Page 8 of Fortune’s Control (Fortune’s Creek #1)

“Is it still paradise?” Emma asked.

My legs dangled over the cedar armchair as I admired the deep red polish on my toenails. “I’m sitting in a gorgeous deck chair under an oak tree, and I see bees fluttering around a lemon tree. It’s peaceful here, Emma.”

“You deserve a ton of peaceful, considering everything.”

“It feels like an awful dream.” The nightmares stopped my first night in Fortune’s Creek and never returned.

I didn’t know whether it was the town itself, the escape Shane offered, or both.

“Detective Davis insisted they had the right guy, but it never mattered. I kept looking over my shoulder or hearing his voice all over again. I don’t do that here.

She didn’t deserve what happened to her. I wish I had saved her.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to block out the image.

“No one does, Lilah. You were right to leave town, and not just for your safety.”

“Don’t go back to my apartment. He might have stuffed more pictures under the door, or maybe he’s watching.”

“Have the police contacted you since you arrived?”

I never gave them my new phone number, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t in the mood to hear the detective’s repeated assurances, and my doubts still amounted to nothing. “There’s nothing to report until the trial starts.”

“When is that?”

“I don’t know. ”

“I wish I were there with you.” Emma gave a worried sigh. “I worry about you, Lilah. I know the cops caught him, but until he’s locked up…just be safe, okay?”

After telling my mother the entire story, I brought up Fortune’s Creek again.

A lost job provided one excuse to come here, and running for my life provided another.

She pushed me to stay home for my job search, reminding me that unemployment made a person vulnerable and easily preyed on.

Sarah Jane also claimed I forced her to relive painful childhood memories, so I hung up before she could ask how I was doing or express concern. I haven’t spoken to her since.

My heart ached. “Me too. Maybe you could visit. You work for your parents, right? Tell them you want time off.” My mood swelled at the idea. My lovely vacation would be better with a friend.

“I’m planning my parents’ anniversary party. Maybe after?”

“Tell me if you can.” My upbeat mood sank.

“Hey, what’s up with your sexy landlord? Any other stories you can share?” Despite my repeated requests, Emma and Shane refused to divulge any details of their conversation.

I grimaced. She squealed when I first told her and demanded updates during every phone call. She called it romantic when all I had done was inflict my problems on a kind stranger. He offered so much without knowing I was a walking disaster running for her life.

“We took a stray kitty to the vet yesterday. Her name is Pirate.”

“What else?”

“That’s it. Oh, he put air in his sister’s bicycle tires so I could use it. I asked if he’d like to go swimming, but he refused. That was embarrassing.”

“Oh. Is that all? ”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She wanted a romantic story, or at least a vacation romance, which I couldn’t deliver. My imagination saw Shane’s interest a few times, but his behavior remained friendly, which meant my attraction to him didn’t matter.

“You couldn’t if you tried. Call me tomorrow?” Emma asked.

“Miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

I didn’t get up, choosing to gaze up into the oak’s thick branches. A few swayed in the morning breeze—a late April morning, perfect for a bike ride to the local library.

I rose but didn’t move, staring at the wondrous sight before me. Shane’s truck headlights flashed on a sign by his property’s entrance the first night. The late hour kept everything but that metal sign hidden. The Wilcotts. Established 1875.

It struck me because who puts family signs on their property?

Shane gave me a quick tour the following day, and the sign made sense afterward.

His whitewashed home wasn’t a mansion, but it was imposing, with its wrap-around porch on all four sides and large windows.

My favorite element was the grand bay windows made of stained glass on both sides of the back porch.

The house, impressive by itself, lay at the end of a long driveway, flanked by palm trees. I described it as peaceful, which was true. It was an oasis, and in a short period of time, it felt uncomfortably close to a home.

*****

I walked past the town hall on my first day in Fortune’s Creek and paid it no attention.

Looking back, I couldn’t understand how I missed it, because the red brick, paired with white shutters, held my attention as I approached.

Stately and comfortable, with a pair of magnolias on opposite sides of the sidewalk.

I followed the sign to the left side of the building, where I found a blue awning and double-wide doors.

Inside, the front desk and the delicious scent of books greeted me. My lips crept upwards into a giddy smile as I took in the rows of books and display cases. More reading and more information about my grandmother.

The librarian, Lainey, according to her name tag, stood by the front desk. “Can I help you?” She was my age, but the glasses and messy bun perfectly fit the librarian stereotype.

“I think so. I haven’t been in Fortune’s Creek for long, so I don’t have a library card, but I hoped to check out books.”

She tilted her head, squinting at me. Her chin dropped as recognition hit. “Oh, you’re Shane’s new wife, aren’t you? You’ve been the topic of conversation for a week now. Patrons asked me about you, as if the librarian should know.”

Shane prepared me for that—a town where everyone knew your business. Fortune’s Creek’s earnestness contrasted with my apathetic childhood. For all that, it jarred me to hear the title ‘wife’ spoken out loud. “Yes, that’s me. Lilah Mayberry. I suppose you heard how we met?”

“Love at first sight.” She patted her heart. “Believe me, the entire town is pleased, as pleased as can be for him. It’s been a challenging year, and it’s wonderful he isn’t alone in that big house, all by himself.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” I said, wanting to stay noncommittal.

A challenging year of what? Shane mentioned leaving the military a year ago, but never mentioned which branch or why he left.

In fairness, he didn’t owe me explanations, either.

“I see why everyone cares about him so much.” That part was the truth .

“Well, don’t worry about a library card. Check out whatever you want, and we’ll put it on his card. Shane won’t mind.”

I reread her name tag. A large, bold print spelled her first name, while a smaller one gave her last name. “You’re Lainey Jenson.” We had never met, yet I recognized the name. “Lainey Jenson. Oh.” It hit me. “The Lainey Jenson. The writer. I loved your book.”

“You read it?” Pride showed in her smile.

I couldn’t put it down. A girl lost in the woods, running from a killer, and surviving both. It was worth my inability to function the next day.

“Well, of course. Everyone did. It was a bestseller. I stayed up all night reading it.” Hidden gems were everywhere in Fortune’s Creek. First Shane, and now Lainey. With luck, I’d find the third.

“It was my dream to be a writer, but it turned out I only had one story inside of me.” The pride faded, but the smile remained. “So, I became a librarian, and now I get to find you another story. How can I help?”

Her statement sounded familiar. Her writing dream ended while I was fired from a job, but the result was the same. Starting over. It’s what led me to Fortune’s Creek, after all. She nursed a hurt with that book, one she wasn’t ready to share. I understood that, too.

“I’m trying to find someone.”

Her eyes bulged with excitement. “Oh, a mystery.”

“Yes. No. My grandmother may live here. All I have is a last name. Mayberry.” I tried to learn more over the years, but my mother always refused to share any details, despite my pleading. I had a last name and a glimmer of hope.

Lainey tapped her lip. “Mayberry. I know almost everyone, and that name isn’ t familiar.”

“It’s possible my mother went to high school here.” I did the math in my head. “Thirty years ago.”

“Yearbooks. We have yearbooks.”

“Perfect.”

*****

Six different yearbooks later, and still no luck. No one resembled my mother, and the name Sarah Jane Mayberry never appeared. It’s possible she lied, or it was the wrong school. Knowing my mother, she avoided picture day.

Defeated, I placed them in a stack and returned to the circulation desk.

“No luck?” Lainey asks.

I set the yearbooks on the countertop with a sigh. “Nothing. What about a phone book? Probably not. Why would anyone keep those?” No one used them anymore. I barely remembered them from my childhood.

Lainey frowned. “Let me think. You may find someone with the name Mayberry in the property records office.” I brightened.

“It isn’t open until Monday,” she explained with an apologetic smile.

“There’s also the cemetery. It’s a grim suggestion, but that may be worth checking.

The names go back over a century. If you find a name and date, you’ll have a great start. ”

I shivered at the idea. “How far is it?”

“You can walk to it. Go outside, turn left, and turn left again. It’s a beautiful place, peaceful.”

The same word I used this morning. “I’ll try that, thank you.”

“You know what?” She pursed her lips and tapped the bottom one. “We have newspapers from back then. They’re a complete mess. It’s been on my list to make digital copies, but there’s never an opportunity. Come back in the morning, and I’ll have them waiting.”

“Seriously?” Hope filled me. I knew the odds were slim, but right now, only one person in the world cared about me, and my grandmother could be the second. My mother loved me because she was my mother, but that wasn’t the same.

Lainey waved a hand. “Absolutely. It’s a real-life mystery. I’m glad you came in today, Lilah.”

*****

The cemetery was a real-life picture book. A thick canopy of oaks and pines shaded it all, while the Spanish moss added to the solemn atmosphere.

I strolled along the trail, noting the different headstones, many of which were well over a hundred years old. Flowers adorned several, ranging from a few simple blooms to elaborate bouquets. A few mentioned couples, while too many listed children.

None were familiar.

Toward the back, I spotted a familiar figure sitting by himself on a stone bench.

A person visiting a gravesite wanted privacy. I hesitated before my curiosity won out. “Shane?”