Shirlee McCoy - Little Girl Lost

Exasperated, she met his gaze. “You’re welcome to head back to the house if I’m taking too long, Detective.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.” A half smile eased some of the intensity from his face, and Portia found herself studying him. The dim light couldn’t hide his rough-edged good looks. He’d be an interesting subject to capture in charcoal.

By the time she finally managed to remove her skates, her stomach was twisting with nerves. Murder. Just the word filled her with dread.

THE SECRETS OF STONELEY: Six sisters face murder, mayhem and mystery while unraveling the past.

FATAL IMAGE-Lenora Worth (LIS#38)

LITTLE GIRL LOST-Shirlee McCoy (LIS#40)

BELOVED ENEMY-Terri Reed (LIS#44)

THE SOUND OF SECRETS-Irene Brand (LIS#48)

DEADLY PAYOFF-Valerie Hansen (LIS#52)

WHERE TRUTH LIES-Lynn Bulock (LIS#56)

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has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Maryland and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Shirlee McCoy for her contribution to THE SECRETS OF STONELEY miniseries.

To Seth, whose honesty inspires me and whose gifts

never cease to amaze me.

To Beth Sharo. If we weren’t sisters, we undoubtedly would have been friends. What a blessing to be both!

And to Rodney. Just because.

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. For You, O Lord, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the Lord in the land of the living.

—Psalms 116:7–9

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

—William Shakespeare, “Sonnet 18,” lines 9–14

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

She was going to have fun if it killed her. And, judging by the way Portia Blanchard’s feet were slipping out from under her, it just might.

“Come on, Portia. You can do better than that.” Her older sister Cordelia laughed the words as she sped by Portia, her skates spraying chips of ice as she passed.

“Your skirt is too long and too full. That’s why you’re having trouble. Let’s go back to the house. You can change clothes.” Miranda, the oldest of Portia’s five sisters, took her arm, urging her toward the edge of the pond.

“Changing won’t transform me into a world-class skater, Miranda.” Portia pulled away, her clumsy efforts almost landing her on the ice. She’d never been graceful on skates, but she’d always loved trying. Loved the yearly twilight skate she shared with her five sisters, loved the cold crisp air, the feeling that no matter what the future held, they had each other. “Besides, I don’t want to miss sunset.”

“We’ve still got twenty minutes until sunset. That’s plenty of time to get to the house and back.” Miranda was nothing if not determined.

“Twelve minutes. Give or take a few seconds,” Bianca, second-born and usually the peacemaker of the family, cut in. “She’s an adult, Miranda, not a kid. She can wear what she wants, so stop nagging her.”

“I was not nagging. I was just pointing out that pants might be more appropriate.”

“Appropriate? Since when has Portia been appropriate?” Nerissa skated toward them, a smile lighting a face so like Portia’s even their father had difficulty telling them apart.

“Since never.” Juliet joined them. The baby of the family, she had a restless energy that was never quite contained, though tonight she seemed subdued, her green eyes lacking their normal sparkle.

They all seemed subdued and Portia knew she was partially to blame, her heartache adding to the discordant note of this year’s reunion. Maybe she should have stayed in New York. The family had enough to worry about without adding her troubles to the mix.

“No, you shouldn’t have stayed in New York.” Rissa leaned in close, sensing her thoughts and whispering the reassurance in her ear.

“No twin secrets tonight.” Juliet smiled, but there was something in her eyes that bothered Portia. Sadness? Jealousy? “We’re here to have fun and relax. So why are we all looking so gloomy?”

The question hung in the air, no one willing to give voice to the answer. After almost twenty-three years of believing their mother dead, they had evidence that she might be alive. It was she who occupied their minds this cold February day. But more than that occupied Portia’s.

She thought of Tad, of Jasmine, of the wonderful time they’d had together at last year’s Winter Fest, and felt something hot and tight fill her chest. “You’re all looking gloomy because none of you can compete with my grace and beauty on the ice.”

She whirled away from her sisters, attempting a spin that athletic Delia could have done in her sleep, but that Portia had never perfected. Her skirt billowed out, tiny silver mirrors sewn into the material catching the last rays of golden sunlight. For a moment she was fluid and graceful, the world reduced to a smeared painting she longed to capture on canvas—powdery snow, towering evergreens, a hazy purple sky. Then her feet tangled and she flew backwards, landing in a heap of fabric, laughter bubbling up and spilling out. If it was edged with hysteria, only Rissa would hear and she’d never dream of pointing it out.

Detective Mick Campbell followed the sound of laughter across a road and through a cove of trees. Unless he missed his guess, the pond he was looking for was just ahead. According to Winnie Blanchard, all six of the Blanchard sisters were skating there. A thin layer of snow muffled his footsteps as he moved into a clearing shadowed in twilight. The pond, much larger than Mick had expected, shimmered in the fading light. As Winnie had said, six women were in the center of the ice. Five stood with their backs to Mick. The sixth sat in a puddle of bright fabric, laughing up at her sisters. Mick had the impression of wide, dark eyes, finely drawn features and curly hair pulled back from a pale face.