Charlotte's Revenge Read online

  Charlotte’s Revenge

  Finding Home Mystery Series

  Book Two

  Barbara Howard

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Howard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  First edition August 2020

  For more information:

  www.barbarahowardmedia.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Author Bio

  Milo’s Journey

  Dedication

  I AM –

  an echo of prophecies and promises, whispers and wishes, and the flutter of my mother’s heartbeat.

  “You must not stop writing.” - I dedicate this book to my writing instructor at the Fairmount Center for the Arts, Novelty, Ohio, who spoke those words to a thirteen-year-old me. Thank you for hearing my voice.

  Acknowledgements

  I WANT TO EXTEND A special thank you to the following individuals. Having you in my life makes everything better.

  To Aubraney Howard, Alfred Douglas and my colleagues at HQ, USACE and ODCSOPS (US Army). Thank you for your service to our country

  To Callie Browning, Marva Carty, Kierra L. Rose, and my Insider’s Circle writing community for your continued support and encouragement, and for providing feedback on early drafts of this book.

  And, thank you Mary Dunbar for editing the manuscript and continuing this journey with me.

  I appreciate you all.

  Chapter One

  Randall

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK OF this color?” Traci asked holding up a magazine cover as Randall steered the car toward the highway. He rolled down the window and adjusted the side mirror.

  “It’s okay.” He glanced quickly at the photo, then focused back on the road and changed lanes. “I like tan.”

  “No, it's called Country Bliss.” She shuffled the stack of advertisements on her lap and pointed to a photo in the DeMarco’s Paint and Lumber brochure. “What about this one?”

  “Yeah, sure. That’s okay, too. Ummm, grey?”

  “Pure Opal.”

  “Ah ... I see. Pure Opal. Got it.” He smirked and followed the River Road exit toward Lockwood Township.

  “I think you're making fun of me. Not helping, Randall.”

  “No, I’m not making fun of you. I love it, I swear. You're like a pretty little bird building your nest.” He cupped his hand on her leg just above the knee and inched it a little further up her thigh until she brushed it away. He grabbed the knob of the Hurst shifter, dropped it into neutral and coasted for the upcoming turn-off.

  “Anyway ...” she held up another one, “what do you think of this solar lamp? I really like it. It has a cute sign on top. I can put it next to the flowers at the front steps and write whatever I want on it. How about Casa de Tracinda? Or, Maison d'Traci?”

  “Really?” When they reached the four-way stop, he pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and squinted at the photo. “That's what you're thinking about buying now?”

  “When the home improvement grant money comes in a few months, I want to have everything picked out and ready to order.” She flopped the brochure down on her lap. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  He didn’t care about these colors and lawn ornaments she was obsessed about. Not at all. It was rare to have the day off to spend together. And right now, looking at her sitting next to him, there was only one thing he was thinking about and it wasn’t house paint. But she wanted his opinion and that pretty pouty face ... it got him every time.

  “Okay, okay.” He glanced in the rearview mirror to check for traffic, then picked up the paper. “Hmmm, I like the tan better. I mean, what’s it? Country Bliss. Yeah, I like that one. Sounds like the name of a song.” He smiled at her.

  “Please don't sing.” She rolled her eyes.

  “What do you mean? I have a great voice.” He made the turn onto Mayfair and steered onto the dirt road.

  “Yes, you do ... just not for singing.” She said and hid her face behind her favorite copy of Faucier Home magazine.

  “I heard that.” He pushed down the accelerator a little more and listened to the thundering exhaust. It was a nice day for a ride in the country and they could miss the traffic jam from the double-header at Porter Stadium. He put it in gear and turned onto Lenwood Road.

  “Time to light it up,” he thought and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. That big block, four speed ’68 GM Chevelle Super Sport 396 was a dream on wheels. He eased off the clutch, shifted into second, then third and kicked up a little gravel. He glanced over at Traci. She was looking back at him in anticipation.

  “What do you think? Faster?” he shouted.

  “Yeah!”

  He pushed the Chevelle to eighty and then ninety miles per hour until he felt a little hiccup, checked the gauges and then dropped it back down under the speed limit.

  “Still burning oil.”

  “I can’t wait to drive it.”

  “She’s almost ready for you. But I better never catch you going that fast.”

  “Aww, that’s not fair.”

  He turned down Brayton Road where it met the main highway back to Keeferton, crossed the four-way stop and stayed on the back road instead of making the turn. Traci was too busy gathering up the home décor magazines and photos that had blown all over the floor to notice. He hoped she would just go along with him today. RD owed him a favor and agreed to open the place up on Sunday just for them. It would take twenty minutes, tops, and then they would be out of there.

  “The body work is almost done. Then I can take her in for a paint job. I think you’ll like it,” he said trying to keep the conversation light.

  “I’m sure it will be very pretty,” Traci teased and gave him a side-eye glance, “because I’m gonna pick the color.”

  Her smile disappeared as he steered the car into the Game and Glory parking lot.

  “Oh, Randall, no ...”

  “Listen, I followed you around a dozen stores today. And,” he locked eyes with her, “this is important.” He could feel the tension rising between them already as he turned around in his seat and peered through the rear window. He carefully maneuvered the car into a parking space across from the huge warehouse and indoor range. The building had a “Closed” sign on the door and blacked out windows and sat adjacent to the Faucier County Impound Lot full of abandoned cars. He cupped her chin in his hand.

  “Tracinda, come on. Don’t give me that baby face.”

  She turned away from him without speaking, climbed out of the car a
nd slammed the door behind her. RD met them at the side entrance with a fist bump and a smile before he led them through the back hallway to the indoor gun range.

  “Hey, Randall, hunting season is right around the corner,” RD said, flipping on the overhead lighting as they entered each zone of the massive facility. “Time to get ready. I’ve got some scent cover and doe urine in stock. That stuff sells out fast. So, you better buy it now. And that camo Savage Bolt Action rifle with the scope that you ordered came in this week. I’ll grab it and you can check it out.”

  “I’ll make some time to come back and do that, RD. Thanks.” He nodded toward Traci who was still standing at the entrance with her back turned. “We’re just going to put in some target practice.”

  “Sure, I’ll get you setup.” RD was the owner and range master of Game and Glory, a gun and ammo facility who kept clean records. He had birthed the rumor that the scar down the left side of his face and hooked under his ear, along with the trace of a limp was from an encounter with a black bear during a hunting trip. But the truth was he had fallen asleep in a deer blind, dropped fifteen feet, broke his ankle and had to wait twenty hours for rescue. Randall was a member of the rescue team that found him, and they had been good friends from that day. Randall gestured to set the target further back to twenty-five yards and RD obliged, switching on the motorized assembly and the hanger screeched back five more yards. Then he sat on the stool next to the entrance, put on his headphones and locked the door.

  “I really don't want to be here, Randall,” Traci said over her shoulder, arms folded tightly across her chest. He placed his fingertips under her shoulder blades and gently nudged her to their position along the clear polycarbonate booth behind the firing line.

  “We agreed. You need to be comfortable with using a weapon,” he said gently pulling her hands down to her sides.

  Traci shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other and looked around the empty facility. Randall noticed her eye movements quicken as she surveyed the space. There were no windows. The walls were covered in dingy curved and puckered foam wedges. They needed to get through this quickly. He placed the amber shooting glasses on her face and smiled down at her.

  “Listen, now that we're together ... wait, we are together, right?” he leaned closer to her, grinned and raised an eyebrow playfully.

  “Yes ... I suppose we are,” she said, smiling sweetly, her beautiful face beaming up at him again.

  “Okay, whew, glad that's settled.” He smiled and her knitted brow relaxed and the tension between them eased slightly. He unhooked his holster. “Like I said, now that we're together, it's important ...”

  “Nothing good ever happens when a gun is around,” Traci interrupted. Her body stiffened again. She refused to look at him.

  “I’m a police officer, right?” He placed his hand over his heart. “That means I have a weapon on me at all times, pretty much. You trust me with it because I’m competent. I make sure that I know what I’m doing.” He stepped a little closer and lowered his head to make direct eye contact. “And, you have to finish the process to get your permit and carry one, too. I’m going to order a small Beretta for you once we’re done here.”

  The pouting was back. He knew he had to be careful and not press too hard to make his point. She was fragile no matter how calm she appeared right now. And even though he didn’t understand what was behind those paralyzing panic attacks, he could not back down on this. Keeferton was a historically quiet town but it had a nasty under belly and an encroaching criminal element from Xavier County that he never discussed with her. All the new development brought tourists and their ugly cousins; gangs and predators. He couldn’t be with her twenty-four hours a day, although he wished that he could. She needed to be prepared.

  “Let's not get into this right now. I tell you what, my angel.” He held her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “After we finish up here, we’ll have the best meal money can buy. Whatever you want, you name it.” He waited until she returned his gaze and gave a small nod.

  Randall positioned the noise-cancelling headphones over her ears, then pointed at the B-27 silhouette target at the end of the row and stepped back. He took the Glock 9mm from his holster and laid it flat in the palm of his hand.

  “Remember what I showed you. It’s got a six-round clip. I want you to take a couple shots, two or three, to get comfortable with it.” He stepped behind her and pressed his chest against her back. Then, lifted his arms in front of her, “Place your hands here.”

  Traci adjusted the eyeglass shield, positioned her fingers on the weapon and aimed it at the target. Randall cupped his hands around hers, waited for her breathing to calm to let go and stepped away.

  “Just squeeze the trigger and try to hit the target. Relax.”

  And after one long deep breath, she emptied the clip.

  “Good God, woman.”

  He didn't have to wait for RD to roll back the target. Six shots, five holes, no misses. RD joined them laughing like a wild man. “Dude, all center core. You peeped that keyhole, right?”

  “Yeah ...” Randall nodded and folded his hands on the top of his head. He looked at RD and then back at Traci who placed the gun in the tray on the side of the booth, took a wet-nap from her purse and started cleaning her fingers.

  “So ... what just happened here?” Randall approached her slowly and pulled off the headphones gently untangling them from her hair.

  Traci tossed her handbag over her shoulder and walked past the men. RD rushed over, unlocked the door and stepped back as he held it open for her.

  “You better step lightly around that lady,” RD said. “Yep, I'd watch myself around that one, doc.”

  “Right ...”

  Randall finished up at the booth, settled things with RD then rushed down the long hallway and out into the daylight. Traci was standing next to the car, waiting for him. Her backless floral sundress exposed the tan lines on her beautiful cinnamon skin and danced in the breeze around those amazing legs. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her shoulders backward, then gathered her hair into a silk tie at the crown of her head. He took a deep breath. “Steady, man. Stay focused.” he thought. Sure, they hadn’t discussed everything from their pasts but he needed to confront her about her marksmanship. Skills like that don’t just happen overnight. Step lightly, indeed.

  “Tracinda,” he said and unlocked the car door. “I think you need to explain yourself.”

  “What? I did what you wanted, right?” she said, smiling as she lowered herself into the passenger seat.

  “You know what I mean,” he said trying to ignore the flutter in his belly. He got in the driver’s seat, reached over and snapped the seatbelt tightly across her lap. He mustered his most stern expression, but he knew with her looking so beautiful right then, she had all the power. And, she knew it.

  “Feed me first.” She kissed him on the cheek, “You promised.” She lowered the sun visor, re-applied her lipstick in the mirror and fluffed the two long black curls along the sides of her face. “This woman,” he thought. She batted her lashes at him and he was done.

  “God help me.” He started the Chevelle and headed toward the interstate.

  Chapter Two

  Traci

  RANDALL DROPPED TRACI off at the tall ponytail palm shading the corner of Moe’s Tavern just as his phone rang.

  “It’s a guy I know in the D.A.'s office. I’ve got to take this call. Wait for me here.” He pulled away and parked under the newly constructed drive-in car port area.

  “Any news?” Traci said anxiously as he rejoined her along the path to the entrance.

  “Yeah, it's very good news.”

  “Well, tell me.”

  “I can't say.”

  “C’mon, please.”

  “Ugh, this pouting is killing me, Traci,” he sighed. “Alright ... I can tell you that Charlotte Carter was offered a plea bargain. And her lawyer is signaling like she's going to accept it.
Judge Davis likes to get things over with quick. Bad headlines are bad for tourism.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that there probably won't be a trial,” he said and brushed her hair back to see more of her cheeks glistening in the sun, as he rested his hands on her trim waist. “And that means that you won't have to testify.”

  Traci was thrilled. He had never seen a smile so bright and free on her face before.

  “I think we should celebrate,” she said and drummed her fingers along his forearms.

  “What did you have in mind,” he said and wrapped his hands around the small of her back, pulling her closer.

  “Gumbo!”

  Traci grabbed his hand and pulled him past the line at Moe's Tavern that was wrapped around the building and across the parking lot. Smoke billowed from the shack at the rear where the pit crew kept the mountains of brisket, turkey legs, chicken quarters and ribs over the coals, mopping, seasoning, turning and slicing like a well-trained army. Runners dashed back and forth through the side door with “To-Go” orders for eager diners waiting in the designated parking spots. Everyone had to shout to be heard over the loud Zydeco and Swamp Water Blues tunes alternating through the speakers on either side of the building. And no one seemed to mind. Inside acoustics were somewhat better for diners to converse but most were too busy eating authentic samplings from regions across the country. Traci walked up to the hostess station posted under the canopy outside the entrance.

  “Tracinda Simmons” she told the hostess.

  “Ah, Ms. Simmons, please follow me.” She led them to her VIP table with the unhindered view of Mount PierPoint.

  “Boy, this place is packed. Good thing I'm with you or I'd have to starve,” he said holding her chair out as she was seated and slid his fingertips gently along her bare shoulders.

  “Yep, and they took that raw fish you like off the menu. Yuck!”

  “Sashimi. It's good to try new things. I'll convince you yet.”