Sinful Suspense Box Set

  “Your mom and I got to know Sugar during the trial and while you were locked up. She told us how you traded your life for hers the night of the murders. And she told us a lot of other things that we just hadn’t known. I’m sorry I failed you so often, Thomas.”

  “I wasn’t exactly a model son either, Dad. But I’m willing to start this over, like you said.”

  He laughed. “And now that Sugar is standing here, I have a feeling you’re done talking to your old man. I’ll let you go to her.” He hugged me again. “See you at home.”

  He waved to Sugar. She waved and smiled back at him. I walked up to her, just close enough to touch, but I hadn’t reached for her yet. “How is your mom?”

  “She died three months ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She shook her head. “She was in a lot of pain at the end, so it was time.”

  “And Julian?”

  “Julian is at home, taking care of his farm. He says he only keeps pigs as pets.” She laughed. “He’s dating that girl, Charlie, the one he told us about. And I think he’s found a balance between his medication and living life. He sounds happy.”

  “I can’t wait to talk to him. God, it’s good to see you, Sugar. I wasn’t sure if I would.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. It had been two years but everything about her was heartbreakingly familiar.

  “Do you know how fucking badly I’ve missed that smile?”

  “You didn’t write back,” she said softly.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. “Hurt too much to write, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see you, or touch you or talk to you.” I leaned in. “Or breathe in that fragrance that is uniquely Sugar.”

  “I’m here now, Tommy. I’ve been waiting—”

  I reached out and pulled her against me and kissed her. Her fingers clutched at my shirt and she melted against me. I lifted my face and peered down at her jewel blue eyes. “Forever, baby.”

  “Forever, Tommy,” she whispered and kissed me.

  Epilogue

  6 months later

  Julian had put some weight on and he looked different, settled, at peace even. The pasty white hospital complexion was gone and he looked now as if he’d just come off a California beach . . . or the side of a rock mountain. He hugged Sugar briefly. She’d always been one of the few people who could step past his comfort zone.

  He lowered his arms and smiled at me.

  “Hey, Jules, you look fucking beefy. I guess you’ve been working out, huh?” I asked.

  “I have. I’m flying to Switzerland in a few months. I’m going to do some climbing in the Alps.” He looked away now as if he had something he was hesitant to say. He was a completely different person standing there in front of us. During those crazy days when we were hiding out from the police and the assassin that his father had hired, Sugar and I had seen every corner, every dark edge of his mind. The meds at Green Willow had masked a lot. Now, it seemed, he’d found a good balance between the meds and feeling human.

  “Come on out to the barn. I’ll show you the rock wall I’ve had built.”

  Sugar took hold of his arm and we walked out into the bright warm sun. The last time Sugar and I had been to the Fitzpatrick estate, we were lost souls looking for somebody, anybody to help us. But our visit had only further complicated the mess we were in. Today, the farm looked serene and beautiful. The villain, Julian’s father, was gone.

  Julian smiled at Sugar. “So, I guess you decided to wait for this man.” He smiled over at me.

  Sugar reached down and took my hand. She held both of our hands now as we walked across the yard to the barn. Sugar’s blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she smiled at me. She turned back to Julian. “Did you ever have any doubts about that, Jules?”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Even the birds in that damn Green Willow fountain knew that Tommy Jameson and Sugar Scarborough were meant to be together.”

  Private North

  by Tess Oliver

  Chapter 1

  It was the type of frenzied energy that could only be produced by the end of a stressful week of finals coupled with the visions of sugarplums, whatever the heck those were, floating through caffeine infused, study-weary brains. For me it had been a particularly grueling week of insidious group projects with flaky team members who I could now credit with the unrelenting twitch in my left eye and fingernails that had been chewed to unsightly stubs.

  “Auggie!”

  I turned around. Rylie made her way through the maze of people in the hallway and caught up to me. Her blue eyes sparkled the way only a natural ginger’s eyes could. “Thank God that’s over.” She wrapped her arm around mine and we continued down the long hallway. “Is it possible to have a small series of strokes instead of one major one?”

  It was a strange question but not an unusual one for Rylie. We’d met on our first day at freshmen orientation, and we’d formed an instant bond. And she was still one of the few people that I always looked forward to hanging out with. “I think so. My grandfather once had something called lacunar strokes or at least I think that was what they were called. But why are we talking about strokes?”

  “Because Professor Freeman should be put away in a mad house. She would have made a great schoolmaster in a Dicken’s novel. The woman is pure evil. I studied ten friggin’ hours for that biology test. I rewrote all of the lecture notes by hand three times.” She raised her hand to show me her calloused finger. “I had this ridiculous notion that the exam questions would actually have something to do with what we’d talked about in class.” Riley shook her head. “Apparently, there is a whole other strand of biology that none of us in the class knew about. I sat there and stared at the test wondering if it was written in Greek or if I’d hit my head on the way to class and forgotten how to decipher the alphabet. My whole GPA is screwed now because of one lunatic teacher.”

  “I guess that’s why they call her Freeman the Demon.”

  “The worst thing about it is I have to have her next semester for advanced biology.”

  The din in the hallway grew louder as more finals ended and more winter breaks officially began. We skirted around a group standing in a circle lamenting about what must have been another awful final. I squeezed Rylie’s arm. “I’ve got my own tales of horror. Remember that huge group project for medieval studies?”

  “The one that got you addicted to Tums?”

  “Yep. First drug habit I’ve ever had. Well, Derek, the guy who was doing the section about architecture called me two nights ago and said he’d lost his flash drive with his piece of the report. I laughed, of course, because I knew no one would be stupid enough to count solely on a one inch flash drive to store a semester’s worth of research. Turns out, I was wrong. There was someone stupid enough. I had to piece together the incoherent, scattered parts he’d sent me from time to time to proofread. It took me hours.” I pointed to my eyebrow. “Still have a nervous twitch from it.”

  We tromped downstairs holding tightly to each other in the rush of people. “Everyone is sure in a hurry to get out of here.” Rylie said. “I guess I’d be happier to leave if Jason and I weren’t getting on airplanes that were heading in opposite directions.”

  I was relieved to reach the bottom landing without being pushed or elbowed. “So, you’re not going to see each other at all?”

  Rylie shook her head emphatically. “Picture a small, double-wide trailer bursting at the seams with loud, mostly overweight, half drunken relatives. I don’t want to scare Jason off. One day with my mom and aunts grilling him and he’d break up with me for sure.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. Jason is nuts about you.”

  “He wants me to fly to New York and meet his parents for New Years, but I don’t think I’m ready. Jaso
n thinks our families should meet, but I told him there wouldn’t be enough Valium in the world for me to live through that. I keep imagining this Hatfields and McCoys type scenario only it would be more like the Hatfields and the Vanderbilts. Our two families are from different worlds.”

  I smiled at her. “Yet you and Jason are perfect together.”

  Rylie sighed. “We are, aren’t we?” She stopped suddenly. “Oh shoot, I forgot I have to turn my paper into Professor Learner’s office. My printer was on the blink so he gave me an extra day. He’s so cool. Why can’t they all be like him?”

  “I think the fiendish professors believe that they are preparing us for the reality of a harsh world.” I glanced back and it was like sitting at the end of the river looking upstream as a school of anxious fish swam toward us. “I’ll go with you. I’m afraid to send you back through alone. You’re liable to get trampled.”

  “You’re a true friend, Auggie.” We turned around and braced ourselves for the trek against the tide. “Are you heading home or does your mom have some exotic cruise planned?”

  “No cruise. I begged my parents to plan a holiday at home. It took some doing. And get this— I even talked my mom into the two of us cooking Christmas dinner . . . alone. No chefs, no caterers, just us. I can’t wait. It will be just like a real family.”

  It was much slower going against traffic, and more than once we had to stop and step out of the way or risk getting run down.

  “Well, the real family Christmas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Rylie said. “Although we do have some great traditions— like the massive blowup fight between Aunt Clare and Uncle Richard, and it’s usually about something dumb like which color lights to hang on the tree. And then there’s Uncle Filbert’s after dinner possible heart attack, which is miraculously cured when Aunt Millie reminds him to open the top button of his pants. And, believe me, Uncle Filbert sleeping on the couch with his pants unbuttoned is a special holiday memory in itself. But we do always spend an entire day making a gingerbread house where my aunts and I eat more candy than goes on the house, and the whole thing ends up looking as if some mountain men had built a ramshackle log cabin while they were stone drunk on moonshine. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I’ve always wanted to build a gingerbread house for Christmas. Of course, we always had one on the table, but it came from some exclusive Beverly Hills bakery with stained glass windows made out of sugar and exclusive French chocolates for roof shingles. And my mom forbade me to touch it. Then she’d have the maids toss it out the day after Christmas, candy and all. Who does that? Why have a gingerbread house if you’re not going to nibble on the damn thing?”

  Rylie shook her head. “You poor thing. The only part left on our house by Christmas morning is the icing covered cardboard base and the gross tasting mints that nobody likes but that Aunt Milly insists make a ‘delightful roof pattern’.” Rylie gasped and grabbed my hand. “I just saw Trenton’s red beanie poking up above the heads.”

  My heart stopped. “Are you sure?” I craned my neck to glance over the sea of people filling the narrow passage.

  Rylie raised her red brow at me. “No, it was probably some other six-foot-two guy with a red beanie.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t endure another long conversation about our break up.” I leaned over and kissed her. “You’re on your own, Pal. Have a safe trip home, and think of me when you’re eating gingerbread.”

  Riley hugged me. “I’ll see you in January. Love ya.”

  I ducked my head down and scurried between a couple who had just finished a kiss. “Sorry to interrupt,” I muttered and pushed on several door handles until one opened. I scooted inside the lecture hall and shut the door behind me. A poster about a school ski trip covered the small window in the door. I lifted the bottom corner and peeked out waiting for Trenton to walk past. Sometimes the aftermath of a break-up was more tense than the actual break-up. That was definitely the case with Trenton.

  “So, the rumors are true,” a voice called from the bottom of the lecture hall.

  I dropped the corner of the poster and spun around. Professor North piled up the notes on his lectern and dropped them into his briefcase. Professor North was one of my favorites. He wore faded denim jeans but he always managed to make them look elegant, and he seemed like the kind of guy who’d make a great dad, the kind of dad who’d be really patient while you learned to swim or ride a bike. Of course, I had no idea if my own dad would have been patient or not. Maggie, the downstairs maid, had held the back of the bike seat and ran along with me as I pedaled clumsily around the circular drive. The woman was a saint.

  I walked toward the steps that led down through the rows of stadium seats. “What rumor is that?”

  Professor North grinned and finished clearing his lectern. “We teachers know all the latest gossip, I assure you. And the saga of August Stonefield and Trenton Peters is a well known one.”

  I reached him just as he’d finished his task. His light gray eyes crinkled with humor as he smiled down at me.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Talk was that you broke his heart, and rather mercilessly, it was noted.” He clucked his tongue. “And Trenton being the biggest catch on campus.” He waved his arm around the hall. “His grandfather funded the construction of this hall, you know?”

  “Yes, I know. Believe me, Trenton never missed an opportunity to point out something on campus that one of his relatives had built.”

  His forehead creased. “One of the reasons for the break up, I assume?” He leaned down and picked up his briefcase.

  “One of many.” I glanced over at him as we made the long journey up the shallow steps. “This kind of stuff isn’t really being talked about in the lounge, is it? I mean there’s no way a bunch of academics sit around sipping imported coffee discussing the love lives of the student body.”

  He chuckled. “Well, most of us have different areas of interest, so we turn to the one thing that we all have in common— the students. But we really only gossip about you guys when something exceptionally tawdry or juicy happens.”

  I nearly tripped. “There was nothing tawdry, believe me. I just couldn’t stand—”

  “Relax, August, I was only joking.” He stopped and slid into a row of seats to pick up a pen someone had dropped. He lifted it and studied it. “Hmm, this is an expensive one.” He stuck it into the front of his briefcase and then looked up at me as if he’d thought of something. “What are you doing during your winter break?”

  “I’m going home to California.”

  “I figured. That’s too bad though. I have some work for a willing ancient antiquities undergrad. I have boxes and boxes of artifacts that need cataloguing and entering into my data base. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Just a lot of pottery shards and wood fragments and the sort. But the data is important and it provides greater understanding and connections with other finds. My son, Ethan, will be working on it, but I know he could use a hand.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach with disappointment. Winter break toiling over ancient artifacts shoulder to shoulder with Ethan North, the graduate student who every coed on campus dreamed about, would have been amazing. “It sounds like a great opportunity, Professor North, and under any other circumstances I would jump at the offer, but my mom and I have been planning a special holiday at home for months.”

  “Of course. I understand. I’m sure I can still drum up someone’s help before everyone leaves for break.”

  I was about to let him know that all he had to do was hold up a sign that said ‘come spend some quality time alone with Ethan North’ and he’d have to fight off volunteers.

  He stopped before opening the door. “Do you think it’s safe to go out there yet?”

  My cheeks warmed and I felt
rather silly for hiding out. “Yes, I think I can venture out now, thank you, Professor.”

  The crowd had already thinned considerably. My phone rang and I fished it out of my pocket. “Have a nice break, Professor North.”

  “You too, August, and try not to break anymore hearts,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “Hey Mom, I was thinking we should make a gingerbread house.” It was disappointing having to turn down the professor’s unbelievable offer, but I had really been looking forward to this holiday. “We’ll be covered in frilly aprons and all-purpose flour in no time.” There was a pause. Mom was not a pause person. She was a talk right over you type of person but not a pause person. “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my tone.

  “Now, August, don’t get mad and defensive when I haven’t even said anything yet.”

  “You paused, Mom, that’s all I needed to hear.”

  “There’s been a slight change of plans,” she said hesitantly. She was definitely not a hesitator either. Mom could blast through a conversation or apology or admonition like a high-speed train. “We’re all going to France to celebrate the holidays at the Beauchamp’s country estate.” She slipped a nice dose of enthusiasm into her tone apparently thinking I was still eight and that if she said it with enough excitement then I would be right on board. But I wasn’t. My stomach turned in on itself. I needed some of my chalky tasting little helpers.

  “First of all, Mom, I don’t know what your definition of slight is, but it is entirely different than mine . . . or the Oxford dictionary’s, for that matter. And you can sugarcoat your change of plans with as much of a happy tone as you can muster, but I’m not going. Frankly I would rather have a root canal than spend even one day with the Beauchamps. I can’t stand them.”

  “Now August, don’t be so unsocial. They are extremely influential, and Margaret has invited her nephew to stay too. She says he is quite handsome and his father has great ties to Wall Street. And since you made the rather poor decision to break things off with Trenton—”