In the Dark of the Past (The Murder of the Month Club #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

River

I told myself I’d stopped counting somewhere around year four. I hadn’t.

Nine years, and still, the crisp, pine-scrubbed air dragged me straight back to the moment I fled. Time was supposed to blunt rough corners. But here, even the wind remembered.

As I crested the hill and rounded the final bend, my breath hitched—snagged tight in my chest, like something inside me recalled what my mind wanted to forget.

Then it appeared.

Bathed in sunlight, Maple Ridge spread out below me, cradled in the valley. A picture-perfect postcard of small-town life. White picket fences, tidy sidewalks, church steeples cutting into a cloudless sky. The kind of place you’d see on a brochure for a restfulness retreat.

But I knew better. Nothing about this town was restful. Or simple.

I cruised down Main Street, the storefronts as quaint as ever, the locals meandering without a care. I felt it then, a sudden surge of nostalgia and resentment battling in my chest. I hadn’t wanted to come back. I’d buried this place, locked it in a box labeled: Nope, never again.

And yet, here I was.

I turned onto a narrow side street, taking in the copious flower boxes spilling over with spring color, and pulled into a parking spot in front of a dove-gray building. My building.

I’d hightailed it out of here at twenty-five, broken beyond measure but too stubborn to fall apart. And I hadn’t. I’d earned my PhD in Clinical Psychology and helped a whole bunch of people over the last eight years. Too bad I couldn’t say the same for myself.

That truth settled over me like a weighted vest.

When the doctors at my last practice retired, the therapists working under them were sadly cut loose. Eight months, dozens of applications, and nothing. Which left me with exactly one option…

Start over.

On my own.

Right back where it all went wrong.

Here, in Maple Ridge.

And with only sixty-eight hundred people, I was sure just about everyone already knew I was coming.

I stepped up to the glass-fronted door I’d had etched last week:

River Bennett, PhD

Clinical Psychologist

Mental Health Counseling & Trauma Recovery

By Appointment Only

But when I reached for the lock, I froze.

It wasn’t locked.

“What the hell?”

Some part of me knew I should be concerned, but growing up here, no one locked their doors. Maybe the cleaning crew or the interior designer had forgotten. Didn’t Monique and Brendon say they were here yesterday for final touches?

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The space matched my mood. Calm on the surface, a little frayed on the periphery.

Misty lavender-gray walls gave the room a soft hush, and the plush loveseat and chairs were upholstered in a striped chenille that captured Maple Ridge in every thread.

The slate of the rock walls, the blues and grays of the sky, the rich greens of the forest. I nodded to myself.

“That’ll do, pig.”

A half-smile tugged at my lips. Finn used to hate it when I said that all the time.

And just like that, my mood shifted.

Finn fucking Callahan.

Thankfully, a knock sounded on the door before that asshole could ruin my whole day.

“Knock, knock.”

I looked up to see a tall, curvy redhead in perfectly fitted dark jeans and an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse grinning at me like a fool.

“Oh my God. Libby!” I didn’t even try to stop myself. I just crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her in a huge hug.

She laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Now that’s a greeting.” She pulled back but kept her hands on my arms, holding me at full-inspection distance. “You look good, sweetie. I’m so happy to see you. And even happier you’re back in town.”

Libby had been my best friend in high school. We were practically fused at the hip. We’d shared every secret, every heartbreak, even a dorm room our freshman year of college. She was my voice of reason, my sounding board, my pull-no-punches ride-or-die.

And Finn took that from me, too.

I gave myself a mental shake. He didn’t get to take the joy of this reunion from me.

Libby was a spot of sunshine on a cloudy day, and knowing she was here made my unsure future feel just a little less unsteady.

“I look good? Have you seen yourself lately? Hubba-hubba, hot stuff.”

She fluffed her gorgeous red hair, popped a hip, and planted a hand on it, striking a pose. “Hit my goal weight about eight months ago and haven’t gained a pound. Best shape of my life, and I feel amazing.”

“Well, you look it, too. I’d do you.” I winked.

“Girl... I just might take you up on that. It’s been a loooong time.” She laughed.

“You and me both, sister,” I commiserated.

I turned back to the room and gestured around. “So, what do you think?”

“It looks amazing.” She ran a hand along the back of the loveseat before flopping onto one of the chairs and giving it a test bounce. “Great furniture, too. Monique nailed it.”

“She really did. I felt so bad sending her a million reference pics and expecting her to match my vision without me even being present, but she and Brendon crushed it. I swear, he’s got an eagle eye for finding just the right stuff at the right price. I need to send them a thank-you gift.”

“We just got some really cute candle and journal sets at the library. They’re up front for sale. You should stop by. I bet Monique would love one. And that place over on Random has some super cool jerky bouquets. Brendon loves a good cured meat. I mean, who doesn’t?”

We laughed, and she turned her gaze to the door at the back of the room.

“How’s the office?”

“I haven’t actually looked yet. Want to explore with me?”

“Hell yes, I do.”

She skipped over, linked her arm with mine, and dragged me through the door. I stopped short just across the threshold.

Libby turned to me instantly. “You okay, sweetie?”

My hand had ended up covering my mouth, and the tears in my eyes blurred everything. “Oh. It’s perfect,” I breathed.

“It really is the shit,” she said, walking straight to the cream-colored chaise and collapsing onto it like a queen. “Oh, yeah. I might have to sign up for weekly sessions just to chill on this thing.”

I laughed and made my way to the huge oak desk just off the corner. It had everything I’d requested, and it sat atop the most gorgeous, textured rug I’d ever seen. When I caught sight of the chair—the chair, the one I’d be using for sessions—the tears broke loose.

“Forget the candle. I’m asking her to marry me,” I said.

Libby’s laugh was rich and full. “Brendon might take issue with that. But honestly? If her skills were a person, I’d marry them, too.”

I looked over at her. “Speaking of, are you seeing anyone?” I moved from my desk chair to the chair. God, it was perfect.

“Nah.” She waved a hand through the air.

“Nothing serious, anyway. I dated an accountant from Wollowaki,” she said, mentioning the next town over, “but he bored me stiff. I mean, I dig math, and big brains are sexy as hell, but I swear to God I could’ve done my taxes during sex and had more fun. He was so boring.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Oh, geez. I’m so sorry. I don’t blame you for cutting him loose.”

“What’s your flavor of late?” she asked, raising a brow and reclining, tucking her hands under her head, elbows bent.

“No preference, really.” I shrugged. “I dated a really cool tattoo artist a few years ago, thought it might go somewhere, but she moved to Los Angeles, and I wasn’t ready for that kind of leap.

We still talk sometimes. After her, I dated a construction worker, but I had the opposite problem as you.

Some of the shit that guy wanted to do? I mean, I like a little bondage play and a sexy spanking as much as the next gal, but…

” I blew out a breath. “Yeah…no.” I shook my head.

We both cracked up.

“Well, I have someone who might tickle your fancy. And if you don’t want to date her, she’s seriously a kickass friend, so…no harm, no foul.”

“Intrigued. Tell me more.” I propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and rested my chin in my hand.

She sat up straighter. “Her name’s Autumn. Autumn Caldwell. She’s an archivist at the local museum and lives in the Hawkley house on the hill.”

“Wait. The big Victorian?”

“The one and only. Monique helped her get it all ready when Autumn bought it, and when I say that house is to die for, I mean it. Absolute haunted-mansion vibes…but in a good way.”

“She sounds awesome.”

“Okay, it’s settled,” she asserted. “We’re having drinks. Tomorrow. Seven o’clock. The Hollow Oak. Wear something fun. They’ve got a live country band every Friday.”

“You’ve got yourself a date, Ms. Trent.”

We hugged, said our goodbyes, and I locked up behind her. Then I turned to leave and face another blast from the past.