Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

near the campsite. My worry—her worry—is that it belongs to one of those criminals. For now, you aren’t safe.”

“Can I call your son for you?” Julia asked.

“Don’t bother. I’ll go stay with Sally for a few days.”

“Sally?” Luis echoed. “Like from the restaurant?”

“She and I go out every now and again,” said Sarge. “The woman can cook. Second best pie in the world—after my dearly departed wife, that is.”

“You promise that you’re going to go?” Julia asked. “Do you want us to help you pack?”

“I’ve got stuff of mine at her place,” said Sarge. “I’ll lock up and then Gunner and I will be off.”

It took the older man only minutes to secure his house. Then the dog climbed into the front seat of a 1977 Cadillac DeVille. With the smell of exhaust trailing behind, they drove away.

“Let’s go,” said Julia. It was nearly 10:30 a.m. and they hadn’t even spoken to Bethany Edwards. Starting the engine, Julia was ready to question the sole suspect in the murder of Tom Dolan.

Luis slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door closed. “The Sarge is a trip, that’s for sure. Sally can cook? Second best pie? What’d you think?” he asked. “Is the old guy talking about dessert or not?”

“Don’t even start,” said Julia, putting the gearshift into Drive. “Don’t even start.”

* * *

The apartment complex where Bethany Edwards lived consisted of a dozen buildings that surrounded a central playground. Several preschool-aged children and toddlers ran around the swing sets or climbed on the play structure. Mothers stood nearby in tightly knit groups, watching the children and chatting.

“It looks like the buildings are lettered. A through L. Two apartments in front. Two in the back. Three stories. If Bethany Edwards lives in E-12, she’d be in this building,” said Luis as Julia eased the large truck into a parking space designated for visitors.

Julia was hardly listening. In fact, she was barely able to draw in a breath. She stared out the window as her stomach began to churn. A blond woman wearing a pink jacket stood in the middle of a group. A small, towheaded boy launched himself into the woman’s arms. She swung him in a wide circle before pulling him in for a hug and kiss.

It was her—the woman from the bunker. The same one from her house, too.

And yet, not.

“There she is,” said Julia, pointing. Realizing that her finger was trembling, she lowered her hand and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Luis glanced out the widow. “Looks like that’s our suspect, all right.”

The group of mothers watched as Julia approached the playground, with Luis by her side. She made eye contact with Bethany Edwards. The woman still held her son. “I’m Sheriff McCloud from Pleasant Pines—are you Bethany Edwards?”

“I am.”

“I have a few questions for you.”

“About?”

“Your cousin. Darcy Owens.”

Bethany’s cheeks turned pale. She kissed her boy on the head. While handing him to another one of the ladies, she asked, “Can you keep an eye on my kids for a few minutes?”

“Sure thing,” said the friend.

Then to Julia, Bethany said, “Let’s go inside.”

Julia nodded and followed as Bethany led them to her apartment and opened the door. Curtains had been pulled across a sliding glass door, and beyond was a small porch. The interior was cool and dim. The air smelled distinctly of baby shampoo and chocolate chip cookies. Colorful blocks and books littered the floor and a pile of laundry sat, folded, on the kitchen table. Pictures of two children—happy and smiling—lined the walls.

Without question, Julia was having a hard time placing Bethany Edwards as the person she’d seen at her house this morning.

“Have a seat,” said Bethany, gesturing to a striped sofa.

Julia sat. Luis remained on his feet.

Bethany sank into a rocking chair. “I have to be honest,” she said. “I was wondering why it took you so long to find me.”

* * *

Luis didn’t waste time with niceties. “Where were you Saturday night and early Sunday morning?”

“Home,” said Bethany. “Here.”

“Anyone to verify that fact?” Julia asked.

“I had a date who stopped by after I put my kids to bed. He was here from about nine o’clock until eleven.”

“Can I get a name and number for your date?” Julia asked.

“Of course.” She got up and ripped a corner from a piece of paper. After scrawling both her date’s name and phone number on the scrap of paper, she handed it to Julia and returned to her seat.

“What about your car?” After all, they had reports that a car, registered to Bethany Edwards, had driven from her apartment to the Pleasant Pines Inn and back.

“My car,” Bethany echoed. She continued, “You said this is about Darcy?”

“Can you answer the question?” Julia asked.

“Sure, I loaned my car to a neighbor. She had a GNO planned and was the designated driver. She didn’t want to let her friends down, so I offered my ride.”

“GNO?” Luis asked.

“Girls’ night out,” said Julia. “What’s your friend’s name and address?”

“Candace Johnson,” said Bethany. Pointing to the door, she said, “She lives directly across from me.”

Until they’d spoken to the neighbor, there was nothing more to ask about the car being on the road. Leaning his shoulder on the wall, Luis asked, “How would you characterize your relationship with your cousin?”

“I haven’t spoken to Darcy in years. Not since her mom died.” Bethany chewed on her bottom lip. The woman was uncomfortable. True, speaking to the police often left people jittery. But was there more?

“You know she’s in jail, though,” said Julia.

“Sure. Her story’s kind of hard to miss. It’s been in the paper and on TV. I’ve even seen her mentioned on the national news.”

“Would you say that you follow her story closely?” Julia asked.

She shrugged.

“You haven’t visited her? Called?” According to the reports, Darcy had had no visitors, calls or correspondence, other than her attorney.

Bethany shook her head. “No.”

“How close were you and Darcy as kids?” Julia asked. “Did you spend much time at her house?”

“Not really. My mother didn’t like her father.