Come gentle night, p.1
Come, Gentle Night, page 1
Cover image: Woman Lying in River with Eyes Closed © Magdalena Russocka / Trevillion Images
Cover design by Hannah Bischoff. Copyright © 2022 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2022 by Stephanie Black
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., PO Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Black, Stephanie, author.
Title: Come, gentle night / Stephanie Black.
Description: American Fork, Utah : Covenant Communications Inc., [2022] Series: Natalie Marsh Mystery #5
Identifiers: LCCN 2022940551 |
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022940551
First Printing: November 2022
To Ann and Rollo Black,
my marvelous parents-in-law.
Thank you for all your boundless love and support.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to all the kind people who assisted me with this book, responding with helpful information and endless patience even when I had yet another question for them: Marshall McConkie, Gregg Luke, Keith Despain, Dr. Amy Black, Nicholas Welch, Stephen Black, Shauna Rasband, and Monique Luetkemeyer. Thank you to the Wonder Woman of beta readers, Sue McConkie, who gives insightful feedback in record time.
Thank you to the members of my Facebook “Mystery Chat” group who are always willing to weigh in on such things as character names, cars, and young-people slang, and who pour a wonderful flood of creativity into such hijinks as goofy writing challenges, #captionthis bird photos, and discussions of ice cream. And thank you to my readers. I’m grateful for all of you and appreciate every kind word you have shared about my books.
Thank you to the ever-amazing people at Covenant Communications, including Amy Parker and Jessica Bybee, Hannah Bischoff (who designed this lovely cover), Margaret Weber, and, of course, my endlessly patient and wise editor, Samantha Millburn.
Chapter 1
“Most perilous waltz ever,” Gideon said. The rueful grin on his face made Natalie smile as they stepped apart. “My apologies for the dozen times I stepped on your feet.”
“You only stepped on my foot once,” Natalie said.
“Only once? Count your blessings. There were eleven near misses.”
Natalie’s blackberry chiffon skirt swished around her ankles as they walked toward the periphery of the ballroom. It was an airy, rustic-looking reception hall with a timbered ceiling, brick interior walls, and wide windows. The air conditioning wasn’t adequate to cool the full ballroom on this July night, but whirling ceiling fans hanging from chains kept things comfortable.
“I think we’re both doing well, considering we gained all our dancing skills from YouTube,” Natalie said.
“Yeah, those videos deserve a thumbs-up. But if the orchestra plays a foxtrot, I’m going to sprain an ankle.”
“On purpose, to get out of it?”
“Nah, natural consequences of attempting it in the wild.”
Natalie laughed.
“Big crowd,” Gideon said. “Lots of funds raised. Violet will be happy . . . and it looks like she needs help.”
Natalie spotted her intern, Violet Kirby, straining to reach a fluttering corner of the Daffodil House Women’s Shelter banner hanging on the wall near the silent-auction tables. They headed toward her.
“May I get that for you?” Gideon asked.
Violet glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, hi. Thanks, yes. If I were wearing heels, I could reach it, but high heels and running a fundraiser are a painful combo.”
“Sounds deadly,” Gideon said. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“From miserable experience when I was a teenager and thought fashion was the highest priority.”
He caught the loose edge of the banner. “You’ve been running these shindigs since you were a teenager?”
“My mother was the brains behind the fundraising galas; she’s the one who founded Daffodil House. When she passed away, I took over. Natalie, you look stunning, and I’m proud of how that floral comb turned out. Pale-purple roses look so pretty with your dark-brown hair.”
“Thank you for making it for me.” Natalie touched the comb that pinned back one side of her hair. “I can’t figure out how you had the time.”
“It was a stress reliever.”
Gideon pressed the banner against the Velcro strip fastened to a brick. “How’s this?”
Violet scrutinized the banner. “Is it a little crooked?”
It looked level to Natalie, but Gideon ripped the corner of the banner free and refastened it. “How’s that?”
“That’s fine. Thanks. Are you two enjoying yourselves?”
“Very much,” Natalie said. “Have you had any time to enjoy yourself?”
Violet adjusted the cluster of miniature pink carnations she wore in her artfully tousled blonde bob. “If nothing catastrophic happens, that’s how I define enjoying myself. I’m enjoying myself.” She scanned the room. “So far.”
“So how did Daffodil House get its name?” Gideon asked. “Do the Kirbys have a thing for flower names?”
“My mother loved flower names and everything else flowery. Daffodils symbolize new beginnings. She thought it was the perfect name for a refuge for women escaping dangerous situations.”
“She’d be proud of what a wonderful job you’re doing.” The tension in Violet’s face concerned Natalie. Violet kept scanning the crowded ballroom, but she didn’t look pleased at the sight of so many guests. She looked alert, like a prison guard anticipating a riot. “Is there anything else we can do to help you?”
“You’ve done so much.” Violet smiled, but the expression seemed more a product of willpower than of cheer. “All those clothing donations you’ve collected are a huge help.”
“Is there anything we can help you with right now?” Natalie clarified. “You look worried.”
Violet released the smile, letting the straight line of her lips match the anxiety in her eyes. “I’m . . . afraid I’ve created a disaster.”
“How have you created a disaster?” Natalie asked.
“By inviting my dumb cousin and my dumb boyfriend here tonight. You know Rowan and Cooper? The guys I brought to tour the clinic? Cooper’d been griping that I never had time to hang out with him, and when we did get together, I’d badger him and Rowan to help me with something for the ball. Which is true. So a few weeks back, I was feeling guilty, and I offered them both complimentary tickets—which we almost never do, because the point is fundraising, right? I didn’t think they’d want to come, so I figured it could be a thank-you gesture without consequences. They turned me down, like I expected, but yesterday, out of the blue, Cooper texted me and said they’d changed their minds.”
“What consequences are you concerned about?” Natalie asked.
Violet picked up a crystal punch cup that someone had abandoned on a silent-auction table. “There are a lot of law enforcement officers here, which is great, but . . . my cousin’s branch of the family has a complicated history with the police.”
A “complicated history” with the police was something Natalie could relate to. She thought of Gideon’s joking declaration that he planned to construct a “this many days since our last entanglement with the police” chart for the living room wall. Natalie was determined to keep that number from reverting to zero ever again. “Are you afraid your cousin will feel awkward?” she asked.
“Not so much awkward.” Violet picked up a pen lying at an angle across an auction sheet and set it neatly next to the clipboard. “Rowan’s older brother, Brett . . . You might have heard about this in the news a few years back. Brett Montrose. He . . . murdered his wife.”
The name twitched in Natalie’s memory. “I do remember hearing about that case. I’m so sorry.”
“Rowan’s family has always insisted Brett is innocent,” Violet said. “That he was framed . . . by the police. Cooper thinks so too. He and Rowan have been besties since they were like three years old.”
“Oh dear.” No wonder Violet was edgy at the prospect of Rowan and Cooper rubbing shoulders with law enforcement.
“Are they here?” Gideon asked.
“Yes, but I lost track of them, and it’s making me nervous.”
Gideon took the empty punch cup from Violet and handed it to a passing server. “What are you afraid they might do?”
“Oh, something embarrassing to Daffodil House. A confrontation of some kind. At least we aren’t serving alcohol, so there won’t be any drunken fights.” Violet skimmed the ballroom again. Natalie did so as well, searching for the two young men Violet had introduced to her a few weeks ago.
“Dad wigged when I told him they were coming,” Violet said. “I promised him it’d be fine, that th ey were chill about being here with so many cops.”
“Did they tell you they were chill with it?” Natalie asked.
“They told me they’d keep their distance. Rowan swore he gave up on his vendetta against the police, but I don’t know if that’s true.” Violet sighed. “If there’s a public blowup, Dad will lose his mind. This is the event of the year, where we get most of our funding, and we’re always short of money as it is. Anything that turns donors off is going to be a huge problem, but I do not have time to babysit Rowan and Cooper to make sure they don’t cause trouble.”
“Let us help,” Natalie said. “Gideon and I will find them and keep a discreet eye on them. If any issues start developing, we’ll help de-escalate things before there’s an explosion.”
“Absolutely,” Gideon said. “We can do that.”
Violet shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to worry about this.”
“We want to worry about it,” Natalie said. “We’re volunteering.” Playing peacemaker to head off conflict between law enforcement and people who weren’t herself or Gideon was a welcome change. “We have your back. You focus on whatever else you need to do.”
“Thank you. Thank you. That makes me feel a lot better. And I’m catastrophizing anyway. The boys will have better sense than to pick a fight here . . . I hope. If you could—”
“You’re such a worrier, Vi.” A teasing male voice spoke directly behind them. Violet jumped and whirled around, her skirt slapping against Natalie’s.
“Cooper, you brat. You know I hate that.”
Natalie and Gideon glanced at each other and turned to face Cooper Shaw, a broad-shouldered man with gel-spiked hair and dimples in both cheeks. He was smirking at Violet.
“Boo,” he said.
“Where have you been?” Violet snapped.
“Hiding outside so you couldn’t put me to work.” He winked. “Kidding. I went out to see if it was cooler.”
“It is warm in here.” Violet’s tone mellowed. “I asked if they could turn up the AC, but this is as high as it goes. Cooper, you remember my supervisor at Nefesh Bria, Dr. Natalie Marsh. This is her husband, Gideon Radcliffe.” She touched Cooper’s shoulder. “This is Cooper Shaw.”
Cooper shook Natalie’s, then Gideon’s hand. “Good to see you guys.”
“Where’s Rowan?” Violet asked.
“Having the time of his life.” Cooper pointed across the dimly lit ballroom.
Violet squinted. “I don’t see him.”
“Just passing that window. Dancing with the tall girl in green. I don’t know who she is, but they’re superglued together. Come dance with me. You gotta have five minutes you can spare.”
“Fine. Excuse us.” Violet took Cooper’s arm, and they headed onto the dance floor.
“This is going to be an easy babysitting gig,” Gideon remarked. “The troublemakers are well occupied. Let’s go check out the ice cream bar . . . Huh. That’s a twist.” He gestured toward Rowan and his dance partner, whose path around the floor had brought them closer to Natalie and Gideon. “I thought she looked familiar.”
“You know her?”
“I met her earlier this evening—I think you were off talking to Violet’s dad about the clothing donations. Detective Bartholomew introduced us.”
“Detective Bartholomew?”
“She’s his little sister. She’s spending the summer with him.”
As the couple pivoted, Natalie got a better view of the woman’s face. There was a family resemblance between her and the police detective Natalie and Gideon had dealt with an unfortunate number of times. Like her brother, she was tall and lean, with a fair complexion. Her features were more rounded than her brother’s bony ones, and her lighter brown hair was swirled into an updo with a few curls loose around her neck.
“I hope the fact that they’re getting along means Rowan has given up on his feud with the police,” Natalie said.
“Yeah.” Gideon put his arm around her as they watched Rowan’s steps falter, then settle back into the rhythm of the music. “And not just that he doesn’t know who her big brother is.”
Chapter 2
“You dance like you’re floating, Jemma,” Rowan said as they strolled off the dance floor.
“Thank you.” Jemma glanced down. The skin around the sweetheart neckline of her gown was spotted with red, like a rash. Why did that have to happen when she got nervous? She wasn’t even nervous—well, she was nervous, but excited-nervous. Over-the-moon nervous.
She’d been feeling bored and out of place until her neighbor, Wendy, had pointed out a young guy also standing at the edge of the room, giving off lonely vibes. Jemma hadn’t had the guts to ask him to dance, but Wendy had dragged her over to chat with him. He had wavy, caramel-brown hair, the sweetest smile Jemma had ever seen, and gorgeous amber eyes. He’d asked her to dance.
That was at least six or seven dances ago, and Rowan Montrose was still at her side. He hadn’t known any dance steps, but when Jemma had admitted she did, he’d asked her to teach him. He was so polite, so interested in everything she said, and so tall. Six-foot-tall Jemma often looked at the top of a dance partner’s head. But not with Rowan.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” An older man with a boyish face and a ringing voice was on the dais. “Let’s show our appreciation for the Ohneka Chamber Orchestra, under the direction of Alice Rivera.”
Jemma clapped enthusiastically. She did appreciate the orchestra and hoped they’d keep playing for hours so she and Rowan could keep dancing.
“My name is Devin Kirby. I’m the director of Daffodil House. While the orchestra takes a break, I’d like to tell you about the services your donations will provide to women and children seeking shelter from the scourge of domestic violence. Thanks to your generosity, we’ll be able to make major upgrades to our security . . .”
Jemma tried to pay attention, but the spicy vanilla-cinnamon scent of Rowan’s cologne and the way he kept glancing at her were both giant distractions. Finally, he leaned close and whispered, “If my uncle ever stops talking, I hope you’ll give me more dancing lessons.”
“He’s your uncle?” Jemma whispered back.
“Yeah, and he likes the stage, so I hope he finishes before I forget the steps you’ve taught me.”
“I’ll reteach them to you.” Jemma felt she should look serious during Mr. Kirby’s speech, but her smile was unerasable. “If you like dancing, you should sign up for the beginning ballroom class the city is offering. It starts next week. July 18.”
“I’ll sign up if you’ll sign up with me.”
He wanted to take a whole class with her? “That would be fun.”
“A beginner class is way beneath you, but . . . Wait, are you teaching it? You said you worked for the recreation department.”
“No, I do office work. I’m not teaching anything. I’d like to take the beginning class. It would help me brush up on basics.”
“You don’t need help with basics. You’re being nice, wanting to help a clumsy guy like me.”
“You’re not clumsy. You did great.”
“Then your gracefulness is contagious.”
Applause boomed through the ballroom; Jemma and Rowan joined in. Mr. Kirby stepped back from the microphone. Conversations sprouted everywhere.
“I’ll send you the link to the summer activities catalog if you’ll give me your number,” Jemma said. That wasn’t pushy, was it? It was polite to send him the info instead of making him look it up.
“Here.” Rowan took his phone from an inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket, unlocked the screen, and passed it to Jemma. “Add your contact info. Then I’ll text you so you’ll have my number.”
Jemma hoped he wouldn’t notice her hands trembling. The home screen photo was a shot of an old-fashioned library—shelves of leatherbound books, painted murals on a curving ceiling. Super classy, and the pic didn’t include a woman. Do you think he’d ask you to take a dance class with him if he has a girlfriend?
Maybe he would. Maybe his girlfriend didn’t like to dance. Maybe Jemma was reading too much into this. Maybe he was the type of guy who flirted with other women even when he had a girlfriend.
