Dead Silence
There's a body buried behind a Mississippi farmhouse.Grace Montgomery knows who it is, and she knows why it happened. She was only thirteen the night it all went wrong. And now, like then, she has no choice but to keep her mouth shut. Grace left the town of Stillwater thirteen years ago, trying to forget, trying to make good.As an assistant D.A. in Jackson, she's finally achieved the success that was supposed to change her life. But it hasn't–so she's come back to confront her own history. Which means returning to the farmhouse now owned by her brother and facing the people of Stillwater, a number of whom suspect the truth.Widower Kennedy Archer is one of those people. He's running for mayor and needs to stay as far away from Grace as possible. And yet…she's an enigma he can't resist. Even though her enemies are close to finding out what really happened–and that could ruin them both.
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BRENDA NOVAK
DEAD SILENCE
To Donna Hayes,
Publisher and CEO of Harlequin Enterprisesâa savvy, classy woman. Most readers never know the people who work so hard behind the scenes to make it possible for an author to share her stories with thousands, sometimes millions, of readers, but writers know them and appreciate them. Thank you, Donna, for navigating the tricky waters of publishing so well.
Itâs great to have someone I trust at the helm! (Thanks, too, for supporting so many charitable causes, including my annual online auction to benefit diabetes research at www.brendanovak.com.)
âThe happiest women,
like the happiest nations, have no history.â
âGeorge Eliot (Mary Ann Evans, English novelist, 1819â1880)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Coming Next Month
1
Grace Montgomery pulled to the side of the narrow country road and stared at the rambling farmhouse in which sheâd grown up. Even in the heavy, blanketlike darkness of a Mississippi summer night, with only half a moon grinning eerily overhead, she could see that her older brother kept the place in good repair.
But that was all sleight of hand, wasnât it? Things werenât really what they seemed. They never had been. That was the problemâwhy sheâd promised herself she wouldnât come back here.
The yellow light gleaming in an upstairs bedroom winked out. Clay was going to bed, probably at the same time as he did every night. Grace couldnât understand how he could live alone out here. How he could eat, sleep and work the farmâonly forty paces away from where theyâd hidden their stepfatherâs body.
The warning chime signaling that sheâd left her keys in the ignition sounded as she got out of her small BMW. She hadnât planned to venture onto the property. But now that she was here, she had to see for herself that even after so many years there was nothing to give them away.
Her cotton skirt swayed gently against her calves as she walked down the long drive. There was no wind, no sound except the cicadas and frogs, and the crunch of her sandals on gravel. If sheâd forgotten anything, it was the quiet in this part of the state and how brightly the stars could shine away from the city.
She pictured herself as a young girl, sleeping on the front lawn with her younger sister, Molly, and her older stepsister, Madeline. Those were special times, when theyâd talked and laughed and gazed up at the black velvet sky to find all those twinkling stars staring right back at them like a silent promise of good things to come. Theyâd all been so innocent then. When Madeline was around, Grace had had nothing to fear. But Madeline couldnât stick by Graceâs side every minute. She hadnât even realized she should. She still didnât know what it was like for Grace back then. Sheâd been at a friendâs house the night everything went wrong.
Despite the humidity, Grace shivered as she came upon the barn. Set off to the right, it lurked among the weeping willows and poplars. She hated everything associated with the old building. It was there sheâd cleaned out the stall of the horse her stepfather wouldnât let anyone but him ride. It was there sheâd gathered the eggs and fought with the mean rooster who used to fly at her in an attempt to gouge out her eyes. It was there, in the front corner of the building, that the reverend had kept a small office where he retired to write his Sunday sermonsâand to delve into that locked file drawer.
The smell of moist earth and magnolias brought it all back too vividly, causing her to break out in a cold sweat. Curving her fingernails into her palms to remind herself that she was no longer a powerless girl, she immediately steered her thoughts away from the reverendâs office. Sheâd promised herself sheâd forget.
But she certainly hadnât forgotten yet. Despite her best efforts, she couldnât help wondering if that stifling room was still untouched. Except for what the reverend had kept in his file drawer, the office had been left intact, as if he might someday reappear and want to use it. Her mother had insisted theyâd be foolish to change anything. Sheâd drilled it into all of them, except Madeline of course, that they must continue to refer to the reverend in the present tense. Folks in town were already suspicious enough.
Stillwaterâs residents had long memories, but eighteen years had passed since the reverendâs sudden disappearance. Surely after so much time Clay could dismantle that damn officeâ¦.
A deep voice came suddenly out of the dark. âGet the hell off my property or Iâll shoot.â
Grace whirled to see a man at least six foot four inches tall, so solidly built he could have been made of stone, standing only a few feet away. It was her brother, and he had a rifle trained on her.
For the briefest of moments, Grace wished heâd shoot.
