Chapter One The Wicked Witch of the Beach
May 2022
Olivia stood on the serene shore of Highland Beach. Though quiet, it buzzed with the same thread of energy as her other favorite places—a delicate silken cocoon filled with pride and history and safety.
A place carried out by the ancestors, a place to lay your head down and let your soul rest. The founders made Highland Beach, a Black resort town near Annapolis, into a haven like Sag Harbor and Oak Bluffs.
Its very existence was revolutionary, spurred by discrimination. The founders—Major Charles Douglass, the son of Frederick Douglass, and his wife Laura—didn’t go low or high but headed for the middle path, working around racism, carving out a new path of their own by purchasing and developing beachfront property south of Bay Ridge.
Olivia felt proud looking at the sandy beachfront where famous Black figures like Booker T. Washington, W.E.B. Du Bois, and Paul Laurence Dunbar once rested. They needed the calm waters of the bay to wash away the poison of racism. It was their refuge.
At least for a little while.
She inhaled, and the salt in the air soothed. Shoots of grass surrounded the edge of the beach. Wooden planks stood high in the bay, creating a safe buffer between man and water.
Olivia could feel the tension in her body release as the salty water kissed her toes. She’d been in Highland Beach for only forty-eight hours. The entire time she avoided people, quietly watching from the house as neighbors strolled by, walking their dogs and greeting each other.
They were entirely too friendly. Too social. She didn’t mind it normally, but she planned to visit here for only two weeks.
And she had absolutely no plans to reveal that she was the mayor’s secret love child.
Which was why she’d quietly crept out of her father CJ’s home at dawn to give her restless body a sweet boost of adrenaline by jogging a few blocks around the neighborhood of not only Highland Beach but also its sister community, Venice Beach.
Now she glanced at her Apple Watch, walked away from the shoreline, then slipped on her sneakers and resumed her run before anyone stopped her for a friendly chat.
Even through her self-imposed seclusion, Olivia could still feel the special beat to Highland Beach. It wasn’t noisy, like a busy city with a symphony of horns. It wasn’t quiet and isolated. But there was a constant thrumming, something that felt communal and intentional and steady—like a mallet on a bass drum.
The sound was faint, like a well-kept secret, but it thrummed throughout her body, pulling her in.
She didn’t understand the yearning.
Or rather, she did not want to know. She had only one mission—to get to know her father. A man she didn’t even know existed a few months ago.
Breathe.
Throat tight with tension, she massaged her neck without breaking her stride. The air flowed through.
She ran away from the water, breathing in the salty air, creating her own chaotic rhythm with her pink sneakers tapping impatiently against the pavement. The sweat soaked her shirt as she sailed past rows of beautiful cottage homes and turned the corner of Douglass Avenue. Highland Beach homes gave visitors a snapshot view of early and mid-twentieth-century architecture. During her first jog around the neighborhood, Olivia took her time getting familiar with the historical beach town. She noticed a mix of steep roofs, spacious porches, and dormer windows—perfect for getting a private view of the neighbors. Now, on her sixth loop, the homes had become a blur of blues and whites and grays.
Olivia stopped her sprint in front of the house of her father, Charles “CJ” Jones, which stood a few feet away from the curb. Stretching her arms overhead, she smiled, knowing she had hit her personal best in speed.
When she noticed a white BMW idling by, her smile slipped, dropped, and plopped onto the pavement. The passenger window zipped down while the car slowed to a creep to match Olivia’s cool-down pace.
Olivia lowered her hat, which did nothing to obscure her face but at least made her feel better. She had a strong resemblance to CJ and not wanting to risk a neighbor taking notice of her, Olivia picked up her pace. If she hadn’t been trying to avoid perfect strangers, she’d have laughed at the way her speed-walk gave her the look of a marching soldier.
The woman in the BMW laughed and tapped the gas pedal to adjust. She leaned her head out of the window. Her hair, pressed to perfection in an impeccable bob, slid to the side but did not move otherwise. “Who are you?” she said in a tone that demanded obedience.
The audacity, besides the tone, nearly made Olivia stumble.
Who is this woman?
Red-hot sparks shot throughout Olivia’s body. She wasn’t mad at the nosy old woman, but rather at herself. Although she was an early riser and had begun her jog at five a.m. to avoid neighbors, the historic beach town was only 0.06 square miles long. Sag Harbor was a little over twice its size. She realized it was ridiculous to expect to keep her identity hidden. Not only that, but she also had nowhere to go. If she ran inside the mayor’s home, the woman could make dangerous assumptions.
This was why she had tucked her hair under her hat and worn oversized sunglasses on her runs the past two days.
Olivia stopped walking and turned to face her stalker.
“And who are you?” she snapped.
The woman’s eyes went wide, and she let out an awful scream. She must have punched the gas pedal because her car careened into CJ’s mailbox.
Her head rocked forward, just missing the steering wheel.
Olivia ran to the passenger side. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
The sweet adrenaline she felt from her run had now transformed to terror.
“I... Indigo?”
“No. I’m...” Olivia swallowed her name. She’d nearly forgotten about her low profile. “That’s not my name.”
“Of course you aren’t.” The woman’s words were clear, but her eyes were not.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
“I... I’m f-fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, opening the woman’s door. She scanned her form. Outside of shaking hands, the woman looked uninjured.
“I said I’m fine! Close my door this instant.”
“What’s going on?”
Olivia’s attention flipped from the old woman to CJ. He was jogging to the end of his paved walkway, hopping over the toppled mailbox. The gold plate that once sat beneath the mailbox to denote the historic significance of the home swung like a broken pendulum.
Wood slats covering the living room window shook. She couldn’t clearly make out the figure lurking behind them but knew it had to be her mother, Cindy.
“She’s okay.” Olivia’s voice carried a light, dazed note.
“I’m doing just fine, Charles. Seems like you left a few things out the last we spoke.” The woman’s voice was hard and sharp.
Olivia flipped her attention to CJ, noticing that the grooves in his forehead were as wavy and deep as sand dunes. He stared down at the woman in the car.
“All okay over there?” An older man walking a gray Newfoundland dog edged toward them. It was the same man who had stopped her when he walked his dog yesterday.
Damn.The nosy woman had really blown Olivia’s cover.
“We’re fine, John,” the woman quickly replied. “Now, don’t come over here with that gigantic beast. You know he doesn’t react well to my perfume.”
The old man raised his bushy white eyebrows. “I don’t know if that’s it, but... if you’re sure.”
“We’re sure.” Both CJ and the woman replied simultaneously.
The old man didn’t budge despite his large dog tugging him in the opposite direction.
CJ gave him a friendly wave. “Just a neighbor running into my mailbox. I guess I’ll have to charge her.”
The old man threw his head back and laughed. “Make sure she pays every penny, too.”
“I’m good for it.” She twisted her peach-tinted lips into a pinched smile and offered a stiff wave that seemed more like a shoo than a sincere goodbye.
Once the dog and the owner turned the corner, the woman snapped her lively brown eyes back on Olivia.
Letting out a slow, calming breath, Olivia returned the woman’s direct stare with a fierce look of her own.
The woman’s scowl dropped. Her hazel eyes softened, and her pinched expression relaxed by a full millimeter. Now staring at the woman, Olivia noticed she was as beautiful as her beloved godmother, Ama, her short bob accentuating sharp cheekbones.
“I’m, um, a cousin—”
“I know who you are,” she hissed. “Olivia Jones, daughter of...” She laughed, but was clearly unamused. “Who is Cindy claiming is the biological father these days? Is it Chris... or is it you, Charles?”
Her cruelty, aimed with sniper precision, struck hard and deep, leaving Olivia with a mess of memories from last summer at her home in Sag Harbor. Olivia had finally adjusted to the idea that Chris Jones, who was going to raise her with Cindy, was not her biological father. Then someone murdered him while he was serving as a witness to police corruption in his department. It was just last summer when CJ, Chris’s twin brother, barreled into her home armed with the truth—that she was his biological daughter.
“You know I am, Mother,” CJ growled. “You’re the one who ran Cindy out of town all those years ago.”
Goosebumps plumped Olivia’s sweaty arms and spread like a rash across her chest.
Ama, her godmother, had warned Olivia about Christine.
“Watch out for that one, cher. She will do anything and everything to protect what’s hers. Lie, cheat, steal... but she won’t kill.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Olivia snorted. She couldn’t imagine a seventy-something-year-old woman killing someone.
“No, she’d rather drag out someone’s misery, and delight in the fact that she’s ruined that person’s life.”
“But—”
“Don’t ever, ever let your guard down with that one. I don’t know what happened to her to make her act how she does, but there’s something else... something that I don’t want you around. I may sting, but she... she devours.”
The heat of Christine’s gaze pierced through Ama’s warning. “I expect you both over for dinner tomorrow night.” She pressed the ignition button, shifted gears to back off the curb. The car teetered until the front tires slammed against the road.
“Tomorrow. Seven o’clock sharp. Be on time.” She pointed at CJ, and then her attention settled on Olivia. “I abhor tardiness.”
She zoomed away.
Olivia slowly turned to face CJ. “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”
CJ stared at the car, his flexed fingers digging into his waist. “That’s your grandmother, Christine.” His eyes met hers. Eyes like that woman Christine’s.
Eyes like Olivia’s.
The storm cloud grew inside of her chest, making her heart thunder, her pulse quicken at lightning speed.
“And I guess we have dinner plans.”
“With Christine,” Olivia whispered. The woman who’d paid her mother, Cindy, to abort her pregnancy. The woman who, for twenty-nine years, had pretended that Olivia didn’t exist.
What exactly does she hope to accomplish by forcing us to come to dinner?
Olivia shot her father a defiant glare. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The red door to CJ’s home whooshed open. Cindy leaned forward, her head just outside the doorway. She looked from the left to the right.
“Was that Christine?”
“Yes,” CJ answered. “And she wants us for dinner tomorrow.”
“Dinner?” Cindy’s lips flatlined.
“Dinner,” CJ confirmed, walking into his home. Olivia followed him to the living room. He sat on the beige overstuffed couch and Olivia settled across from him.
Cindy stood in the entrance of the living room. “Does she know I’m here?”
CJ crossed his legs, his arm slung over the top cushion on the couch. “I didn’t tell anyone else you were coming, just as you both asked.” Despite his relaxed stance, his tone snapped like a whip.
“We’re only staying for a week. Maybe two.” Olivia defended her position for the third time since they arrived. Her father should be happy that she and Cindy agreed to come to the very place that had rejected them.
“Well, I don’t think you should go to dinner.” Cindy sat beside Olivia on the love seat facing CJ, crossing, then uncrossing, her arms. She finally settled on recrossing them again. “You know Christine is up to no good.”
“She’s changed over the years.” CJ’s voice was politician smooth. Olivia expected no less from a mayor.
“I highly doubt that.” Cindy huffed. “Do you really want to subject Olivia to her cruelty?”
“I’ll be fine,” Olivia assured her.
“I thought we had a plan?” Cindy’s questions, hissed through thin lips, served best-in-class for suspicion. “In and out, get to know your father, keep a low profile, and—”
“If we don’t face Christine, she’s just going to hound us. The woman ran into a mailbox to figure out who I am. She doesn’t strike me as someone who easily gives up.”
Cindy shook her head, her hands balled into fists in her lap. “I know you’ve learned from the best, and you’re quick on your feet, but Christine is different.” She nibbled on her lips, flicking a glance at CJ.
“She... she reels you in and... and then next thing you know she’s spewing words that cut deep and leave you in tatters,” Cindy whispered. “Or she’s doing things... things you can’t pin on her, but you know aren’t a coincidence. I just think it’s best if we stick to CJ’s home for now.”
“It’s important we let Christine know that we aren’t afraid.” Olivia gentled her tone. “But there’s two of us now. This time, she won’t run us out of town.”
Her mother had been only twenty years old, left alone at a bus stop, waiting for the love of her life, CJ, to come to his senses and believe that Olivia was his daughter and that Cindy had never betrayed him.
Christine had shown CJ photographs that made it seem as if Cindy had cheated on him. Then Cindy’s best friend, Chris Jones, picked up the pieces of her broken heart, and they built a life together. That is, until Olivia’s godfather, Omar, had unwittingly blown his anonymity.
“There’s three of us now,” CJ added. “But Olivia is right. My mother won’t give up until she’s talked to all of us.”
Cindy closed her eyes and raised both hands in surrender. “Fine. If you both insist, I’ll be in attendance as well.”
She snapped her fingers. “But I’m giving you a warning, Charles Jones... we are leaving immediately if she tries to dig her claws into me or Olivia.”
“You two are my top priority.” The smooth tone disappeared, replaced with something tougher and more battle-ready. “This time I’ll protect you.”
Cindy avoided his direct gaze. Staring at her shoes, her arms slid tighter around her torso. “I believed you years ago.” Her voice shook. “I can’t afford to do that now.” Then she hurried upstairs to the guest room.
CJ stared after her like a man starved.
Olivia looked away, tucking away the knowledge that her father still had feelings for her mother.
After a few awkward seconds, Olivia cleared her throat. “My mother told me all about Christine last summer. But why don’t you tell me about her? About your family?”
Olivia wanted to be as prepared as possible.
“Of course. But to understand Christine, you need to understand our family and where we come from. Maybe... maybe with time you’ll want to get to know us better. I’ll show you some pictures if you’re up for it.”
When Olivia nodded, CJ left the room to retrieve the photo album.
While she waited for her father, she gave in to curiosity and explored a bit. When she and Cindy had arrived, the masculine warmth of the house had surprised Olivia. The first floor had a nautical theme, but the second floor, where both the primary suite and the guest bedrooms were located, featured bold colors like burnt orange, gold, and black, with Black art from the likes of Leroy Campbell. Then there was CJ’s study, which boasted a hundred-plus titles ranging from fiction to biographies of great minds such as Frederick Douglass. On his dark oak desk was a thick map of Highland Beach.
Someone had clearly designed the first floor for guests, and Olivia imagined that CJ often entertained Highland Beach residents. Careful displays of his family included the indomitable Christine Douglass-Jones, whom she now recognized, with another man around his mother’s age. On a coffee table in the living room stood a picture of his entire family, including his late father, Olivia’s grandfather, when he and Chris were young boys.
CJ returned with a leather-bound photo book. He sat beside Olivia and placed the book on the low table. He took a quick breath, then slowly opened it, revealing a mixture of faded and glossy bright photos.
“I’ve made some updates, since I knew you’d be interested.” He leaned back while Olivia scooted closer to him.
There were names and a caption under each photo. “You’ve made a scrapbook.”
“Yes. I figured it would be easier for you to look, take in the names, and maybe ask some questions along the way.”
Olivia skimmed her shaking fingers over the plastic-covered photo, wonder and sorrow swirling like a cyclone in her chest.
My family.
Olivia had known, in theory, that she had a family out there somewhere. Her extended family may as well have been oceans and miles away, though, and it was too late to make any meaningful connection with them. But flipping through the photos gave her a sense of belonging among people who shared her DNA. As much as she had hoped and prayed and dreamed in her childhood, she wasn’t related to Ama. Only Billie, Ama’s granddaughter, had the distinction of being a blood relative of Ama.
The first picture she took notice of was the family photo—the twins Chris and CJ, about four or five years old, were flanking their parents. She could tell them apart now. Not just by CJ’s scowl and Chris’s wide grin, but she saw that CJ’s ears protruded just a little more. As CJ grew up, his jawline became more chiseled and angular, with a dimpled chin, giving him a mischievous look.
Chris’s face was a bit more rounded. The dimple was there but barely perceptible, despite his constant smile.
But it was the little baby girl who grew up into a beautiful teenager who caught her attention.
Olivia’s eyes zeroed in on her name.
Indigo. The name Christine had called her after she’d crashed into CJ’s mailbox.
Oh. She looks like me. She wasn’t as dark-skinned as Olivia, but her face was the same.
Indigo had been an athlete. Track and field, swimming, and basketball, and there were multiple pictures of her clad in a one-piece swimsuit with medals around her neck.
“I have an aunt?”
He exhaled and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Had. She died before you were born. Right after I went to college and Chris enlisted. Both my siblings are gone. Dad too.”
CJ leaned over and flipped the page. The plastic snapped from the force, his hands splayed across the picture of his relatives’ faces. Olivia looked up, witnessing his expression shut down—the fading light in his eyes, the forlorn gaze, the downturned curve of his lips.
He’d lost so much. Too much. His father, his brother, and his sister.
Me. My mother.
Olivia covered his hands, hoping to bring warmth to the numbness of grief. He looked down at their hands, giving her a relieved, albeit brief, smile. “A lot more pictures to come. Why don’t I give you some time alone without me hovering?” CJ jumped up from his seat and strode to the kitchen before Olivia could respond, so she followed him with the scrapbook in hand.
He rubbed a hand across his face and grew still when he noticed Olivia’s stare.
“How about a mimosa?” Olivia suggested, settling on the seat tucked under the kitchen island. “It’s a little early, but you’re off duty, right?”
He glanced at his watch, nodding. “For the next twelve hours.”
“Good. Then we’ll have a drink,” Olivia said, smiling.
“I don’t have any orange juice, but is just chardonnay okay?”
Olivia laughed. Wine in the morning with her father would just have to do right now. “Yes, please.” Olivia turned away, her back facing her father. From the way he jumped up and left the room at the mention of his sister, she knew CJ needed space to process his feelings. Meanwhile, Olivia returned her attention to her family’s photographic history. Some pictures dated back to the early 1900s. According to the caption, an older man with snow-white hair and wearing a white shirt, a short-striped tie, and khaki pants was the mayor in the 1940s.
“Wow.”
“What’s the wow for?” CJ asked, then handed Olivia a glass of wine.
“I’m impressed by the long lineage of mayorship, I suppose.”
“Between the Jones and Douglass families, we’ve had four mayors serve Highland Beach.”
“It runs in the family.”
“Are you interested in politics?” He leaned forward.
Olivia shook her head. “Oh God no. The furthest I’ve gone into civic duties was serving as class treasurer in high school.”
CJ grunted.
Olivia couldn’t quite believe he could charm his constituents with grunts.
“If you don’t mind my observation,” Olivia began, “you don’t strike me as talkative.”
“Am I boring you?” CJ raised an eyebrow, though his eyes crinkled at the corners. She assumed he found her observation amusing.
“Not at all.” Olivia waved a hand. “It’s just that politicians usually have the gift of gab.”
CJ nodded. “When I ran for mayor, the previous one had been in office for eight years. Highland Beach needed new blood. With only forty-six households and—”
“So few?” Olivia gasped.
“Yes. We’re a strong-knit and well-connected community. But we have our sister neighborhood, Venice Beach, so it doesn’t feel small at all.”
The neighborhood ran parallel to Highland Beach, with some homes perched right on the bay waters.
“And, well, they needed new ideas. The elders were passing down their homes, just as their relatives had done before them. Now, if the younger generation can’t keep up the homes, we just tap our network and use our local realtor, Nancy. So far we’ve been able to keep the Beach secluded. There’s only one house that’s a rental, and they asked for permission. We don’t allow Airbnb or anything commercial out here.”
“I suppose the sellers don’t make as much money that way.”
CJ shook his head. “We aren’t shortsighted. If someone needs to sell, it’s not about making the most money. It’s about sliding the right pieces into place and ensuring that our prospective neighbor respects the history and the beach. We can’t just trample over how this place came to be.”
“Still, it’s a marvel how you’ve been able to keep the community protected.”
Olivia was strategizing a protection plan with her business partner, Whitney, with whom she ran a nonprofit that sought to preserve historic Black neighborhoods. When it was all said and done, it boiled down to capitalism. Permitting a coffee shop, chain grocery store, rental properties, or any other profitable business in a neighborhood was a sure sign that the area would soon be gentrified. And although she, Whitney, and the rest of the Sag Harbor neighbors had run out a major developer just last summer, they still had their work cut out for them. Developers were like a bug infestation—smash one and more seemed to spawn out of nowhere.
“We’ve got some of the brightest minds living here, descended from exceptional people,” CJ stated, his tone matter-of-fact.
Olivia gave him a brilliant smile, happy that they had finally landed on a topic they were both clearly passionate about. Studying more pictures and reading the captions, she noticed there were quite a few pictures of the Douglass family.
“So we are the family Jones and Douglass.”
“That’s right.” CJ put down his wineglass. “My mother, your grandmother, is a distant relative of the founders of Highland Beach, Charles and Laura Douglass.”
“I suppose you are his namesake.”
He nodded. “Mom is very proud of her lineage. The story goes that Major Charles and his wife Laura were turned away at the Bay Ridge Resort because...” He held up and waved the back side of his hand. “You know why.”
“I do,” Olivia agreed. In her excitement about spending some time with her father in Highland Beach, she’d read the history, though it was better to hear from a relative of the founders.
“Well, ole Charles fought fire with fire. He bought up real estate—beachfront property south of Bay Ridge. Then he developed the property as a summer resort, sold it to some of his friends... powerful friends like Congressman John Mercer Langston, Judge Robert Terrell, the first Black judge in DC, and Mary Church Terrell, who played a quintessential role in women’s suffrage.”
“He created his own Black oasis,” Olivia said with a dreamy smile.
“Indeed. Built a summer house called Twin Oaks. I’ll show you. It’s a museum now. It was supposed to be a retirement residence for his father, Frederick Douglass, so he—”
“Wait. The Frederick Douglass, as in abolitionist and civil rights activist Frederick Douglass?”
“The one and only.”
Olivia put down her wineglass. “So that means that I’m related to Frederick Douglass!” Olivia squeaked. She wasn’t a squeaker. The very noise would appall her godmother Ama, but this was a squeak-worthy moment.
“Don’t forget ole Charles. He was a retired officer in the first Black regiment during the Civil War.”
“Wow.” Olivia’s chest swelled with pride.
“Look at me earning two wows in one day,” CJ said in a teasing voice.
“That’s right. And I stand corrected. You do indeed have the gift of gab. That was quite a story.”
“No, it’s quite the history. We have a lot to be proud of in Highland Beach.”
“Does everyone else who lives here also have an impressive Black elite lineage?”
“Oh yes. We are a proud and accomplished community. We do a lot to protect our land environmentally, and we make sure to take care of each other. Which is why you should rethink hiding out in my home. Get out there, get to know our neighborhood.”
CJ’s phone rang. He glanced down at the screen. “Excuse me for a moment.”
While CJ answered his phone, Olivia digested the news of her famous relations. In high school, she’d written an essay on Frederick Douglass. She’d even researched his wife, Anna Murray Douglass, and read My Mother as I Recall Her, by their daughter, Rosetta Douglass Sprague. She’d read how Anna supported Frederick’s escape from slavery and how, in the background, she supported his abolitionist work. But a year and a half after her death, Frederick Douglass married a white woman... and, well, it left an incredibly toxic impression on Olivia at the time. She’d even read some sources that insinuated he may have had affairs prior to Anna’s death.
Her teacher hadn’t appreciated her adding “gossip” to what was supposed to be a well-researched paper, and for the first time she’d gotten an A? instead of an A+ grade on a school assignment in high school.
CJ walked to the corner of the kitchen. “Mother.”
Olivia couldn’t discern any of her grandmother’s words, but she could hear a distinct trill through the phone speaker.
“Yes. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
More chatter on the other end. Loud, angry, panicked. Olivia stood and moved closer to CJ. She wouldn’t pretend to not be concerned. After all, her grandmother was reacting to her very existence.
“No, not—” He snapped his mouth shut. He shook his head and mouthed “Sorry” to Olivia.
More animated chatter came from the speaker.
“No.” His voice went deep, his tone annoyed. Like his face, his voice held a frown. “If you pop by, I won’t answer. Don’t make me regret my decision about dinner. We have an understanding, yes?”
“Good.” He clicked off.
He took a deep breath. This time Olivia didn’t move her stare away from CJ.
“Christine, I presume?”
He nodded. “Are you ready for your grandmother?”
What a loaded question.
Her throat, coated in chardonnay, suddenly went prickly and dry. This was the woman who’d attempted to pay off her mother with thousands of dollars to stay away from her precious twin boys. The woman who, after Chris died, left her widowed daughter-in-law and grandchild in the cold. Olivia had a lot to say to this woman, and she wouldn’t hold back. Hours of therapy had helped her recognize her worth. And if Christine thought she could get away with disrespecting Olivia or her mother, well... she’d be in for a rude awakening.
She was one of Omar and Ama’s girls, after all.