Dying for Love

“Time to go, Suzy.”

“Comin’, Momma.”

Suzy appeared a few seconds later, her dingy white shirt tucked neatly into her worn plaid skirt. She smoothed her neat braids as she climbed the side of the road. On impulse, Sandra knelt on the hard-packed dirt road and gathered Suzy into her arms. Tears she refused to shed burned her eyes.

“I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Sandra reluctantly released her and rose. “Go on, baby.”

Suzy climbed across the seat and into the back. Legs trembling, Sandra stepped into the car and settled behind the big steering wheel. Driving had come back as easy as pie, despite not having done it for years. Her husband insisted on taking her and the children into town whenever they needed anything.

“Can’t have my family wandering ’round without my protection now, can I?” An ugly grin twisted his lips, his dark-blue eyes hard.

They never went anywhere without him. Not since she’d made the painful mistake of talking to the sheriff about her husband’s violent outbursts. The sheriff had heard her out with polite deference, then sent her home and gone straight to his old football buddy. The broken leg she suffered as a result had never seen medical attention. She’d walked with a limp ever since.

One last time, Sandra turned around. A smile trembled. She met the gaze of each of her babies, her heart overflowing with love.

They looked so pretty. She’d dressed them in their Sunday best, hand-me-downs and thrift-store finds, before leaving the house an hour ago. They were early, but she didn’t want to risk missing the train. Besides, she couldn’t stand being in the house another minute.

Her gaze lingered on the baby, still so tiny and fragile. Gracie’s little arm was swollen and bruised, her face splotchy from the silent tears still trailing down her pale cheeks. Sandra recognized the signs of a broken bone. Her belly clenched and her hands fisted. The animal she’d married had finally gone too far.

The brilliant slash of blood on the baseball bat she’d used on his head flashed in her mind’s eye. Nausea rose, but she choked it down. He was still breathing when she’d left.

How long before someone discovered what she’d done? People would be horrified, but they hadn’t lived with her husband all these years. They hadn’t seen what he’d done. How he’d stolen her babies’ childhoods.

No, she was doing what was best. For all of them.

The car began to vibrate. A whimper sounded behind her. She looked out the window. The fast-moving freight train came around the curve in the tracks.

Finally. Her shoulders sagged and tears she’d held back for years stung her eyes.

Finally.

Dusk settled around them. The lead engine completed the turn and the blinding headlight lit the interior of the car. The whistle blew, long and hard. Metal brakes shrieked. Gracie began to cry, but Sandra shut out the sound. The train wouldn’t be able to stop or slow down in time.

She’d planned their location well. With a 4.0 grade-point average throughout high school, her teachers had predicted a bright future for her. Such a shame she’d waited until now to apply her sharp intelligence. She’d had a beautiful life back then. Supportive home environment, loving parents…she missed them so much.

“I’ll see you soon, Mom and Dad,” she whispered. “You’ll finally get to meet your grandbabies.”

Sparks flew beneath the train as it roared toward them. The engineer pulled on the whistle; the high-pitched wail ear-piercing. Behind her, stifled sobs joined Gracie’s and the handles clicked uselessly on doors rusted shut years ago. The car rocked with the force of the oncoming train. The lines of an old lullaby ran through her mind.

Rock a bye, baby, in the treetop.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.

Down will come baby, cradle and all.

She resisted the urge for one more look at her babies. Not the time to be weak. She had to do this one thing for her girls. Be strong. There was no other choice. No other option.

Dear God, I’ve been a miserable failure my whole life. I don’t deserve any favors, but please … Please, take care of my babies.

The brilliant white light grew in strength until it blocked out everything else.

“Momma?” a little voice whimpered.

CHAPTER ONE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)

Twenty-five years later

“Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”

Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.

Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.

“Purple dandelion blood.”

She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.

The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.

Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.

Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.

Grace focused on the pantry door.

A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.

“Grace? Are you alright, cher?”

Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.

Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.

Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”

Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.

A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.

“Soc au’ lait! What happened?”

Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”