Home Before Dark (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Carolina Moon Book 1) Read online

  Today was a new day, the day she’d be able to go back to Nashville. Hertford was cozy; she had to admit that. It rested in the eastern part of the state, only a little over an hour from the coast. The people were friendly and pace relaxed. But this wasn’t her home. Nashville was the closest thing she had to a home, and even Music City didn’t feel like the place where she wanted to settle forever, where good friends were abundant and the town familiar.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends there. It was mostly that the majority of her friends were in the same boat she was. They were trying to make it in the cutthroat music industry. That meant they were on the road whenever possible, trying to build their fan base and prove to the labels that they had what it took to become a star.

  A couple people from her band, as well as a few other friends she’d made over the years, had come to the funeral and then had to fly right back out. That had left her alone. Again.

  Daleigh had finally checked her messages last night and there had been several from Vince. He’d reminded her that she needed to keep momentum going in her career or she would become a nobody. Newer faces were coming in and, without pushing herself, she would disappear into the fray. The industry was fickle—one day you could be on a magazine cover, the next forgotten.

  Daleigh stopped thinking about her tepid life and crawled out of bed. Sunlight streamed through the lacy bedroom curtains, made even brighter by the reflection of the water outside the cottage.

  She could definitely get used to this place.

  The two-bedroom bungalow had a great room and one bathroom. A small porch faced the Perquimans River, guarded by naked cypress trees. Brown, tea-like water lapped against the trees, only to fade into the most glorious blue river Daleigh had laid eyes on.

  This is where her dad spent most of his time. He’d decided to retire and take a part-time teaching position at a university the next town over. Down here, he’d been close to his two grandchildren. The last time Daleigh had spoken with him, he said he enjoyed the slower pace.

  She picked up a well-worn photo album from her dresser and flipped it open. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she saw a picture of her dad grinning in front of the pyramids of Gebel Barkal in Sudan. He’d always had such an adventurous spirit.

  He’d also been a bit of a nomad. Not only had he gotten his PhD in sociology from Harvard, but he’d been one of the most esteemed scholars in his field at one time. He’d met Daleigh’s mom while at the university. She’d been studying English lit, and, as the story went, once the two of them met, there was no going back. They were soul mates, and Daleigh’s mom had helped him write his articles, studies, and books. She was by his side until terminal cancer claimed her life when Daleigh was three and Hannah was nine.

  Daleigh flipped the page and saw a picture of the family huddled under mosquito nets in a Nairobi village. She continued to turn the pages and smiled at each memory the pictures there brought. Hannah with a llama pack in Peru, her dad in front of a campfire in the Pampas, Daleigh playing guitar by St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow. More pictures followed of the Potala Palace in Tibet, Angkor Wat in Cambodia, and the Rock of Gibraltar. For Daleigh’s high school years, the family had settled in Atlanta, Georgia. Hannah had missed her first few years of college in order to stay with the family overseas, but she took some classes at Georgia Tech, which is where she met Bruce. She dropped out of college before finishing her degree in order to get married and move to North Carolina so Bruce could begin his residency.

  Daleigh turned another page and saw a faded, yellow picture of her mom kissing her dad on the cheek. Another one of Hannah and Daleigh hugging like best friends. Had they been friends at one time? Daleigh certainly couldn’t remember it. All she could remember were the fights, arguments, and disagreements that had stained so much of their recent years.

  The final pages were of Daleigh’s college graduation. She’d moved to Nashville to attend Belmont University and study music composition. Her degree hadn’t gotten her nearly as far as waitressing had, at least concerning her music career. It was at that café where she was discovered.

  Meanwhile, Hannah and her husband had moved to Hertford and had their first child. That’s when Dad had decided it was time to settle down. He’d moved into their guest cottage four years ago.

  A fresh round of tears gathered. Daleigh quickly went into the bathroom and twisted on the shower. She would let it pound on her until it washed away her tension. Then she’d get dressed, pack her things, and tell her sister goodbye. The second her car was ready she could get out of here.

  She wished she could say that going back to Nashville excited her, but it didn’t. No, going back there she’d have to face her dwindling career. She expected any day now to hear that her label was dropping her. She’d been a so-called Two-Hit Wonder. All those days on the road, of selling her soul to the music industry, had left her dried up.

  What she’d once dreamed about doing, now felt like a chore. When had music become a burden instead of a joy? And just how was she going to fix that?

  Thirty minutes later she was ready to go. Her suitcases waited by the door. Her room looked as if she’d never been there. Pausing one last time, Daleigh looked at what had been her father’s house. She ran her finger along the oak-stained molding of the hallway and inhaled the scent of lemon. Her dad had always liked that smell.

  She followed the short hallway until she stood in front of her father’s room. She stared at the door for a long time, wondering whether she should open it or not.

  You’ll regret it if you don’t. It will be good closure for you.

  Daleigh hesitated as her hand grasped the knob. Did she really want to do this? She already knew the answer—she had no choice. This would be the finality she needed.

  She pushed the door open with a creak. The lemonade-colored sunlight was even brighter inside this room, as all the shades were open. Piles of books lay stacked in corners, magazines beside his bed, a telescope by a window.

  Daleigh smiled. This was just like her dad. Scattered and disorganized, but brilliant. A tapestry he’d picked up in India hung on the wall. Two blowguns from Africa sat on a shelf, though he removed the darts that went inside long ago. His journals lay in a stack in the corner by his bed. His favorite hat, a floppy fisherman’s variety, hung on one of the bedposts.

  It just didn’t seem right that Dad wouldn’t be coming back here. That he’d fallen on the pier, hit his head, and drowned. Freak accidents only happened to strangers.

  Daleigh slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. The hat dangling on the bedpost beckoned her. Slowly, she reached over and removed it from its perch. Her finger ran along the rim and her thumb soothed the wrinkled edges.

  Spontaneously, she spun it around on her finger, the same way her dad used to whenever he was deep in thought. Around and around it went, the scent of a pipe floating toward her with the motion. She’d told him not to smoke, that it was bad for him. He’d done it anyway.

  She sighed, realizing the issue was unimportant now. Dad was gone. What would happen to the family in the wake of his death?

  The thought weighed heavy on her heart. Impulsively, she slipped the hat over her head. She would take it with her.

  She stood and noticed the rumpled coverlet. She could at least tidy up his room. As disorganized as he was, Dad always liked for his bed to be made, army style with neatly tucked edges, taut across the top.

  Daleigh smoothed the top layer of fabric and pulled everything snugly under the mattress, just like he liked, and then moved to the other side to do the same. Her fingers brushed something beneath the mattress and she paused.

  What was that?

  She reached into the crevice and pulled out a composition notebook. It appeared newer, maybe just a few months old and not terribly used.

  Her fingers brushed over the smooth cover. Ignoring the tidy bed, Daleigh lowered herself onto it again. Guilt assaulted her as she opened the cover, but she pushe
d it away.

  Her dad’s familiar scrawl—not even a centimeter high and boxy—made her squint. She’d always joked that you needed a magnifying glass to read anything he wrote. She held it close and began to read.

  I’m not usually one to keep a personal journal, but circumstances what they are, I decided to record everything going on. Someone wants me dead, and I’m afraid they might get their wish.

  Chapter Two

  Daleigh felt the world spinning around her. What did her dad mean? Was he losing it before he died? She continued reading.

  For months, I’ve been studying the good folks in Hertford. Most of them are delightful, like Ryan Shields at the garage. He has so much promise and valuable insight. Our daily talks are one of the highlights of my day. Unfortunately, there are people I’ve studied that I wish I hadn’t. I’ve seen things that I shouldn’t. And instead of backing away, I’ve gotten pulled in even further.

  Did this mean that her father’s death wasn’t an accident, but murder?

  Chills raced up her spine.

  She needed some air. The room suddenly felt stuffy, like she couldn’t breathe.

  Leaving the journal on the bed, she retreated into the hallway then stopped. She had to read the rest. Forcing herself back into her father’s room, she retrieved the notebook and then hurried to the porch as if someone were chasing her outside. After lowering herself in a rocking chair, she sucked in a breath.

  Nausea roiled in her stomach as her mind replayed what she’d read. She leaned over, feeling ill. Dead? Someone wanted him dead? Why?

  A freak accident, it had to be. No one hated her dad. But the journal had said . . .

  The journal. Did it hold the answers?

  Trembling, she touched the pages, afraid of what seemed so innocent a short time before.

  She nudged the cover back. She reread the first entry again. Dad really thought someone was going to kill him. The entry was dated two days before he died.

  She turned the page. Random thoughts were scribbled everywhere, as if he was trying to figure out something. He’d doodled little pictures here and there. None of it made any sense.

  Pasture. A drawing of a snake. Pictures of trees. A crazy symbol—a crescent moon with lines shooting from it. Various arrows connected the words and images. At the bottom were the words: They killed her.

  The sound of metal clanking against metal made her jump as if a gun had been fired. She raised her eyes and spotted Ryan from the garage jangling keys in front of her. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling foolish.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ryan said. “I figured you might be back here when no one answered the door of the main house.”

  Why hadn’t she noticed Ryan’s laid-back accent yesterday? Or how good-looking he was? A shadow of a beard covered his face. Curly light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and an athletic build rounded out the look.

  “Don’t worry. You’re fine.” Daleigh closed the journal reluctantly. “I guess my car’s ready?” The question was too mundane. How could life go on when her father might have been murdered?

  “Yeah, I drove it over. It’s in the driveway.” He wore that same expression she’d noticed yesterday. What was it? It almost seemed like shyness.

  “Thank you.” Her voice cracked twice in the short sentence. As she brought her hand to her throat, she noticed her fingers trembling.

  “Are you okay?” Concern etched furrows across his brow, and his blue eyes beckoned her to trust him.

  “Yes, yes. Let me write you a check.” Daleigh stood, distracted. “Why don’t you come inside for a minute?”

  He followed her. Daleigh grabbed her purse from the kitchen table and began fishing for her checkbook. Her hands still shook over the implications of the journal. What had her dad been writing about?

  “Nice place here. I never came inside before.”

  Daleigh looked up. “Yes, it is nice.” She still clutched the journal, she realized. She quickly slid it into a kitchen drawer filled with dishcloths.

  She found her checkbook and searched for a blank check amid receipts and deposit slips she’d stuffed into the folds. What was the name of the garage again?

  “It looks like you’re ready to leave,” Ryan said.

  She glanced up and saw Ryan pointing at her suitcase and guitar. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been sure that was the very thing she should do. Leave this place. Get on with life. Get far away from her sister. Now she didn’t know.

  Ryan stared at her, waiting for an answer. Her heart yearned to spill everything to him. Just his presence offered comfort, and yesterday he’d been such a good listener. But she barely knew the man. She finally offered a shrug. “I thought I was ready.”

  “I guess there’s a ‘but’ in there?”

  The image of her father’s journal burned in her mind. “Yeah, you could say that. Some things have come up.” She remembered Ryan’s willingness to hurry and fix her car, all for nothing. “I guess there was no need to rush things after all, huh? Sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. These things happen.”

  She appreciated his graciousness. “How much do I owe you?”

  The amount he quoted sounded far too low. She paused, her pen on the check. “That’s all? Are you sure that’s right?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “Things sure are cheaper here than in Nashville, then.” She wrote the amount and signed it.

  “I’ve heard Nashville’s nice.” Ryan still stood by the door, as if unsure whether or not to relax.

  “Yeah, it’s a great place, especially if you’re into the music scene.” She handed him the slip of paper. Without looking at the amount, he slipped it into his shirt pocket. She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to check the amount?”

  His lip twitched up, as if he were amused. “I trust you.”

  Surprised, she tilted her head. “But you don’t know me.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m just a trusting kind of guy. Besides, I knew your father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?”

  The journal seemed to call her from the drawer. “Right.”

  Ryan nodded toward the door. “I guess I should go back to work. Let me know if you have any more problems with your car.”

  Daleigh followed him outside and watched as he started down the sidewalk. She realized the same easy trust that Ryan offered to her, Daleigh suddenly felt for him also.

  “Ryan,” she called. He stopped and turned to face her. She hesitated then plunged ahead. “Does the word ‘pasture’ mean anything to you?”

  His eyebrows knit together. “You mean as in ‘looking for greener pastures’?”

  She shrugged. “Does the word have any special meaning here in Hertford? Is there a place people call ‘the pasture’ or a store with that in its name? Anything?”

  He drew his lips in a line. After a few minutes of silence, he shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

  She offered a tight nod. “Okay, thanks.”

  He continued walking, slowing at one point as if he might turn around and say something else, but he didn’t. Daleigh watched until he disappeared

  Ryan seemed like a nice guy, a lot different from Vince. Vince was charismatic. Everyone knew him, and he always made himself known. Ryan, on the other hand, seemed unassuming, like the type of guy Daleigh would like to be friends with.

  If she stayed in town longer.

  The journal. With a sigh, she sat back down to read the rest of her father’s entries. She flipped to the third page.

  I’ll find out who did this and then report them to the police. They can’t get away with what they’re doing. They think they’re so clever, so smart. But I’ve seen what they do. And as soon as I get the evidence, they’ll be arrested.

  She turned the page, surprised . . . that’s it?

  Daleigh closed the book. Did you find out, Dad? And was it worth the risk?

  She felt the beginning of a
headache from the stress that had kicked off with the hysterical phone call from her sister, telling Daleigh their father had died. Daleigh rescheduled four concerts, found someone to take care of her apartment, and then hopped in the car for the two-day trip. Driving always helped her world make a little more sense, she’d reasoned. She needed the time on the road alone.

  On the way here, reality sank in. Her father—her friend—was dead. She hadn’t been in a state to drive, she realized halfway to Hertford, but she didn’t have any other choice at that point. Why hadn’t Vince realized what a bad idea it was for her to drive to her father’s funeral? Probably because he’d been distracted with a new band he’d just discovered.

  Daleigh remembered the lead singer’s perky upturned nose and blonde hair. Vince couldn’t stop talking about her, how the band was going to be huge. How talented Piper was.

  Daleigh bit the inside of her mouth. Had Vince cheated on her with Piper? She shook her head. He wasn’t a cheater.

  Was he?

  Her heart ached as she thought of all the time she’d wasted with Vince. She’d had suspicions he’d cheated on her before, with various other women. She’d never been able to confirm anything, and Vince had never ‘fessed up.

  I’m such a fool.

  Why was she in such a hurry to get back? There wasn’t a single person in Nashville who really cared about her. Instead they cared about her career. About the success she could bring to them. How they could make more money off her.