand in front of her.
Blood.
Lots of blood.
Stand up, Olivia!
Get up!
Now!
Olivia gripped the metal bookshelf beside her with both hands and pulled up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate and behaved like it had been pinned to the ground. A thick, leather boot hammered into Olivia’s chest—so painful, like the boot was made of stone. Olivia reeled back. Eyes blurred with tears, she got her first good look at her attacker. He was dressed all in black with the hood from his zipped-up sweater pulled over his head. Leather gloves adorned his hands, and a ski mask covered his face.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she screamed. “What do you want?”
The masked man tipped his head to the side and bent over her.
“Say something!” she said. “Talk to me!”
Tears showered down her face, and she prayed for a miracle she feared would never come.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “If it’s money you’re after, I’ll give you what’s in the register. If you want it, it’s yours.”
The masked man shook his head.
If it wasn’t money he was after, what did he want?
Her?
“Do I … know you?” she asked.
The masked man lifted the pipe once more and then hesitated as if questioning what he was about to do. Olivia thrust her hands to the floor and scuffled back.
“No, no, no, no, no … please,” she said. “I haven’t seen you. I don’t know who you are. I’ll do anything, whatever you want. I’m begging you! Please don’t kill me.”
He paused just long enough for Olivia to believe her words had meant something, and then the pipe smacked into her head again.
The man tossed the pipe to the ground, and as the life flowed from her body, he bent over her and lifted the mask just enough to prompt the final words she’d ever say in this life.
“I can’t believe it’s … you.”
Chapter 1
Ten minutes later
* * *
Laura Germaine parked in front of Spencer Books and reached into her handbag for the keys to the shop. She dug in once, then twice, then three times, and came up empty-handed. Tonight, and all other nights, she lacked the patience required to clear the handbag of its clutter, so she did the next best thing. She tipped the bag upside down and dumped its contents onto the passenger seat of her car.
The keys to the bookshop spilled out, landing on top of a crumpled-up flyer, a few loose tissues, a brush, a bunch of loose change, and a tube of her favorite red lipstick. Laura grabbed the keys and was about to exit the car when she noticed something odd. The lamp her friend Barb left on each night in the shop’s window was off. And what’s more, for the first time in a long time, the window was devoid of its usual book display.
What in heaven’s name is going on?
In need of answers, Laura reached for her cell phone and made a call. It was answered on the second ring, and Barb said, “Are you at the shop? Did you find the book I left out for you all right?”
“I’m here,” Laura said. “I haven’t gone in yet. I thought I would call you first. The lamp hasn’t been switched on, and there are no books on display in the front window.”
Barb exhaled a long sigh. “I can’t believe it. Olivia promised she’d put the new display up before she left. I swear, ever since my daughter’s become engaged, the wedding is all she can think about.”
Laura laughed. “Can you blame her?”
After a pause, Barb said, “I suppose not. I’m sure I was the same way before I got married.”
Unlike Barb, Laura couldn’t relate. She’d never married, a choice she’d made at the age of twenty-three after Samuel, her high school sweetheart, died in a water-skiing accident at Stillwater Lake. She couldn’t imagine life with anyone other than him. He had been her everything, and even though she’d engaged in several short-term relationships over the years, no one had ever ignited a spark in her the way Samuel had.
“Listen, Barb, I’ll head into the shop and switch the lamp on,” Laura said. “Is there anything else I can do for you while I’m here? I can put something in the window if you like.”
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come in early, before anyone is out and about, and put it up myself. In the meantime, I better get in touch with Olivia and find out what happened. She still hasn’t made it home yet, and I expected her a half hour ago. We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?”
“We are. I’ll see you at Lucy’s Café at noon.”
Laura ended the call, scooped the passenger seat’s contents back into her handbag, and walked to the shop. She stuck the key into the slot on the doorknob, but before she got the chance to turn it, the door opened on its own.
How strange.
It’s not even locked.
First the light, then the window display, and now an unlocked door?
Barb was right. For such a responsible girl, Olivia was forgetting even the simplest of things.
Laura stepped inside and flipped on the lights. “Hello? Olivia? It’s Laura. Are you here?”
There was no response.
Laura walked to Barb’s desk to retrieve the book she’d ordered on how to make money last after retirement. She found it just where Barb had said it would be and slipped it inside her bag. She walked toward the lamp, pausing when she noticed a trail of red liquid on the wood floor. Curious, she followed it to the next aisle over.
There, sprawled out on the ground, was Olivia—face up, eyes closed, surrounded in a pool of blood. A long, metal pipe rested beside her feet. Shocked, Laura slapped a hand over her mouth and then bent down and stuck two fingers on the side of Olivia’s neck.
Although faint, a pulse was there.
She was alive!
Laura jerked her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. She gave them the address to the bookshop, a few key details about the scene, and begged them to arrive as soon as they could. The operator made a request for Laura to remain on the line until help arrived. She declined. There was another call to make, and she needed to make it now.
Chapter 2
I was walking Luka, my Samoyed, around the RV park on a warm summer night when my cell phone rang.
“Hey, Aunt Laura,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Georgiana, I’m at Barb’s bookshop. You better get over here right away.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s my friend Barb’s daughter, Olivia. I’ll explain everything when you arrive.”
Her voice was frantic. It worried me. “Are you all right?”
“No, kiddo. I’m not. Please hurry.”
Before I had the chance to probe her any further, the line went dead. I glanced down at Luka and said, “Looks like your walk is getting cut short tonight, bud. Sorry.”
I got Luka set
tled on the bed in my Airstream and then called Harvey Kennison, San Luis Obispo’s chief of police and my stepfather. I told him about the strange call I’d received from Laura and how panicked she’d seemed. He said dispatch had just informed him about a woman who appeared to have been bludgeoned with a pipe in one of the shop’s downtown. He was just about to call me when I called him.
I arrived at the bookshop about twenty minutes later and spotted Aunt Laura standing in the corner of the room, tears streaming down her face as she watched the emergency medical technicians assess Olivia. The young woman was beautiful, with long, blond hair and a milky-white complexion, she looked far more mature than a woman of nineteen.
I tapped a finger on Aunt Laura’s shoulder to let her know I was there. She turned and threw her arms around me.
“It’s too late,” she said. “They tried to save her, but they couldn’t. Olivia’s dead.”
“Wait here while I clear the place. I’ll be back.”
I searched the bookstore, aisle by aisle, room by room, finding nothing. I returned to the front of the store, and Aunt Laura and I walked over to the café area and sat down. She combed a hand through her dark, straight bob, staring at the table as if in a daze.
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