Coming Home (Detective Dahlia Book 1) Read online

  Coming Home

  Detective Dahlia Book One

  Laurèn Lee

  Copyright © 2020 by Laurèn Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Kathy–

  A wonderful mother, neighbor and friend.

  May You Rest In Peace

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Also by Laurèn Lee

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Callie gazed in the mirror while she applied cherry lipstick. Her eyes, deep turquoise, were lined with thick, black eyeliner and mascara. She shoved her hands into her cleavage and adjusted her breasts so they appeared larger and bustier.

  "Much better," she said.

  Something buzzed on top of the dresser. Callie reached for the new phone, which she purchased from a corner drug store a few weeks ago. She read the message, and her eyes lit up like the New York City skyline. She ran her fingers through her hair as she swiftly replied.

  After she hit send, she browsed through the photos of her and a handsome man. Many pictures included them kissing, holding hands, or making silly faces. Her heart thudded inside her chest as she scrolled through.

  Growing up, she managed to wrangle several boyfriends, mostly to piss off her parents. Now, as an adult, men asked her out on dates all the time. Although, that came with the territory of working at the club. But this time? This time was different. She loved this man, and he loved her. She dreamt of their futures almost every night. They'd leave this town and start a new adventure across the country. Maybe even across the world!

  She'd give up dancing and shut down her website. They'd create a family of their own. What kind of mother would she be? The stern one? The mom who befriends her children? Or would she be clueless? Either way, they'd be together. It was all she wanted in life. She couldn't wait to start their future.

  Little did she know, in less than twenty-four hours, she'd be dead.

  One

  There are some places in our lives that will never change, no matter how many years go by. Your hometown is one of them. Even if people come and go, businesses evolve, and the infrastructure is altered, the skeleton of your home, the root of your childhood memories, will always be the same.

  I drove past my former high school. In the seven years since I left town, much had changed while so much remained the same. The traffic circle had been repaved, but I could still picture the cracked concrete where we ran during gym class. A new addition was added to the entrance of the school, but I still saw the ancient, crumbling pillars which once stood proudly. An electric sign flickered out front, replacing the old static board with removable letters.

  I drove by in the blink of an eye, the same amount of time it took for my childhood to pass me by.

  I continued along the same street, only a few cars sharing the road with me. I reminisced in peace without having to maneuver around the kids with newly stamped permits or the elderly, barely able to see over the steering wheel.

  Some trees had shed their buds, which littered the streets like packing popcorn. Above, the grandiose trunks held canopies of lush, green leaves, blocking the sun. The trees were an umbrella sheltering me from the rest of the world.

  The scent of freshly mowed grass filled my nostrils, and I lowered my windows to absorb the aroma further. A chill passed through my bones with the familiar smell. In a rush, memories from the past crowded my mind, the nostalgia overwhelming me.

  The promise of blooming flowers loomed in the air, too. Soon, the leaves wouldn't be the only ones reappearing and shedding their winter blues.

  On either side of the street, neighbors chatted with each other, speaking with their hands, presumably about the weather or the farmer's market on Main Street this weekend. Vendors across the county arrived before dawn to set up shop and display their fresh produce, natural bath and beauty products, and handmade jewelry. It wasn't only a farmer's market, though; it was a gathering of sorts. A time for the entire town to come together as one. It was like having a high school reunion every week.

  Keygates's population hovered at about 20,000, and it wasn't uncommon to run into your best friend's parents, your former principal, one or two ex-boyfriends, or your brother all in the same trip to the grocery store. However, the closeness, the familiarity, always seemed like a double-edged sword. In times of need, there'd be at least one or two people you could call for help, but when you wanted to be alone, you couldn't get away.

  The day I left Keygate was one of the fonder moments of my life. The shackles of the small-town prison relinquished their hold on me. The chains of my past loosened and then shattered completely. The city limits grew smaller in my rearview mirror, and I could breathe.

  Keygate would always be my first home, but I didn't want it to be my home forever. Too many ghosts haunted the streets. Too many memories had sunk their claws into my soul and wouldn't let go, no matter how many times I tried to break the chains of the past and free myself.

  There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with Keygate, but as I grew up, I watched those who were born and raised in the small town die here too. I overheard many people throughout the years express frustration and regret about not leaving to try something new. Not taking the job across the world or the vacation of a lifetime because they were afraid to leave. I didn’t want to wake up one day and realize I’d let my life pass me by without venturing outside my Keygate bubble.

  Most of my teachers in school attended the same classes I did at their age. They never got out. They never moved on and shed their small-town skin.

  Would I have stayed if things were different? If there were more opportunities in Keygate? If the city wasn’t so small? Maybe. Maybe not. I wanted more than what I could find in the ten-mile radius of town. I craved adventure, experience, and new memories. A new foundation. A new life. I wanted the chance to be myself and not live in the shoes of the expectations set for me by my peers.

  So many people have asked why I wanted to leave, and all I could manage to say was, “Why not?”

  After leaving Keygate behind, I resettled about a hundred miles away in a city that was home to over three hundred thousand people. A complete one-eighty from where I came from. The city thrived, and I could walk down the street without seeing anyone from high school. New restaurants and shops opened up monthly. I
could be anyone I wanted, anytime I wanted and no one would know the difference. The opportunities were endless, and nothing ever grew old.

  In Ashford, my dreams came true when I pursued my dream job and became an Ashford city police officer. Life was exactly as I’d expected it to be, until it wasn’t. I never thought one day I’d wake up and not be a detective, but that day came sooner rather than later.

  I sipped from my water bottle as chills spiraled down my skin. I immediately swerved in time before hitting a curb a few miles away from my destination.

  I never thought I'd come back to Keygate. I chose not to visit during the years, and my parents graciously traveled to see me. However, after several years of blissful absence, I needed to return. You can live hundreds of miles away from where you grew up, but a part of you will always be there.

  My dad called me last night with the news of Carin's death. The despair in his voice shook me to my very core. And not because I loved my stepmother, but because my dad did. Carin and I didn't always get along, but I forced a smile in her presence for my dad's sake. My dad told me Carin died suddenly in her sleep a few nights ago. The doctors think it was a massive stroke.

  Despite all the effort I put into staying away from Keygate, I was mere minutes away from the house where I grew up. Beside me was a duffle bag that carried a black dress, a few other outfits, and a liter of vodka: enough for a couple of days max.

  Ready while simultaneously unprepared. Uneasy and yet completely comfortable. It seemed as though I'd never lived here before and also that I'd never left. There's something to be said for visiting a place where you lived the majority of your life.

  As I reached the street I grew up on, an early memory came to mind: the day my father moved out.

  I stood on the porch, a raggedy panda hanging loosely under my arm. My soft blond tendrils stuck to the salty tears coursing down my face. I waved goodbye to my father as he reversed out of the driveway in an over-sized U-Haul. I thought he had winked in an attempt to comfort me, but before I could think twice, he stepped into the cabin, put the truck into gear and eased out of the driveway. The very same one where he taught me how to ride a bike and then without training wheels. The driveway where I also fell off my pink two-wheeler with frilly ribbons glued to the handlebars and scraped my knee for the first time. The pavement where my father picked me up and cradled me in his arms, soothing me.

  My mother stood behind me, her grip holding me in place so I wouldn't run after my dad. She rested her chin on my shoulder and kissed my cheek, her lips brushing against my skin ever so slightly.

  "This is for the best, Elle.”

  "Why? Why does Daddy have to leave?”

  "Sometimes, love isn't strong enough to keep people together, and they have to do what's best for them and their families.”

  "Why isn't love enough?”

  "That's the most difficult question, isn't it?”

  I crossed my arms and pouted.

  "You'll understand one day when you're older.”

  Soon, my father's moving truck disappeared down the street and around the corner of our quaint neighborhood. Our home. My mom squeezed my arm and promised to let me help bake chocolate chip cookies later that afternoon. She left my side and retreated inside our family home, now only home to two of us.

  My little legs were still rooted to the porch waiting to see a U-Haul come down the road. I wanted it all to be a joke, a prank. Maybe it was a dream?

  I squeezed my stuffed animal tightly and whispered in its ear, "I promise to be a good girl. Please tell Daddy to come back." I kissed Panda Pete and left him on the porch to wait for my Dad. He had to be coming back. He wouldn't leave me, would he?

  As the green street sign came into view, I shook out of my daze, my knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel and my jaw clenched. As I drove down the street, a wave of nausea hit me like a sack of bricks. I took another sip from my water bottle and popped two pieces of gum into my mouth.

  I pulled into the driveway, the same one where I stood while my dad drove away those years ago, and realized one thing: I was back.

  Two

  I parked my car in the driveway, unable to get out just yet. My mother's car was parked at the back near the garage. Beautiful territorial ivy covered the structure.

  Above, the birds chirped as the sun fully rose in the brilliant indigo sky. I closed my eyes and tried to picture what it was like before. I wanted to remember my life before I left home. I opened my eyes, and a foggy scene expanded before me.

  There I was as a little girl, trying my damnedest to score a basket inside the hoop on the garage. I threw the basketball up as high as my tiny arms would allow, but over and over, I barely managed to reach the rim.

  I shook away the memory and forced myself back into the present. My stepfather parked in the driveway as well. Luckily, there was enough room for me to leave my vehicle without having to park in the street.

  My brain told me it was time to go inside, but my heart ached with apprehension. I hadn't stepped one foot into my childhood home in years. If I went in, it would make all of this real. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face reality, but I also couldn't sit in my car for much longer without drawing the attention of the quiet street's nosy neighbors.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled my keys out of the ignition, tossed them in my purse, and made my way up the porch steps and to the front door. I stumbled on the top step, but regained my composure.

  I knocked twice.

  "Come in!”

  "Hi," I said sheepishly to my stepfather, who opened the door.

  He pulled me into a tight hug, and I returned the gesture. My dad's familiar aftershave sprang into my nose, which reminded me of the ocean. More wrinkles lined his lips as he smiled. He stepped back, running his hands through his hair; more salt than pepper, as he gave me a parental once-over.

  I saw the delight in his eyes having me here. In the kitchen, a timer sounded, and the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted through the air. My stomach grumbled, and I realized I'd skipped breakfast this morning.

  "How are you?" he asked. "Was the drive okay?”

  "Not bad," I answered with a slur.

  My mom stepped into the doorway, the sun illuminating her freckled skin as she held out a plate of cookies to me with a smile. "Cookie?" she asked with a toothy grin.

  "Well, it's never too early for cookies, is it?" I asked and automatically reached for one.

  "Would you like a drink?" Jack asked.

  "Yes, please." Crumbs fell from the cookie and landed on the carpet. I bent down to pick them up, but my mom waved me away.

  Jack ventured off to the kitchen, and my mom set down the tray of cookies and pulled me into her arms, warm and loving. Her blonde hair tickled my shoulders. Once she let me go, I glanced around the house, my childhood home. It looked unrecognizable, and if it weren't for a few pieces of familiar art hanging, I would have thought I'd stepped into the wrong house.

  My stepfather returned to the living room and gestured for me to sit on the plush navy sofa. He handed me a bottle of water, a smile still plastered across his face.

  "The house looks nice," I said, opening the beverage.

  "Thanks!" my mom replied graciously. "We still have a little more work to do, but it's coming along.”

  Growing up, the walls were white, the carpet green, and the curtains tan, among other things. Now, the walls bore a soft periwinkle blue; the carpet had been removed, and hardwood floors sparkled beneath my red flats while white, flowing curtains swayed gently with the breeze.

  The same home, yet a completely different one.

  "So," my mother said in a slow higher pitch. "How are you doing? Are you still on leave?”

  I sighed, knowing this would come up sooner or later. "Yes, until further notice."

  My mom nodded and sat beside me. She rested her manicured hand on my thigh and squeezed. "I'm sure you'll be back on the force in no time!”

  "Thank
s, Mom.”

  The emptiness where my badge resided in my pocket weighed heavily on me. My badge was my identity, my life. Without it, I barely recognized myself. I lost count of how many days it had been since my captain pulled me into his office and asked for my gun and badge.

  “You’re sick, Elle,” he’d said with a furrowed brow. “And, hell, not a damn soul blames you for it. But you need to get some help. Take a few months off; see one of the counselors on that list I gave ya and come back with a fresh mind. We’ll call it a paid administrative leave, okay? We need you here, but we need you to get better first.”

  If only my captain knew that before his speech, I’d already finished a six-pack of beer.

  Captain Joshua Dennison was like a second, well, third father to me. He tried as hard as he could to help me after Zac’s death, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.

  I knew he was at his wits’ end with me. After all, I’d had a handful of altercations inside and outside of the department. As soon as I hit the bottle, my life quickly unraveled, and I didn’t mind taking down anyone and everyone else with me.

  I started showing up drunk to work, getting into scuffles with co-workers and even punched a suspect in the face when he whistled at me. I was lucky one of my brothers or sisters in blue didn’t have to arrest me.