Murder at Sunset Rock, page 1
“I called you.”
The words were out before she could recall them. Humiliation swaddled her, suffocating and frustrating. But she’d said it. She couldn’t unsay it any more than he could unhear it. “Over and over. In the beginning, I mean. Left messages for you with your parents. You never once called back.”
“We should get going.” He reached for the SUV door.
She glared at him. And there it was. The truth of the matter. He’d left, and even when she called, leaving countless messages for him to please, please call her back...he hadn’t.
He just left without looking back.
Olivia settled into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. She would take his help if it meant finding out what happened to Willy.
But she would never, ever forgive him.
MURDER AT SUNSET ROCK
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 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
Olivia Ballard—A geologist in Montana, Olivia returned to her Tennessee mountain hometown to bury her beloved grandfather.
Huck Monroe—Has been in love with Olivia since he was just a kid. Can he win her back while he solves her grandfather’s murder?
Arnold Decker—The Hamilton County sheriff and best friend of the murder victim.
Louis Rogers—A private investigator who is looking for Olivia...but he can’t possibly know Olivia.
William Ballard—Olivia’s grandfather and an internationally known award-winning photographer. Who would have wanted to hurt him?
Laura Ballard—Olivia’s mother who died when Olivia was only four years old. Was she murdered too?
Kasey Aldean—Olivia’s father who disappeared the year before her mother died. Has he come back for some sort of revenge?
Tennessee has been my home for twenty of the past forty years. From the birthplace of rock ’n’ roll in Memphis to the Great Smoky Mountains of east Tennessee, it’s a wondrous state. I hope you’ll enjoy this second installment of the Lookout Mountain Mysteries. Sunset Cove is a fictional community I hope you will enjoy!
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
Excerpt from Shrouded in the Smokies by Lena Diaz
Chapter One
Firefly Lane
Sunset Cove, Tennessee
Tuesday, June 6, 4:00 p.m.
Olivia Ballard’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she slowed for the final turn.
Firefly Lane.
She’d grown up here. At four, when her mother died, her grandparents had carried on with raising her. There was no one else. Her father had disappeared the year before. Olivia drew in a deep breath and made the turn that would take her home. Except was it really home anymore? Everyone was gone.
A fresh wave of tears burned her eyes. Her grandmother—Gran, she had called her—had passed away when she was only nine. Grieved herself to death, Willy, her grandfather, had explained. She never got over losing her daughter, her only child. As much as Gran had loved Olivia, and Olivia had no doubt that she had, her heart had been fractured beyond repair.
Pushing away the memories, Olivia focused on maneuvering forward. Somehow the long gravel road that cut through the thick woods seemed narrower than the last time she had visited. The thick canopy of trees blocked the sun, leaving the road in an eerie twilight. Half a mile later, the trees parted and the landscape opened up into a lush clearing, rich with the colors of nature. Olivia braked to a stop at the end of the road, which was actually the driveway. Willy’s cabin was the only house on Firefly Lane, and it sat at the very end. His land stretched from the road, several acres wide, through the dense forest, over the cliffs and spiraling downward to the world below. As a young girl, Olivia had dared to hike along that cliffside—too close, her Gran would say. Willy would chuckle and tell her to be careful.
Willy, she smiled sadly at the memory of the man she had adored and depended on for everything as an adolescent with no mother or siblings and no grandmother. Everyone had called him Willy—his name was William, after all. No matter how her gran had attempted to prod Olivia into calling him Grandpa or Papa, she had refused. He was Willy. Her father and grandfather all rolled into one. The man who took care of scraped knees and prom dresses and everything in between.
How could he be gone?
Grabbing her cell, Olivia emerged from her car. She tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans and surveyed the yard. Willy had bordered a full acre around the cabin with a stacked stone fence nearly three feet high. She smiled and shook her head at the idea of just how many stones were required to build that fence. He’d teased her gran often, saying the stone fence was really more of a decoration—remembered from long ago visits to faraway places. Gran would remind him that she had agreed to spend the rest of her life in this mountain cabin of his, but only if he turned it into the cottage of her dreams.
To Olivia, it was very European. With the multitude of flower beds, there were more blooms than grass. A post-and-wire fence surrounded a vegetable garden that would be the envy of gardeners anywhere. Vines snaked up every possible vertical space, including the walls of the house. The place looked more like a hundred-year-old English cottage than a cabin in the woods of Tennessee. Her gran had spent decades creating exactly that look. Even as a little girl, Olivia had known Willy was right about the stone wall being decorative. But that touch had made her gran immensely happy, and Willy would have done anything for her.
Willy’s vintage Land Rover Defender was parked next to the house beneath the shade of a massive white oak. A trembling smile tugged at her lips. God, how he’d loved that old thing. He said it made him feel as if he were on safari. Truth was, he carried parts of the world they had visited in his heart too. There were times and places that stayed with you, he would say.
“I should have come back sooner.” The words tasted bitter on Olivia’s tongue and sank deep into her gut, where they sat like blocks of concrete.
She reached back into the SUV for her bag, then slammed the car door shut, frustration and anger—at herself—burning away the softer emotions. Olivia hadn’t been home since Christmas. Christmas! How could she have waited over five months? She and Willy had talked two or three times each week, but that wasn’t the same, no matter that they used video chatting most of the time. She should have been here.
Now her dear grandfather was dead.
Olivia swiped at the tears that would no longer be held back. Her first stop when she had arrived in Chattanooga had been the Hamilton County Medical Examiner’s Office, where she’d insisted on seeing her grandfather’s body. Sheriff Arnold Decker, Willy’s close friend, had already identified his remains, but Olivia had needed to see for herself that he was really gone. He’d always been so strong and confident. How had this happened?
Her chest tightened with the image that played over and over in her mind. Multiple broken bones and a devastating head injury, the attendant had explained. Her grandfather had fallen, the report said. From Sunset Rock.
Even now, she could hardly believe it was true.
For the past twenty-four hours, Olivia had been operating on autopilot. Late yesterday, the call had come from Sheriff Decker explaining that Willy’s body had been found by hikers on Bluff Trail. The assumption was that he’d fallen from the overlook, Sunset Rock. Olivia had heard the words, but her brain had stopped working after the word dead. Willy is dead.
On the seemingly endless drive from Bozeman, Montana, she’d repeatedly berated herself for allowing 159 days to pass since she’d hugged him. Since she’d inhaled the familiar woodsy scent of him. She had mentally ticked through each of those days and what she’d done on them, and none of it had been excuse enough not to have visited the only family she had left in this world.
She stared at the house, told herself to move toward it. She was tired. She’d been driving all night—not that sleep would have been possible. Every minute of every hour she’d played Sheriff Decker’s words over and over. I’m so sorry to inform you that your grandfather is dead. When you get here, Liv, you let me know if there is anything I can do to help. I am so, so sorry. He was like a brother to me.
She had thanked him then ended the call. She hadn’t been able to talk...how could Willy be dead?
Even twenty-odd hours later, the little girl in her wanted to crumble to the ground in a sobbing, miserable heap. But she was no little girl anymore. She was thirty years old. A geologist in Bozeman. She owned a townhouse with a mortgage and an SUV. Had work friends.
And no one else. Not a single other person connected to her by blood or anything stronger than the shallowest definition of friendship.
Olivia closed her eyes and forced the horde of debilitating emotions away. She had things to do. When she’d called her boss, she had already been on the road and hadn’t been able to say when she would return to work. She had weeks and weeks of unused leave. Her work was well ahead of the rest of the project. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a few weeks off. She squared her shoulders. She owed it to Willy to take care of him and his home properly—the way he would want it done.
She dug in her bag for her keys. “No putting this off any longer, Liv.”
Forcing one foot in front of the other, she walked to the porch, climbed the three steps and crossed to the door. She poked the key into the lock, took a deep breath and turned it, then opened the door. The scent of home filled her lungs. Her eyes closed with the weight of sensory overload. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t lived here in a dozen years. Not since college. This would forever be home.
Forcing her eyes open, Olivia stepped inside, closed the door and came to an abrupt halt.
The house was a wreck.
Not merely untidy or cluttered...someone had ransacked the place. Her heart charged into a gallop.
Olivia held her breath. Whoever had done this could still be in the house.
Her icy fingers dove into her bag and closed around the small can of pepper spray Willy had insisted she carry starting the day she left Hamilton County. The spray would be no help against a gun, but it was the only weapon at her disposal just now. She glanced at the shotgun on the rack above the mantel. She listened intently. No sound. Okay, she should make her way to the fireplace and grab that shotgun.
Easing soundlessly in that direction, she kept her gaze roving side to side, checking each door that exited the main room that was living, dining and kitchen all in one. Beyond the first of those doors was a short corridor that led to the bedrooms and bath. The only other door led to a small laundry room and mudroom as well as the back door.
Since the front had been locked, whoever had done this must have entered and, hopefully, departed from the rear of the house.
Olivia made it to the fireplace. Still no sound. No movement. No unexpected odors.
Keeping her attention focused on her surroundings and the spray poised in her right hand, she reached up with her left and clutched the long, cold barrel. She lifted the shotgun from its resting place and drew it down to her side. The pepper spray went back into her bag, which she eased down onto the floor. Then she readied the shotgun with both hands, the business end leading the way as she moved away from the fireplace. She didn’t have to wonder if it was loaded; Willy had kept it loaded at all times.
The cushions had been pulled from the sofa. Chairs overturned. The drawers of her gran’s sideboard stood open haphazardly, the contents spilled onto the wide-plank wood floor. The cupboard doors and drawers were open as well, utensils and spices spewed over the countertop. Photographs and paintings that had once hung proudly on the walls lay on the floor, tossed aside like trash.
Fury whipped through Olivia. Her grandparents’ beloved work. Willy had been the photographer, but it was Gran who had created amazing paintings of his work—paintings that had sold for thousands of dollars. Between their talents, they had amassed a small fortune. Though one would never know it based on his demeanor. Willy was never one to brag or to show off. His only remotely lavish purchase that Olivia was aware of was his Land Rover Defender—the vehicle he’d had since before she was born—and donations to charities focused on saving the planet. His and Gran’s worldwide travels had convinced him the environment was on the verge of extinction.
Olivia paused before continuing into the hall. She tucked the butt of the shotgun firmly into her shoulder, rested her cheek against the stock and snugged her finger around the trigger. If someone was hiding in the house, he had better hope he could escape faster than she could lock in on him.
Unlikely.
With the curtains open on the windows, enough sunlight filtered in to prevent the rooms from being in shadow.
First room, her old room, was clear. Like the main living space, the room had been searched with no care for the value of anything or where it landed. Same in her grandparents’ bedroom and the third bedroom—the one her parents had used. Her gran had insisted on keeping the room exactly as it was when Olivia’s mother died. She hadn’t been in the room in years. Once she’d surveyed the space, she closed the door and moved on. Even the single bathroom had been scoured for whatever the intruder had hoped to find.
Olivia relaxed the tiniest bit.
Weapon still held in a firing position, she moved back into the main living area and headed for the mudroom. Still no sound or abrupt movement. If anyone had still been in the house, she’d given him opportunity to flee by starting with the bedrooms. At this point, she felt fairly confident the house was empty. But she wasn’t letting down her guard until she was certain.
The small mudroom was empty, but the back door was open.
Arms shaking from the extended tension, she lowered the shotgun. She started to reach for the door to close and lock it but stopped herself. There could be finger prints. She needed to call the police.
Olivia blinked, steadied herself. Whoever had ransacked the rest of the house had searched this room too.
She leaned against the shelves of canned goods and dug her cell phone from her pocket. Rather than tie up a 911 dispatcher, she called the sheriff’s office directly. The woman who took Olivia’s call assured her she would let the sheriff know and someone would be out shortly.
Deep breath. She tucked the phone into the hip pocket of her jeans and dared to close her eyes for a moment to gather herself. Willy was dead. Someone had come into his home and searched for something. But what?
Olivia opened her eyes and pushed away from the shelf-lined wall. She had no idea, but she damned well intended to find out. She marched over to the front door, her steps full of new purpose. There were a number of outbuildings, a barn and big old shed Willy had turned into a darkroom for himself and a studio for Gran. While she waited for the sheriff or one of his deputies, she should check those places too. What kind of person took advantage of a death to ransack a man’s home? The question sent a new surge of outrage roaring through her.
Focus on what needs to be done.
Willy had taught Olivia how to search for lost things. How to take an area and divide it into a grid and cover those individual sections without missing a single square foot of the overall area. There were no footprints to be found. Apparently, it hadn’t rained in several days. Moving on, she searched the barn first. The big old structure was basically untouched. The garden tools and tractor were just exactly as they were the last time Olivia had reason to go into the rambling space. The shed was a different story. The place had been turned upside down.
What in the world had the intruder been searching for?
Money? Willy certainly hadn’t kept much money lying around the house, but even a small amount might seem like a lot to someone desperate enough to do this.
However, Olivia suspected the perpetrator had left utterly dissatisfied if the goal had been cash or items easily converted to cash.
The one thing she hadn’t spotted so far was Willy’s camera. Not just any camera either. It was a rare vintage Nikon. More important to Olivia than the monetary value was the sentimental value. The camera had been like an extension of Willy. Wherever he was, the Nikon was. He went absolutely nowhere without it. Though it was likely worth several thousand dollars, selling it would be a problem. The thief would need to find someone with a keen interest in photography to land anywhere near what the camera was worth. Otherwise, it would go for very little. She walked back to the house and propped the shotgun behind the front door. She stared at the mess and, despite her best efforts, cried again.
