Whispering winds widows, p.1
Whispering Winds Widows, page 1
“Ben!”
The shock or fear or something on that order in her voice had him rushing around the rear corner to find her. She stood only a few feet from the back of the cabin in a small clearing that was overgrown with grass and weeds but it was the three wooden crosses that had him stalling in his tracks.
Moving on autopilot, Ben stamped through the knee-high grass until he reached the crosses. Three in a neat row. No markings or names. Just three rustic crosses.
Ben went down on his knees and pressed his hands to the ground. He felt the surface, touched the wood where it had been driven in the ground.
Could his father and the others be here?
Could they have been here all along?
Whispering Winds Widows
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Debra Webb
Debra Webb is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra has a love of storytelling that goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at debrawebb.com.
Books by Debra Webb
Harlequin Intrigue
Lookout Mountain Mysteries
Disappearance in Dread Hollow
Murder at Sunset Rock
A Place to Hide
Whispering Winds Widows
A Winchester, Tennessee Thriller
In Self Defense
The Dark Woods
The Stranger Next Door
The Safest Lies
Witness Protection Widow
Before He Vanished
The Bone Room
Colby Agency: Sexi-ER
Finding the Edge
Sin and Bone
Body of Evidence
Faces of Evil
Dark Whispers
Still Waters
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Reyna Hart—Reyna writes the stories of people who are suffering from illnesses that steal their memories. The stories allow them to hold on to their pasts.
Ben Kane—Thirty years ago, his father and his two best friends disappeared without a trace. Ben would do anything to solve that mystery, more for his beloved grandfather than for himself.
The Widows—Lucinda Kane, Deidre Fuller and Harlowe Evans have secrets they can never tell. Did they murder their husbands? How far will they go to keep their secrets?
Father Vincent Cullen—He knows the truth but his vows prevent him from telling another living soul...but there are other things he can do. How far will he go to see that the secrets are revealed?
Deputy Gordon Walls—He was supposed to marry Lucinda, until she cheated on him and married someone else. Was it revenge for that betrayal that caused three men to vanish thirty years ago?
Wade Landon—He was the most succesful high school football coach in state history, but he has secrets too...secrets he can never tell anyone.
Sheriff Tara Norwood—Her father was the sheriff thirty years ago when three men disappeared. She feels obligated to finish that case for him.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Excerpt from K-9 Shield by Nichole Severn
Chapter One
The Light Memory Care Center
Lantern Pointe
Chattanooga, Tennessee
Sunday, April 21, 10:00 a.m.
“Are you certain you want to do this, Reyna?”
Reyna Hart smiled—as much to reassure her friend as to brace herself. She was going to do this. “I absolutely do want to do this.”
Eudora Davenport’s eyes shone with excitement. “I knew you’d never be able to resist.” She placed a frail hand against her chest. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Reyna had a fairly good idea. She had been visiting Eudora, a sweet woman she’d enjoyed getting to know, for nearly a year now. Each Sunday from 10:00 until 11:00 a.m., sometimes until noon. Generally, they sat in the two chairs positioned to take in the view out the one large window in her room. Their tea on the table between them. They had become friends. Good friends.
“There aren’t many who will talk to you,” Eudora reminded her. “Others will say plenty just to hear themselves talk.” She drew in a deep breath. “Some will attempt to mislead you. Folks don’t always tolerate change very well. Particularly if that change prompts the unknown.”
“I’m aware.” Reyna considered herself a good judge of character. When she’d been pursuing her original career dream, she’d spent most of her research time interviewing people—and Eudora was right. The best interviewers learned to recognize the difference between a thoughtful and forthright person and a conversational narcissist. Reyna had spent most of her life, even as a child, watching people. Her mother always said that particular skill was one of the things that made Reyna so perfect for the art of storytelling. She was a natural at slipping into the thoughts and dreams of characters.
Reyna had certainly expected she would spend her life writing fiction. She’d been writing short stories since she’d been old enough to string sentences together. The first contract had come quickly and somewhat easier than she’d anticipated. Her debut novel had made a brief and distant showing on the bestseller lists. Not so shabby. But that book had been the one and only.
Just call her a one-semi-hit wonder.
The marketable ideas had stopped coming, and her publisher had moved on.
For a while Reyna had drifted—career wise. She’d held on to her New York City apartment that was about the size of a shoebox for another year, and then she’d opted to take a break from the dream and spend some time in reality.
Not so much fun at first. Coming back to Chattanooga to start over hadn’t been easy. She’d tried out a few different career hats—none worth remembering. And though the process had been painful, the timing had turned out to be important: her beloved grandmother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. From that moment there had been no looking back for Reyna. She’d become her grandmother’s primary caretaker even after she’d had to move to this very facility. Throughout the remainder of her life, her grandmother’s greatest fear had not been of dying but of forgetting who she was and what her life had been before, so she’d asked Reyna to write her story. Then, anytime she wished, she could read her story and remember.
Reyna would have done anything for her grandmother, so she’d thrown herself into the task. The story, mostly a narrative written in first person, had given her grandmother much pleasure the final months of her life. When she’d passed, others at the facility had pleaded with Reyna to write theirs. So, she’d decided to give the possibility a go.
Now, two years later, work was steady and surprisingly lucrative. Reyna had been featured in the Chattanooga Times Free Press, and several other newspapers had carried her work in their lifestyle sections. She’d even received an award from the city for innovation in supporting quality of life for the elderly.
“You’ve decided how to start?” Eudora asked, drawing Reyna out of the past.
“I have.” She gave her friend a nod. “I’m starting with Ward Kane Senior.”
Eudora’s thin gray brows rose. “He may not talk to you. At the ten-year anniversary of the disappearance as well as the twenty, he refused to give an interview. He’s a stubborn man.”
Reyna had heard this from her before. “He’s also the only remaining father.”
Eudora’s gaze turned distant. “Sometimes I forget how much time has really gone by.” She sighed. “Thirty years. It’s hard to believe.”
Eudora Davenport remained a beautiful woman even at eighty-two. Her hair was that perfect shade of silver that required no dyes or anything at all to give it luster or to add thickness. She wore it in a French twist with pearl pins. At this stage she spent much of her time reclined in her bed or in her favorite chair, but her loungewear was always tasteful and representative of her elegance and class. Eudora insisted aging was a gift, one that should be respected and embraced with dignity.
“I will call him,” she said then, her tone determined. “Perhaps I can persuade him.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Reyna agreed. “I’ve read everything about the case that has been released for public consumption. Anything he hasn’t shared could prove helpful. The FBI agent who assisted the sheriff’s office in the investigation has passed away, but the deputy detective, Nelson Owens, who worked the case, has agreed to meet with me tomorrow.”
Eudora picked up her cup of tea from the table between them and sipped. When she’d set it aside once more, she searched Reyna’s face for a long moment before speaking. Reyna hadn’t quite decided why this case was so important to Eudora. She was not related to one or more of the three men—the Three, as they were called—who had disappeared, nor the wives and children—if any—they had left behind.
The only thing she had told Reyna when she’d commissioned her to write the story that was technically not even hers was that she wanted to know the truth before she lost herself completely or died—whichever came first.
Eudora stared straight ahead for a long moment, her gaze reaching somewhere beyond the window. There were times like this when she stopped speaking and drifted off. Sometimes for minutes, others for hours. Her grandmother had done the same. Reyna had learned to be patient or to come back another time.
“She never comes to see me anymore,” Eudora said, her voice as distant as her gaze.
“Who?” Reyna asked, though she wasn’t sure the eighty-two-year-old was speaking to her or if she was still aware Reyna was in the room. It happened more and more lately.
Her pulse reacted to a prick of emotion. She truly had begun to consider this woman family. There was little left of Reyna’s. She still had her mother, who had remarried recently and was quite focused on her new husband. Not that Reyna resented this one little bit. Her mother had been madly in love with Reyna’s father, and his death had devastated them both. It had taken a decade and a half for her mother to even consider having dinner with a romantic interest. Now she was happily married to the second love of her life, and Reyna was incredibly grateful for her second chance.
Reyna, however, was still waiting for her first chance. But she had time. Thirty-five wasn’t so old.
Wasn’t so young either, an evil little voice chided.
“Eudora, who do you mean?” Reyna prodded.
Eudora blinked, turned away from the window to meet Reyna’s gaze. “I’m sorry—what were you saying?”
“You said she never comes to see you anymore.”
A frown lined the older woman’s otherwise perfectly smooth brow. The woman had beautiful skin with so few lines one would think she’d had multiple cosmetic surgeries, but when asked, Eudora always laughed and insisted it was simply good genes. “Just an old friend. No one important, dear.”
“Well.” Reyna stood, walked over to her chair, reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “I should be on my way. I can check in at the bed-and-breakfast after lunch. I’ll spend some time getting the lay of the land, so to speak.”
Eudora held on to her hand when Reyna would have pulled it away. “No matter what happens, I so thoroughly appreciate that you have agreed to do this for me. Please know that if you don’t find the answer quickly enough or at all, don’t despair. Knowing what happened is important to me, but it is not your fault if I go first.”
Reyna smiled and gave her hand another squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, and if I can uncover the truth, I will revel in writing the story.”
Eudora released Reyna’s hand and clasped hers together in her lap. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll find the truth. From the moment I met you, I was certain you would know exactly how to do what no one else could.”
No pressure.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” Reyna promised before leaving.
This lady had a great deal of faith in her. She surely hoped she wouldn’t have to let her down. A thirty-year-old missing persons case that no one else had been able to solve was a tall order.
In time, evidence grew faint, disappeared, as did memories. But there was a flip side. The passage of vast amounts of time often loosened tongues and added to the weight of guilt. Reyna exited the facility and drew in a deep breath of cool spring air. So much had started to bloom already—it gave her hope that anything could happen.
Even solving a very, very cold case.
Whispering Winds
1:00 p.m.
LEGEND HAD IT that the air in Whispering Winds was never still. The small community was an old one, nestled against the state line, nearly in Georgia. The tourist guides called it one of Lookout Mountain’s lesser-known gems. Like most of the small niche communities on the mountain, the tiny town proved a powerful draw for tourists with its incredible views and ghost stories that were nearly legend in themselves. Not the least of which was the story of how three young men—Ward Kane Junior, known as JR, Duke Fuller and Judson Evans, ranging in age from twenty-eight to twenty-nine, all three with wives, one with a child—had just vanished into thin air, never to be seen again.
Reyna turned into the small parking area of the lovely historic home that had been turned into the Jewel, a bed-and-breakfast located right as you entered Whispering Winds. The house was the first of many grand old residences that had been well maintained and remained occupied. A bit farther down Main Street the town shops and offices lined both sides. Tourism kept the little shops thriving. Many of the residents worked in Chattanooga, but there were a good number of retail and service jobs available locally.
The sheer number of thriving little communities on the mountain had surprised Reyna. There was Dread Hollow and Sunset Cove, and both had their own tourist draws. Funny, when Reyna had returned to Tennessee she’d expected to end up in Nashville after spending some time with her grandmother, but fate had seen things differently.
Now she owned her grandmother’s cottage in the city’s historic district. Growing up, Reyna had found the little cottage filled with hidden treasures and treats. Since Reyna was the only grandchild, her grandmother had loved creating little treasure hunts and mysteries to solve whenever she’d visited. As a child, Reyna had been convinced her grandmother had secret fairy friends. She was also certain she had inherited her creativity from her dear grandmother.
The city wasn’t so far, and Reyna could have opted to drive back and forth for the next few days while she did this deep dive into research, but in her experience, there was no substitute for living among the folks from whom she wanted answers.
Reyna parked her vintage Land Rover—also inherited from her grandmother—in a spot reserved for guests and climbed out. Owning a vehicle in New York City had been far too much trouble. The better route had been just to rent one when needed. But here, in the South, a vehicle was a must. Reyna had always loved the Land Rover, and her grandmother had insisted she take possession of it as soon as she moved back home. Even for a vehicle nearing forty years old, it had very low mileage and was in pristine condition, aesthetically and mechanically.
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and headed up the walk. Spring flowers were blooming, and the trees had sprouted new leaves. The world was coming alive, her grandmother would say, after its long winter’s sleep.
The porch was exactly what one expected of a grand Victorian home. It spread across the front and wrapped around one side. More than a century old, the home stood three floors high and covered better than thirteen thousand square feet. Lots of stone taken right from the area made up the foundation and the walkways. But it was the fountains and gardens that took her breath away before she even reached the entrance. Truly beautiful. So well-thought-out.
Stepping inside, Reyna found exactly what she’d anticipated. Soaring ceilings and grand chandeliers. Furniture made during a time when craftsmanship had carried a higher standard. Shiny wood floors and well-loved woven rugs.
The registration desk was staffed by the owner. Reyna recognized Birdie Jewel from the website’s About page. A lovely woman of somewhere in her late seventies, with the gray hair to prove it. Her hair hung in a long, loose braid. She looked up and smiled, and her eyes were bright in a face that showed a light hand toward cosmetics. As natural as Birdie Jewel’s gray hair and minimal makeup suggested she might be, her style in clothing was the show. Flamboyant fabrics in brilliant colors. Lots of exotic jewelry that tinkled as she moved around the counter to meet Reyna.
“Welcome. You must be Reyna Hart.”
Her voice was as musical as her jewelry. Pleasantly so.
“Hello.” Reyna dropped her bag at her feet and shook the woman’s outstretched hand. “This is genuinely lovely.” She gazed around the lobby.
Birdie’s smile widened. “Oh, I adore hearing guests say so. Come sign the guest book.” She hurried behind the counter once more and turned the large guest book around to face Reyna. “We do things here a little on the old-fashioned side. None of your personal information will be in the book, but we do love for you to sign your name. Even if only your given name.”
