A Southern Promise
A promise to protectThey say money and murder go together like biscuits and gravy, but Julianne Dawson thought her family was different. Even if they are the wealthiest family in Durham, North Carolina, she can't believe someone close to her could've killed her beloved Aunt Binnie.Detective Howie Berry is determined to find the murderer. But the more he gets to know Julianne, the more he's drawn to her. She's not just the town's golden girl—she's smart and incredibly tough. Howie can't get involved, though, since the next clue he uncovers could tear her family apart. He'll protect Julianne at any cost…except the truth.
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A promise to protect
They say money and murder go together like biscuits and gravy, but Julianne Dawson thought her family was different. Even if they are the wealthiest family in Durham, North Carolina, she canât believe someone close to her couldâve killed her beloved Aunt Binnie.
Detective Howie Berry is determined to find the murderer. But the more he gets to know Julianne, the more heâs drawn to her. Sheâs not just the townâs golden girlâsheâs smart and incredibly tough. Howie canât get involved, though, since the next clue he uncovers could tear her family apart. Heâll protect Julianne at any cost...except the truth.
âMs. Dawson, your aunt was murdered.â
The kindness in his voice caressed the reality of what he said.
âThatâs why we couldnât let you into the crime scene and why youâre in this police car.â
Julianne took a long, deep breath and stared into the detectiveâs brown eyes. They had a darker ring around the edge. For all his crazy hair, the detective seemed like a steady man, holding her gaze and allowing her time to gather her dignity. She blinked, several times, fast enough to make the detectiveâs form waver, but not fast enough to hold her tears in. But she didnât turn away. If he was going to tell her, while she sat in the back of a patrol car, that her aunt was dead, then he could watch her cry. Neither she nor the detective would get the relief that a trip to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face would provide.
Detective Berry didnât flinch. Yet he knew who she wasâwho her family was. Heâd just told her that her favorite aunt was dead. Murdered. And he didnât once shirk from her. A stronger man than most.
One of the best things about writing books set in Durham, North Carolina, is that it gives me a wonderful excuse to get to know my town better. For this story, I was lucky enough to take the Citizenâs Police Academy program (offered by the Durham Police Department), tour American Underground (a business incubator) and have a drink at a coworkerâs apartment downtown. Durham is experiencing a renaissance, and by setting books here I get to both live it and document it.
And since Iâm a romance author, not a journalist, I get to reimagine my city and right what I perceive to be wrongs. In this case, Julianne restores Durhamâs last tobacco warehouse (Liberty Warehouse), rather than it being torn down to make way for condos.
As youâre reading about Julianne and Howie, I hope my love for my city comes through in their love for it, and their love for each other.
If Southern history interests you, then the seminal text on Durham is Durham County: A History of Durham by Jean Bradley Anderson. If homicide investigations are more your speed, I recommend Homicide by David Simon. You may know him better as the creator of the HBO show The Wire, but he had many, many careers before television, including as a reporter who spent a year with the Baltimore Police Homicide Unit. Homicide is where I read about the evocative idea of a suspect looking for an escape window during interviews. Simon is a wonderful author and the book is a crackinâ good read.
Enjoy.
Jennifer
JENNIFER LOHMANN is a Rocky Mountain girl at heart, having grown up in southern Idaho and Salt Lake City. When sheâs not writing or working as a public librarian, she wrangles two cats and a flock of backyard chickens. (The dog is better behaved.) She currently lives in Durham, North Carolina, where her favorite cup of coffee is from Old Havana.
To Alistair, Beatrice and Seamus, who would prefer (respectively) lettuce, yogurt and peanut butter to a book dedication.
Contents
Dear Reader
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
DETECTIVE HOWIE BERRY expected two things if he happened to be in his office on a Wednesday morning at 11:00 a.m. First, the weather radio would beep and a scratchy voice would sound out a test. Second, the all clear would be immediately followed by a phone call. Any bustle in the room would haltâas if by magic, which the superstitious cops claimed not to believe inâand Howie would strain to hear the words of another scratchy, hard-to-understand female voice.
âChicago,â the woman would say. Or Detroit or Los Angeles or Houston...or Fargo, Emporia, Elko, Walla Walla or any other of the thousands of cities and towns around the contiguous United States. Mrs. Somerset always limited herself to the contiguous forty-eight states for no reason Howie was able to figure. The guys all said it was because her crazy couldnât cross oceans and didnât have a passport to get into Canada. Howie was kinderâwhich was one of the reasons Mrs. Winston Somerset called his direct line. He always just figured there were enough unsolved mysteries in the lower forty-eight to keep the old lady busy without her crossing international borders.
