BEVERLY BARTON - The Black Widow

“Hiring the Powell Agency wasn’t your idea,” Devon said, keeping his voice low and quiet.

“No, it was Ryan’s idea. I just happened to walk right into the middle of a secret meeting he and Claire were having with Nicole Powell and Mr. Carson.”

“Does Ryan really believe that Dan was murdered?”

“Yes, I think he does.”

“You realize what might happen, don’t you? If the investigator digs too deeply into Dan’s personal life—”

“I wish we could find a way to prevent him from finding out the truth,” Jordan said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the distinct impression that Mr. Carson already suspects something.”

“Suspects what?”

“I think he believes that I killed Dan or perhaps that you and I killed him because we’re lovers.”

Robby Joe smiled and held open his arms. She went flying into his loving embrace, feelings of pure happiness enveloping her. He was the most important person in the world to her. He was the man she loved, her future husband, the father of the children she would have one day.

When she was with Robby Joe, she felt that nothing bad could ever happen to her again, that all the bad things in her life were behind her forever. Their June wedding was only a month away, an elaborate affair that his mother had insisted on paying for, even down to helping Jordan pay for a beautiful wedding dress that she otherwise couldn’t have afforded.

With her arms wrapped around Robby Joe’s neck and her head resting against his shoulder, Jordan sighed with deep contentment. Sunlight struck the one-carat diamond on her finger. Gazing at her engagement ring, she thought about the night this past October when Robby Joe had proposed. A starlit night, a carriage ride, a declaration of love.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he told her.

Jordan closed her eyes, savoring this moment of pure joy.

Suddenly, she could no longer feel Robby Joe’s arms around her, couldn’t feel his warmth and his strength.

“Robby Joe?”

When she opened her eyes, she found herself all alone. She held up her left hand. Her engagement ring sparkled on her third finger.

She heard someone weeping, soft, mournful sobs. Who was crying and why? Something terrible must have happened. Someone was very sad.

“Robby Joe, where are you? Do you hear that woman crying? Why is she crying?”

Jordan woke with a start, gasping for breath, her heart racing and perspiration dampening her skin. She opened her eyes and tossed back the covers. Her bedroom lay in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the mellow glimmer of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony. She swung out of bed, slipped her feet into the quilted satin house shoes in front of the nightstand, and reached for the satin robe lying across the antique cedar chest at the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed.

The pain radiating from deep inside her seemed as immediate and potent as it had the day she and Darlene buried Robby Joe. Twelve years ago.

Jordan unlocked the French doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and the rose garden. After yesterday’s heavy rain, the earth smelled rich and fresh, and a hint of gold overspread the dark sky, a prelude to the approaching dawn.

She hadn’t dreamed about Robby Joe in a long time, not in years. But she supposed that Dan’s recent death and funeral had reawakened long-buried memories in her subconscious. Like so many of her memories, those of Robby Joe were memories of happiness that had ended in sorrow. Sometimes it seemed that her life had been little more than a series of tragic events.

Watching her mother dying a little each day with the cancer that ravaged her body would have been traumatic for anyone, but for a child of ten, it had been devastating. During that final year, she had been the glue that held her family together. She, a mere child, had been the one who had comforted her dying mother and consoled her grief-stricken father.

And then less than two years later, when Daddy had brought home a new bride, a woman as different from her own mother as night is from day, Jordan had withdrawn into a secret place inside herself. She had been polite to her stepmother, even though in the beginning she had intensely disliked the loud, flashy, bleached blonde. She had shared her room with her shy little stepsister without complaint and endured her teenage stepbrother, who at the age of fourteen, smoked, cursed, drank beer and claimed he was screwing their 17-year-old neighbor.

Meeting Robby Joe her sophomore year of college had changed her life. He was such a dreamboat: good looking, smart, kind and caring. And he came from a good family. They dated on and off for over a year, falling in love slowly. Their junior year, he had invited her home with him for Thanksgiving. Since Robby Joe was an only child, Jordan had been afraid his widowed mother would resent her, perhaps even dislike her. But nothing could have been further from the truth. As it turned out, Darlene Wright and Jordan’s mother had been sorority sisters at Ole Miss. And Darlene’s genteel, cultured persona reminded Jordan of her mother. By the time she and Robby Joe had become engaged, she thought of his mother as her second mom. They had far more in common than Jordan would ever have with her stepmother.

Everything had been so perfect, perhaps too perfect.

If only Robby Joe hadn’t died. How different her life would have been if—

Damn it, don’t do this to yourself!

She had stopped playing the “what if ” game years ago. She had given up all her foolish young dreams of passionate love, of children born from that love, of a happily-ever-after. Harsh reality had slapped her in the face repeatedly, knocking all romantic notions out of her head.

She had cared for Dan and had respected him. But she had not been in love with him. She had lost a dear friend and she would miss him terribly. But her heart wasn’t shattered. She didn’t feel as if she, too, had died. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she lost Robby Joe.

Jordan laid her open palms on her still flat belly. She was barely six weeks pregnant. Only her family and closest friends knew, but sometime soon, she would have to share her news with the world. She wanted this baby, who would be raised as Dan Price’s child and would be Dan’s heir. But she wouldn’t have to raise her son or daughter alone. Devon would be a father to the child, loving it for so many reasons.

Rick parked his Jeep Wrangler down the street from the Dade County Courthouse. After getting out, locking up, and stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans, he jaywalked across Case Avenue. He located the sheriff’s department without any trouble since he’d called ahead this morning and asked for exact directions. Trenton, the county seat, with a population of less than 2000, was located south of Priceville, so after he finished his business here, he’d have to backtrack a few miles.

Although the Powell Agency would do in-depth research during the course of this case, an agent always began an assignment with basic info. While compiling barebones information about Priceville and the Price family, Rick had looked up Sheriff Steve Corbett. The guy had been sheriff since the late nineties and had worked as a Trenton policeman for a number of years before running for elected office. He had a spotless reputation, was known as a straight arrow kind of man with a wife and two kids, and he taught Sunday school.

Rick had spoken to Sheriff Corbett personally on his drive from Knoxville. He had set up an appointment for 11:30 to meet with the sheriff and the two officers in charge of the investigation into Dan Price’s death: Lt. Nolan Trumbo and Lt. Haley McLain.