Almost Heaven

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

MJ Stratton hoisted the strap of her camera bag higher over her shoulder and wearily tackled the last flight of stairs to her fourth-floor apartment.

“First thing when I become rich and famous,” she muttered with what little breath she had left, “I’m renting in a building with an elevator.”

Unlocking her door, she consoled herself with the fact that at least her apartment had a comfortable bed, one she would hit as soon as she dumped her equipment. The wedding reception at the posh Manhattan hotel had lasted past 1:00 a.m., and the bride’s mother had insisted that MJ snap candid shots until the final guest departed.

After entering the apartment, she secured the door behind her and flicked on the lights. With a sigh of relief, she slid her bulky camera bag into the closet and tossed her coat and hat on top of it. Kicking off her shoes and tugging off her blouse, she headed for the bedroom.

The wedding had been a royal pain. The bride had refused to be photographed from any angle except her left side, and the bride’s mother had followed MJ like a Velcro shadow, attempting to dictate every picture’s composition. Fortunately, MJ reassured herself, the hefty fee from the annoying assignment would pay her bills until she lined up more work.

If all else failed, the job at the gallery was still open. Maybe she should just take it. She’d engaged in this argument with herself before and, as always, ended up admitting she’d have more money with a steady job but even less time for her own art. She’d arrived in New York six years ago expecting to make a big splash with her photographs, but so far she had yet to produce a ripple.

Weariness consumed her. After pulling on the oversize T-shirt she used as a nightgown, she crawled between the covers and switched off the lamp. She would have dropped instantly to sleep, except for the insistent flashing of a small red light, indicating a message on the answering machine on her bedside table. She turned onto her other side and pulled the pillow over her head to block the annoying blinking. The message could wait until morning.

It is already morning, she thought with an exhausted sigh, but no point in listening to the message now. Whoever had left it had probably long since gone to bed.

MJ closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. The waiting message stirred her curiosity. What if it was her big break, a call from a gallery that had seen her work and wanted to exhibit her photographs? Or an offer for another job, photographing a Bar Mitzvah or a lavish children’s party with income that would keep her solvent into next month? Unable to sleep without knowing, she rolled over, flipped on the light and pressed Play.

“Hello, Merrilee June.” The soft, cultured drawl of her grandmother filled the room, but a sense of urgency tinged its usual calm. “We have a family emergency and I need you at home right away. I’ve reserved you a seat on the 7:00 a.m. flight out of JFK into Greenville. See you soon.”

“End of message,” the machine announced.

Heart pounding, MJ bolted upright in bed. “That’s it?” she yelled at the machine. “You aren’t going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Adrenaline surged through her veins. Sleep was impossible with a dozen dire possibilities flitting through her mind. She grabbed the phone and dialed her grandmother’s number. After waiting more than twelve rings, she had no answer. Her nana, Sally Mae McDonough, apparently still persisted in her lifelong habit of unplugging her phone when she went to bed.

“If it’s bad news, I’d rather hear it in the morning,” Nana had always insisted. “And if it’s urgent, the police will come to the house and wake me.”

Bad news?

MJ’s heart raced. Had Nana, sticking to her own philosophy, decided to spare MJ the unhappy details until daylight?

Lacking her grandmother’s stoicism, MJ dialed her parents’ home. She wanted to hear their voices to assure herself that Jim and Cat Stratton were all right. After four rings, her mother’s voice mail kicked in. MJ tried three times with the same results.

At each unanswered call, her panic grew. With trembling fingers, she punched in the number of her father’s veterinary clinic. Again she reached only voice mail with a message to call Dr. Grant Nathan, her father’s partner, in case of an emergency.

Desperate to discover what crisis had precipitated her grandmother’s cryptic message, MJ tried Information.

“What city?” the computerized voice asked.

“Pleasant Valley, South Carolina.”

“What listing?”

“The Pleasant Valley Police Department.”

The artificial voice rattled off a number. MJ scribbled it hastily, then punched it in.

“Police Department,” a familiar female voice answered. “Officer Sawyer speaking.”

“Brynn! Thank God, I’m actually talking to a live person,” MJ said.

“Merrilee? Are you in town?” her old high school friend asked.

MJ pictured Brynn, short red curls, intense, dark blue eyes, her slender but curvy figure doing things for a police uniform no male body ever could. Guys in Pleasant Valley had been known to break speed limits just for an encounter with the beautiful Officer Sawyer. Not that it ever did them any good. Brynn was married to her job.

“I’m in New York,” MJ explained. “I had a message from Nana about a family emergency, but she didn’t say what it is. I’m frantic and can’t reach anyone. Do you know if my folks are okay?”

A dead silence on the other end of the line intensified MJ’s fears. “Brynn? Are you still there?”

“Your folks are fine, as far as I’m aware,” Brynn answered in a tone that indicated she knew more than she was telling. “I saw your dad and grandmother earlier tonight before I came to work.”

“And my mom?”

“She’s taking classes at the university in Asheville. Sometimes she stays over if she’s working late in the library.”

MJ wasn’t surprised that Brynn knew her mother’s schedule. In the small town of Pleasant Valley, everyone knew everybody else’s business, one of the many reasons MJ had moved away immediately after her graduation from college.

A chilling thought struck her. “What if there’s been an accident?”

“I would have heard about a traffic accident through our dispatcher,” Brynn assured her. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I can call the local hospitals and check to see if either of your parents or your grandmother has been admitted.”

“Would you?” MJ remembered what six years in the big city had caused her to forget. Brynn had always bent over backward to help people. Her willingness to be of assistance was one of many factors that made her a good cop. And a terrific friend.

“Give me your number,” Brynn said, “and I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve checked.”

MJ rattled off her number, thanked her old friend and hung up. Sleep was impossible now, so she might as well pack. She’d have to leave for the airport soon anyway.

With cold dread weighting her heart, she tossed clothes into her suitcase. She was zipping the lid when the phone rang.

“It’s Brynn,” her friend said when MJ answered. “I checked the local hospitals. No admissions for any of your folks.”

“Thanks, Brynn. I owe you.”

MJ replaced the receiver in its cradle. Brynn’s news gave her little reassurance. If a member of MJ’s family had suffered an illness or injury serious enough to require a trauma unit, they’d have been transported to the Greenville hospital. Or her mother could be hospitalized in Asheville.

MJ tugged on the clothes she’d removed earlier and called a cab. Anxiety overrode her anger toward Nana for leaving such a cryptic message. In just a few hours MJ would be in Pleasant Valley again. For the first time since she had left after college, she was actually looking forward to returning to the boring, sleepy little town, if only to settle her fears.

EXHAUSTION temporarily overcame her foreboding. The flight attendant’s voice, announcing their imminent arrival in Greenville, awoke MJ. With consciousness, her anxiety returned in a rush.

As soon as the plane taxied to a stop, MJ grabbed her camera bag from the overhead compartment and headed for the exit. Within minutes she was striding across the concourse toward the baggage carousels.