Vows of Silence. Debra Webb

      Lacy Jane Oliver froze mid-turn at her perpetually cluttered desk, the receiver clutched to her ear. They found the body. Her mouth went incredibly dry as vivid snatches of memory, snow falling from a dark, starless sky and murky waters flashed through her mind.

      “When?” she heard herself ask. Her voice sounded alien to her own ears, and Lacy was quite certain her heart had stilled in her chest. It’s been ten years, she didn’t say. She didn’t have to. Cassidy knew every bit as well as Lacy did how long it had been. How could either of them ever forget?

      “Day before yesterday,” Cassidy answered without inflection. “The chief informed Melinda this morning that the remains had been ID’d. Of course you know that she’ll be their prime suspect. The fact that she was in the hospital at the time won’t keep them from investigating that avenue,” she added with a resigned sigh.

      Lacy’s chest tightened as her seemingly failed heart now slammed mercilessly against her rib cage. “Oh God,” she murmured. Though Cassidy was an attorney, it didn’t take one to know that Melinda, the wife of the deceased, would be the number-one suspect.

      “I’ve already called Kira. We’re both taking the next available flights. We’ll meet in Atlanta, then fly home together.”

      Home. Despite having lived away for more than ten years, Ashland, Alabama, was still home…for all of them.

      “I’m on my way,” Lacy said quickly, instantly ticking off a mental checklist of all she would need to do to get away from the office for a few days. “I can probably be there before either of you.”

      “Good. Melinda will need you.”

      Dead air hummed between them for two beats.

      “Remember, Lacy,” Cassidy finally said in a tone that made Lacy uneasy. “We’ve come together during every crisis each of us has endured. This time, especially, we have to do the same. Every move we make must be our routine…exactly what people would expect. We all took the same vow. We’re in this together.”

      A strange calm settled over Lacy. “I remember. See you soon,” she murmured before hanging up the phone.

      The vow…silence.

      Ice suddenly filled her veins. Lacy could almost feel the snow and the sharp slap of the wind against her face. Then the biting fury of that winter night had stopped so very abruptly, as if even the wind had known that something was amiss. There had been nothing but silence…and the vow they had made to one another.

      To stand by one another, protect one another…no matter the consequences. Equally guilty.

      Not much had changed about Ashland, Lacy noted as she slowed her Explorer to the posted speed limit upon entering the city limits of her hometown. She had opted to drive from Atlanta to Ashland, Alabama, after she discovered that the next available flight going in that direction was two hours away. Add to that the actual flying time, luggage pickup and rental-car hassle, and driving direct had won hands down. Lacy had driven like a bat out of hell, which pretty much summed up her churning emotions at the moment, and had managed to make the road trip in record time.

      The ever-lingering odor of sulfur hung in the early June air and offended her nostrils. The old paper mill, a couple of textile factories, and a mobile-home manufacturer lined the western end of Norman C. Ashland Boulevard.

      Ashland. Lacy shuddered as the name ricocheted through some dark, rarely visited recesses of her mind. She would not think about that right now. She had to focus on keeping her cool and supporting Melinda.

      Melinda. God, what she must be going through right now. And the kids. Chuckie was fifteen, but Chelsea was only twelve, too young to understand any of this and too old to be blessedly oblivious. Lacy prayed with all her heart that somehow this whole nightmare would just go away.

      Yeah, right, she mused with self-disgust. Murder doesn’t just go away.

      Murder.

      Why couldn’t the bastard just stay buried? Even in death, he still tormented Melinda. And her, Lacy admitted. Not one night had passed in the last ten years that she hadn’t thought of that low-life son of a bitch. Not a single one. And now he was back to haunt her days.

      And maybe ruin all their lives.

      Lacy slowly maneuvered the narrow streets bordering the town square. The reconstruction-era courthouse stood proudly as the centerpiece of Ashland’s growing municipality. Leaves fluttered at the sudden, rare summer’s breeze invitation to dance. A few broke loose from their lush limbs and floated to the ground only to rustle along the aging sidewalks. A collage of shops, old and new, ranging from a turn-of-the-century drugstore with soda fountain to stylish contemporary boutiques, flanked the streets surrounding the courthouse. Other than a fresh coat of paint here and there, and a flashy new business sign, the town’s center looked much the same.

      Lacy smiled when she caught a glimpse of three old men sitting on a park bench on the east side of the square whittling away at stubs of wood. She wondered if they could possibly be the same three from her childhood.

      She shook her head at her mind’s foolish meandering. No way. Her childhood felt a lifetime away now. Besides, she hardly knew anyone here anymore. She rarely visited her parents, once a year at the most, and then only on Thanksgiving or someone’s birthday. Never at Christmas.

      Never, ever at Christmas.

      She shuddered again. What was Christmas anyway? Just an opportunity for toy and gadget manufacturers to get rich by intimidating unsuspecting parents into buying products their children didn’t need. Of all people, Lacy should know. It was advertising executives like her who paved the way for just such blatant thievery. Christmas had become little more than a gimmick. Besides, Lacy Oliver had little time for family or holidays anymore. She was a senior partner at Baldwin, Hall and Oliver, one of Atlanta’s top advertising firms.

      She didn’t need anything Ashland had to offer.

      But she had to be here now for Melinda’s sake.

      For all of their sakes. To protect their secret.

      Lacy guided her SUV into the driveway of Melinda’s two-story Colonial-style home. Bride-white siding and classic black shutters enveloped the two-story home that reigned amid a backdrop of mature oak and maple trees and meticulously maintained shrubbery. Long, sturdy columns stood as sentinels guarding the welcoming entrance.

      After shifting into Park, Lacy turned off the ignition. For a while she simply sat there and stared up at one long window on the far right of the second floor. The master bedroom. She swallowed. The image of Charles lying naked in that ivory porcelain tub with a small, round bullet hole in the middle of his chest and another higher on his shoulder loomed large before her eyes. Then her mind fast-forwarded to the glint of moonlight on his silver Mercedes as it slipped into the murky depths of the natural lake that bordered a good portion of the town.

      Lacy blinked away the horrible images. Remembered hysteria climbed into her throat just as it had done that cold, dark night ten years ago. Disbelief, fear, desperation all twisted inside her the same way it had then.

      What had they done?

      She clenched her jaw and reminded herself of what was really important now. They had to protect Melinda, and one another. The bastard had deserved to die. Lacy refused to acknowledge the little voice that always, always nagged at her battered conscience. She would not regret what she could not change. The world was a better place without Charles Ashland. For ten long years he had been a missing person whom no one missed at all, save for his parents, who were blind to his evil ways as parents will be with their own flesh and blood.

      But now he was back and poised to destroy the lives of everyone involved. Everything Lacy had worked for, all she had hoped and dreamed of was about to go down the toilet. Self-preservation nudged at her waning determination to no avail. No matter how she justified their actions, the bottom line still hammered away at her self-rationalized defense—murder was wrong regardless of how much the victim deserved to die.

      How