The Dark Woods
highlight_author
Debra Webb
highlight_reads
16.2K
highlight_chapters
18
HarlequinChapter One
Sasha Lenoir struggled to keep her smile in place as her lifelong friend Audrey Anderson showed the last of the guests to the door. The gathering after her grandmother’s funeral was a tradition as old as time, and Sasha had managed to muddle through the event without embarrassing herself by bursting into tears. As the social requirements of the day drew to an end, however, her nerves had grown ragged and her wherewithal dwindled.
She needed to close herself away in a quiet room for a few hours to recharge, to collect her emotions and tuck them neatly away once more. She had spent many years sharpening her skills at controlling her reactions and feelings. Despite the pressure or the insurmountable odds, any crisis manager worth her salt would never allow the slightest crack in her carefully constructed veneer for the rest of the world to see.
But today had been different. Today was personal. The only remaining family member, besides her daughter, she had left in this world was now gone. Dead and buried. There was no one left to ask about her history. No one to remind her of all she had overcome, become and could do in the future despite that history.
Life would never be the same.
Viola Simmons had been more than a mere grandmother. She had been mother, father, sibling, best friend, confidante, cheerleader and, most important, the keeper of the faith. Not once had she ever lost faith in Sasha or let her down in any way. The sweet, brave lady had believed in Sasha when she barely believed in herself. She had picked up the shattered pieces of their lives and soldiered on when she had every right to want to give up.
There was a gaping hole in Sasha’s life and in her heart now.
“I should stay tonight,” Audrey offered as she entered the drawing room once more. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Sasha dredged up a weary smile for her old friend. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Rey. I’m not sure I would have been able to pull this off to my grandmother’s standards without you, but right now alone is exactly what I need to be.”
Everyone close to Audrey had always called her Rey. Nicknames were a mainstay of Southern culture. When Sasha was a small child, her parents—even her grandmother—had called her Sassy. By age twelve, no one dared to do so—not without the fear of a black eye or a bloody nose. Only once in her career as a top crisis manager in New York City had Sasha’s childhood nickname surfaced. She had quashed that errant leak in a heartbeat.
“Are you sure?” Rey’s face lined with worry. “I really hate to go and leave you in this big old house all by yourself.”
Sasha hugged her arm around her old friend’s and guided her to the door. “You’ve done more than enough.” They faced each other in the entry hall. “You handled the outreach to her friends. You went over my grandmother’s wishes and arranged the entire service at DuPont’s with hardly a nod from me. You organized the lovely gathering here afterward. You’ve gone above and beyond already. Go home, kick your shoes off and have a glass of wine—or two...or three. Snuggle with Colt.”
They laughed together. But instead of sounding happy, it seemed sad. It was the end of an era and Sasha suspected Rey was thinking of her own mother, who wasn’t getting any younger and whose health had been plagued by dementia. Time stopped for no one and it felt as if it was slipping away far too fast.
Rey sighed. “The service was beautiful. I know your g’ma would have been proud.” Rey shook her head. “It’s such a shame about Mr. DuPont. I can’t believe a close colleague of his daughter’s murdered him. I’m certain she must be completely devastated.”
The news of the DuPont murder had rocked the small town of Winchester, Tennessee. DuPont Funeral Home had served the community for more than a hundred and fifty years. Edward had been the fourth generation DuPont undertaker. His daughter Dr. Rowan DuPont was now the fifth. Strange, Sasha realized, the DuPont family’s history was littered with as much tragedy as her own. Rowan’s identical twin sister drowned when she was twelve and a few months later their mother committed suicide. Worse, her mother hanged herself in the funeral home and Rowan was the one to find her.
“I was surprised to hear she’d decided to return to Winchester and take over the funeral home.” Like Sasha, Rowan DuPont had carved out a good life and a successful career elsewhere. With her father’s murder she had apparently made the decision to give up everything to come home and take over the family business. There was likely more to Rowan’s decision than what the media had covered. Whatever her reasons, Sasha applauded her courage. It took guts to come home after a tragedy and to start over.
Particularly with the guilt of her father’s murder hanging over her like a dark cloud.
“Life has a way of sending us down a different path sometimes,” Rey said almost to herself.
Sasha inwardly cringed. Her friend was right; no one understood that stark fact better than Rey. A hitch in her career had brought her home to some immensely dark history of her own that just last month had surfaced for the whole world to see.
“I guess we never know what the future holds.” Sasha chafed her bare arms with her hands, chasing away the sudden chill that came from deep within her bones. “Don’t you find it odd that the three of us have suffered such similar tragic pasts?” Sasha shook her head. “Winchester is a small town and that’s a lot of skeletons rattling around.”
Rey made an agreeable sound. “I suppose every small town has its secrets.”
“My grandmother probably knew them all.” Sasha laughed, the sound strained despite her effort to lighten the moment. “No one was privy to more rumors and gossip than Viola Simmons.”
Rey smiled. “There was something about her—an aura maybe—that made you want to spill your guts.” Rey grabbed her handbag from beneath the table next to the door. “Don’t forget I want to do a reflection piece on her. Everyone loved Vi. It’ll be a great way to pay tribute to such an admired lady.”
“She would be so honored, Rey.” Sasha’s grandmother would love the notoriety. “We’ll get together next week and talk.”
Rey paused, her hand on the door. “Does that mean you’re hanging around for a few days longer than you first anticipated?”
Sasha didn’t hesitate. She took the plunge. “I told my partners I would be gone for at least two weeks. If there’s an emergency they know how to reach me.”
“I am so glad to hear that.” Rey nodded. “You should take your time and do what you need to do before you jump back into work.” A frown tugged at her lips. “Will Brianne be okay with you staying so long?”
“She’s having a blast with her nanny. The woman spoils her rotten.”
“And,” Rey pointed out, “you get some me time. I have a feeling that doesn’t happen often.”
“No kidding. I can definitely use it.” Though, in truth, it was work that stole most of Sasha’s time, not her precious daughter.
The two hugged for a moment and then Rey hurried to the street and the car she’d left there that morning. She’d arrived early to help Sasha get ready for the funeral. She was a good friend and Sasha genuinely appreciated her help. Three times each year Sasha had visited her grandmother—on her birthday in September, Mother’s Day and at Christmas. She and Rey, on the other hand, had lunch at least every other month since Rey lived in DC—or at least she had until she suddenly rushed back to Winchester to take over the family newspaper late last year. Sasha would never in a million years have considered that Rey would move back to Winchester. Not after the way Sheriff Colt Tanner, her first love, had broken her heart when they were in high school. Not only was Rey back in her hometown, she and Colt were giving their relationship a second go. Sasha definitely had not seen that one coming, though she was immensely happy for her dear friend.
Maybe happy endings weren’t a total myth after all. Certainly there was a theme going on with the whole homecoming thing.
Sasha had made her own happy ending far away from Winchester and without any help from the man she had fallen head over heels for when she was too young to understand what heartbreak was. She and Brianne were a strong, complete family. They would both miss G’ma but they still had each other.
Sasha closed the door and, out of habit, locked it. She’d lived in Manhattan for the past thirteen years. One didn’t leave the door unlocked in the city. No matter that almost two decades had passed since she’d lived in Winchester, folks in her small hometown hadn’t changed very much. Doors were still left unlocked more often than not and neighbors still checked on each other on a regular basis, which was the reason her grandmother had been found so quickly after her unexpected death. She hadn’t come out for her newspaper. Viola Louise Simmons would never have left her newspaper lying on the porch until noon. A neighbor had noticed and knocked on the door to check on Vi, as her friends had called her.
A heart attack had taken her as she sat down for her morning tea. At eighty-three, no one could complain that Viola hadn’t lived a long and productive life. Yet Sasha still grieved the loss, felt shocked at the idea that her grandmother was no longer here. She leaned against the closed door and surveyed the familiar surroundings. She had lived in this big old house from age nine until she went off to college and after that she’d spent holidays and summers here.
Growing up, this house had been more her home than any other place. Even when her parents were still alive, she was with her grandmother far more often than with them. Sasha pushed away from the door and moved along the hall, studying the family portraits and photos that had captured a place in time, curating the moment for all eternity. She stopped and stared at one portrait in particular, the last one of her with her parents before they died. Memories of the photographer urging Sasha’s mother, Alexandra, to smile whispered through her mind. Her parents had both looked uncomfortable that day. But Sasha had been a kid, so she hadn’t really noticed at the time. Two weeks later they were dead.
The remembered sound of gunshots blasted in her brain, making her jerk.
Sasha banished the haunting memories and walked to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea would settle her nerves.
She put the kettle on, lit the flame beneath it then reached instinctively to the pocket of her suit jacket and found nothing. She sighed. Upstairs. Her cell phone was upstairs. The device was as much a part of her as her two hands. It was never beyond reach...except for today. Out of respect for her grandmother she had left it in her room. Viola had hated cell phones. Rather than money, she had been convinced the invention of the cell phone was the root of all evil.
Sasha smiled as she took the rear staircase up to the second floor. The house was an early nineteenth-century American Foursquare. Sasha loved this place, but she wasn’t sure what she would do with it. Her life was in New York and she couldn’t possibly move back here. Never in a million years.
She found her cell on the bedside table in her old room. A text flashed on the screen. Sasha smiled as she responded, typing the words I miss you, too, followed by three kiss emoji. Her heart swelled. She was really glad Brianne wasn’t angry with her anymore. Her daughter had been furious when Sasha told her she couldn’t come to G’ma’s funeral. She had school and Sasha wasn’t sure how long she would need to remain in order to settle her grandmother’s affairs. At least Brianne was speaking to her now. Five minutes after Sasha was out the door, her daughter was planning all the things she and her beloved nanny could do together. Twelve was a tough age. Sasha remembered it well.
Love you.
Sasha sent the text and tucked the phone into her pocket. Downstairs the kettle screamed for her attention. She could taste the bitter tang of the tea already. Her grandmother was a die-hard Earl Grey fan. Sasha compensated with an abundance of sugar and milk.
With a quick twist of the knob she doused the fluttering flame under the kettle. She grabbed a cup and the ceramic box where her grandmother stored her tea. She dropped a bag into the cup and grabbed a mitt to pour the hot water. While the tea steeped she went to the refrigerator for the milk and rounded up the sugar.
The doorbell rang, echoing its Westminster chime through the house. Hoping it wasn’t another plant since the front parlor was full already, Sasha made her way to the entry hall. Rey had suggested the plants be donated to one or more of the nursing or assisted living homes in the area. First thing tomorrow a local floral shop was sending a van to collect the plants and divide them up among the three homes in the Winchester area. It was a good solution, one her g’ma would approve of. Sasha peeked beyond the drapes, didn’t see anyone on the porch or in the drive. Frowning, she unlocked the door and opened it. Definitely no one on the porch or in the driveway.
When she would have turned away, she spotted the corner of a pink envelope sticking up from the mailbox hanging on the wall next to the door. Had someone dropped off a sympathy card? Maybe a neighbor who hadn’t been able to make it to the service or to the gathering.
Sasha tugged the envelope from the mailbox, then went back inside and closed the door. Her name was scrawled across the front. She turned the envelope over, noted the bold H stamped on the flap. Her heart stumbled as she opened it. The single page inside was folded twice. Frowning, Sasha unfurled the page and read the brief note that went straight to the point and then the name signed across the bottom of the page.
There are things your grandmother should have told you...about your parents. We should talk. Arlene Holloway.
For twenty-seven years the world had believed Sasha’s father had killed her mother and then himself.
Deep down she’d had questions, had doubts. But each time Sasha had broached the subject, her grandmother hugged her and said that sometimes bad things happened to good people. Her grandmother was like the policemen who came to her parents’ house that night. They didn’t want to listen to what a traumatized nine-year-old had to say. Two people were dead and nothing on earth was going to bring them back.
But Sasha remembered vividly what no one had wanted to believe.
She had heard at least one stranger’s voice that night...maybe two. Voices that didn’t belong to her mother or to her father or to anyone else she recognized.
Someone else had been in the house the night her parents died.
