sunnyislandbreezes.com

ZERO MINUS FOUR HOURS

CHAPTER 1

Sheriff Jax Turner swerved his patrol car off Highway 101 and took a sharp right onto an unmarked dirt road leading to the beach. Tourists didn’t come to Misty Pines for the summer to swim in the ocean or the lakes. Too much mist; too much murkiness. The few outdoorsmen drawn to the area for fishing off the ragged ocean jetties had long gone for the season.

His Glock 22 rested on the seat next to him, along with a miniature wooden chair. He’d finished carving it during another sleepless night for a dollhouse he’d never complete, for a tea party that would never happen.

Jax followed the smooth road as it transitioned into rock, his upper body swaying and bouncing with the uneven terrain. When it leveled, he floored it, the tires spinning before they found their footing on the sandy flat.

Aimed toward the sea, he parked on a stretch of solid pack a few yards from the surf. The foamy fingers of the ocean reached for his cruiser, coming up short. The weather report called for ninety degrees in the city located eighty miles east, which meant an inversion for everyone on the coastline. His future, or lack of one, floated in the horizon, where gray ocean met gray clouds, both soon to be indiscernible in the impending fog. Damn, he was tired of being tired.

The window down, he sucked in the brackish scent of the seaweed-littered shores. Seagulls swarmed overhead. Their plaintive cries sent a wave of grief through him.

Misty Pines should have been a fresh start, a place to heal the wounds of the past. Instead, the salty air had entrenched itself in the ten years since he’d arrived. The torture would never end on its own. An hour spent unloading his ammunition at the shooting range into a silhouette target hadn’t helped this time.

Except he hadn’t unloaded all of it.

He leaned over the passenger seat to retrieve two sealed envelopes from the glovebox. A dragonfly drawing done with blue-green Crayola and glitter slid out. He fumbled and then caught it before it floated to the floor. His finger trembled as he traced the wings, remembering Lulu’s soft pink cheeks. He laid his daughter’s gift on his lap and propped the envelopes on the dash right before picturing them splattered in his blood. They’d accuse him of many things when they discovered his body. He wouldn’t let heartless be one of them. He placed the items back, securing the latch.

At least when they were found, the people who’d cared about him once would know why. One letter was for his former partner, Detective Jameson. He would understand if no one else did. The other to Abby. Ten years married, and their only child lost to cancer.

Lulu’s brave smile flashed in his mind, making the lump in his throat swell. Abby said she didn’t blame him, but he blamed himself enough for them both. And despite what she said, the light had dimmed in Abby’s eyes the night their little girl passed. Their marriage died that day too. They just hadn’t properly buried it until last year.

He balanced the gun on his lap and held the miniature chair in his hand, letting the gulls’ cries and the roaring surf fill his mind one last time. The rearview mirror reflected his weary eyes and the bags that had taken up residence under them. He ran his broad hand over his graying sandy hair and back around to the stubble on his chin.

Time to get to it.

He lifted the gun, holding the barrel in his mouth. The cold, metallic weight pushed against his bottom teeth. His throat closed, and he forced a swallow. Quit stalling. Eyes squeezed shut, sadness flooded his chest. Regret shoved him. Don’t think. He drew in the cool air through his nostrils one more time. Held it. Waited. Was this what he really wanted?

“Jax,” his radio crackled to life. “Sheriff…please….”

His eyes flew open, and he withdrew the gun from his mouth. Trudy. Had he heard something in her tone? Hard to tell with her voice coming in and out. He wouldn’t miss the shoddy technology in this godforsaken place. No. He was imagining it. He shook his head. Raised the gun.

“Sheriff Turner, we have a Code Ten-Fifty-Four. Urgent. Response needed.”

Lost child or runaway. Could be either. He’d been equally useless in both instances in the past.

“Sherriff Turner. Answer your damn radio.” Trudy’s voice blared that time.

He bristled and lifted the receiver off the hook. “What’re you talking about, Trudy?”

“There you are. It’s Emily Krueger’s kid. She didn’t get on the school bus.”

Allison. The little girl with the gap-toothed smile who used to wave when he walked past the bookstore. Not so little now, right? A teenager?

“Emily check with her friends?”

“No one’s seen her, hon.”

“Have Chapman handle it. I’m a little—”

“Gone this week,” Trudy said. “Alaska fishing trip. Remember?”

Right.

He scrubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “On my way.”

He dropped the mic into its holder and secured his gun. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long, and he’d be back in an hour to contemplate finishing the job.

***

Excerpt from Hidden Pieces by Mary Keliikoa. Copyright 2023 by Mary Keliikoa. Reproduced with permission from Mary Keliikoa. All rights reserved.

Prologue:

September 13, 2018

The girl on the video monitor stared up at the ceiling as blood trickled from her eyes and nose. Her only movement an occasional spasm of coughing.

Nothing unexpected, given the progression of the disease.

Dr. Edmund Haley shut off the overhead fluorescent lights and let himself adjust to the dim glow of the screens lining the back wall of the office. Only the girl’s monitor still played a live feed, but it lit the room well enough.

And, either way, darkness suited him fine.

He’d spent so much time stuck in this tiny godforsaken place, he could’ve found the desk and computer with his eyes closed. Haley dropped into a chair and adjusted his glasses, trying to ignore the sharp tang of antimicrobial soap that clung to his hands. It smelled like life in the hospital. Like the servitude of medical practice.

He hated it as much now as he had before he’d lost his license. But at least this time, he’d be well paid for his efforts. And soon, it would be over. He refocused on the girl’s image. The only question was when.

Light sliced into the room behind him as Margaret bumbled inside. He made no move to acknowledge the nurse, even as she pulled up a chair beside his. As idiotic as she otherwise seemed to be, she’d know by now not to bother him. He shifted his attention from the video monitor to the computer, where he pulled up the patient’s chart.

Patient: Octavia MILLS, 18 yo, Af-Am, F, #4
Vitals: 5’5”, 110 lb.
updated (9-10) 108.8 lb.
updated (9-11) 106 lb.
updated (9-12) 104.1 lb.
Provider Notes: Click to open

He scrolled to the section for his notes and, after a click of the mouse, entered the details of that day’s exam. “9-13-18; Liver and kidney function both continue to decline. Discrete purpuric patches expanding from face and trunk now merging. BSA involvement approximately 80%. Note third spacing.”

The third spacing, a condition where the skin separated from the tissue beneath and filled with blood, was something new. Margaret’s report of it had been the primary reason he’d put himself through the nightmare of protective gear and protocol it’d taken to do a physical exam himself. He wasn’t going to let it be said that he hadn’t been thorough.

Haley glanced back up at the monitor in time to see a bubble of blood form between Octavia’s lips. The thing grew with each shallow breath. When it reached the size of a small orange, it burst, splattering more droplets of blood onto her face and neck.

Octavia made no move to wipe them away. He’d given her enough morphine. She would be long past caring. And, more importantly, the extra dosage meant she’d finally quit staring out at him with that awful, confused look on her face.

He didn’t care. Not really. Except that it had been distracting, and he needed to focus. Needed to understand why was she still alive. What had he missed? Perhaps another round of blood work would—

The blare of an alarm sounded over the video feed and, more faintly, from the hall. Three more followed.

Octavia’s body spasmed, convulsing again and again as she vomited up a grainy black-red mix of blood and tissue. The progression was as repulsive as it was now familiar. The vomit mixed with the brighter red flowing from her eyes and nose as the virus moved into its final stage. Blood, still unable to clot, flowed until it covered her face and chest. Until the bedsheets were saturated and no longer white.

Octavia’s muscles tensed, seizing all at once before releasing. Her body too gruesome to look peaceful, even as she finally came to rest.

Neither he nor Margaret moved from their chairs.

The alarms echoed unanswered down the empty hall. Haley clicked off the monitor and most of the noise with it. “That’s better.”

God knew it had taken long enough. He turned back to the computer, closed Octavia’s chart, and opened another document saved to the desktop as “Subject Outcomes.” He scrolled down, missing Octavia’s name the first time, then tapped the cursor back up until he found it. She’d been number four of twenty-five subjects, and hers was the last empty field in the column marked TPOI for Total Period of Infection. From the time she had been exposed, it had taken four days for the disease to take its course. At least a full day longer than any other subject.

“About fucking time.” He spoke under his breath as he typed the final entry in with one finger. He still didn’t know why the girl had survived so long, but it was no matter. By any measure, his work there had been an overwhelming success. Haley pulled off his glasses and tapped them against Margaret’s shoulder. “Get me a copy of the subject files, including all of the relevant video footage.”

Margaret flinched away from him. “Yes, doctor.” She pulled a thumb drive from a desk drawer and plugged it into the video system. The system — which had been his idea — had not only allowed them to observe the patients from a safe distance but also recorded the progress of the disease in each subject.

Having such an accurate, time-stamped record of their experiments would be invaluable to his employer. As he had been. Haley cleaned the lenses of his glasses with the edge of his lab coat. Knowing what was coming, it didn’t hurt to have insurance. Which was why he had contingency plans stashed in safe deposit boxes across the city. It was a point he would be sure to make when he and his employer spoke.

No matter what, he wouldn’t end up like the others.

He pointed to Margaret as she collected the files. “Once you’re done, wipe the system clean.”

She looked at him, her eyes a question. What happens now?

He didn’t bother responding. Some part of her had to know already.

Stupid.

The kind of people who would hire her to do what she’d done weren’t the type to assume money would be enough to keep her quiet. She was a loose end who — unlike him — had no continuing value. Not that what happened to her mattered. And if she hadn’t been smart enough to see that going in… Well, she’d as much as made her bed, hadn’t she?

He put a layer of steel in his voice. “Do it.”

Margaret’s gaze flicked away. She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and waited for the computer to comply, removed the thumb drive, and dropped it into his waiting hand.

He turned the small device over in his palm. Amazing that so many lives could be held in such a small device. But then, these lives weren’t the kind anyone cared about. Nobodies and throw-aways. The kind of people who would volunteer for a drug trial for pennies and not be missed when they didn’t come back. He’d done the world a service, really.

Haley slipped the thumb drive into a padded envelope, scrawled the address he had memorized at the outset of the project on the front, checked twice to make sure he’d stuck on enough postage, then slid the envelope into his briefcase.

“Take care of that, won’t you?” He tilted his head toward the hallway leading to the patient rooms, where the girl’s body lay waiting.

Margaret didn’t look up from the computer. “Of course, sir. Same as with the others.”

Haley tucked the briefcase under his arm, whistling as he left the facility for the last time. With his part done, the rest could finally could begin.

***

Excerpt from The Carolina Variant by Brooke L. French. Copyright 2023 by Brooke L. French. Reproduced with permission from Brooke L. French. All rights reserved.

Chicago, February 2014

One secret of success in life is for a man to be ready for his opportunity when it comes.—Benjamin Disraeli

Micki

Today’s the day. Best suit. Flawless hair and makeup. Every inch the polished senior associate. No four-inch heels, though. Frederick Lanscombe, managing partner, is a little sensitive about his height and this meeting is the crucial first step in the campaign to be the next partner at Miller, Lanscombe, Baker, Francis, Masters, and Hargrove.

The door to the small conference room is wide open, Fred at the head of table, eating a donut. My mentor, Rebecca Masters smiles and gives me a small thumbs up. Tyler Miller nods to acknowledge I’m there. More than there. After a hundred years, this firm is still a boys’ club but I plan to crack into top echelon and become just the second woman to make partner.

I fly through the door and end up on hands and knees when Hayden Forbes-Cartwright barrels into me. When I look up, Fred’s donut is poised at his open mouth. Rebecca’s hand is over her mouth. And Tyler laughs. “Great entrance, Micki.” The censure I hear pricks my balloon of confidence.

A snigger erupts from Hayden as his big hand reaches down to pull me up. “So sorry, Micki. Couldn’t put the brakes on in time.”

Upright, balanced a little precariously on my toothpick heels, my glare has the heat of the Milky Way. Not that Hayden pays any attention. His bogus concern is yet one more layer of deceit. Still, points to him. I’m the klutz and he’s the chivalric hero.“Have a seat, Micki, Hayden.” Fred gives each of us a once over. Dressing well is one of the unspoken rules. Hayden’s navy blue pinstripe is comparable to my silver gray jacket and matching pencil skirt—points even on wardrobe. My phone is in my lap and I pull up my spreadsheet. I’ve kept score since the first time we met. The advantage has seesawed back and forth, but we’re competing for the pinnacle in the stakes race, so I’ll have to up my game.

Hayden and I were adversaries from the get-go. We started here, on the same day eight years ago. Me half an hour early. Hayden fifteen minutes late strolling in with his uncle. All my muscles clenched when he looked me over with his trademark devil-may-care smile.

“I know you received the memo. With Sonny Philips’ retirement, the firm will promote one associate to partner this year. As the two seniors, you will be the leading candidates.”

Hayden stops fiddling with his Chicago Yacht Club tie. “Does that mean other associates might be considered?”

“Technically, yes, but in reality you two are the only ones qualified right now. The partners will evaluate you on several criteria besides the competencies you’ve shown in your time here.”

He pauses.

Hayden rushes into the short silence. “Does every partner get a vote?”

“You know they do,” Tyler chides his nephew impatiently.

“And are some votes weighted more heavily than others? Like seniority?”

“No.” Rebecca’s response is explosive. “Please go on, Fred.”

When I glance toward Hayden, he shows no embarrassment, not even a slight flush. We all learn to put on a neutral face. I permit myself a very small smile. Minus five to Hayden.

Fred looks at the sheet in front of him, then from Tyler to Rebecca. They nod. “The criteria include enthusiasm, treatment of others, the opinion of your mentor, maintaining personal control, commitment, successful building and protection of your reputation and that of the firm, consistent hard work, always available, constant improvement, and most important— being perceived as trustworthy.”

Hayden’s eyes dart like tiny silverfish, his tell when he’s scheming. on how to get the edge. While I put in the long hours and never turn down a request, Hayden skates by, taking credit for the work of junior associates. Boasting about staying late when he disappears in the middle of the day. When your uncle’s name is on the door, you have an extra pass. Tyler Miller will definitely push for Hayden to be the next partner.

Fred is still talking and I wrench my attention back to his droning monotone. “Besides the formal evaluation, the other piece will be assisting Rebecca with a high-profile insider trading case. It’s more than usually sensitive because our client is a candidate for a Senate seat. He says he’s been set up. Not necessarily a strong or provable defense. You’ll be combing emails, social media, accounts, and documents to see what evidence you find.”

Bucket of nightcrawlers? Come on, Micki, try to show some enthusiasm. Can’t jump up and down.

“What a great opportunity for us to show what we’re made of.” Hayden’s wide smile and crackling delivery is phony as a carney barker’s come on.

Our managing partner nods his head approvingly. Hayden is his favored candidate too. Fred and Tyler have some kind of mutual admiration society and Hayden benefits.

Yeah, he’s a suck up.

My turn. Say something but avoid the gush. “This is a amazing challenge. I really appreciate the chance to work on a case so important to the future and reputation of the firm and, potentially beyond, Fred.”

Rebecca produces a small smile, so I hope I’ve hit the right note.

As we walk out, she stops me. “Micki, I have a lunch appointment, but let’s have a drink after work.” She looks around but doesn’t see anyone in lurking mode. “We haven’t had a good chat for a while.”

“Great, Rebecca. Just come by my office when you’re ready to leave.”

Then I cancel my date for the evening. Work comes first, always.

*****

The Gage is lively at five thirty. After-work drinks have replaced the three-martini lunch, unless you’re Hayden Forbes-Cartwright. He indulges in both.

Rebecca manages to get us a quiet table in a corner near the tile fireplace. We won’t have to shout and have less likelihood of being overheard.

After the drinks are ordered, she pulls out a legal pad. “Thought we could go over some strategies for the work. My thought is that you’ll work on the emails, social media, anything online and whatever documents we can upload. That way, while you’re traveling, you’ll have plenty of material to access.”

“That would be great. I’ve been anxious about being away at such a crucial point in my career.”

The pencil between Rebecca’s fingers moves up and down like a seesaw. “Thanks to technology. Years ago we were tied to the office, the library. I’m glad you can go to the awards ceremony. Kind of like the Oscars for authors.”

“Yeah. Still five working days away…”

“Our new legal research assistant is already busy organizing everything as documentation comes in.”

A Paris Rose is put in front of Rebecca, who pushes her legal pad to the side, but not before a few drops splash onto the paper, leaving a light pink trail. My Jabberwock is in a coupe. She takes a sip just as the cheese board is deposited in the middle of the table along with a basket of fried pickles. Cheese is a magnet for me. My grabby fingers snatch some almost before the server gets the platter on the table.

“Simon Greenberg is an attorney with Talcott, Maier, and current Republican candidate for Senate from Illinois. The SEC received a tip claiming he made use of private information to trade stocks from several companies he represents. After an investigation, the Commission decided on civil charges. Unfortunately, because his candidacy has made him a public figure, criminal charges are pending as well. Maybe some questions about election finance too.”

“Wait. Shouldn’t Hayden be here?” Not that I want him, but if we’re a team, he deserves the same explanations.

“Hayden has already been briefed.”

Be professional. In control. Pretend it doesn’t matter.

“Oh. I see.” But I don’t. Not at all.

Rebecca takes a huge swallow of the pink liquid. “Not by me. After our meeting, Tyler and Fred took Hayden to lunch and briefed him there.”

How does she know? Or is this an assumption? My heated protest escapes before I can rein it in. “But it’s your case.”

She waves the comment away. “He was so full of himself when he got back. Swanned into my office. ‘Simon Greenberg, huh. I wondered after the rumors flying around. Good for us.’ Then he laughed and walked out.” Her scowl could freeze the Chicago River. “I was sure Tyler at least would make sure he’s up to speed and I wanted to get you in the loop right away. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fred and Tyler didn’t give Hayden some instruction on how to handle things and he will take advantage of the time you are away in April.”

My cocktail beckons and I chug it down, sputtering slightly. “Should I cancel the trip?”

She ignores that. “You’ll meet the client tomorrow, so make a strong impression. You’ll have plenty of work to do while you’re out of the office. Get your laptop set up with VPN. It will be your lifeline to the firm. Video meetings will help too. Make sure you can report on progress every day. A strong impression while you’re in Paris will give you a leg up.”

We see the waiter in the distance and Rebecca catches his attention. Once we have refills, she takes a sip, then leans forward. “Show you’re dedicated to the firm and the case and that you can work without supervision. I’ll try to schedule the meetings first thing in the morning to mitigate the seven-hour time difference.”

“And the other complications?”

“Hayden is one, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. More in terms of your selection as partner. That will be decided long before the case is finished. But he’ll push for every plum he can pluck. The other is that because of the election cycle, Greenberg is pushing to get this cleared up or buried quickly. News of the pending charges will hit the papers tomorrow.”

Why haven’t they leaked already?

Rebecca must be a mind reader. “The papers are planning front-page splashes with stories, commentary, and reactions on at least two inside pages.”

I can picture the Tribune. Huge headline and photos on their broadsheet front page. Stories about the investigation, the campaign, lots of background on the candidate, a piece where the rest of the field comments. Then an editorial on the op-ed pages. Maybe a political cartoon. The Sun-Times tabloid format will be just as comprehensive in a more compact form. “Collusion?”

“Cooperation.” Her forehead wrinkles, brows touching. The corners of her mouth turn down.

“Keeping him from making incendiary comments is going to be a job in itself. We want as little coverage as possible while we work on clearing him—if we can. The damage to his reputation is a gift to the other contenders. He’s been the front runner, the poster boy for the party.”

In two swallows, the Jabberwock has disappeared. I order another, then cram more cheese into my mouth.

“Hey, guys. Didn’t get the memo.” Hayden pushes into the tufted leather booth and reaches for a pickle, almost knocking me to the floor. “Uncle Tyler thought you might be here, Rebecca. Said it’s your usual watering hole.”

“A casual afterwork drink.” Rebecca’s voice is flat.

Hayden reaches over and taps her legal pad. “Sure you aren’t strategizing?” The twinkle in his eye shows malice, not amusement. “By the way, I met Laney this afternoon. She’s a cutie.”

“Laney?” The name is unfamiliar.

With a leer, he says, “Our legal researcher. Fresh out of her paralegal program.”

The server comes by with my third drink.

“Are you running a tab?”

Rebecca nods.

“Two Satan’s Whiskers. Need to play catch up with these two.” His smirk makes my skin crawl.

“How appropriate.”

He snickers. My snarky comment bounces off his crocodile hide.

Before the drinks guy can take off, I hold up a hand. “I’d like to order something to go.”

Pad out, he looks a bit like a bird, head to the side.

“Shrimp cocktail with no sauce, and the Apple Salad. Just put the shrimp on top of the salad with the dressing on the side.”

“You got it.”

Hayden puffs out his chest like a pouter pigeon. “Me, I have a date as soon as I finish these truly spectacular drinks.”

“Drinks named just for you.”

He grins. “You know it. Scary but seductive. And I have some seducing on tap.”

Probably with our new researcher. I push the sour feelings back. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Rebecca’s warning look doesn’t make any impression either. She grabs her coat off the empty seat. “Off to have dinner with my hubby. He’s cooking tonight.”

I trudge to the office, takeout container in hand, ready for a little research of my own.

***

Excerpt from At the Ready by Sharon Michalove. Copyright 2023 by Sharon Michalove. Reproduced with permission from Sharon Michalove. All rights reserved.

1.

‘You killed my wife.’

There, I had said it. Finally, after all these months of wondering how it would sound. It was out there. The reaction was about what I had expected.

Dillion Benson turned his focus to me and was about to tell me to ‘F … off’ no doubt, but seeing me, he stopped. It had certainly stilled the various conversations amongst his group (and some surrounding groups as well).

Benson wasn’t the first to respond. Joe Lancaster, his boss and the detective inspector, responded, ‘And who might you be?’

‘He knows,’ I said, nodding at Benson.

Benson looked at me and asked, ‘Mort?’ He offered his hand, and I nodded and shook hands with who I believed was my wife’s killer. He continued, ‘It was an accident – the coroner has signed off on it. But I must say I am truly sorry for your loss.’

I did not say anything, just stared at him, making him and some of his colleagues uncomfortable. I am a big man and admit I do know how to intimidate.

Another of his colleagues, whose name I wasn’t sure of, piped up. ‘What do you care?

You didn’t even make the funeral.’

I turned the stare onto him, causing an increase in the tension Eventually, I replied, ‘The Army were unable to extract me, didn’t even tell me she had been killed until our mission was complete.’

I continued to stare at him, gradually broadening my look to include the Detective Inspector and Benson, and said, ‘I have read the coroner’s report. I find it intriguing it is not mentioned anywhere that you are a serving policeman, or that a blood test was carried out. So that alone makes the report interesting reading.’

I let that hang, slowly placing my empty glass on their table without breaking eye contact with Benson.

I said As I left, I told him, ‘You will be seeing me again.’

Upon this, I left the bar and the pub. There, I have set the ball rolling – let the dice fall where they will. If I had known then what those four words, ‘You killed my wife,’ would lead to, would I have uttered them?

You betcha!

***

Excerpt from You Killed My Wife by A J Wilton. Copyright 2023 by A J Wilton. Reproduced with permission from A J Wilton. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Detective Ebony Jones felt as though she was toting around a thousand-pound weight, which grew heavier and more torturous with each step. Her cargo, a petite one-year-old, nestled her dark curly head against Ebony’s shoulder and wriggled on Ebony’s bum left hip, the one with the .38 caliber bullet fragments lodged in it. Even the slightest pressure from the child’s body sent relentless jolts of electricity sizzling down her leg. Between the squirmy kid and the merciless pain, Ebony’s trek up the sidewalk was a living hell. And the situation was about to get worse. Much, much worse.

The toddler’s green eyes locked onto Ebony’s, so trusting and innocent that they tugged at her jaded cop’s heartstrings. Lily Martin’s face was muddy, her fuzzy pink hoodie was soaked from the sudden rainstorm, and she was missing one sneaker. But it wasn’t Lily’s bedraggled condition that made their journey up the front walk so unbearable; it was the heartbreak that would follow after Ebony rang the doorbell. And Lily’s mother answered.

The Tudor-style City of Poughkeepsie home belonged to Jessie Martin, Lily’s mom, and Ebony’s on-again, off-again best friend. Since kindergarten, over twenty-five years ago, the two women had been BFFs, but once they pursued conflicting careers in the law, Ebony as a cop and Jessie as a criminal defense attorney, their relationship had deteriorated. Around every corner, clients, cases, and the legal system had thrust obstacles in their path, testing their friendship. Sometimes, Ebony wanted to pack it in and move on, but deep in her heart, she yearned to reconcile with Jessie. The present catastrophe wasn’t going to help that cause.

* * *

On her trip to Jessie’s, Ebony had stewed over the appropriate way to tell Jessie that her ex, Lily’s father, Kyle, was missing? There would be so many questions—how, when, where, why. How could Ebony explain the outcome of Kyle’s disappearance when she didn’t know for sure whether he’d survived the freak accident?

Ebony limped up Jessie’s bluestone path, laden with a cauldron of emotions. Sorrow. Guilt. Anger. Disbelief. Fear. And reluctance, to name a few. She still couldn’t swallow the reality. Kyle Emory was missing and if she was honest, presumed dead.

Midway down the walk, Ebony glanced over her shoulder at Zander, who had remained curbside with their unmarked black Explorer. He was tall and slender, and leaned against the hood of the car. Zander’s brows were drawn together, and he watched her with hawk-like precision. As partners, they were supposed to deliver death notifications in pairs, but he’d made no move to join her on the threshold.

Chicken, she thought. Or was he being uncharacteristically empathetic, given her close relationship with the victim’s former partner?

Delivering the news of a loved one’s death—or possible death—was the most onerous part of her job, and fortunately, she’d never discharged this duty before. Why did the first time have to be Jessie? This was going to be a day, a moment, that would be branded into Jessie’s heart and mind forever.

The need to perform the death notification properly, professionally, prompted Ebony to ask herself how she’d prefer this horrific news disclosed to her.

It wasn’t as if she was notifying a stranger. She knew Jessie as intimately as she knew her own kid sister, Carly. And similar to her arguments with Carly, they’d always forgiven each other eventually. Ebony only hoped being the messenger of a suspected death didn’t permanently sever their already fragile bond.

But Jessie was a lawyer; a smart, strong, and fierce criminal defense attorney. She’d understand. She’d want honesty. No bullshit.

Straight but gentle, Ebony reminded herself as she scaled the porch stairs, clasping Lily to her side. Upon reaching the landing, she exhaled a deep breath, pressed the doorbell, and waited.

An eternity passed before Jessie answered the door. Jessie’s eyes flitted from Ebony to Lily. Jessie’s broad smile vanished as a ripple of worry lines surfaced on her forehead, and her ears flushed pink. Hal Samuels, Jessie’s fiancé, stood behind her, looking equally surprised. They were dressed for early autumn hiking with scuffed tan boots, plaid flannel shirts, and faded jeans. They radiated happiness. Every time Ebony saw Hal and Jessie together, she was reminded that a homicide investigation had reunited them and that new beginnings could grow from despair.

“Eb, what are you doing here? How did you get Lily? Is she okay?” Jessie craned her neck to peek past Ebony’s shoulder toward the street. “What’s going on? Where’s Kyle?”

Ebony cleared her throat. “Jessie, we have a situation.”

Hal dipped his head in recognition. The former District Attorney, and now Dutchess County Court Judge, seemed to acknowledge her gravitas and cupped his hands on Jessie’s shoulders as if propping her up in anticipation of an imminent disaster.

Jessie’s mossy green eyes burned into hers, and she snatched Lily away from Ebony as though protecting her child from a mistress of evil.

“What do you mean? A situation? Tell me what happened to Lily. Is she hurt?” Jessie peeled off Lily’s wet hoodie, socks, and muddy sneaker, and ran her trembling hands over her daughter’s plump body, checking for bumps, bruises, and cuts. Finding none, she continued, “Has Kyle been in a car accident? Where is he? Is he okay?” As expected, the questions tumbled out, heavy with worry.

Despite the pain in her leg, there had been something comforting about having the baby’s legs locked around her waist and the soft body cuddled against her. The warmth. The maternal stirrings. The irresistible scent of baby shampoo. The sudden emptiness in Ebony’s arms only exacerbated the burden of her visit and reminded her that the worst was yet to come.

Ebony’s entire vocabulary lodged in the back of her throat like a fishbone. Her mind analyzed the techniques for being sensitive, caring, and supportive, as protocol and friendship required. She stood frozen in time and space, cognizant that the truth would make the tragedy real for the both of them.

“Ebony, please come in,” Hal said, guiding Jessie across the foyer. “Take a seat in the living room.”

She followed them into the living room, where vibrant flowered sheets blanketed the sofa and chairs, protecting them from tiny, sticky hands. Ebony recalled that almost four months ago, she and Zander had barged into this room, attempting to pressure Jessie’s client into testifying in what had proven to be a landmark serial killer case. But Jessie had obstructed them, her customary modus operandi when dealing with the police.

The same floral sheets billowed as Ebony occupied an armchair that faced Jessie, who had Lily nestled in her lap upon the couch. Hal settled in beside them and leaned forward with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on his knees.

Ebony coughed at the dust motes floating in the air and cleared her throat. Straight but gentle. “Jessie, I have some bad news.” She sucked in a long breath and exhaled slowly to prepare herself. “We believe Kyle may have drowned in a kayaking accident this morning on the Hudson River. We haven’t found him, but we’re out looking for him. I’m so sorry.”

Jessie’s eyebrows shot up as she absorbed the words. What? Her dilated pupils seemed to demand.

“Jessie, did you hear me? Kyle disappeared this morning.”

“What do you mean, you believe he’s missing? Don’t you know if he’s dead or alive?” Jessie’s face flushed and her grip on Lily tightened. “Kyle had Lily with him. How could he have been kayaking? Who was watching Lily?” Jessie’s voice increased in pitch until it was a squeak.

Hal slid close to Jessie and slipped his arm around her shoulders, shoring her up against the blow. “Let’s take it step by step, Jess. You must be in shock. Ebony, can you please start at the beginning? I’m sure that will answer some of our questions.”

“Before I get into the details, do you want me to call your mom and dad? They can help with Lily while I fill you in. I can send Zander over to retrieve them.”

Jessie balked at the suggestion and clutched the fidgety baby tightly to her breast. Hal tilted his head backward and jutted his chin toward the door, signaling his consent.

Taking the hint, Ebony shot off a text to Zander. Please pick up Ed and Lena Martin and bring them here. She gave him their address, and he texted back. 10-4. On the way.

Although she owed Jessie an explanation, she wanted to delay getting into the details until Ed and Lena arrived to take care of Lily. The poor tot had been through enough at the scene.

“When did you last see Kyle?” Ebony asked.

“This morning. He came by around nine to pick up Lily. It was his Saturday with her.”

“Did he mention where he was headed?”

“No. I didn’t ask. We’re supposed to sign the custody papers this week, and since we were getting along, I figured I’d cut him some slack.” Jessie paused. “I’m working on my trust issues with him.”

“So, he didn’t tell you he was going kayaking at Kaal Rock?”

“No. He was there by himself? He had Lily with him?” A sense of disbelief colored her voice.

“Did he indicate he was meeting… friends?” Ebony asked. She needed to proceed step-by-step. Straight but gentle.

“No, what friends?”

“Does the name Olivia Vargas mean anything to you?” Ebony kept her tone calm, although her stomach clenched into a knot.

“Ebony, you’re scaring me. Who is this person, and what is happening?”

“Apparently, Kyle was engaged to Olivia. They became engaged three weeks ago on Labor Day. They were supposed to be getting married on Valentine’s Day next year.”

“What the hell? You’re telling me Kyle’s missing, and he was engaged?” Jessie shouted. Lily startled and bawled as though she understood the significance of Ebony’s announcement. Jessie rose and paced across the living room carpet, shushing her daughter and planting kisses on her curly head. “It’s okay, Lilybean. Hush, hush.”

Hal narrowed his eyes and made a time-out sign. “You’re asking a lot of questions and not revealing any facts about what happened to Emory.” He paused. “Stop beating around the bush and start at the beginning like I asked.” Hal’s demeanor had pivoted from being a supportive partner into a cool and controlled prosecutor ready to cross-examine an adverse witness. “What does this Vargas woman have to do with the kayak? And Kyle’s disappearance?”

“I’ll explain after the Martin’s arrive,” Ebony said.

As they waited, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Ebony shifted in her chair as the hinge of the front door squeaked, followed by the shuffling of feet. Jessie’s parents, Lena and Ed Martin, accompanied Zander into the living room, and Jessie’s anxious expression greeted them. Then, in one swift movement, Hal gently pried Lily from Jessie’s embrace and deposited the toddler into her grandmother’s waiting arms. Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Hal interrupted him by whispering into his ear. Ed sighed and disappeared with Lena and their granddaughter in tow.

With the arrival of Jessie’s parents, Ebony could quit procrastinating and get down to business.

Zander perched on the arm of Ebony’s chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay. Here’s what we know,” Ebony said.

***

Excerpt from The Empty Kayak by Jodé Millman. Copyright 2023 by Jodé Millman. Reproduced with permission from Jodé Millman. All rights reserved.