Treasure Point Secrets. Sarah Varland

TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       SEVENTEEN

       EIGHTEEN

       NINETEEN

       Dear Reader

       Questions for Discussion

       Copyright

       PROLOGUE

      Shiloh Evans stood alone in the empty church graveyard, surveying the freshly packed earth in front of the hard granite stone, knowing there were three fresh graves nearly identical to it in several other Savannah cemeteries. A breeze—too warm—rustled the branches of a live-oak tree, creaking its limbs in an eerie melody. It would storm before the day was done.

      Though she hated storms—had since she was a little girl—it wasn’t that threat on the horizon that sent goose bumps up her bare arms and made her shiver in the August air.

      There were four graves, not five. She guessed Providence had seen to that for now. She stood motionless, unable to take her eyes from the stark headstone. There was something haunting in knowing she wasn’t supposed to be alive.

      Four graves.

      If they ever found her, there would be five. She forced her gaze away from the cemetery and took purposeful steps toward her car.

      She felt the subtle shift in the air less than a second before she heard the sizzle and pop of a lightning bolt striking close by.

      Too close.

      She got in her car, and then Shiloh looked back. She watched in her rearview mirror as the skies opened up, pouring rain on the fresh earth.

      She had to leave, but she wasn’t running. She was regrouping. Preparing. One day she’d have the opportunity to bring the killers to justice, to see the criminals pay for what they had done. In the meantime, they would look for her, eventually come after her.

      And Shiloh would be ready.

       ONE

      Five Years Later...

      Shiloh rolled down the windows of her police cruiser and took a deep breath of the humid air. It was times like this—with the scenery in front of her and the faint taste of salt from the ocean on the breeze—that she missed Savannah. Something about the graceful, beautiful, dangerous city tugged at her and begged her to return, but Shiloh knew she never could.

      The light dimmed even further, taking the area from gold to gray, and Shiloh shivered. She knew it was only from the sun dipping behind a cloud. That had nothing to do with her thoughts about Savannah. The timing was coincidence.

      Nevertheless she glanced around, suddenly overtaken by an uneasy feeling she was being watched. That the past had finally found her, as she’d always known it would.

      She saw nothing. But she rolled up the windows anyway. Better safe than sorry. Or dead.

      She hated feeling afraid after all these years, even after being proactive to combat the fear. She’d become a police officer partially so she could be on the offensive—someone who was working to bring justice to the men who had wreaked havoc on her family’s lives five years ago—instead of a victim.

      At times like this, she felt as if she’d failed. She stole a glance at the sky, wishing God would listen if she asked for His help to overcome this fear. But she’d stopped expecting Him to listen five years ago.

      Instead, she focused on the road as the old plantation-style house she’d been assigned to check out came into view. Shiloh knew it must have been white once, but it was dulled now to a phantom gray. It seemed to lean on the columns that had once made the front porch regal and graceful, but now served only to keep the house from falling under the weight it carried. She couldn’t help but feel, if the house could talk, it would be able to explain its weary appearance.

      As she parked her car and opened her door, Shiloh tried to shake off the melancholy that had overtaken her. The past had stayed where it belonged for five long, empty years. There was no reason to believe that would change today.

      She focused on the reason she was here. Widow Hamilton called the police department two or three times a week with concerns. The reason changed, but her calls were consistent. It was a common assumption the motive behind the calls was loneliness.

      She wished it was an option to send the police chaplain out to see the widow and offer her some company. Generally, chaplains did more work with the officers themselves, but Widow Hamilton and her paranoia were making it difficult for everyone in the department.

      Unfortunately, they didn’t have a chaplain at the moment. The former chaplain had worked at the Treasure Point Police Department—probably since Treasure Point was founded back in 1734—until his family had finally convinced him to retire. Shiloh didn’t envy whoever tried to take his place. The former chaplain had left enormous shoes to fill, and the people of Treasure Point—while loving and protective of their own—weren’t the easiest group to break into. The new chaplain, whoever he was, would have his work cut out for him.

      Shiloh knocked on the front door, taking a deep breath to steel herself against whatever problems the widow thought she was having today.

      “Mrs. Hamilton? It’s Shiloh Evans, from the Treasure Point Police Department. Mrs. Hamilton, are you there? Can you hear me?”

      No one answered. Shiloh glanced to the detached garage on the right, to see if there was a car inside, but the door was down. More than likely the woman was out running errands around town. Shiloh was tempted to simply turn around and leave. But even though she was relatively certain there was nothing to the widow’s fears, Mrs. Hamilton counted on the police department to take her concerns seriously. With that in mind, Shiloh walked around the side of the house, noting that if the widow was truly concerned about intruders, she’d take care of the overgrown bushes, which would make an ideal hiding place for someone who was up to no good.

      “If anyone’s there, come out now. Don’t make me come in after you.” There was only silence—not a single rustle. The quiet should have been comforting. It wasn’t. Instead, it added to the tense, charged feeling running up and down her spine. She glared at the bushes as she walked by, narrowing her eyes to make absolutely sure no one was hiding in them. She saw nothing, only the dense green leaves. Still she shivered.

      “Keep it together, Evans. You don’t want to have to explain that you discharged your weapon because you got spooked by some shrubbery.”

      When she reached the back of the house, she knocked on the back door. No answer