Love in the Dark Read online

  Love in the Dark

  A Romantic Suspense

  by Wendy Dalrymple

  Copyright © 2022 Wendy Dalrymple

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by WD

  Also by Wendy Dalrymple

  Miss Claus and the Millionaire

  Chasin' Jason

  Kissing Christmas Goodbye

  Tamsen's Hollow

  Two Friends and a Funeral

  Spring Fling

  Here You Come Again

  Two Scoops (Coming Soon)

  Love in the Dark (Coming Soon)

  Watch for more at Wendy Dalrymple’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Wendy Dalrymple

  Love in the Dark

  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

  About the Author

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  Also By Wendy Dalrymple

  About the Author

  Love in the Dark

  In the town of Vista, TN secrets are shrouded in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains and people aren't always who they seem. When new-to-town housekeeper Julia stumbles upon a dead body in one of the upscale rental properties she was hired to clean, she finds herself tumbling down a deep hole of mystery and intrigue. For Julia, the murder isn’t just terrifying and unsettling, but the catalyst for a chain reaction of problems that may soon expose a secret of her own.

  As the town gears up for an impending total solar eclipse, bodies begin to pile up and all lead to one very suspicious source. With the help of handyman, Deacon, Julia works to uncover clues that investigators miss and lead to a killer that no one saw coming. Thanks to a keen sixth sense and a magnetic bond with Deacon, Julia finds herself fighting for a new life and a second chance at love... even in the dark.

  Content Warnings:

  Mentions of addiction, drugging, human trafficking and kidnapping.

  Chapter One

  Julia Lowe found the first body just outside of the rental cabin; lifeless, bloody and draped over the side of the Swedish hot tub. Steam rose from the heated spa water, illuminated by the early morning sunlight as a cool breeze spilled down from the misty mountain ridge carrying the smell of death to her nostrils. Julia gagged and covered her silent scream with two gloved hands as her tote bag and cleaning supplies fell to her feet. Her deep-set brown eyes opened wide, taking in every terrifying inch of the scene, from the man’s waxy, dangling hand to the pinkish color of the bubbling chlorinated water. By all accounts, it should have been a beautiful Summer morning in Vista, TN if not for the horrors unfolding in front of her.

  She discovered the next victim only a few moments later. The back sliding door to the rental cabin that Julia had been hired to clean that day was open wide, ominous and dark and unnerving. The usually peaceful property was silent with the exception of the soft gurgle of chlorinated water and happy chirp of an oblivious warbler in the trees. Her instincts told her to run, that nothing good would be found inside the cabin. Though her legs struggled to bend and move, she forced herself to venture into the space just the same. Julia knew she would never be able to forgive herself if she was too terrified to do anything and there was someone else inside who needed help.

  Julia didn’t even make it over the threshold before the realization that she was already too late hit her square in the nose. A woman — likely the wife of the deceased man in the hot tub — lay sprawled out and still on the living room floor next to an overturned chair. The woman’s rigor mortis hand cradled the blood-splattered receiver, clawlike and frozen. The smell in the living room was just as putrid as outside, only heavier and more concentrated.

  The Raniers. They should have left yesterday.

  A smattering of oak leaves littered the cabin floor, along with a muddy, boot-tread footprint that — under normal circumstances — Julia would have been quick to mop up. As she stood in the doorway, petrified with fright and taking in the scene, she surmised that poor Mrs. Ranier and her husband must have been like this for days. Vista Vacation Rentals promised bucolic tranquility, easy elegance and total seclusion at their five-star cabins. Apparently for the Raniers, with that seclusion came a price.

  Julia’s legs were made of lead as she stood there with her feet firmly planted to the wooden deck, helpless to survey the horror movie scene that played out before her. Her body was rendered immobile as she subconsciously took in every last detail of the room from Mrs. Rainier’s ripped nightdress to the slightly askew painting of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the back wall. After what seemed like an eternity, Julia finally exhaled and willed her dead legs to work again.

  Phone. Car. Need to get to my car and call the police.

  With her legs mostly cooperating, Julia turned on her heels and stumbled out the way she came propelled by pure adrenaline. She tried not to look back at the corpse of Mr. Ranier in the still boiling hot tub as she rounded the corner to the front of the rental house where her car was parked. She was so focused on escaping the waking nightmare that she didn’t register the soft footsteps on the deck headed straight her way. In her desperation to get help, Julia didn’t notice the tall, dark figure in her path until it was already too late, and in one heart-stopping moment, she collided face-first into a very broad set of shoulders.

  Julia braced herself and let out a scream, her fists held high and ready for a fight. She was fully prepared to punch and scratch and attack whoever was in her way when a deep, honeyed voice she knew all too well yelled back in surprise. Julia clutched her chest and gasped as she registered the familiar blue work shirt, the kind hazel green eyes, and soft features of the Vista Vacation Rentals handyman that she had admired from afar so many times before.

  “Deacon!” she said, her voice a ragged, gasping sigh.“They’re dead. They’re all dead.”

  ***

  Julia never suspected that she would someday move to a small town like Vista, Tennessee. Vista was the kind of place where everyone went to church on Sunday, where everyone knew everyone else and generations could be traced back to time-weathered headstones that predated the civil war. The nearest movie theater was in the next town over, and fine dining was relegated to a single Italian restaurant in the center of town. Vista was an inconspicuous, out of the way town, a blip on the map where just about anyone could disappear into the foothills without a trace.

  As a little girl growing up in the hot and dusty pine scrub backwoods of Punta Gorda, Florida, Julia always knew that she wanted something more for herself. Her situation was not uncommon compared to many of the other kids she went to school with. She’d been born into a family not quite on the brink of poverty, but definitely poor. Julia was one of many siblings, left to eke out whatever she needed for herself from everyday necessities to the tiniest bit of attention. Boredom and neglect pushed Julia to dream of something better than the hand she was dealt. The urge to run coursed through her veins.

  On do-nothing Saturday nights, Julia and her siblings would lay in their backyard and stare up at the stars through the power lines overhead and manifest visions of skyscrapers and cafés, expensive shoes and fancy cars. In the summer she would scratch at mosquito bites and wish to live somewhere far, far from her oppressive rural home. In the winter she would pick the sand spurs from her s
ocks and curse under her breath as the briars pricked her fingers and caused her to bleed. Julia counted the weeks and days until she was old enough to do something else and go somewhere better. Somewhere clean and fast and full of life.

  And so it was on that hot July morning, faced with death and the prospect of her past catching up with her again, that Julia remembered why she had stayed in Vista in the first place. Deacon McLeod was one of the nicest perks that her new surroundings had to offer besides the anonymity that she so badly needed. She had only originally planned to stop through the little Appalachian town on her way to Canada, but Deacon’s easy smile and reassuring voice somehow had inspired her to stay. It didn’t hurt that he pointed her in the direction of an okay paying job and a free place to live back then, just when her savings had started to dwindle. No. Deacon McLeod wasn’t the only reason to stay in Vista, but he was a pretty good one.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands still planted firmly on her shoulders.

  “The Raniers,” she said, the urge to heave suddenly taking over. Julia’s legs once again refused to work as shock began to consume her in waves.

  Deacon looked up from her shuddering form toward the hot tub as the gravity of the situation finally hit. His own features turned to ash as he took in the same scene that Julia had discovered only moments before.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered.

  “Who could do such a thing?” she said in between sobs.

  “Come on,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Let’s go wait in my truck. We need to call the police.”

  Julia shook her head as panic constricted her lungs and spread from her chest, edging its way up her neck. Finding two dead bodies was already stressful and traumatic enough, but speaking to the police was sure to be worse for her. All it would take was a little bit of digging around by investigators and Julia’s anonymity would be compromised. She had moved to the mountains to become invisible, to blend into the landscape and become one with the rocks and the trees. Julia was supposed to be staying under the radar and out of sight. Speaking to the police would be risky, and running from a murder scene simply wasn’t a good idea.

  As she sat in the passenger seat of Deacon’s truck, the shock of coming face-to-face with death and the realization that she might soon have to leave her beloved new little mountain town truly set in. Julia sucked a breath deep into her lungs as she watched Deacon through the windshield while he spoke to an emergency operator on the phone. As his authoritative baritone voice relayed the scene in detail, Julia’s heart rate and breathing finally began to slow.

  In the six months since she had been in Vista, Julia had hoped to somehow see the inside of Deacon’s truck, though certainly not under the present circumstances. His cab smelled of leather and red Tennessee clay, with a distinct musty undercurrent of menthol cigarettes. A photo of a smiling little girl with dark hair and two missing front teeth peeked back at her from the dash: seven-year-old Grace, his daughter, no doubt. A Tennessee Titans air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, and an empty coffee cup from the Gas N’ Go on Highway 411 sat full and still steaming in the cupholder. She collected all of this information and more about the handyman as she waited for him to get off the phone and tried to push the image of Mr. Rainier’s bloated corpse from her mind.

  “Police will be here in about a half an hour,” Deacon said, sliding behind the wheel of his truck. “Said we should stay put.”

  Julia nodded.

  “Takes everyone a half hour to get up this mountain, I suppose,” she said, exhaling deeply.

  “You gonna be okay?” he asked, tapping a Newport Light loose from the pack. He offered one of the menthol cigarettes in her direction. Julia shook her head.

  “I’ll be fine,” she lied. “No thanks.”

  “I’m trying to quit,” he said, motioning to the picture of his daughter. “Grace doesn’t like it when I smoke. After that, I think I need one though.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said, shivering.

  “This gonna bother you?” he asked, rolling down his window. “I can step out. I’m just a little bit more shook up than I thought.”

  “It’s fine,” she reassured him. “Really, I’ll feel better if you stay here anyway.”

  Deacon lit his cigarette with his keychain lighter and took a deep drag as the idyllic looking rental cabin loomed before them. Hemlock Cottage was a gorgeous two-story log cabin with a wrap-around porch, a real stone fireplace and all the modern amenities. Deacon had only just installed the back deck that Spring.

  “I was supposed to come out here to fix the garbage disposal,” he said, exhaling and shaking his head. “George and Malinda are not going to be happy about this.”

  “Did you call them yet?” Julia asked, suddenly remembering their employer. The Constantines, husband and wife co-owners of Vista Vacation Rentals, would most definitely not be happy to learn that paying clients had been murdered on their property. Not happy was an understatement.

  “No, but I suppose I should,” Deacon said, stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette.

  As Julia listened to Deacon make yet another phone call, her heart began to sink even further. She had been looking forward to fall and anticipated apple picking and watching the leaves in Vista change color that year. She had been dreaming of a “Tender Tennessee Christmas” as the mountains became blanketed in layers of puffy white snow. Hell, she might have even gone and cut down her own Christmas tree. Now it looked like she was going to have to leave her quiet little community behind.

  Julia and Deacon sat together in the cab of his truck, awkwardly and tensely waiting for the police to arrive. In any other circumstance, Julia would have been thrilled to find herself seated next to the hunky handyman that she had only shared casual “hello’s” with for the past six months. She would have taken the opportunity to flirt and flash him her best million dollar smile if only she weren’t terrified beyond words.

  As red and blue flashing lights shone in Deacon’s rearview, Julia steeled herself for the line of questioning that was sure to follow. She ran through the story she had told everyone in Vista and recited her lines to herself. She had to remember that she was Julia Lowe, thirty-four-years old from Tifton, Georgia; no siblings or living relatives, never been married and working as a housekeeper. She was staying in Vista for the time being to get a fresh start and didn’t want any trouble. The fresh start and no trouble part was right, but the rest of the story that she told everyone in town was a lie. After so many months on the run, her secret was now sure to be exposed. Soon everyone in her newly adopted little town would discover that Julia Lowe was really Elizabeth Morgan after all.

  Chapter Two

  Deacon didn’t even notice the deceased man in the hot tub at first. All he could possibly focus on that beautiful summer morning high up in the hills of Vista was Julia. He was so caught up with her mess of silky golden hair in his face and their bodies colliding; the way her arms felt taut and strong beneath his grip. Death wasn’t on his mind, not with Julia breathing life into him just by being near. But then her fists went up and her scream echoed up through the holler and over the ridge, jolting him out of a hazy daydream. It was then that he knew something was very, very wrong.

  It wasn’t the first time Deacon had seen a dead body, but it was certainly the first time he had witnessed a murder scene. Keeping his wits about him was proving to be a real challenge as the image of Mr. Ranier’s bloodied corpse brought back vivid flashbacks that he would rather push down and forget. Deacon had wanted to try and test himself — try to hold out until the evening without needing a single smoke — but the sight of the cabin’s newly constructed back deck spattered with gore caused his chest to tighten. Deacon knew that he needed to stay calm and clear headed until the police arrived, if not for himself, for Julia.

  Julia Lowe. What a mystery.

  It wasn’t every day that a beautiful single woman moved to town, and Deacon knew he wasn’t the only one to take notice.
Most everyone knew everyone in Vista, and if a strange face showed up downtown or at the Gas N’ Go, it was likely to belong to a tourist or someone passing through. That’s what Deacon thought Julia was when he first laid eyes on her six months before, stranded on the side of the road: just someone passing through. But as winter melted to spring and then gave way to summer, it seemed as though the elusive housekeeper might be in Vista to stay.

  Deacon had to admit, catching a glimpse of Julia once or twice a week was a bright spot in his otherwise clockwork existence, even if she didn’t know it. The previous year had been rough for him. First his father died, then his marriage dissolved, and then there was the custody battle over little Grace. When Julia blew into town, Deacon was still drowning his sorrows in cheap whiskey on the weekends (and weeknights) that he didn’t have his daughter. That was all behind him now, though. He was done with drinking, and soon he would be done with smoking too. He had to be done — for Grace, and for himself.

  “You know, I never paid you back for my tire,” Julia said, as red and blue lights flashed in his rearview. He and Julia had been waiting in his truck for over half an hour, silent and awkward as two acquaintances who had just seen and experienced something horrible. Now as the police arrived, Julia was finally becoming strangely talkative.

  “Huh?”

  “Remember?” she said. “When my tire blew on Highway 441 back in January. You helped me get a new one? Right before you helped me get this job.”

  “Oh,” Deacon said, sitting up in his seat. “Well, we don’t have to worry about that now. I honestly forgot.”

  “I want to,” she said, reaching in her back pocket. Julia patted her front pockets and looked on the floor of the truck.

  “Shit. I must have left my tote bag on the deck when I dropped my cleaning supplies,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Let’s go talk to the cops and get this all figured out.”