Jo Reed returns to the police force as a single mother following the tragic death of her husband. She is immediately thrown into a difficult case when her preteen son’s friend is fatally shot. Torn between her duties as a detective and a mother, Jo’s investigation hits close to home as she discovers dangerous secrets in her own house and realizes her son is hiding what he knows.

October 27, 2026

Something old, something new, something deadly.

Life is moving in a new direction for podcaster Joss Miller as she plans her wedding and officially takes over managing the Rebecca Montgomery Center. When she steps into a Charleston bridal boutique, she finds her dream dress—and her next cold case for Cold Justice Podcast.

The boutique owner shares the story of a bride, a talented young actress and dancer, who went missing days before her wedding. As Joss investigates, she uncovers jealousy, ambition, and dark secrets in Charleston’s theater world. If Joss isn’t careful, digging into one bride’s tragic past may destroy her own chance at happily ever after.

July 28, 2026

Sugar Creek’s annual 4th of July celebration should be a time for community and fireworks, but this year, it ends with a bang of a different kind.

When City Councilman Terrence Dixon is found dead at his own lavish party, the neighborhood is thrown into chaos.  Dixon’s controversial votes and grand plans to revitalize Sugar Creek made him more enemies than friends.

When the suspects include personal friends, Eugeena Patterson-Jones and her husband Amos find themselves reluctantly drawn into a pool of simmering resentments. The murderer could very well be someone they know well, or thought they knew.

She ran to escape a stalker. He walked away from a career chasing danger. The only person who can keep her safe… is the one she’s afraid to trust.

Fleeing a stalker who turned her life upside down, beauty influencer Katrina Bowen heads south to a sleepy coastal town, hoping to disappear. She cuts ties with her old life, including her 200,000 followers, and tries to blend in. Falling for someone new is the last thing on her mind—especially when trust could cost her everything.

Benjamin “Ben” Wyatt left law enforcement to escape the ghosts of a case that went wrong. Now he finds peace in running his landscaping business and keeping his past buried. But when he meets Katrina, he recognizes the fear she tries to hide. She’s in danger and no matter how much he tries to resist getting involved, his instincts and his heart won’t let him walk away.

Chapter 1

Atlanta, Georgia Thursday, June 5 at 11:48 p.m.

Katrina Bowen stared at the stranger in the mirror. A tear formed in the corner of her eye and slowly slid down her face. Before she knew it, more tears flowed until her high cheekbones shined. She lifted her right hand to touch her hair.

What was left of it.

What have I done?

She ran her hand over the dark, short natural curls that remained.

He took everything from me!

Katrina turned away from the mirror and swiped at her face as if she could remove the memories of the past few months. Taking a deep breath, her eyes fell on the honey blonde locs strewn across the bathroom floor. Her signature look had earned her over two hundred thousand followers across her social media platforms.

@KatsGlowUp. That’s who she’d been. Who everyone knew her as on Instagram, YouTube and TikTok.

She’d spent countless hours recording and then editing short and long form videos. After years of posting black hair care and beauty product reviews, the sponsorship deals poured in. She’d met her goal of becoming a bona fide content creator. No more nine-to-five jobs for her. At twenty-seven, she’d been at the top of her game, establishing herself as a well-known influencer. Katrina had contemplated deleting it all. But why go to that extreme? Instead, she deactivated her accounts, hanging on to a thread of hope.

But she had to disappear. Now!

She swallowed hard as she gathered up the locs placing them into a plastic bag. Katrina had stripped down so much of her life the past few days. Last week, she’d paid the last four months on her apartment’s lease, telling her landlord she was moving for work. Katrina had loved that place so much she’d started another YouTube channel a year ago. Sharing her bargain store finds and DIY projects with her followers had brought immense joy.

She’d been living her dream.

Then he came into her life.

Julian Cross.

The thought of his name made her head throb. Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she had to pull it together. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

She had to get out of here. Before he knew she’d left Atlanta.

“Kat? Are you okay, honey?”

Startled, she turned around to find her aunt Lola standing in the hallway dressed in her white robe. Despite the late hour and being fifty-three, Aunt Lola still moved with the grace of a dancer. Her legacy made the Lola Davis Dance Academy the most prestigious training facility in the South.

“Your hair,” her aunt covered her mouth with her hand.

“It was time for a change.” Katrina forced lightness she didn’t feel into her voice.

Lola’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been holed up in the guest room all week. Barely eating. And now this. What’s really going on?”

“Trying something new, Auntie. That’s all. You’ve worn your hair short for years.” Katrina had always loved how feminine her aunt kept her short, natural hair, now a salt and pepper mix of tight curls.

Lola shook her head. “No! It’s that man, isn’t it? When he came by the house on Monday, I knew something was wrong.”

Fear rose up in Katrina’s throat.

Because he’d tracked her here.

Still clutching the bag with her shorn locs, Katrina moved past her aunt toward the guest bedroom. She had condensed her entire life into a tote bag and two suitcases. The ring lights, the camera equipment, the packages that had once flooded her apartment, she’d donated or sold. She’d even gotten rid of shoes and clothes, only keeping apparel she couldn’t bear to give away.

“Katrina Noelle Bowen.” Her aunt followed her into the room. “Talk to me. What is going on?”

Katrina stuffed the bag into the small trash can by the door. Her stomach lurched, as if she’d thrown away something precious. “It’s better if you don’t know.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended. The less her aunt knew, the better.

Aunt Lola crossed her arms, her eyebrows raised. “You made Julian seem like such a nice young man. Did something change?”

Katrina’s jaw clenched. A year ago, the first time she’d met him at an influencer gala, Julian seemed nice. The charming tech entrepreneur had been featured in Forbes and given TED talks about innovation. She couldn’t believe the Julian Cross had been interested in her. He’d opened her world, introducing her to places and things that she never experienced.

But over the last few months, she’d discovered the real Julian Cross.

That version scared her.

“Auntie, please. I can’t talk about this right now. I appreciate you letting me crash here this week, but I need to go.”

“Go where?” Aunt Lola let her arms fall to her sides. “Well, will you at least let me know you’re okay once you get where you’re going?”

“Of course.” Katrina pulled the prepaid phone from her pocket, one of three she’d bought with cash at different stores across the city. “I’ll call you,” Katrina set the small, plain phone in her aunt’s hand. “On this phone only.”

Her aunt’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar phone. “Katrina, what did that man do to you?”

Katrina almost put her fingers to her lips as if to shush her aunt, but she didn’t want to alarm her aunt any further. The last thing Katrina wanted to do was to pass along the paranoia that had consumed her over the past few months. It was enough that Julian had been here, at her aunt’s house, looking for Katrina. She knew what he could do. The last thing she wanted was to get her aunt involved in the mess Katrina had gotten into.

“Auntie, I promise I’m handling it. This…” She pointed to the infamous burner phone. How often had she seen one of these on television or read about them in a book? “I can’t leave a digital trail. Nothing he can… track.”

Aunt Lola held her hands to her chest. “Track! I don’t understand any of this. Kat, you’re scaring me.”

Katrina grabbed her aunt’s hand. “I’m just being careful. That’s all. I’ll call in a few days to let you know I’m safe.”

Aunt Lola shook her head. “And what am I supposed to tell people when they ask about you? What happens to all the people who follow you on the internet? People at church?”

Katrina shrugged. She couldn’t be concerned with people right now. Her goal was to get away from one person. “Tell them I’m taking a break. Mental health and all that. Everyone will understand.”

Besides, her mental health had gone downhill, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

Her aunt studied her face for a long moment. “I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, I don’t either.” Katrina hugged her aunt.

The older woman who’d served as her surrogate mother wrapped her arms around her, hugging her so tight, Katrina almost couldn’t breathe.

“Auntie, I need to go.” She stepped back, reached down and grabbed the large tote bag, swinging it over her shoulders. Then she wheeled the two suitcases out into the hallway. Her aunt silently followed behind her toward the front door.

Katrina turned to face her aunt. Tears stung her eyes again at the sight of the woman who’d been her rock since Katrina lost her parents. Fifteen years old, scared and angry at the world, but this woman lifted her up, encouraged her, and even disciplined her.

In some ways, Katrina felt like she’d let her aunt down.

Let her parents down.

Somehow she’d missed something in all the training and advice, getting sucked in by a man who could destroy her.

Her aunt touched her shoulder. “Call me when you can. Even if it’s just for a minute. I will pray for you. I know God will watch over you.”

It was pitch black except for the light on Aunt Lola’s front porch. Katrina dragged the suitcases toward the used black Honda Civic she’d bought with cash three days ago. Nothing that would draw attention. Her silver Audi sat in the dealership lot. Might have even been sold by now.

She loved that car. Her first major purchase on her own.

Funny how the flowers delivered to her apartment after she’d blocked Julian’s number hadn’t done it. Nor the comments on her posts from fake accounts that knew too much about her daily routine. Not even the photos of her at the coffee shop or the gym, nor those of her walking to her car, clearly showing someone had been following her.

No, the last straw had been realizing Julian had known where she was every moment. Nowhere was safe. Every photo location, every tagged restaurant, every casual check-in. She’d built a map for anyone willing to follow, and Julian had been following. He’d turned her privacy into his personal challenge to penetrate. Even after she stopped actively sharing her location, somehow Julian knew.

Katrina’s eyes darted around as if expecting something or someone to jump out of the shrubbery that lined her aunt’s driveway. She quickly packed up the trunk and then slid into the driver’s seat, immediately locking the doors. The car still felt foreign to her. Even though she’d bought it with her own money, it didn’t feel like her car. She glanced over to see her aunt had closed her front door. Seeing the shut door, Katrina felt even more alone.

She took a deep breath and started the car’s engine. It was already well after midnight when she backed out of her aunt’s driveway.

Katrina checked her rearview mirror, constantly looking for signs of being followed. As Atlanta’s skyline disappeared, she tried not to think about what she was leaving behind. It wasn’t the apartment, the sponsorships, or the followers that bothered her. It was the version of herself she’d struggled to build after losing her parents over a decade ago.

Her identity had been stripped.

Because this all felt like she was starting all over again.

Now who am I?

October 28, 2025

Barista and true crime podcaster Joss Miller is looking for her next cold case when her brother shows up unannounced in Charleston. She’s sure he’s hiding something—and her detective boyfriend, Andre Baez, seems to know exactly what it is. But neither of them is saying a word.

Before she can figure out what’s going on, someone seeks out Joss with what could be the perfect story for her Cold Justice podcast. A gifted street photographer died two years ago under suspicious circumstances.

The deeper she digs, the more tangled the mystery becomes—and the closer she gets to the real reason her brother came home. If she’s not careful, Joss might uncover more than she bargained for.

Chapter 1

Monday, June 2 at 10:37 a.m.

Never could I have imagined this.

Unexpected tears welled in my eyes as I took stock of the kids scattered around the classroom inside the Rebecca Montgomery Art Center. Being attacked at the café next door, this time last year, was the scariest moment of my life. But God brought me closer to my purpose. I was feeling a sense of overwhelm, but it sprung from joy rather than despair.

Before anyone noticed, I turned my head and quickly wiped the moisture from my eyes. This was the first day of our first annual media arts summer camp, and I had the honor of kicking it off with a podcasting workshop. I’d specifically requested to work with eight to eleven year olds.

The Sugar Creek Media Arts Camp was my brainchild. I thought it would be good to get kids interested in media arts at an early age. Since the art center had become a part of Sugar Creek Café, Fay loved the idea. The café had been a fixture in the arts community for years with its bimonthly Friday Night Jams. Patrons already enjoyed the paintings and photography displayed on the walls of the café, and we’d expanded the galleries in the art center to include sculptures, pottery, sweetgrass baskets and mixed-media pieces.

Watching these young minds craft their own podcast episode was more rewarding than I’d expected. I worked with a teacher to develop a curriculum that included writing, storytelling, oratory and computer skills. We were flooded with applications, but I stuck to twelve slots. With the lower age range, that wasn’t hard to do.

“Okay, everyone, let’s wrap up your scripts. I’m coming around to each of you. I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to record later this afternoon.” I didn’t want to hold back their creativity, but the recordings were going home for their families to hear. The last thing I wanted was an angry parent.

Eight-year-old Kisha Black spun around in her chair. “Auntie, I mean Miss Joss, I wrote about the mystery of the missing Squishmallow!”

Though we weren’t related, Kisha’s mom was one of my best friends, and I’d become an honorary auntie. I reached down and playfully wiggled my eyebrows at the little girl. “A mystery? You trying to give me some competition for my podcast, Kisha?”

She giggled into her hands. “You know my daddy is a detective. He’s always solving mysteries. I might be like him when I grow up, or a teacher like Grandma Eugeena.”

This wasn’t a surprise. Kisha came from a mystery loving family. Her dad, Detective Chris Black, her mom, Leesa Patterson-Black, and my next-door neighbor, Eugeena Patterson-Jones, were true crime aficionados, the latter two were amateur sleuths like me. I was thrilled when Leesa told me how interested Kisha was in the podcasting session.

“A Squishmallow mystery?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. Andre had gotten me one for my birthday. The purple cat lived on my bed when it wasn’t getting knocked off by one of the real felines in the house. I was curious to hear Kisha’s explanation.

Kisha’s eyes lit up. “They’re super soft stuffed animals! I have one that looks like Grandma Eugeena’s dog. Anyway, my friend Emma brought her Hello Kitty one to school last week, and everyone wanted to touch it. But after lunch, when Emma went to get it from her desk, it was gone!” Kisha put her arms in the air. “We looked everywhere.”

Intrigued, I asked. “Did you all ever find it?”

Her barrettes clanged as she shook her head. “No. But I have some ideas about who might have taken it. Daddy says I need to follow the clues.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, Detective Kisha. I’m looking forward to hearing more.” I continued moving between the tables checking on each child’s progress. At eleven years old, Amani Gladstone was the oldest in the group, and I could tell she’d written a detailed script. She had filled almost two pages with her curly writing. She’d drawn little hearts over the ‘i’s’ like I did when I was younger.

“And what will your podcast be about, Amani?”

The young girl placed her hands on her hip, swinging one of her two long braids across her shoulder. “I’m going to talk about why adults say one thing but do another.”

Her voice carried a slight edge that made me eye her a bit more carefully. “That’s… a really interesting topic. What made you think of that?”

Amani held her finger in the air as she made her point. “Adults are always telling kids to be honest and tell the truth, but then they don’t.”

By the way she rolled her neck, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there. But it might also open up some much needed dialogue if Amani shared her episode with her mom later. “Well, I’m sure a lot of other kids will be able to relate to your episode.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes until lunch break, then we’d record the podcast episodes this afternoon. Thanks to our camp sponsor, the local tech company, Synaptic, we had a nice setup with real microphones and recording equipment. The company’s CEO also insisted we have MacBooks loaded with their newest software.

It was the same software I used to edit my podcast. Since I found it super easy to use, I knew these young digital natives would have no issues with it. I figured all of them had their hands on a phone or tablet since they were toddlers. The biggest obstacle this morning had been getting my campers to settle on stories they wanted to record.

“Joss,” My boss Fay Everett’s voice drifted from the classroom doorway. “Lunch is ready. We have everything set up in the back room. I can take them over to the café for you.”

“Sounds good.” I clapped my hands twice. “Alright, young podcasters, it’s time for lunch. This afternoon you’ll get to hear your voices come through those fancy microphones.”

The kids cheered as they headed toward the door. They lined up behind Fay, and I took a breath before gathering the scattered pencils and markers.

A noise near the doorway caught my attention. I spun around, expecting to see a child returning to the classroom.

Instead, I glimpsed a man standing in the hallway. He appeared familiar to me, but I couldn’t recall if he was one of the campers’ parents. Something about his intense stare made my skin prickle. Despite the café being next door, I suddenly felt very alone.

***

Monday, June 2 at 11:56 a.m.

My mind whirred to the incident that happened last June. The man who attacked me inside the café was behind bars, but from that incident, I’d learned I couldn’t trust anyone. Even though the café was right next door, it seemed far away.

The stranger and I stared at one another for what felt entirely too long before I found my voice and croaked out, “Can I help you?”

The man stepped forward. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. Fay let me in. My name is Devante Cavanaugh. I’m teaching the photography class tomorrow. I wanted to see how things were going.”

“Oh.” My shoulders sagged with relief. That’s why I recognized the man. I was the one who’d researched him online and discovered he lived right here in Charleston. He looked different in person. I cocked my head to the side and then blurted. “Didn’t you have dreadlocks?”

He smiled, rubbing his hand across his low cut fade. “Yes, I parted with them a few weeks ago.”

I nodded, suddenly aware that I was still clutching the basket of pencils and markers to my body. “Well, change is always good.” I placed the basket on the desk at the front of the room and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. “Hmm… as you can see, we stuck to a young group for this first camp.”

Devante’s brown eyes were piercing above high cheekbones. “They seem bright and…” he tilted his head as if listening for a sound, “energetic too.”

I laughed. “Yes! Food makes us all pretty excited. I promise they’re a good group. Do you want to meet them? I need to catch up to them.” It was great that Fay came to get the campers, but she still was managing the café too.

Devante moved out of the way as I rushed past him. Even though he’d identified himself, my discomfort quickly returned, and I wasn’t sure why. He didn’t appear to be a monster. In fact, he was incredibly handsome. His looks didn’t make me nervous; I had a handsome boyfriend who I was head over heels in love with. Maybe it was the cologne that seemed to reach out and grab my nostrils as I passed. It was strong and spicy.

The familiar scent of freshly ground coffee soothed me as I slid through the double doors that connected to Sugar Creek Café. This time of day, I was usually serving up coffee concoctions alongside pastries and muffins. The lunch crowd wasn’t quite in full swing, but I could hear our group of campers as I drew closer to the back of the café. While I couldn’t see him, I could feel Devante trailing behind me.

The front of the café was set up with tables and chairs in the center and booths along the windows. Unlike some of the trendier coffeehouses, Sugar Creek Café gave off an at-home-in-your-kitchen vibe. In the back were couches and chairs for those who wanted to read or study. Last night, we’d pushed the plush chairs closer to the wall and set up tables and folding chairs in the center.

I’d asked Fay why not have the campers eat lunch inside the center, but she said, “Might as well give them the whole café experience.” This was a big deal for some kids who never ventured outside of Charleston, or explored their hometown.

All twelve campers chattered as they devoured their turkey sandwiches, chips, and fresh homemade lemonade. Fay arrived early every morning to bake fresh pastries or muffins and to make gourmet sandwiches. This group would have a special treat that café patrons wouldn’t get, Fay’s decadent M&M chocolate chip cookies.

I was enjoying seeing the kids having such a good time. I almost forgot about Devante. I glanced back and found him standing off to the side, observing the kids. But I’d caught his eye. Out of habit, I smiled, then quickly turned away from those intense eyes. It was times like this when I wished Andre had a ring on my finger. Not that that would deter some men. Of course, I could’ve been reading too much into the man’s intentions.

I hadn’t had a ton of boyfriends in the past, but my experiences with men had made me wary. I casually looked in his direction again, but he’d moved over to the wall of photos. Fay supported the arts, including several local photographers. It occurred to me that Devante might not be among the photographers on the wall. I hoped that wasn’t a problem. Most of the photographs were of places in Charleston. Devante specialized in portraits.

The café door chimed as people arrived for the lunch hour. Though Fay said I wasn’t officially on duty in the café today, familiar habits had me peeking around the corner in case I needed to jump in and help. To my surprise, my boyfriend Detective Andre Baez walked in and behind him was my brother.

“Nate?” My voice came out low, under my breath.

My brother mainly stayed missing in action since we’d lost our father. Surprisingly, he’d stayed in Sugar Creek this past Thanksgiving and into the New Year, the longest he’d been in town in years. He even came for Mother’s Day three weeks ago. But why was he here now? And why was he hanging out with my boyfriend?

Andre wore one of his suits, but must have left the jacket in the car. His red tie hung slightly loose around his neck with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbow. Next to him, my brother wore a light blue t-shirt that stretched over his biceps and jeans. On his feet were Nike sneakers that I was sure was one style among several hundred pairs. My brother had always been a sneakerhead.

I glanced over at the kids. They were chatting and finishing up their meal, so I walked over to greet Andre and Nate.

“Hey, sis.” Nate grinned before giving me a one-armed hug. “Surprise.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked Nate, before walking into Andre’s outstretched arms. “Glad you dropped by,” I murmured into his chest. “And why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

I stepped back, eyeing my brother and my boyfriend.

Andre’s expression was carefully masked. I’d told him if I knew how to play poker, I would never go against him. Because of his training, he’d perfected the art of maintaining a stoic face, which also alerted me that something was up.

“I didn’t know,” Andre shrugged.

I tilted my head, ready to question him further.

Nate quickly interjected. “Now hold on, Sis. We ran into each other. Andre said he was going to catch lunch at Sugar Creek Café and that I could find you here.”

I studied my brother’s face. Mmm, right! My brother happened to run into my boyfriend. I still hadn’t figured out how Andre tracked down Nate and got him to come home for the holidays, when Nate had been ignoring my texts and emails.

I wanted to know exactly where they’d ran into each other. Instead, I asked. “How long are you staying?”

Nate licked his lips. “Not sure yet. Depends on a few things.”

That was pretty vague. What was he hiding?

Andre cleared his throat and pointed. “Is that your group of future podcasters in the back? Sounds like they’re having fun.”

“Yep, we’re recording their episodes after lunch. I’m hoping to get them all recorded by the time camp ends at four o’clock. It took longer than I’d thought for them to come up with ideas.”

Andre raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any help?”

“Hailey, the teacher who helped me with the curriculum, is coming to help this afternoon. She had something to do this morning.” I glanced at my brother before leaning closer to Andre. “Are we getting together tonight?”

Andre grimaced and then shook his head. “They added me to a task force for a case that came up.”

I stepped back, crossing my arms. “A task force? That sounds pretty serious.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it involves a couple of agencies, including the Feds.”

My heart sank. When Andre was on a task force a few months ago, we hardly saw each other. I crossed my arms and eyed Nate, suddenly wanting to place my frustration on my brother. “Does Mom know you’re here?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Thought I would grab some lunch for her. What does she usually like?”

I sighed. “The chicken salad croissant sandwich and an iced latte.”

“Auntie Joss?”

I turned to find Kisha behind me.

She glanced over and then sprinted toward Andre. “Hey, Uncle Andre.”

Andre bent down to hug the little girl. “Hey, Kisha.”

“Have you seen my daddy?”

Andre grinned. “I saw Detective Black this morning. He told me you would be at camp today with Auntie Joss.”

Kisha clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait for him and Mommy to hear my podcast.” She grabbed my hand. “Is it time for us to use the microphones yet?”

I rubbed her hand. “Almost. Do me a favor. Make sure everyone puts their trash in the big garbage can back there.”

“Got it.” Kisha headed back to the room.

We all laughed as we heard her repeat my instructions to the group.

“I need to grab something to eat myself.” I playfully punched my brother on the arm. “I’m looking forward to finding out more about this surprise visit.” Turning back to Andre, I reached up and kissed him. “I’ll see you when I see you. Text me if plans change.”

He smiled, “You got it, babe.”

While Andre and Nate headed toward the counter to place their order, I went back to grab a sandwich and make sure the campers had cleaned up any remnants of lunch in the back room. Despite the kids’ chatter around me, my mind raced. Why was Nate really here? And why did it feel like Andre knew more than he was saying?

I was so lost in thought, I’d forgotten about Devante. Maybe he had questions about the camp and his workshop tomorrow.

Feeling bad that I’d left him hanging, I looked around, prepared to apologize.

But he was gone.

Two people trying to escape their pasts find each other. But one of them has danger lingering in the shadows.

To escape the scandal surrounding her father’s murder conviction, Tracey Boyd moved away from her hometown with her young son. When her dad falls ill behind bars, his lawyer, Emmett Craig, reaches out to her. Tracey returns with some trepidation to South Carolina and finds herself being drawn more and more to Emmett’s warmth and sincerity.

Emmett is a struggling defense lawyer seeking redemption after he let a man get away with murder. He’s unsure why he’s feeling led to help a convicted murderer until he meets the man’s daughter and grandson.

When bad things start to happen Emmett isn’t sure if his past mistakes are coming back to haunt him. Or is Tracey’s dad’s insistence of his wrongful guilty sentence really true? Did someone get away with murder? And are they trying to keep it that way?

Chapter 1

Panama City, Florida
Thursday, May 8 at 3:13 p.m. CST

“This is absolutely unacceptable.”

Tracey Boyd pressed her fingers against her temple. The words sliced through her making the world spin as her emotions warred inside. All her hard work and this was how she was being treated. Despite her desire to tell this woman where she could go, Tracey willed her voice to remain steady and attempted to explain to her boss, “My son had a 102-degree fever. He can’t go to school or daycare until he’s better.”

Regina Morrison’s high-pitched voice cut through the phone, piercing Tracey’s throbbing head. “We’re pitching to Southeast Banking Association on Monday, and you’ve been out of the office for two days. Can’t you find someone to help you?”

Tracey squeezed her free hand into a fist and pressed it firmly against her lips to prevent the retort that threatened to spill from her mouth. She desperately wanted to beat on the pillow that lay beside her on the couch, but she remained still, almost frozen in place.

It was one thing dealing with a woman who was clearly not qualified for her position, always leaning on Tracey for help. But this lack of empathy was about to push her over the edge. She’d always been aware of the stark differences in her life compared to her boss’s. Being raised and married into wealth, Regina’s high-strung personality demanded that everything go her way. The woman had a nanny to take care of her three children so she could be a pretend superwoman.

Though Tracey couldn’t see her on the phone, she imagined the tall, slender woman with her perfectly coiffed, golden blonde hair pacing her office. During their face-to-face confrontations in Regina’s oceanfront office, Tracey often stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the endless horizon, longing to escape. Right now, she wanted to escape this conversation and get off this phone.

Proving how tone-deaf she really was, Regina droned on. “Everyone has personal problems. My Joey had a bug a few weeks ago too, but I had to go to Atlanta. It couldn’t be avoided. Do you think the hurricane cared about our personal problems? Do you think our competitors care? The Morrison needs this convention to stay afloat.”

The Morrison, Regina’s family’s hotel, had been limping along since Hurricane Dora slammed into Panama City Beach last August. The luxury boutique hotel wasn’t a stranger to storms, but this last one wreaked considerable damage, leaving the oceanfront wing still hidden behind construction barriers and temporary supports. With Memorial Day weekend less than three weeks away, this executive retreat could mean the difference between sinking or swimming.

The hurricane had been scary, but Tracey wasn’t a stranger to these types of storms. Growing up in Beaufort, South Carolina, she had vivid memories of extensive damage caused by strong winds and flooding. But this year-round storm system causing havoc in her life, Hurricane Regina, had started to take a toll. When her old boss, Lauren Morrison, announced her retirement, appointing her niece as her replacement, Tracey instinctively knew that Regina would be trouble. Her only qualifications were the fact that she grew up around the hotel her family owned.

Tracey unclenched her fist and shook her hand to loosen the tension. She knew what was at stake here. But life had been ‘lifing,’ with one thing after the other. Despite her own frustrations, Tracey tried to allay her boss’s concern. Again. That task had become a permanent part of her job description. “Regina, I understand that, and I have —”​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“You realize the east wing renovations depend on securing these bookings,” Regina steamrolled into her next gripe. “If we lose Southeast Banking, we’ll lose credibility with being able to sell our upscale, premier destination.”

Tracey rolled her eyes. Lord, deliver me from overdramatic women. This heffa was using her words. Words she’d crafted as the marketing coordinator for the website and marketing brochures. Tracey tried again to ease her boss’s anxiety. “I’ve been working remotely, Regina. The presentation is nearly—”

Regina snapped. “Send it to me. I need to see what you’ve been working on. And, Tracey, tomorrow is Friday. I expect you in the office. We have to be ready on Monday. Jasper Cunningham is flying in from Miami on Sunday. My father and I will wine and dine the bank’s vice-president. But Monday morning, you need to do what we pay you to do.”

“I will—” The call ended abruptly leaving Tracey staring at her phone.

I know she didn’t just hang up on me!

Tracey threw her phone onto the couch and placed her trembling hands on the sides of her face. Before she could stop herself, a long moan slipped from her throat. Her neck and shoulder muscles ached as if she’d just finished a rigorous workout. Regina knew she’d been working nonstop outside of the office. With her toxic boss breathing down her neck, Tracey had no choice but to answer work emails and calls.

This job had not always been like this. When she first accepted the position five years ago, it had been a godsend. Back then, her boss had been a ray of sunshine. But she’d retired and now Tracey was always working after hours, burning the midnight oil. She was stressed out of her mind, trying to entice visitors to come to the Morrison to relax and unwind on their vacations and retreats.

Lord, when am I going to get a break?

The presentation wasn’t as perfect as she liked it to be, but Tracey saved the PowerPoint. It would have to do. She attached the slides to an email to Regina and thumped the enter key on her laptop a bit too hard. She really didn’t need this kind of pressure. In the last few months, she’d perused open positions online, something she wouldn’t have fathomed doing until a year ago.

Tracey had built a life in this town for her and her son after leaving a painful past. The ordeal of picking up and moving made her click away from other possibilities. But how long could she continue to endure? Tracey loved working at the Morrison, but Regina had become increasingly worse. No one liked the woman and only tolerated her because she was a Morrison.

Tracey stood from the couch and stretched. She had a few hours before the workday officially ended but wanted to check on her son. Jayden’s fever had lingered this morning, leaving her no choice but to keep him home one more day. He’d eaten the chicken soup and soup crackers for lunch, and she was relieved to see his appetite return. She hoped he would fully recover enough to return to school tomorrow.

She’d left Jayden’s bedroom door slightly ajar so she could hear him if he awoke. Peeking through the bedroom door, she could see Jayden sleeping soundly. His stuffed Snoopy was wrapped in one arm and his toy Spiderman lay by his side. That first night, the fever had brought the young boy vivid nightmares.

Tracey had to face her own waking nightmare, a boss she despised. Still too riled up to return to her laptop, she decided on a cup of mint tea. While she waited for the water in the electric kettle to boil, she washed the dirty dishes in the sink instead of sticking them in the dishwasher. The almost too warm soapy water felt good on her skin. By the time she finished with the dishes, the kettle clicked off and the hot water settled.

While the tea bag steeped, she glanced over at the pile of mail on the kitchen table. For the past few days, she’d brought it in, but hadn’t bothered to look through it. Tracey picked up her mug and shuffled over to sort through the pile. Most of it could be shredded or thrown in the trash. All her bills were paid online, so there were no paper invoices or statements.

One piece of mail stood out, even though it was a plain white envelope. Maybe because it didn’t scream, “You’ve been pre-selected to go deeper into debt with a shiny new credit card.” Or even more insulting, entice her with consolidating all her debt with a high interest loan offer.

Tracey frowned at the return address. Then, the anger she’d felt a few moments ago stirred. This time, the rekindled fury brought memories of pain and shame she’d left behind. She thought she’d buried these emotions and had moved on. Her hand trembled as she touched the envelope.

Darrell Boyd #149587.

Lieber Correctional Institution.

Why would he reach out now?

The backlash of his conviction had shattered her life. Folks she’d never dreamed would turn on her, had shown their true colors.

Could she blame them?

She was the daughter of a murderer.

They say forgiveness is for yourself, not the other person. But Tracey could not accept what her father had done. He’d crushed her, and her life had never been the same. There was nothing he could ever say, no amount of explaining. He deserved to be locked inside that cell for the rest of his life.

Tracey had packed up what was left of her life, a life that included a young son she needed to protect. After losing Jayden’s father, Jordan, in a car accident, and then having her own father charged with murder just a few months later, Tracey had no choice but to start fresh somewhere else. Jayden had been too young to understand what happened to his father or grandfather. So for the past five years, Tracey had made this place home.

For her father to reach out after all this time, she was pretty sure her Aunt Edna had something to do with that. Her aunt had promised to never share Tracey’s address. Why did she break that promise? Tracey could avoid her father, but she couldn’t ignore her father’s older sister. Aunt Edna had become the mother figure in her life after Tracey’s mama died.

Mama had been the glue of the family. Tracey often wondered if her mama was still alive would her father have resorted to violence.

She drank her now tepid tea as past memories invaded her thoughts. There was a time when she loved her father and would never have thought him capable of hurting a fly. Definitely not another human being. She’d long since stopped trying to understand and just settled for not caring, pushing the past behind her.

She rinsed out the mug and placed it in the sink. On the way out of the kitchen, she reached for the letter and took it to her bedroom. Tracey had no intention of opening the letter, although something in the back of her mind urged her not to ignore it. Instead, she laid it on her dresser and headed back to the living room.

She had work to do. The past would have to wait.

February 25, 2025

Serena Manchester faces her most challenging case – she must fight to keep the man she loves from being accused of murder.

Serena “Rena” Manchester,” finds her life on the brink of a new beginning as she prepares to marry Trey Evans. But as they prepare for their wedding, the past erupts into their present with the sudden reappearance of Benjamin “Benny” Manchester—Serena’s ex-husband and Trey’s half-brother.

Benny’s motives are unclear, but his presence alone is enough to stir the calm waters of Serena’s life. When Benny is found dead, a cloud of suspicion looms over Trey, casting a shadow on their impending nuptials. 

To clear Trey’s name, Serena takes a deep dive into her ex-husband’s life. Each clue uncovers a man who’d attracted danger and powerful forces to his life.

Tears caught me off guard, pooling at the edges of my eyelashes. I quickly swiped my eyes, hoping no one noticed. If someone did, I would blame it on being premenopausal. That would suffice as an explanation for those who didn’t care to dig too deep. The real truth—I’d been on an emotional rollercoaster for so long, feeling genuinely happy felt foreign to me.

It kind of scared me.

Take a breath, Serena.

I sucked in a breath, but I could still feel my heart melt as I witnessed true love. A love that I wanted. I love that I had right now.

I turned my attention to Trey Evans who sat next to me at the table. I bit my lip as my heart swelled with emotions at the tears streaming down his face. My strong, handsome fiancé didn’t even try to wipe them away. We, along with many others, were watching magic happen. His parents had decided to renew their vows in front of a select group of family and friends for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

The Evans’s immaculate backyard had been transformed into an intimate setting. Long tables draped in white tablecloths were arranged in a u-shape. Each table held a beautiful glass vase wrapped with gold ribbons and filled with an arrangement of gold-tipped white roses. We all sat in white wooden chairs adorned with gold satin bows, while Robert and Margaret Evans faced each other, holding hands under an ornate arch adorned with twinkling gold lights and clusters of yellow roses and baby’s breath.

Margaret’s silver-streaked hair, styled into an updo, elegantly matched her flowing cream dress. She had always been a beautiful woman. Today she glowed, looking much younger than her seventy years. Robert’s eyes shone, and the lights caught his distinguished gray beard as he looked down at his bride of fifty years. Looking at Robert, I could envision how Trey would look in twenty years.

I felt Trey move beside me. He’d taken a handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and wiped his face. I touched his thigh under the table, and he smiled at me before grabbing my hand. September was only four months away, and we would finally be married. It’d been a long time coming. Who knew my best friend from childhood would one day see me as more than a friend? Only took us almost thirty years.

Pastor Larry Walker guided Robert and Margaret through renewing their vows. I’d asked Trey why they chose not to have the ceremony at the family’s home church, Zion Baptist. His mother had insisted on it being intimate with only their closest family and friends. A good idea since the Evans’s large yard only held about thirty people.

Trey’s son, Joseph, sat on the other side of him looking debonair in his suit. Today, he reminded me so much of his father at that age. Joseph must have felt my gaze; he looked over at me and grinned. I was grateful we’d developed a good relationship over the past few years, soon this young man would be my stepson. A teen who hung around to witness his grandparents renew their vows when there were other places he could be was refreshing.

After the renewal ceremony, two women dressed in black aprons served the happy couple.

We joined the buffet line with my sister Bev and her husband, Clay, who were also sitting at our table. I admired the elegant spread laid out on tables draped in white linens. Two chafing dishes were filled with meat. One held grilled chicken breasts glazed with herbs and lemon, and the other, grilled shrimp skewers drizzled with garlic butter. A crystal bowl overflowed with fresh leafy greens for salad surrounded by all the fixings and a variety of dressings.

My sister commented, “This is really lovely, Trey.”

“Mom and Dad deserve something special,” he said. “Mom’s friends did all the decorating and worked with the caterer. All I had to do was keep Dad out of the way.”

I laughed. “They did a wonderful job with the yard. I barely recognized it. And this food spread is almost too beautiful to eat.”

Bev grinned. “Rena, you can get some ideas from this for you and Trey’s wedding.”

I glanced over at Trey, who winked at me. I sighed inwardly. It had been an easy decision to ask my sister to be my wedding planner. Hospitality was right up her alley. The first two times I walked down the aisle, I went to the justice of the peace. No fuss. No family. Both marriages didn’t last long either.

I touched my sister’s shoulder. “Bev, let’s keep the focus on the Evans today. We have plenty of time to discuss wedding plans.”

I’d learned the number three was a special number of God, so I prayed it would be the number for me.

Bev cooed. “But there are such good ideas here, especially that arch.”

I rolled my eyes as my sister babbled. Bev tended to not hear me when she got something in her head. The two older women responsible for the decor were also seated at our table. Close friends of Margaret, Bev chatted with them about the details of the centerpieces. Since arts and crafts were not my thing, I ate in peace as snatches of conversations about silk flowers, ribbons, and gold paint floated over my head.

Thankfully, by the time Bev turned her attention back to me, I’d demolished my grilled shrimp skewers. “Clay said you’ve been mainly taking on work for him. I’ve been meaning to ask if you miss the bigger cases?”

I rubbed my hands with the white cloth napkin in my lap and considered her question. “Sometimes. But I’m enjoying the change of pace. I thought everyone wanted me to slow down, anyway. You know, stay away from dangerous situations.”

Bev nodded. “Absolutely. It’s good that you’re keeping safe. Especially after… well, you know.”

“After I got shot.” I finished what I thought my sister was hesitant to say.

She looked away, growing quiet. My injuries from last fall often did that to people. It caused me to pause all the time, grateful God had allowed me to escape death. Again.

The first time I’d been almost fatally injured, someone pushed me down a flight of stairs. After a long stay in the hospital recovering from a traumatic brain injury, I left Charlotte, leaving behind my career as a reporter, and returned home after twenty-five years. It took some time to get on my feet and start Manchester Investigations. I’d been in some hairy predicaments, but the outcomes mattered.

Bad guys received justice.

Bev peered at me. “I haven’t seen Amir. Is he still helping you out?”

“He’s got his own business to run, but if I need his technical expertise, he’s there for me.” The young cybersecurity expert had become like a younger brother to me. Even though we weren’t working on any major cases together, he did stay in touch. Amir had hinted that he was dating someone, which I was happy to hear. I couldn’t wait to meet her.

“Leticia mentioned she might want to help this summer when she’s home from college. She’s good at doing background checks, which is mainly what I’ve been doing lately. That should free me up to…” I cringed, “be available when you need me for wedding stuff. ”

Bev clapped silently like a kid. Then she leaned in, lowering her voice. “Sorry, I still worry about you.”

I glanced around and noticed Trey was talking to his parents. I turned forty-five in March, and my life was headed in a new direction. It was time for me to be happy for a change.

Bev’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth as she stared past me. “Is that who I think it is?” she whispered.

My ears perked up at the sudden quiet around me. All chatter had ceased. Only Al Green’s song “Let’s Stay Together” could be heard in the background.

I wasn’t sure why, but my first instinct was to look at Trey. Trey wasn’t a man who often showed anger on his face. In fact, he was really good at maintaining a neutral expression. I told him he should learn poker. The hair on my arms stood as I watched Trey’s face harden into a mask of anger. I eyed his parents. The look of shock on Margaret’s face was quite opposite from the wide grin on Robert’s face. The older man seemed oblivious to the emotions warring on his wife and son’s face.

Before I could confirm with my own eyes, I knew. I don’t know how, but I knew.

I turned and saw an unwelcome ghost from my past.

Benny Manchester.

Trey’s half-brother.

My ex-husband.

November 26, 2024

After completing the previous season of her true crime podcast, barista Joss Miller is ready to hang up her microphone for good. But when she meets Lily Hartman, the widow of a renowned choir director found dead last Christmas Eve, Joss’s sense of justice won’t let her walk away.

Joss soon realizes that quite a few people—including Lily—have something to hide. Her detective boyfriend isn’t too crazy about her diving into another cold case. The closer Joss gets to the truth, the more she must confront her own past traumas and decide if pursuing justice is worth the risk.

Chapter 1

Panic Attack
Tuesday, November 12 at 3:37 p.m.

I can’t breathe.

My chest tightened, an invisible vise squeezed tighter with each passing second. The familiar café sounds faded away, replaced by the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears. My vision blurred, the edges darkening as if a heavy curtain was slowly falling around me.

Panic clawed its way up my throat, threatening to escape in a scream I couldn’t release. My hands trembled, and I gripped the edge of the kitchen sink. The world seemed to tilt and spin, and I felt like I was falling despite standing still.

I tried to remember what my therapist had taught me. 

Breathe. Count. Ground yourself. 

But I couldn’t breathe.

The smell of coffee, usually so comforting, overwhelmed me. 

I closed my eyes to regain control. But behind my eyelids, images flashed. 

Me running. 

Him pursuing.

“Joss.”

Was someone saying my name?

My eyes popped open and my vision blurred. Then it cleared. 

My fellow barista Briana Jones stood next to me with concern in her eyes. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

The memory of the phone call I’d received this morning flashed through my mind. “Ms. Miller, this is the Prosecutor’s Office. Chief Prosecutor Rutledge needs you to report to the Charleston County Courthouse next Monday at 10:00 a.m.” The words echoed in my head, making my stomach churn.

I didn’t like to burden people with my issues, so out of habit I plastered a smile on my face. “I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. Is there a crowd up front?”

Briana shook her head, her eyes searched my face. She’d known me for about two years as a co-worker, neighbor and a friend. Briana also valued privacy and gave me an understanding look. “No, it’s still quiet. Fay was looking for you. She’s next door in the center.”

“Great. I could use a break. Are you okay working the counter?”

“Of course. And, Joss,” Briana touched my arm. “You can talk to me. I know it has to be hard to be here sometimes. I don’t know how you do it.”

I took a deep cleansing breath. “I’m fine. Really.” Yep, Briana knew me too well. So did my boss. I moved quickly toward the front of the café, skirting around the counter toward the left. Everyone wanted to keep things normal for me, and I was grateful for their thoughtfulness.

I’d hoped my memories of the attack this past summer here at the café would fade away. But they lingered like a heavy weight on my mind. Most days, I was fine. But today started out differently.

Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you (1 Peter 5:7). 

My next door neighbor, Eugeena Patterson-Jones shared that verse with me. I’d written it down and placed it on my bedroom mirror. 

I repeated it as I left behind the scent of coffee and soft jazz to step over the threshold into the new center. In just a few months, Sugar Creek Café had merged with the neighboring building, a former craft store. Brand new double glass doors now led from inside the café to the Rebecca Montgomery Art Center. My boss Fay Everett and I had been involved in the plans for the new space, which expanded the café. Fay had tapped into her artistic side painting a colorful mural on the back wall. Not an artist myself, I had fun joining in.

 It had been a kind of therapy that I needed. It was hard to think about, but over a year ago, I found the body of Maggie Nelson, the owner of the Crafty Corner. And then, this past summer, I managed to escape with my life from a crazed man. Both experiences had affected me more than I liked to admit. Through prayer and talking to my therapist, I was determined to move past my moments of PTSD.

The glass door swung shut behind me and I paused, facing the large open windows. The sun shone bright and I welcomed the warmth on my face. That and the quiet open area grounded me. Even though I’d been in this space multiple times, I still stared in amazement at the no longer recognizable former craft store. 

I vaguely remembered the shelves with colorful yarn, spools of fabric and floral arrangements. Fresh paint and sawdust lingered in the air as workers continued construction inside the classrooms. In the corner were boxes of chairs and tables ready to be assembled.

I studied the tree in the center of the mural Fay had painted on the back wall. Its trunk was formed from stacks of colorful books, each spine a different hue, creating a rainbow effect that seemed to shimmer in the light. At the base of the tree, the roots spread out across the lower part of the wall. At the ends of each root were pencils, pens, and paintbrushes, stretching outward as if seeking new areas to create.

I glanced over at the framed photo of Rebecca that would greet visitors when they entered the center. She’d left a legacy of murals all across Charleston before her tragic death. The center was a fitting tribute to her memory.

“Joss! Get over here, girl!” Fay’s voice cut through my thoughts. 

I looked over to see my boss beckoning me, her grin wide. Fay had been all smiles the past few months. This project was special to her since she’d been friends with Rebecca. With the expansion also came the end of the dreaded development project that had threatened the café and neighboring businesses for months. 

I could tell that weight had been lifted off my boss as well as the other business owners. Many people in Sugar Creek had contributed their time to the center. I’d spent time yesterday afternoon organizing books donated by the bookstore a few doors down. Books from my childhood like Charlotte’s Web and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry were available for a new generation of readers.

As I made my way over, I couldn’t help but notice the stunning woman standing next to Fay. She wore her auburn hair up in a ponytail and had high cheek bones. Her model thin shape was perfectly clad with a long gray hoodie over dark leggings. With sneakers, she stood as tall as Fay who was around 5’8. Long lashes framed doe brown eyes that warily assessed my approach.

There was something about her that seemed sad, like she was carrying a burden she couldn’t quite shake. Despite her height, she stood hunched with her arms folded. I was pretty sure I’d seen her before. That wasn’t unusual since most Sugar Creek residents visited the café. 

“Joss, I want to introduce you to a potential volunteer,” Fay said, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “This is Lily Hartman. She would be a great asset to helping us run music classes for kids here at the center.” Fay turned to the woman. “Lily, this is Joss Miller, our resident barista extraordinaire and true crime podcaster.”

 Lily’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of true crime. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joss. Fay’s told me so much about you and your work at the café. I love the Cold Justice podcast. I can’t wait for the next season.”

“Great to meet you too, Lily. I’m still fresh off the last season and haven’t thought about what to do next.”

I had a list of cases that I’d pulled together, but the first two seasons had affected my mental health. If I continued the podcast, I needed to choose wisely. I wasn’t quite sure how to do that since I dealt with cold cases involving murder.

“Lily has some cool ideas.” Fay clasped her hands together. “And Joss also coordinates Friday Night Jams. It was her idea for us to start doing them more than once a month.”

“I enjoy working with the talent.” I peered at Lily’s face more closely. “You know what, I remember you from some place. Are you a singer?”

A shadow passed over Lily’s face, and I immediately regretted asking. 

“Yes, I sing,” she said softly. “…but I have been away for a while.”

An awkward quiet settled on us.

I wanted to ask why, but I felt Fay’s stare before I glanced at my boss and caught her slight head shake.

Lily must have seen it too. She grimaced. “It’s fine, Fay. Everybody is going to be asking questions, especially when I start showing my face more regularly.”

Questions? About what?

Lily took a deep breath, her face devoid of emotion. “Most people still think I’m responsible for my husband’s death.”

***

Tuesday, November 12 at 3:52 p.m.

Lily’s words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Lily’s composure crumbled. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “Fay, forgive me. I know you had good intentions, but I can’t do this right now.”

Fay reached out, but Lily turned and hurried toward the double doors.

Stunned by the women’s abrupt exit, I faced Fay. “What was that about?”

Fay rubbed her temples. “I shouldn’t have pushed her. She’s been through so much.”

My mind raced with questions. “What did she mean about people thinking she’s responsible for her husband’s death? Who was her husband?”

Fay held up her hands and shook her head. “Let’s talk later, I’ve been neglecting the café long enough today. And it’s just Briana in there right now.”

I followed Fay through the double doors, my mind on something other than my earlier anxiety attack. Sure enough, the café had filled up and Briana looked at us with relief as we returned behind the counter.

We worked together to take care of the patrons until I flipped the sign on the door to Closed. I’d almost forgotten about Lily until Briana asked, “What were you and Fay talking to Lily Hartman about? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

I glanced over at Briana as I replenished the sugar packets on the condiment counter. “You know her?”

“Yeah. I know it’s been awhile, but I’m surprised you don’t remember her. She had changed her hair, and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She used to come to Friday Night Jams. In fact, she sang with Indigo Soul before I stepped in. Lily has always been good at reinventing herself, I heard.”

I liked to call Briana our Beyoncé of Sugar Creek. When she wasn’t working at the café, she was on the road singing solo or with a local favorite, the rhythm and blues band, Indigo Soul.

I slapped my hand over my forehead. “That’s where I remembered her from. Wow, that was a few years ago, but I knew there was something about her that looked familiar. What happened? She kind of mentioned her husband before she hightailed it out of here.”

Briana tilted her head. “That’s what happened, girl. Actually, she stopped with the band when they got married. Let’s just say there was some drama with a certain band member. Anyhow, she and her husband had only been married about a year when he died.”

I held my hand over my chest. “Oh my! They were still newlyweds. I can’t imagine. Who was her husband?”

Briana eyed me. “C’mon, Joss. You’re the queen of true crime. I know you remember the choir director who was found dead on Christmas Eve last year?”

My eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. “Vince Hartman? Lily is Vince Hartman’s widow?”

Fay’s voice pierced our conversation. “What are you two talking about?”

We were gossiping. I exchanged glances with Briana, suddenly feeling sheepish. I lifted my shoulders. “Briana was telling me about Lily. I’m sorry. I know she’s your friend, but she left after dropping that bomb statement. And I was curious.”

Fay leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “I know, and I left you hanging. It was a terrible situation. Folks loved Vince. He was easy on the eyes and had a voice that could take you into worship. When he died… Well, people wanted someone to blame. Lily became the target of a lot of ugly speculation.”

I felt a familiar tug in my gut. “But she was never charged, right? I remember the case was never solved.”

“No charges,” Fay confirmed. “But accusations can be as damaging as a conviction. Lily has been suffering from depression. Who can blame her? Her mother was the music teacher back when I used to teach art. She reached out to me, desperate to get Lily back into the land of the living.”

Briana shook her head. “Don’t you think her being at the center will stir up a lot of old gossip?”

Fay’s expression hardened. “Lily deserves a chance to rebuild her life. She’s an incredible singer and an accomplished pianist. The kids will be lucky to learn from her.”

Briana turned away as if she’d been scolded. “I hope it turns out good for everyone involved. I’m going to grab my stuff.”

After Briana walked away, I turned to Fay. “Maybe if someone tried to clear Lily’s name, she could get her life back too.”

“Joss,” Fay warned. “I know that look. Whatever you’re thinking, be careful.”

I met Fay’s gaze, seeing the concern there. “Don’t worry. I haven’t been thinking about the podcast.”

Fay’s eyes softened. “How are you doing, Joss? You know you and Lily have a lot in common.”

I eyed my boss. “What’s that?”

Fay reached out and touched my arm. “You both hide your pain. Or you think you’re hiding it, but it’s all over your face.”

I stepped away from Fay’s touch. “I’m not in pain. Everything is fine with me.”

Fay sighed, “That’s not what I meant—”

Before Fay could finish her words, a loud knock echoed from the front of the café.

We both spun around to see who was at the café door after closing.