While I’m
writing my next release, I thought I’d share an excerpt with you. Actually, it’s
the first scene. I hope it intrigues you. Please let me know if you have suggestions.
Chapter One
Savannah, Georgia, 1887
Katie Worthington watched
Mary Lou Chitwood’s departing carriage. Her best friend’s blond curls danced
with the summer breeze and swaying coach as Mary Lou leaned her head and arm
out the window to wave farewell. Katie returned the gesture. The new play they
had attended had proven boring and the theatre hot and stuffy, so she and Mary
Lou had left at intermission. By then the evening had been too advanced for two
young women to go elsewhere. Except for the fun of seeing Mary Lou, Katie
resented their evening out had been wasted.
Servant’s half day off,
so she used her key and crept inside quietly in case Grandpa had turned in. Sounds
drifted to her and she realized her grandfather had visitors. Should she risk
intruding to greet them or slip up to her room? Katie paused outside his study
and listened.
“Get these damn papers
tidied. Can’t have it looking like there was a struggle.”
Unmistakably Uncle
Walt, but his voice sounded odd. Cold instead of friendly. Angry instead of
jovial. She stepped closer to determine why.
“Old fool never should
have challenged us. He had money enough to share.”
The second man sounded
like Douglas Banterman, Uncle Walt’s friend and partner. She had never liked
Mr. Banterman.
Uncle Walt spoke again,
“He won’t give us any trouble now. All we have to do is make this look good.”
A terrible suspicion
crept up her spine and sent goose bumps along her arms. What struggle? Surely her
clever Grandpa wasn’t the old fool they mentioned. And make what look good? She
tiptoed to the study and peeked inside.
“Grandpa?” The words
escaped in a horrified rush when she saw the hole in her beloved grandfather’s temple
and the gun on his desk. She started toward him but stopped when she saw blood
sprayed across the desk and on the nearby wall.
Uncle Walt looked up.
His gaze held cold fury. “Kathryn. Your grandfather killed himself. Banterman
and I were trying to clean this up and spare you. Go to your room until I call
you.” No greeting or soft words of condolence. Instead, his icy tone cut the
air like a knife aimed at her heart.
What had happened to
her kindly, jovial Uncle Walt? Fear clutched her in its grip and sent
frightening thoughts spinning in her mind. Shaking her head, she turned and raced
for the front door.
Uncle Walt yelled.
“Stop her. Don’t let her leave the house.”
Mr. Banterman caught up
with her and grabbed her arm as she reached the door. “You’ll have to come with
me now, Miss Worthington.” In his other hand, he held a pistol.
Uncle Walt met them in
the foyer. “Get her up to her room and lock her inside. I’ll decide how to deal
with her later.” He hadn’t even bothered to meet her gaze.
Deal with her? Katie
hated the man’s ominous tone. “What happened to Grandpa?”
Uncle Walt’s glare
froze all hope of escape. “I told you he shot himself. If you know what’s good
for you, Kathryn Elizabeth Worthington, you’ll go to your room peacefully.”
Only a fool would argue
with him now, but she knew he lied. Her heart broke for beloved grandfather’s
betrayal by a trusted friend. Pretending a meekness she had never possessed and
likely never would, she sobbed and allowed Mr. Banterman to lead her up the
stairs.
“My room’s at the end
of the hall.” She swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “Poor Grandpa. I
didn’t know he was sad or worried.”
“Yeah, well, live and
learn.” The man’s tone held neither sympathy nor respect. Without another word,
he took the key from the door and locked her inside her room.
Pondering her
situation, she sat in her favorite blue moiré chair and thought about the two
men downstairs. Uncle Walt wasn’t really related. He’d been her godfather, her
own father’s best friend. As such, he frequently visited Granpa’s home and
shared many friends in common.
Now he was a powerful Judge.
Banterman was a respected attorney. If they said her grandfather committed
suicide, no one would question them.
But Grandpa would never
shoot himself, especially where she would find him. Strong, healthy, and
forceful, he had cared for her since the death of her parents ten years ago
when she was twelve. He doted on her, protected her, loved her. He would never
willingly abandon her.
Suicidal men didn’t make
plans for the future, did they? Grandpa planned for a trip to the museum’s new
exhibit tomorrow. He’d booked a trip for next week on the newly extended
Georgia of Central Railroad for Tybee Island and two weeks at their cottage
there.
Puzzling out the death,
she recalled that Walt Milligan and Douglas Banterman’s firm handled her
grandfather’s estate. And hers from her parents. Math wasn’t her favorite
subject, but she could add two and two. And the sum equaled embezzlement and
murder.
What if those two said
she killed her grandfather? No one would believe otherwise. Is that how they
intended to “deal” with her later—to make her their scapegoat? They might even
intend to kill her and make it look as if she’d killed Grandpa and then
herself. She didn’t intend to give them an opportunity to implement whatever
evil plan they concocted.
Images of what might be
flashed through her mind. She shook uncontrollably. Her breath burst in and out
in gasps. Visions of the worst outcome forced her to make a decision.
Too late to help
Grandpa, she must save herself. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Time for
action.
Katie arose and
gathered essentials into a valise, including the little derringer Grandpa had
given her. From the bedside table she grabbed the allowance she stashed in her
room. Grandpa was generous, and she never spent all of her funds. She counted
quickly. Not enough to get her far, but at least she had something.
Tears still streaming
for her dear Grandpa, she slipped out of her pink silk crepe dress and hung it in
her wardrobe. In its place she donned a blue sprigged muslin day dress. Sturdy
kid halfboots replaced her satin party shoes. When she’d included the minimum
necessary to her survival, she opened her window and dropped her luggage.
She paused for a last,
longing look at the beautiful room she loved. Not simply because of the
soothing shades of blue accented by white. Not because it represented a portion
of her fortune spent decorating to her tastes. Not because of the freedom she had
enjoyed here.
No, it reminded her of
life with Grandpa. She stepped onto the large branch she’d used most of her
life as a second exit and climbed down the tree. Katie jumped from the lowest limb
and picked up the valise.
Crying softly, she
strode swiftly across the grounds. Walt Milligan yelled her name. She turned to
see him leaning out her window. There was no mistaking the gun in his hand. Breaking
into a run, she slipped into the night.
She wanted to seek out
Mary Lou, but hers was the first place Uncle Walt would check. Besides, she
couldn’t put her best friend and the Chitwood family at risk from those two
men. Katie needed to disappear where no one would find her.
Where could that be?
Think, Katie, think. How could she escape a powerful Federal Judge? He knew her
friends, knew where she might run, knew where to look for her.
What seemed like hours
later, Katie’s aching feet protested the miles she’d covered. Her eyes were
bound to be red and puffy. Having the derringer with her offered a measure of
comfort, especially since she’d stopped long enough to slip it from her valise
into her pocket.
The seamy part of
Savannah she’d reached offered no hope of decent shelter but plenty of danger
for a woman alone. Recalling Grandpa’s cautions, she knew not to dally or look
as lost and bewildered as she was. She dared not stop and rest or even wash her
tear-stained face.
An unkempt fellow
staggered toward her. “Hey, girlie, want me to help you carry your bag?”
His companion elbowed
him and gave a guttural laugh. “I can help you do a lots o’ things.”
She longed to run, but
hadn’t the strength. Her heart pounded in her ears and a vise gripped her
chest. Forcing herself to appear calm, she didn’t look their way or pause. Instead,
she strode with purpose toward she knew not where. They called after her but
didn’t follow, thank heavens.
But what if they had?
She didn’t want to shoot anyone, nor even threaten to do so. She couldn’t shoot
at those two for being drunk. She was the interloper, the trespasser here.
Besides, her little derringer held only two shots. Not much help if a crowd
gathered.
Dawn would break in
another hour, then what would she do? Surely she’d reach the edge of town or
somewhere she could hide soon. Her clothes betrayed her social status, her
valise her transient situation. Where would she hide? Suddenly, she spotted the
perfect place to vanish.
Laughing at her good
fortune, she walked onto darkened circus grounds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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