The Texas Soldier's Son. Karen Whiddon

Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       Chapter 1

      “He’s dead?” Nicole Shelton-Mabry gripped the phone so hard she thought it might break. “What do you mean, he’s dead? He was fine when he left for work this morning.” If by fine, one meant hungover. Last night her husband Bill had staggered in at 3 a.m., slurring her name, already in a rage by the time she’d hurried downstairs. The black-and-blue bruise on her upper arm had been his response to her tentative hello. Luckily, once he’d vented his anger, he’d stumbled to the couch and passed out before he could hit her again.

      The pain had blossomed like an explosion. Since she had experience covering bruises, and luckily this time he hadn’t got her face, she knew she needed to put ice on it. Wincing as she explored her arm and shoulder with tentative fingers, she supposed she ought to be glad he hadn’t broken anything this time.

      Prone on the couch, he’d let out a snore. She’d stood staring at him for a moment, hatred mingling with her pain, and wished she’d had enough guts to grab her cast-iron skillet and slam it into his skull until he’d never be able to hurt her again. Instead, she’d gone to the freezer and wrapped ice in a dishtowel, glad baby Jacob still slept in his crib upstairs.

      She’d taken a deep breath, crossed the room and carefully removed Bill’s wallet from his back pocket. He loved to carry wads of cash and his drinking made him careless with his money, so she’d been removing as much as she safely could each time he passed out.

      This time she took an extra twenty in addition to the hundred and five. He’d never asked her about his money and she figured he probably thought he’d spent it at whatever hellhole he frequented the next town over. Topless bars were his favorite and he didn’t dare go anywhere around here where someone he knew might see him. After all, he had his position as church deacon to consider.

      Replacing his wallet, she’d hurried to the laundry room and shoved the bills in her hiding place, a brown envelope tucked in the pocket on the back of the washer behind the laundry detergent, fabric softener and dryer sheets. The one place Bill never went was the laundry room. Instead, he’d shove his smoke-scented, bourbon-stained clothes at her with an order to get them clean.

      She’d been taking money from him for several months. Soon, she hoped to have enough to get her and Jacob on a bus that would carry them to a new life somewhere far, far away.

      “Nicole? Are you there?” Yates, an older man who worked for Bill, sounded tired. “I know this is a shock, but Dan and Theresa are too upset and I figured someone needed to let you know.”

      Dan and Theresa were Bill’s parents. They all worked together at the trucking company Dan had started years ago.

      Mabry Trucking. If they knew what kind of man their son had become, they never let on to Nicole.

      “I’m here,” Nicole replied, her voice shaky and her mouth dry. She knew she needed to pretend the same way she pretended in church that she, Bill and Jacob were one big, happy family, but she couldn’t. Not yet, not now, with a bruise the size of a robin’s egg on her cheekbone underneath her swollen black eye. “What happened, Yates? Was he in an accident?”

      “Nope.” Despite the somber tone, Yates didn’t sound like he was grieving too much either. She imagined Bill had made his life hell as well.

      “He just keeled over at his desk,” Yate continued. “Cup of coffee in his hand. I called 911 and they tried to revive him, but he was already gone. I think maybe he had a massive heart attack.”

      After thanking him for calling, Nicole hung up. She knew she should have felt something, anything instead of this awful numbness, but digging deep, the only emotion she felt was relief.

      The next several hours passed in a blur. Nicole stuck to her house as much as possible, answering the phone and trying to regain her composure. She’d thought she’d have decisions to make over her husband’s funeral, but his mother had taken over all that, promising only to make sure Nicole got the details, along with the bill.

      That afternoon, she’d had a few visitors, mainly from Bill’s church, where she assumed none of them had truly known her husband.

      Her own parents even made a token appearance to express their condolences. Her mother had brought Nicole a chicken casserole, offered a mechanical hug and didn’t even ask to see the baby. Nicole went and got Jacob after his nap and brought him out, which immediately made her parents decide to leave.

      Luckily, at three months old, Jacob was too young to be hurt. Nicole knew she wanted to make sure he never was. Her parents bore no love for her son. They, along with Bill himself, were the only ones who knew Bill wasn’t actually Jacob’s father. They’d all made sure not one word leaked about Jacob’s parentage. None of them wanted to deal with the shame. As for Nicole, if she could have, she’d have shouted the truth from the rooftops.

      The phone rang, Nicole answered. Bill’s mother called several times and wept, sounding as if she was nearly prostrate from grief. Bill’s father, a man Nicole suspected was much like Bill himself, remained stoic, saying only that he’d be supporting his wife through it all. They’d begrudgingly allowed Nicole to make a few choices as to the final arrangements. She was their son’s wife after all, whether they liked her or not. She’d had Jacob after all, which helped her status in their eyes. The Mabrys doted on the infant, whom they believed to be the next Mabry heir.

      Now alone in the big house, Nicole figured she’d eventually tell them the truth. She’d actually be glad to, because she’d grown weary of living such a bold-faced lie. Once, it had been a necessity. Now, as a new widow, she figured she’d be able to sell the house and combine that money with whatever was in the bank account and move far, far away from this place.

      She went to bed early, slept deeply, and rose shortly after seven, when Jacob wanted his feeding.

      After coffee and a shower, she debated simply unplugging the land line. But before she could, the phone rang, the shrill sound making her jump. Yesterday, she’d found the steady barrage of calls overwhelming. She’d actually stopped answering for a few hours and let the machine take care of it instead. After the sun set, the calls had died down to a trickle and then ceased altogether, giving her a quiet night.

      Now with the morning, clearly they were starting up again.

      Caller ID showed the Anniversary sheriff’s department, so she answered. “Missus Mabry, this is Sheriff Cantrell. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. Your husband’s parents insisted on an autopsy, so we rushed one through. The Medical Examiner put Bill ahead of everything else, considering all the Mabrys have done for this community.” He took a deep breath. “Are you sitting down, ma’am?”

      When she allowed that she wasn’t, he gently asked her to please do so. Her stomach churned, but she did as he asked and told him she’d done so.

      “Good, good.” Now he cleared his throat. “The coroner’s report came back and Bill didn’t die of heart disease as originally believed.” He paused, probably for dramatic effect. “He was poisoned. We found high concentrations of arsenic in his coffee.”

      “Poisoned?” Blinking, she struggled to process his words. “You’re saying someone at the office poisoned him?”

      “Possibly,” he agreed. “However, several of his employees claim he brought the coffee