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    A Cloud of Suspicion
    A Cloud of Suspicion
    A Cloud of Suspicion
    Ebook225 pages2 hours

    A Cloud of Suspicion

    By Patricia Davids

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A prodigal son returns home and finds love and redemption in this inspirational romance from a USA Today–bestselling author.

    “What’s he doing back in town?”

    With his black leather jacket, Patrick Rivers looks every inch the bad boy the townsfolk believe him to be. Ten years ago, he left Loomis, Louisiana, under a cloud of suspicion. Back to settle his stepfather’s estate, Patrick knows he isn’t welcome and can’t wait to leave. Until Shelby Mason gives him a reason to stay. Because Shelby knows a secret—and someone in Loomis will do anything to keep her quiet.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateMar 31, 2009
    ISBN9781426831898
    A Cloud of Suspicion
    Author

    Patricia Davids

     USA Today best-selling author Patricia Davids was born and raised in Kansas. After forty years as an NICU nurse, Pat switched careers to become an inspirational writer. She enjoys spending time with her daughter and grandchildren, traveling and playing with her dogs, who think fetch should be a twenty-four hour a day game. When not on the road or throwing a ball, Pat is happily dreaming up new stories.  

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      Book preview

      A Cloud of Suspicion - Patricia Davids

      PROLOGUE

      Shelby Mason sat bolt upright in the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest. The next shrill ring of the phone dimmed her nightmare-induced panic, pulling her back into reality.

      She glanced at the glowing numbers on her clock. 3:14 a.m. Who would be calling now? Who else had died?

      A third ring prodded her to pick up the handset. Hello?

      Shelby, it’s Clint Herald. Is Leah there? His voice vibrated with anxiety.

      Shelby pushed her long red hair out of her face. Clint, do you know what time it is?

      I know it’s late, but Leah hasn’t come back to pick up Sarah and she hasn’t called. I’m worried sick.

      Pressing a hand to her forehead, Shelby tried to make her sleep-soaked brain work better. The dregs of her fading nightmare made it hard to focus. I haven’t seen your sister since yesterday morning. Have you tried her cell phone?

      Dozens of times. It goes straight to voice mail. She dropped Sarah off with me this evening and said she had a meeting, but it wouldn’t take long. Do you have any idea where she might be or who she was seeing?

      His concern was contagious. Shelby scooted back to lean against the headboard. No, but I’m sure there’s a rational explanation. Maybe she needed some time alone. The past few days have been really rough for her.

      I thought of that, but she wouldn’t leave Sarah for this long without letting me know. Something’s wrong.

      He was right. Leah always put her three-year-old daughter first. Have you called the police?

      They say they can’t do anything until she’s been missing for twenty-four hours.

      What? Her husband just committed suicide, and the police won’t start a search for her? That’s crazy.

      I told them that, but it didn’t do any good. Did she seem okay when you were with her? Did you see her talking to anyone out of the ordinary?

      Shelby racked her mind. No. She did seem preoccupied, but I assumed it was still the shock of Earl’s death.

      All right, he conceded, resignation heavy in his words. I’m sorry I bothered you.

      Don’t be sorry. Call me as soon as you hear from her. I don’t care what time it is. Can I do anything?

      At this point, just pray.

      Of course.

      After hanging up, Shelby swung her legs over the side of the bed. Sleep was usually impossible after the recurring nightmare she could never fully recall. Tonight, worry for Leah pushed her dream into the background.

      Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, Shelby tried to convince herself that Leah was fine. It would turn out to be a simple misunderstanding. It had to be. Leah had been through so much already.

      The frantic barking of a neighbor’s dog abruptly shattered the stillness.

      Shelby searched the cool wooden floor with her toes until she found her slippers. Sliding into them, she rose and crossed to the tall, narrow second-story window that overlooked the street outside. Pulling back the lace curtains, she pressed her forehead against the chilly glass.

      The dog stopped barking. Silence blanketed the night once more.

      Outside, Loomis, Louisiana, slumbered in a cold dense January mist that rose from the swamps south of town. The streetlight at the corner was only a faint white orb that did little to penetrate the darkness. Tiny pellets of sleet occasionally hit the window, melting into drizzle.

      It had been years since Loomis had seen such freak winter weather. She shivered at the thought of her friend out in it. Where was Leah?

      Unanswered questions crowded Shelby’s mind. What if she’d been overcome with grief and done something foolish? Leah and Earl had been having problems before his death. Could there be another man? Was she with someone else?

      No! Shelby dismissed the ideas as soon as they formed. Leah knew right from wrong. The love of her family and her faith were keeping her strong.

      After slipping into her pale-green cotton robe, Shelby sat in the bentwood rocker in the corner of her room and turned on her reading lamp. The burst of light did nothing to dispel her worry.

      Rocking back and forth, she let the creaking of the chair keep her company as she waited for Clint’s call and watched the numbers on the clock tick past. Silently, she prayed for her friend.

      Hours later, when the early-morning sunlight spilling through her window finally overpowered the lamp, she turned it off.

      The storm had passed, but Clint hadn’t called. That meant only one thing.

      Leah hadn’t come home.

      ONE

      "It’s been nearly three months since Leah vanished. How can the FBI still be clueless? What’s the matter with you people?" Wendy Goodwin demanded.

      Hush, Wendy. Shelby grabbed her cousin’s arm. Throwing an apologetic look at FBI agent Jodie Gilmore, Shelby asked, Nothing new at all? I thought when I saw you back in town there might be a new lead.

      Jodie’s eyes held sympathy and understanding. I’m only here because the home office received a phone tip we thought worth checking into. It didn’t pan out. We haven’t had a solid new lead since the discovery of Leah’s shoe in February at that abandoned house in the swamp.

      The slipper hadn’t led them to Leah. Instead, it led investigators to uncover and solve a twenty-five-year-old triple murder. One of the victims had been Jodie’s mother. Another Loomis woman who had vanished without a trace.

      If anyone in the bureau would keep looking for answers, it would be Jodie.

      Shelby nodded her thanks. She came by the sheriff’s office at least three times a week to check on her friend’s case. As the months passed with no new information, the FBI’s Missing Persons task force had gone back to New Orleans.

      When Shelby saw Jodie today, her hopes had risen, but once again she faced bitter disappointment.

      Soon they would call off the search and give Leah up for dead.

      I think it’s just criminal you people aren’t doing more. Wendy raised her voice in a parting shot.

      Shelby dragged her cousin out the door. Her sentiments might be the same as Wendy’s, but she could never voice them the way her outspoken cousin did.

      Once outside the sheriff’s office, Shelby released Wendy. I want Leah to be found as much as you do, but insulting the people looking for her isn’t going to help.

      Wendy crossed her arms and shivered, although the morning was warm with late March sunshine and rising humidity. It’s just so frightening. How does someone we know vanish? This kind of thing happens only in movies.

      It happens in real life, too, Wendy.

      It doesn’t happen to your friend. To someone who attends the same church. To someone who brings her daughter to our library for Story Hour.

      Shelby drew Wendy close in a comforting hug. I know. I’m frustrated, too, but the sheriff’s office insists they are doing all they can.

      Do you think she’s dead? Wendy whispered.

      Pulling back, Shelby gazed into her cousin’s worry-filled blue eyes. With one hand she smoothed back a lock of Wendy’s blond hair. I can’t think that way. I have to believe she’s alive.

      Please, Lord, let it be true for little Sarah’s sake.

      Wendy rubbed the back of her neck as she admitted, After the other murders, it’s hard to hold on to hope.

      That’s why we have to put our faith in God. He’s watching over Leah.

      Wendy cast a glance around. I know you’re right, but you can’t deny this is a scary time. I get up a dozen times at night to make sure the doors and windows are locked. I don’t go out after dark. I don’t let the kids play outside alone. I look twice at everyone I know and I think, could it be them?

      Depression dragged at Shelby’s spirits. I know. I feel the same way.

      The whole town is on edge. I thought for sure when Vera Peel was arrested two weeks ago for the old murders that she was the killer. Some people are still insisting she is. Dylan Renault and Angelina Loring were both struck over the head and shot in the back, just like the skeletons that were found in that old cellar.

      Vera Peel confessed to killing her husband, Jodie’s mother and that poor woman in the gazebo twenty-five years ago, but she has an alibi for the time of Dylan’s murder. Besides, Leah’s husband wasn’t shot in the back.

      "But Earl was shot, and it wasn’t suicide. Some people are saying—"

      I know they’re saying Leah killed Earl for the insurance money, that she panicked and skipped town, that she ran off with some unknown lover. None of it is true.

      None of it makes sense. Lord, we need Your help. Please keep Leah safe and bring her home to us.

      Releasing her cousin, Shelby started toward the crosswalk at the corner of Church Street and Main. Their destination was the restaurant inside the Loomis Hotel. Coffee made with chicory and scalded milk and the mouth-watering beignets at the posh Café Au Lait were a Monday-morning custom the women had enjoyed for the past two years.

      Shelby, Wendy and Leah had first chosen the high-class setting to celebrate Shelby’s appointment as head librarian at the Loomis Public Library. The women had been starting their work week in the same way ever since.

      When Shelby and Leah’s high-school friend, Jocelyn Gold, returned to Loomis to open up a practice as a child psychologist, they were quick to include her in their tradition. They’d shared some great times and plenty of laughter together.

      Knowing Leah wouldn’t be joining them put a damper on what used to be a lighthearted gathering, but sticking to the ritual had become a means of keeping each other’s spirits up.

      How can y’all be so sure Leah isn’t guilty? Wendy asked. We never know what another person is capable of doing.

      Shelby didn’t hesitate. Leah wouldn’t abandon Sarah. That little girl is everything to her.

      You’re right. I’m going crazy with all the uncertainty. Leah couldn’t ask for a better friend than you, Shelby.

      I wish that were true. If I’d been a better friend, she might have confided in me. I knew something was bothering her, I just didn’t think it was any of my business.

      They were almost at their destination when Shelby noticed a motorcycle occupying a parking space in front of the hotel. The custom chrome-and-black machine crouched in the line of sedans and SUVs, looking like a panther among a herd of milk cows.

      The leather studded saddlebags over the rear tire conjured up images of life on the road, escape, excitement, daring. All the things Shelby read about in the books at the city library where she worked but had never experienced for herself.

      Looking over her shoulder as she pulled open the café door, she couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice as she stepped inside. I wonder who that belongs to.

      It’s mine.

      At the sound of a man’s low rumbling voice, a feeling of electricity raced over her nerve endings. Her head whipped around, and Shelby found herself staring at the zipper of a black leather jacket decorated with the same silver studs as the saddlebags.

      Looking higher, she met the owner’s dark hooded gaze and recognition hit her like a kick to the stomach.

      Patrick Rivers was back in Loomis.

      It took Patrick a few seconds to place the petite woman with a cascade of thick red hair swirling about her shoulders. Her light-brown eyes widened and color flooded her cheeks in two perfect circles of berry-bright skin.

      Only one woman he remembered in Loomis could blush so sweetly. Chunky, shy Shelby Mason had bloomed into a true Southern rose.

      A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. The word chunky no longer applied. Her soft lilac dress with tiny white polka dots accented her feminine curves to perfection.

      Her quick indrawn breath and the backward step she took confirmed what he already suspected. She recognized him, too.

      Miss Mason, isn’t it? he asked.

      Irritation swept over him at how easily the Louisiana drawl returned to his voice. He’d worked hard to remove any reminders of Loomis from his life, including his accent.

      Her hand went to her throat. A flutter of nervousness that she couldn’t hide made her fingers tremble. She regarded him with suspicion. Like everyone else in the gloomy city. Anger rose like bitter bile in his mouth.

      There was no place like home—home sweet home.

      To her credit, Shelby quickly regained her composure. Mr. Rivers. I heard that your stepfather had passed away. Please accept my condolences.

      The pure charm of her lilting voice took him straight back in time. Back ten years to the days when the local college girls had flirted outrageously with a poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks because he could throw a football better than anyone in St. Tammany Parish.

      Back to the night one spoiled, vain debutante ruined his life.

      It didn’t matter that he had been innocent of the crime, that the charges had been dropped. Coral Travis had accused him of rape. The stigma stuck to him like the odor of rotting vegetation permeated the black mud of the bayou.

      He had tried to face down the rumors, the looks, the mistrust, but in the end leaving had been his only option.

      Gritting his teeth against the pain of those memories, he gave Shelby a brief nod. Thanks, but Dan and I weren’t that close.

      Did he imagine sympathy filled her eyes before she looked down? He wanted to reach out and lift her chin to be sure. Kindness from anyone in Loomis was a rare thing.

      Her long lashes fluttered up as she met his gaze again. The morning sunlight brought out flecks of green in her eyes that he’d never noticed before. Beneath the overpowering aromas of coffee and pastry he caught a subtle hint of her fresh flowery fragrance.

      When had the self-effacing little librarian grown to be such a beauty?

      Realizing he was blocking the doorway, he stepped aside and allowed her to enter. To his surprise, she didn’t rush past him the way her companion did, but paused at his side.

      A half smile trembled on her lips. She looked adorably uncertain of the correct way to address an accused rapist. Finally, she managed to ask, Will you be staying in Loomis long?

      A sharp gasp made him look beyond Shelby to see the architect of his disgrace staring at him in wide-eyed shock.

      Coldness settled in his chest and spread through his body. This was exactly the scene he’d dreaded from the minute he knew he was coming back to Loomis.

      Of course, it had to happen in front of dozens of witnesses.

      Only years of practice at keeping his emotions hidden prevented him from bolting out the door. His indifference might be a veneer, but time and pain had made it thick. He didn’t move so much as a muscle.

      Coral Travis hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. She was still a beautiful woman. Her hair, a lighter shade of blond now, was styled loose about her shoulders. Dressed in a white ensemble, she clung to the arm of a tall handsome blond man in a tailored gray suit. They made a striking couple. Behind them stood

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