What Never Happened, page 1
PRAISE FOR RACHEL HOWZELL HALL
“A fresh voice in crime fiction.”
—Lee Child
“Devilishly clever . . . Hall’s writing sizzles and pops.”
—Meg Gardiner
“Hall slips from funny to darkly frightening with elegant ease.”
—Publishers Weekly
PRAISE FOR WHAT NEVER HAPPENED
“Rachel Howzell Hall does it again. What Never Happened blends blade-sharp writing and indelible characters with a suspenseful story that pulls you in and won’t let go, as a seeming paradise grows dark with storms, suspicion, and murder. I couldn’t put it down.”
—Meg Gardiner, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“What Never Happened opens with a gut punch and doesn’t let up from there. Rachel Howzell Hall’s twist on the you-can’t-go-home-again story is smart, dizzying, and thrilling. She not only handles the mystery elements expertly, but she honors the grief and rage of our past and present.”
—Paul Tremblay, bestselling author of The Cabin at the End of the World and The Pallbearers Club
“Rachel Howzell Hall has crafted her own genre of slow-boiling, powerfully emotional thrillers. Her realistic characters are ordinary people, haunted by past horrors that won’t stay buried, forcing them to face pure evil to find their own redemption.”
—Lee Goldberg, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“In What Never Happened, Rachel Howzell Hall seamlessly weaves together the past and the present, decorating her breakneck plot with dark secrets and unexpected reveals that glitter like jewels. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.”
—Jess Lourey, Amazon Charts bestselling author of The Quarry Girls
“What Never Happened is superb. Beautifully and smartly written, it is an engrossing thriller with an ending that will leave your head spinning. It is deliciously creepy and perfectly crafted. In a word, stunning! Don’t miss this one!”
—Lisa Regan, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author
“Rachel Howzell Hall’s What Never Happened is a spine-tingling twist of a roller coaster that keeps you on the edge of your seat to the very last page and will have you saying ‘Thanks a lot, Rachel, for my lack of sleep.’”
—Yasmin Angoe, award-winning author of the critically acclaimed Nena Knight series, Her Name Is Knight and They Come at Knight
PRAISE FOR WE LIE HERE
“We Lie Here is another fast and surprisingly funny thriller from Rachel Howzell Hall. I was on the edge of my seat through all the revelations, twists, and turns in a fast-paced third act. Get this book and relax with the knowledge that you are in the hands of a fantastic crime novelist.”
—Adrian McKinty, Edgar Award–winning author of the Sean Duffy series
“In We Lie Here, Rachel Howzell Hall gives us a tight, lean, eye-level look at the Gibson family—flawed, normal, abnormal, and each affected by a deadly secret left buried for years—while weaving a page-turning tapestry of dread, cold-blooded murder, and nail-biting tension. What a ride. What a wonderful writer. More, please.”
—Tracy Clark, author of the Chicago Mystery series
“Rachel Howzell Hall continues to shatter the boundaries of crime fiction through the sheer force of her indomitable talent.”
—S. A. Cosby, author of Blacktop Wasteland
“We Lie Here is definitive proof that it’s impossible to be disappointed by Rachel Howzell Hall, who just gets better and better with each book. She has tools and tricks to spare as she pulls you to the edge of your seat with her razor-sharp plotting and keen eye for the darker side of human behavior that’s too easily obscured by the California sunshine.”
—Ivy Pochoda, author of These Women, a New York Times Best Thriller of 2020
“Loaded with surprises and shocking secrets, and propelled by Rachel Howzell Hall’s magnificent prose, We Lie Here is a captivating thriller that I couldn’t put down. It’s very clear to me that Hall is one of the best crime writers working today, and she keeps getting better. We Lie Here is a can’t-miss book.”
—Alex Segura, acclaimed author of Secret Identity, Star Wars Poe Dameron: Free Fall, and Blackout
“Rachel Howzell Hall continues to prove why she’s one of crime fiction’s leading writers. We Lie Here is a psychological-suspense fan’s dream with both a heroine you’ll want to root for and a story you’ll want to keep reading late into the night. A must read!”
—Kellye Garrett, Agatha, Anthony, and Lefty Award–winning author of Like a Sister
PRAISE FOR THESE TOXIC THINGS
An Amazon Best Book of the Month: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
“This cleverly plotted, surprise-filled novel offers well-drawn and original characters, lively dialogue, and a refreshing take on the serial killer theme. Hall continues to impress.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A mystery/thriller/coming-of-age story you won’t be able to put down till the final revelation.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Tense and pacey, with an appealing central character, this is a coming-of-age story as well as a gripping mystery.”
—The Guardian
“The mystery plots are twisty and grabby, but also worth noting is the realistic rendering of a Black LA neighborhood locked in a battle over gentrification.”
—Los Angeles Times
“Rachel Howzell Hall . . . just gets better and better with each book.”
—CrimeReads
“Rachel Howzell Hall continues to shatter the boundaries of crime fiction through the sheer force of her indomitable talent. These Toxic Things is a master class in tension and suspense. You think you are ready for it. But. You. Are. Not.”
—S. A. Cosby, author of Blacktop Wasteland
“These Toxic Things is taut and terrifying, packed with page-turning suspense and breathtaking reveals. But what I loved most is the mother-daughter relationship at the heart of this gripping thriller. Plan on reading it twice: once because you won’t be able to stop, and the second time to savor the razor’s edge balance of plot and poetry that only Rachel Howzell Hall can pull off.”
—Jess Lourey, Amazon Charts bestselling author of Unspeakable Things
“The brilliant Rachel Howzell Hall becomes the queen of mind games with this twisty and thought-provoking cat-and-mouse thriller. Where memories are weaponized, keepsakes are deadly, and the past gets ugly when you disturb it. As original, compelling, and sinister as a story can be, with a message that will haunt you long after you race through the pages.”
—Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Perfect Life
PRAISE FOR AND NOW SHE’S GONE
“It’s a feat to keep high humor and crushing sorrow in plausible equilibrium in a mystery novel, and few writers are as adept at it as Rachel Howzell Hall.”
—Washington Post
“One of the best books of the year . . . whip-smart and emotionally deep, And Now She’s Gone is a deceptively straightforward mystery, blending a fledgling PI’s first ‘woman is missing’ case with underlying stories about racial identity, domestic abuse, and rank evil.”
—Los Angeles Times
“Smart, razor-sharp . . . Full of wry, dark humor, this nuanced tale of two extraordinary women is un-put-downable.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Smart, packed with dialogue that sings on the page, Hall’s novel turns the tables on our expectations at every turn, bringing us closer to truth than if it were forced on us in school.”
—Walter Mosley
“A fierce PI running from her own dark past chases a missing woman around buzzy LA. Breathlessly suspenseful, as glamorous as the city itself, And Now She’s Gone should be at the top of your must-read list.”
—Michele Campbell, bestselling author of A Stranger on the Beach
“One of crime fiction’s leading writers at her very best. The final twist will make you want to immediately turn back to page one and read it all over again. And Now She’s Gone is a perfect blend of PI novel and psychological suspense that will have readers wanting more.”
—Kellye Garrett, Anthony, Agatha, and Lefty Award–winning author of Hollywood Homicide and Hollywood Ending
“Sharp, witty, and perfectly paced, And Now She’s Gone is one hell of a read!”
—Wendy Walker, bestselling author of The Night Before
“Hall once again proves to be an accomplished maestro who has composed a symphony of increasing tension and near-unbearable suspense. Rachel brilliantly reveals the bone and soul of our shared humanity and the struggle to contain the nightmares of human faults and failings. I am a fan, pure and simple.”
—Stephen Mack Jones, award-winning author of the August Snow thrillers
“Heartfelt and gripping . . . I’m a perennial member of the Rachel Howzell Hall fan club, and her latest is a winning display of her wit and compassion and mastery of suspense.”
—Steph Cha, award-winning author of Your House Will Pay
“An entertainingly twisty plot, a rich and layered sense of place, and most of all a main character who pops off the page. Gray Sykes is hugely engaging and deeply complex, a descendant of Philip Marlowe and Easy Rawlins who is also definitely, absolutely her own woman.”
—Lou Berney, award-winning author of November Road
“A deeply human protagonist, an intricate and twisty plot, and sentences that make me swoon with jealousy . . . Rachel Howzell Hall will f
—Rob Hart, author of The Warehouse
“And Now She’s Gone has all the mystery of a classic whodunit, with an undeniably fresh and clever voice. Hall exemplifies the best of the modern PI novel.”
—Alafair Burke, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR THEY ALL FALL DOWN
“A riotous and wild ride.”
—Attica Locke
“Dramatic, thrilling, and even compulsive.”
—James Patterson
“An intense, feverish novel with riveting plot twists.”
—Sara Paretsky
“Hall is beyond able and ready to take her place among the ranks of contemporary crime fiction’s best and brightest.”
—Strand Magazine
OTHER TITLES BY RACHEL HOWZELL HALL
We Lie Here
These Toxic Things
And Now She’s Gone
They All Fall Down
City of Saviors
Trail of Echoes
Skies of Ash
Land of Shadows
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2023 by Rachel Howzell Hall
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781662504150 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781662504136 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781662504143 (digital)
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
Cover images: © Naturfoto Honal, © svrid79, © cowii, © oxygen / Getty Images
First edition
For Lucky, my favorite golden girl.
CONTENTS
Start Reading
The Obituary of Colette Sienna Weber
Saturday, June 23 . . .
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2
3
4
5
6
7
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9
10
The Obituary of Paula Ellen Paulsen
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12
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The Obituary of Felicity Socorro Villeda Amador
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23
The Obituary of Colette Sienna Weber
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25
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27
28
29
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31
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The Obituary of Gwyneth Rose Weber
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34
35
36
37
38
39
40
The Obituary of Colette Sienna Weber
41
42
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EPILOGUE
Colette Sienna Weber
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.
—Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom
The Obituary of Colette Sienna Weber
Colette Sienna Weber of Los Angeles, California, is no more. She left this world on Sunday, March 22, 2020. The woman didn’t heed any of our previous warnings. That is why Colette was taken to the highest point on Santa Catalina and shot in her fingers, toes, and then knees, living agonizingly long enough to suffer until one final bullet between the eyes ended her for good.
We warned you, Colette.
You fucked around—and you found out.
Saturday, June 23, 2001
All Colette wanted was to be kissed at the end of the pier, to hold hands sticky from cotton candy, to have a guy with pretty eyes and great hair win her a stuffed unicorn after knocking over all the milk jars. All she’d wanted was to hear that guy say, “You complete me,” or . . . something.
The island had quieted and was now resetting. Tourists would wake up to clean sidewalks and empty trash cans, the stink of spilled beer and rank suntan lotion replaced by the aromas of funnel cakes and french fries.
Her stomach alley-ooped again. She staggered to the bushes and vomited nachos and wine coolers and Michelob and someone’s mother’s peach schnapps. Tonight she’d opened her new bottle of Tommy Girl and used a new foundation powder that didn’t make her skin look like desert rocks. The bronzer on her cheeks burst like sparkles and summer sun. At sixteen, she was already over drinking, over “being bad.” This night had not turned into the evening she’d risked it all for. “You guys act like little kids over here,” she’d announced after someone brought a carton of eggs from the store to throw.
“Y’all don’t dance or play video games . . . ?” she’d asked after someone pulled out a joint. “This is so boring, and it totally fits into the stereotype of—”
“You’re boring,” the freckle-faced girl pronounced.
“I thought Black people partied,” the dark-haired slouch said.
Heart thudding in her ears, Colette had bit her tongue and kept quiet, and she’d told herself, Whatever.
Freckle Face said, “You’re never gonna fit in here. Your dad doesn’t, and he’s been our teacher for, like, three years.”
The only Black people these island kids knew lived on TV. Sassy Moesha and wise auntie Oprah. The perfect Huxtable family and you-so-crazy Martin. Colette’s family was none of that and all of that. Shifty and smart, aloof and in your face. Boring-ass party people.
Stupid island kids. What did they know? Absolutely nothing. Seven hundred grapes went into that bottle of cheap wine they were drinking—they didn’t know that. No one on the real Apollo 13 said, “Houston, we have a problem”—they didn’t know that, either, until she told them an hour ago.
“You’re pretty,” the blond boy had said, “but I didn’t think you were a . . .”
Nerd.
Whatever.
No holding hands with the floppy-haired blond boy during Shrek. No stuffed unicorn. Whatever. Instead, the island kids had gone on without her to vandalize golf carts. Whatever. She’d passed out on the beach and had awakened to a deer licking her face.
Alone.
Boats bumped against their moorings. Water splashed against the sand.
They’d ditched her. Not “whatever.” More like . . .
Oh shit.
And now, she stumbled along the dark streets, feeling like the most boring piece of trash—a used napkin or juice-can tab—with only the fancy-pants hotel on the hill as a guiding light. The entire island seemed to tilt up, up, up without modern streetlights or helpful adults who could direct her to safety.
You know they don’t give a damn about you. That was what her father would say.
All this for a stupid white boy who didn’t even buy you an ice-cream cone? You got your ass in trouble for that? That was what her mother would say.
Hey, can I wear your Lakers Starter jacket since you’re grounded and you ain’t going nowhere ever again? Her brother would say that.
Her parents didn’t understand. They never let her live, they never let her just be. If they allowed her to just be, she wouldn’t have snuck out and guzzled schnapps and . . . and . . .
Her best friends, Melody and Bella, were also honor roll geeks. Never been kissed, study and church and college prep courses even in the summer. Colette also lived life by the books—brush and floss, homework and extra credit completed, never spending a penny more, no slammed doors, yessir and no ma’am. She wanted to stay smart but also be kissed, become a Bruin and the most beautiful girl in the world. Why couldn’t she have it all?
She’d told the cute blond boy about her family’s argument tonight, about moving from LA to Avalon, about her fear of not fitting in. He’d complained about being a rich kid who wanted more than money, but also adventure and . . . She’d listened to him intently, without interruption, and hoped that he noticed her deep interest in his desire to run with the bulls, to climb Everest and fly to the moon.
