Some
secrets are better left buried…or are they?
Kathryn Bellamy is the Assistant D.A. for
Perkins County, Georgia. After detectives fail to retrieve a missing murder
weapon, she travels to Cedar Key, Florida to find it herself. She finds more
than she ever bargained for when she meets Phil Tagliaferro, a former defense
attorney.
Phil is drawn to help Kathryn when he learns she’s
receiving threats—until he finds out their pasts are connected and his
association with her could mean death for them both. Kathryn won’t leave Cedar
Key until she has unearthed the secrets…and the murder weapon, but she can’t do
that without Phil.
Secrets
Among the Cedars brings
two people from opposite sides of a case together with one goal in mind:
Justice.
What else will they find in the process?
Secrets Among the Cedars
Intertwined Series
Book Two
By Sherri Wilson Johnson
Chapter One
Cedar Key, Florida
Kathryn Bellamy leaned
against the steel pier railing and took a generous bite of her salted caramel
ice cream which teetered over the edge of the waffle cone enveloping it. The
creamy coolness slid down her throat as dolphins slipped through the water out
to her right. The Gulf of Mexico's balmy salt-infused breeze whipped her hair
away from her face and flapped her bohemian skirt and blouse against her
road-weary body. It felt good to wear such freeing attire, so different from
her normal suits she wore in the courtroom. After working at the courthouse for
two solid years, seldom leaving the office before sunset, her hair and skin
needed this kiss from the sun. Too bad she wasn't in Cedar Key for pleasure.
This tiny fishing village below the Suwannee River would be the perfect place
for her to relax and regain her focus on life.
Pelicans and sea gulls soared across the early evening orange
and pink sky, and fishermen pulled their boats in beneath billowing clouds. A
pelican balanced on the railing and waited for something to eat in the lapping
water. Day's end was almost at hand. The six-hour trip from home northwest of
Atlanta made Kathryn ache to stretch out on the king-sized bed at her rental
condo. She might be here to research the Ezzo murder case, a make-it-or-break-it
case for her career, but something about this sparsely populated island on the
scrubby nature coast of Florida pushed her woes off the edge of the pier and
out into the bayou.
She took another bite of her ice cream and licked her lips, but
when whoops and hollers escaped from the people at the end of the pier, her
enchantment ended. She squinted in the glare of the sunlight. A scrawny
gray-haired man in a T-shirt and cut-off jeans whacked a well-toned and
well-tanned young man on the back. What was all the fuss about?
Ice cream dripped down Kathryn's arm, and she took another
bite of melting paradise. She wiped her arm and then tossed her soggy napkin in
a nearby trashcan, filled with remnants of sunbaked squid and shrimp. Another
roar of victory came from the crowd, and she couldn’t help but direct her
attention to the racket. Her curiosity ran away with her like a runaway buggy
in the Wal-mart parking lot back home. Well, she'd have to meet the locals
anyway if she was going to figure out the connection between the biggest murder
case in her county and this dreamy spot, so she might as well start with this
commotion at the end of the pier.
Kathryn marched toward the excitement, her new leather
sandals clacking against her heels and then on the concrete. She ate the last
bite of cone and rubbed her fingers together, the sticky ice cream coating her
hand and arm. She should've gotten more napkins at the ice cream shop. She
laughed and stepped around someone's cooler. Look where she was. The end of a
pier with a bunch of fishermen and tourists in a place that felt like it was
5:00 p.m. twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Her stickiness didn’t
matter.
She stood on her tiptoes and looked over the crowd. Mr.
Center-of-attention held a fishing rod, bigger around than any she'd ever seen
before, with a shark, four-feet long at least, attached to its end. He wiped
his sweat-dampened brow with a red bandana as the onlookers huddled around him.
Kathryn's mouth fell open and alarm inched its way down her spine. There were
sharks in the shallow waters of Daughtry Bayou? No way was she going to dip so
much as her pinky toe in there. She'd stick to business while she was here and
swim in the pool at her condo.
The buzzing crowd dissipated, but her curiosity carried her
right up to the lucky fisherman to get a closer look at the shark before he
released it back into its natural habitat.
"Hey! Don't throw it over yet. I want to see it."
Kathryn examined the leather-like body and the ominous teeth of this notorious
creature. "Oh, that gives me the heebie-jeebies." She shuddered and
backed away.
When he laughed, a
pair of smooth and creamy eyes, the color of her caramel ice cream and at least
six inches above her own, knocked all thoughts of his big catch out of
Kathryn's mind. His chestnut-brown closely cut hair, side-parted to the left,
gave him the look of a schoolboy, but his well-trimmed beard detracted from the
boyish guise. What was a polished man like this doing on a grimy fishing pier
in this remote place? He fit into this scene as poorly as Daddy did at the
bowling alley.
"Did
I scare you?" This man, with an upper East Coast accent thicker than molasses
on one of Aunt Anne’s biscuits, gripped his fishing rod and held the shark's
head down with his foot.
Kathryn
gulped down the bulge in her throat and attempted to pull her attention away
from his eyes—oddly familiar eyes. Did she know him? She stammered for the
right words. "No…no, you didn't scare me." She swept her gaze across
the shark, now flopping chaotically on the pier. "But he sure did."
She pointed out to the water and shook her head. "To think I was
considering going swimming in there!"
"Nobody
swims in there." He laughed again and cut the hook out of the shark's
mouth. Then he grabbed its tail with his left hand and squeezed its body
against his chest with his right arm. He started to hoist it over the railing
and back into the water, muscles bulging beneath his soiled tank top.
"Wait!
Can I take a picture of it before you throw it back?" No one would believe
the shark story if she didn't have proof of it.
"Sure.
But hurry." The shark thrashed against his chest.
Kathryn
yanked her phone out of her purse, clicked on the camera icon, and snapped his
picture. "Thanks!"
He
tossed the monster back into the sea. "No problem." He wiped his
hands on the back of his shorts and extended his right one to her. "I'm
Phillip. How ya doin'?"
Her
cheeks burned. It had to be from the sun. At least that's what she'd blame it
on. She reached out and accepted his hand, the waves crashing against the
concrete pillars. "I'm Kathryn. Nice to meet you."
"Same
here." Phillip pulled his hand away and looked at his palm. He raised his
right eyebrow and tugged back the left corner of his mouth.
Kathryn
gasped. "I'm so sorry! My hand is sticky from the ice cream I was eating a
few minutes ago—before you distracted me with your catch." She captured
the back of her skirt as a gust of wind threatened to rip it from her body.
"Oh,
so it's my fault your hand's sticky?" He winked and commandeered a hook
out of his tackle box.
"Maybe
not entirely." She giggled. "Someone on the sidewalk told me Island
Trading Post had the best ice cream, so I had to try it. I picked the wrong
time of day to eat it outside, I suppose, because it started melting before I
made it to the pier." She held her right hand up, palm facing Phillip.
"Anyway, your shark blood and fishiness trump my stickiness any day."
He tied
a hook the size of her cell phone on the end of his line, placed on it a chunk
of something that looked and smelled rotten, and released his line out into the
brackish water. He lifted his sunglasses from where they hung on the front of
his shirt and eased them onto his face then glanced over his bronzed shoulder.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I've got some hand wipes in my tackle box there,
if you need one."
"Thanks."
Kathryn accepted his offer. Ice cream and bait were a disgusting combination.
"If
you'd like, we could get an ice cream together this evening when it cools down.
They don’t close till 8:00 p.m."
A melted
chocolate sensation flowed throughout her at this stranger's boldness. He was
braver than most men she knew. "Oh, well, thank you for asking. I'm
actually only here for a few days to work and don't have a lot of time on my
hands."
He
nodded and cranked his reel a few turns. "No problem. Just thought I'd
offer."
She
crossed her arms and encircled her elbows with her index fingers, something
she'd done since childhood when she had a decision to make. Daddy had always
warned her against doing it in the courtroom because he said it made her look
indecisive. Right now, she was indecisive. She swayed and tapped her right foot
on the pier's concrete deck. What would be the harm in a little old ice cream?
This guy seemed nice.
She
dropped her hands to her sides and balled her fists. No! What was she thinking?
This whimsical place had already caused her to loosen up a bit too much. She'd
better get back to the condo where she wouldn't be tempted to fritter away any
more of her time. "Thanks, but I really can't."
"The
offer comes with a rain check. If you change your mind, I'll be here a
while."
#
Kathryn tucked her
left foot underneath her on the sofa and rubbed her right foot across Sadie's
back, calming her woofing. The taupe-and-chestnut brindled Silken Windhound
slept on the shag rug between the sofa and the coffee table, her silken, white
legs twitching as if she were chasing a rabbit. They'd both slept through the
entire night without stirring, the bed in the master bedroom like a marshmallow
cloud. Kathryn sunk deeper into the over-stuffed sofa, which she'd be tempted
to take home with her if the design wasn't seashells and sand dunes.
She'd never before seen an evening like last night. The
sunset's pinks and purples majestically swept across her heart and freed her
like an ensnared animal set free from a trap. The sea breeze, a welcome intruder,
had rocked her and Sadie to sleep. After the drive down, which had tied her
back and neck into knots, and the hours of research she'd done after dinner, a
night like last night was the perfect ending to her week. Now she must get her
mind off relaxation and back on the case. A win would guarantee her promotion
to Senior Assistant District Attorney, and she’d be one step closer to her
goals.
Kathryn walked Sadie, tossed her leash on the island's granite top, and
opened the treat jar, white with black puppy paws on it. "Here you go,
girl." Sadie swallowed the biscuit whole. Goodness, she acted as if she
were starving. "Sadie! Shame on you.
You couldn't have tasted that." Sadie whimpered and ran to her bed beside
the sliding glass door.
Kathryn changed into her white Bermuda shorts, coral
camisole, and floral-printed mesh shirt. Back in the kitchen, painted
turquoise-and-yellow with starfish and crabs everywhere, she reached for her
keys and purse. "I'll be back in a bit." Sadie's
white ears drooped, and she whimpered again. "I'm sorry. I won't be gone
long. I want to get a good meal in me and get a few things from the grocery
store before I start digging further into this case."
She needed to nose around town to see if anyone knew about
the pistol used in the murders. She groaned, stepped out on the covered porch,
and locked the door. She’d walk to town, but since she'd have groceries when
she returned, she'd drive.
She turned on to 8th Street at the end of the long
crushed-shell path, then right onto G Street. Small bushes and flowering shrubs
decorating the yards of cottages and condos led the way to town. She rounded
the bend where G Street became 1st Street and inched her way along,
studying a ramshackle building on stilts out in the water. It hadn't fared well
against the storms and harsh sea winds.
That's how she felt these days. Life as an Assistant D.A. was
often like trying to survive a hurricane without a storm shelter. Was the
promotion really worth all this?
On Dock Street, where she'd gotten her ice cream and dinner
yesterday, she parallel-parked in the only remaining spot in front of a
sandwich shop, next to the pier entrance. She climbed the flight of stairs and
entered the restaurant. Utensils clinked on dishes and the thirty plus patrons’
voices hummed, while island music serenaded everyone from the overhead
speakers.
"Welcome," the waitress wiping down a table in the
corner called out and waved. "Feel free to seat yourself. The porch is
open out back if you'd like to watch the fishing on the pier."
"Thank you." Kathryn adjusted her purse strap on
her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her right ear. Her cheeks had to be as
pink as a flamingo. She could stand in front of a courtroom full of people all
day, but hated looking like a newcomer in a local spot.
"Thanks for joining us today!" The cook yelled
through an open window behind the bar.
Kathryn waved and smiled, then scooted toward the porch door.
Maybe out there she could sit alone without bringing too much attention to
herself. She found a seat at a table with a side view of the pier. An older
couple in bike shorts with helmets sat at the table facing the windows, but no
one else occupied the porch.
The menu wasn’t anything fancy, just biscuits and sandwiches.
At least coffee shared a spot on the menu. She needed a lot of it today to get
motivated to work. It might've been a bad idea coming to Cedar Key alone.
Without pressure from her co-workers, she wasn't inspired to do anything but
relax.
After she ordered a patty melt and fries from a waitress with
a smile brighter than the sun, she slid the menu into its holder and yawned.
Regardless of her good night's sleep, she'd stayed up too late reviewing the
Ezzo file. They'd had enough suspicion to arrest Ezzo on murder charges, but
would the charges stick? Ezzo knew the dead men from Long Island but that
didn’t mean he was responsible in any way for those deaths. But he had to be.
The problem was: without a murder weapon, everything they had was
circumstantial.
However, Louie Ezzo was a high-profile man who didn’t seem to
be the type of crime lord to waste his time or his freedom on his lackeys,
Bobby Esposito and Manny La Duca, and he certainly wouldn’t waste it on small
town men from Perkins County like Stephen Diggs and Tommy Jones. It just didn’t
fit. Maybe she’d watched too many mobster movies, but a man like Louie Ezzo was
powerful enough to hire someone to do his dirty work for him.
The weapon was missing, so that narrowed Kathryn’s chances of
nailing Ezzo with these charges. Witnesses had overheard Ezzo in jail talking
to someone about Cedar Key and the gun. That's the only lead she had. Her
investigators had come up empty-handed when they'd been here. Maybe she’d find
a witness somewhere and figure out how Cedar Key factored into these murders.
This community wasn't that large. She'd search out the Chief of Police after
lunch and see if he could help her make some headway on this case.
The waitress brought a glass of water and silverware to the
table, then hovered over the couple, who must have been regulars judging by
their conversation with the waitress about their grandchildren. Kathryn sipped
her water through a straw and let her gaze follow the pier walkway out to the
end where she'd seen the shark and the terrific-looking guy from New York.
Phillip, was it?
She pulled out her phone and opened her gallery of photos.
She studied the picture of this handsome man with his shark. She sighed. They
didn't make them like that back home. Something about him was familiar, but he
was no homegrown country boy. Not with that accent. There was no way she'd seen
him before.
The patio door opened with a squeak, and Kathryn turned her
attention to the intruder of her peace and quiet. A giggle escaped her throat
when Phillip shut the door behind him and nodded. She shoved her phone into her
purse, heat rushing to her face.
Dressed in blue-and-white plaid shorts, a deep blue graphic
T, and sandals, he surveyed the porch through eyes hidden behind black horn-rimmed frames. He made his way to her table, and her heart
threatened to leap out of her chest, jump through the screened window, and flop
into the water below as Phillip's shark had done yesterday.
Text copyright © Sherri Wilson Johnson,
2015. All Rights Reserved.
~~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sherri Wilson Johnson is a
multi-published Inspirational Romance novelist, speaker, virtual assistant and
self-publishing coach. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers
(ACFW) and is passionate about writing, publishing, and marketing.
Sherri has been
published in 101 Simple Ways to Show Your
Husband You Love Him by Kathi Lipp (Harvest House), Powerline
365 by
Nicole O'Dell (Choose NOW Ministries), Open Hearts
Family: Connecting with One Another by Jane Seymour (Running Press, Hachette Book Group), The Writing
Academy’s Daily Devotions for Writers, and several homeschool publications.
Sherri lives in Georgia with her
husband and her Chihuahua. She loves spending time with her adult children and
friends or curling up with a good book or her current work-in-progress. Sherri
enjoys doing jigsaw puzzles in the winter, watching Bob Ross painting videos
(although she can't paint), and counts the days every year until she can take
another trip to the beach.
Check out Secrets Among the Cedars here.
Check out Secrets Among the Cedars here.
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