Scent of Magnolia, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Ashley Farley
All rights reserved.
Cover design: damonza.com
Editor: Patricia Peters at A Word Affair LLC
Leisure Time Books, a division of AHF Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also By Ashley Farley
Virginia Vineyards
Love Child
Blind Love
Forbidden Love
Love and War
Palmetto Island
Muddy Bottom
Change of Tides
Lowcountry on My Mind
Sail Away
Hope Springs Series
Dream Big, Stella!
Show Me the Way
Mistletoe and Wedding Bells
Matters of the Heart
Road to New Beginnings
Stand Alone
On My Terms
Tangled in Ivy
Lies that Bind
Life on Loan
Only One Life
Home for Wounded Hearts
Nell and Lady
Sweet Tea Tuesdays
Saving Ben
Sweeney Sisters Series
Saturdays at Sweeney’s
Tangle of Strings
Boots and Bedlam
Lowcountry Stranger
Her Sister’s Shoes
Magnolia Series
Beyond the Garden
Magnolia Nights
Scottie’s Adventures
Breaking the Story
Merry Mary
Contents
1. Scout
2. Kate
3. June
4. June
5. Scout
6. Scout
7. Kate
8. Scout
9. June
10. June
11. Kate
12. Scout
13. Scout
14. Kate
15. Kate
16. June
17. June
18. Kate
19. Kate
20. Scout
21. Kate
22. June
23. June
24. Scout
25. Kate
26. Kate
27. Scout
28. Kate
29. June
30. Scout
31. Kate
32. Scout
33. Kate
34. June
35. Scout
36. Kate
37. June
38. Scout
39. June
40. Scout
41. June
42. Kate
43. Scout
Also By Ashley Farley
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Chapter 1
Scout
Scout adds her unmarked car to the cluster of Seattle’s first responder vehicles parked haphazardly at the crime scene. Turning off the engine, she grips the steering wheel, bows her head, and squeezes her eyes tight. Please, God, don’t let it be Sally Strickland.
She stuffs her stubby ponytail into a black baseball cap and grabs her trench coat from the trunk. Blue and red flashing lights are dim in the early morning fog as she hurries up the dank alley to the back door of a pool hall where the victim is lying facedown in the mud. Scout’s heart skips a beat when she notices the young woman’s blonde hair, the same white-blonde shade as Sally.
“Talk to me,” Scout says to her friend and coworker, homicide detective Sandra Reyes.
“Looks like a drug overdose. Fentanyl would be my guess.”
The smell of frying bacon from a nearby diner mixes with the stench of death. Locals are starting their day off with a hearty meal while, less than fifty feet away, a young woman is dead from drugs that either some jackass hoping for sex forced on her or that she willingly took to satisfy an addiction. Some days this job really gets to Scout.
Crouching down next to the body, Scout turns the girl’s right hand over to inspect the inside of her wrist. Instead of the heart tattoo Sally’s mother has described in detail, she discovers an angry red scar from an apparent suicide attempt.
“Can I see her face, please?” Scout says to a crime scene investigator.
The investigator rotates the victim’s head so the right side of her face is visible. The girl’s young age is apparent despite the caked mud covering her cheeks and forehead. She can’t be over fourteen years old. And she’s definitely not Sally Strickland.
“Do you have any idea who she is?” Sandra asks.
“Nope.” Scout gets to her feet. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
She walks over to a group of young people standing behind the yellow crime scene tape at the opposite end of the short alley. “Morning.”
The kids respond in unison, “Morning.”
“She a friend of yours?” Scout asks, tossing a thumb over her shoulder toward the dead girl’s body.
A dozen sets of eyes dart about, avoiding Scout’s gaze.
“I’ve memorized the faces of every reported runaway in this country, and she’s not one of them. Which means I have no way of getting in touch with her family. What if that were one of you lying dead in a dirty alley? Wouldn’t you want your family to know your fate? Wouldn’t you want them to bring you home and bury you in the family plot where you belong? Wouldn’t you want to end their constant worry so they could try to put the pieces of their lives back together?”
Her lecture is met with stony silence.
“Call your parents! If nothing else, let them know you’re alive.” From an inside coat pocket, Scout removes a stack of McDonald’s gift cards and hands them out to the runaways. “Get yourself some food. And try to stay out of trouble. You know where to find me if you learn anything about our Jane Doe.”
Mumbling their gratitude for the gift cards, the group, with chins tucked and eyes glued to the ground, disperses into different directions. One runaway remains at the yellow tape—a tiny girl with pale hair and skin and electric blue eyes. The others call her Tinker Bell because she’s light on her feet and walks on her toes. Scout wonders if she was a ballerina in a previous life.
Tinker Bell bites down on a quivering lip. “Her name is Chloe Thompson. She’s from Spokane and has only been on the run for a few days, which is probably why you don’t know about her. I tried to help her, but she was a real mess.” Tinker Bell taps her forehead. “She has some serious emotional problems. She left home on a whim, and she desperately wanted to go back, but she was afraid to contact her parents.”
Scout takes out her phone and types the victim’s name and hometown in her Notes app. “Was she into drugs?”
“I don’t think so. She’s been hooking up with some guy, though. I know nothing about him.”
Scout pockets her phone and gives Tinker Bell’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You did the right thing in telling me.” She presses a business card into the girl’s palm. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
After spending a heart-wrenching afternoon with Chloe Thompson’s parents, Scout enters the Bail Out a few minutes after five and orders a tequila on the rocks from the bartender. Drink in hand, she bypasses several tables of coworkers and chooses an empty booth on the far wall.
She’s nursing her tequila, replaying the day’s events over in her mind, when Barrett sits down in the booth across from her. Setting down his whiskey shot, he sheds his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the bench seat. Her heart flutters at the sight of his black T-shirt stretched tight over his muscular chest. With his scruffy beard and dark locks curling at the nape of his neck, her father would label him a thug, but beneath his rugged exterior lies a gentle giant. “I heard what happened. How’re you holding up?”
“It’s been a long day. I’m relieved it wasn’t Sally Strickland, but I’m devastated for the Thompson family.” Scout tugs her wheat-colored hair free of the elastic, letting it fall to her shoulders. “Every time I lose a runaway, I travel back in time seventeen years. Why can’t I move on from my brother’s disappearance?”
Barrett cocks his head as if to say really. “You know why. Because you need closure.”
“Right. If only I knew how to get it.” Scout drains the last of the tequila and sets the glass on the table with a clunk. “Ford would never intentionally leave me hanging like this. I have a strong social media presence. There must be a legitimate reason he hasn’t contacted me.”
“Because he doesn’t want to be found.” Barrett kicks back the shot of whiskey. “Your parents still live in the same house. Ford knows the way home.”
Scout refuses to accept the possibility her brother is avoiding her on purpose. “I can think of other legitimate reasons that would prevent him from going home.” Scout ticks them off on her fingers. “He’s incapacitated and can’t travel. He’s in jail. God forbid he might be dead.”
“When we idolize someone, Scout, we have a tendency to overlook their flaws.”
Scout glares at Barrett. “You’re always so hard on him when you’ve never even met him.”
“I’m a homicide detective, trained to deal with the facts. Your brother disapp
Scout’s pointer finger shoots up. “Once. Five years after he left. It was late at night and the line was static. Mom could barely hear what he was saying. What if Ford escaped from his kidnappers and made it to a phone to call Mom, but the kidnappers caught him and killed him?”
Barrett snorts. “You’re letting your imagination get the best of you again.”
Scout laughs at herself. “Okay, so maybe that is far-fetched. But I can’t rule out the possibility something happened to him. He could have amnesia.”
“If he has amnesia now, he didn’t have it when he left home or when he called your mom five years later. Running away is a coward’s way of solving one’s problems.”
“Says the man from the happy family with loving parents and close-knit siblings.” Scout’s phone vibrates the table, and she glances down at the screen. “Why are Mom and Mary Beth calling me at the same time? This can’t be good.”
Barrett grabs their empty glasses. “I’ll get us some refills while you talk to them.”
Scout picks up the phone but hesitates as she decides whose call to accept. Finally, she clicks on Mary Beth’s number. “You and Mom are calling me at the same time. What’s wrong?”
“Alice committed suicide this morning,” Mary Beth blurts.
While she’s relieved it’s not bad news about Ford, Scout feels guilty she hasn’t thought about her childhood friend Alice in years. “That’s too bad. How’d she do it?”
“Scout! That’s awful. Only you would ask such a thing.”
“I’m a detective, Mary Beth. It goes with the territory.”
“If you say so. Anyway, the funeral’s on Friday. You need to be here.”
“Since when did you get so bossy?”
“Since I became the mother of a toddler. Besides, if I’m not firm with you, you’ll try to weasel your way out of coming. And there’s no excuse for missing Alice’s funeral, Scout.”
One legitimate reason pops into Scout’s mind. “Did you call Kate?”
“I left several messages with her assistant. I’m waiting to hear from her now. You can no longer hide behind your animosity toward Kate. We’re all adults now, Scout. The time has come for you to put this petty vendetta behind you.”
Scout sighs. “I don’t expect you to understand my feelings for Kate. But you’re right. I should be there for Alice’s family. Can I stay with you?”
“As much as I would love that, your mom would be heartbroken if you don’t stay at home.”
Scout notices Barrett heading back toward the table with another tequila for her and a Miller Lite for himself. “I’ve gotta run, Mary Beth. I’ll text you my flight information.”
Barrett slides her drink across the table. “Why the long face?”
Scout stares at the clear liquid in her glass. “An old friend committed suicide.”
“Gosh. That’s awful, Scout. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Alice lived across the street from me growing up, but we haven’t been close since we were kids. Life has not been good to her. She has a drug addiction, suffered from bipolar disorder, and self-medicated a lot with illegal drugs. She’s been in and out of rehab most of her adult life.”
“That must have been tough on her family.”
Scout looks past him to the back room. “The pool table is open. Let’s grab it.” She crawls out of the booth and makes a beeline for the poolroom at the back of the pub.
Barrett racks the balls and Scout breaks, sending the solid blue number two ball to the far corner right pocket. She sinks three more solids in two turns before missing.
“How long will you stay in Alabama?” Barrett asks as he lines up his shot.
Scout props herself against her cue stick. “As short amount of time as possible. The funeral is Friday. I imagine I’ll head back to Seattle on Saturday.”
Barrett makes his shot and scrutinizes the table for another opportunity. “You have years’ worth of vacation time built up. Why not stay for a while?”
“Why would I do that? There is literally nothing to do in Langford, Alabama. And two days is as long as I can stand to be in the dictator's presence.”
Instead of laughing at her father’s nickname, he scolds her with his dark eyes. “Give your parents a chance, Scout.”
“People don’t change, Barrett.”
“Maybe people don’t, but circumstances do.” He takes an angle shot and misses. “You’re an adult now. You might find you have more in common with your parents than you think.”
She considers the possibility. “I haven’t thought about it like that, but maybe you’re right. After all this time, we’re virtually strangers to one another. Maybe we can start over on a level playing field.”
“You never know. At least stay through the weekend. Besides spending some much overdue time with your parents, you could search for clues about your missing brother.”
“That investigation is dead,” Scout says, leaning over the table as she lines up her next shot.
“Says who? Your eighteen-year-old self? You’re an accomplished detective now, Scout. With your keen senses and seasoned eyes, you’re bound to come up with something. The answers are there. You just need to find them.”
“Maybe.” She cleans the table and returns her cue stick to the wall rack. “That’s a wrap. I’m outta here.”
“Hey! What about dinner?” They have a standing deal that the loser pays for dinner.
“I wish I could. But I need to make travel arrangements.”
Barrett tugs on his jacket. “I might as well go home too. I’ve been procrastinating on some paperwork.”
They exit the Bail Out together, pausing in front of Barrett’s motorcycle parked on the curb. “Good luck in Alabama, kiddo. If you need me. I’m only a phone call away.”
When he kisses her cheek, she imagines what his lips might feel like on hers. But she’s not his type. He prefers beautiful women with sexy bodies. He would never look twice at a girl with a lopsided smile and boyish figure.
Scout experiences a sick feeling in her gut as she watches him speed away on his bike. And she can’t shake the feeling of impending doom during the drive home. Her life is about to change, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.
She’s lived in the same dingy apartment building in a seedy part of downtown since first arriving in Seattle fifteen years ago. Many of her friends have upgraded to swanky buildings with open floor plans and rooftop pools. Scout doesn’t see the point in paying premium rent for a place to lay her head. She no longer believes in the concept of home. Over the years, she’s witnessed too much heartache born out of dysfunctional families and broken homes. Creating a happy home is a pie-in-the-sky dream only a blessed few ever achieve.
Barrett’s words come back to her as she books her airline ticket. She’s a confident young woman now, no longer the confused teenager who left home for college and never looked back. Maybe a fresh perspective will lead her to a new discovery about Ford’s disappearance.
Scout folds an assortment of black tops and blue jeans into her small rolling suitcase. There was a time when she enjoyed wearing fun clothing in festive colors. But Ford drained all the life out of her world when he abandoned her.
Chapter 2
