Excerpt, Twisted Road
Harlow Frye curled up in her favorite swing chair on her front porch. She’d purchased the property for just these moments, when her day had gone to absolute hell and she needed to find balance and serenity again.
From her porch she had a view of the Sierra with all their majesty, one of the best she could have without going backpacking or hiking. She’d been lucky to find her own little piece of paradise. She really needed the peace this evening for a number of reasons.
She’d bought the house for the studio and the amazing wraparound porch with the extraordinary views of the majestic mountains.
The inside of the house had needed to be renovated, but she’d taken her time and modernized, upgrading each room to her satisfaction.
Her home was her sanctuary and she treated it that way.
She had the eye of an artist. A photographer. She was a little on the obsessive-compulsive side when it came to her home. If she was honest, she was that way with just about everything. It made her a good surgical and trauma nurse. It also made her an excellent photographer as well as potter.
On two sides of her property, her house was surrounded by woods.
Aspen, pine, oak, and fir made up her mini-forest. She owned twenty acres, and a good fifteen of those acres were forest. Almost daily, she walked in those woods.
Her trusty little beagle, Misha, loved the walks in the forest. Other than running along the canal, it was her canine family member’s favorite thing to do.
Harlow tended to run along the canal every day.
She had her own private workout room and spent a couple of hours not only stretching and doing strength training but also kickboxing.
As an exercise, it was really quite invigorating; it was also useful.
Most evenings, her porch swing was her favorite place to be.
She would scrub her face, pull her flaming red hair into the classic messy knot on top of her head, put on her most comfortable leggings and whatever top the weather required.
She had a tendency to curl her long legs under her and sip at a glass of white wine, often reading a book.
The last few days at work had been particularly grueling, and she just wanted to enjoy the peace of home and the beauty of the distant mountains.
Harlow worked as a surgical nurse and often took extra shifts in the ER.
Their hospital had a trauma unit thanks to the incredible fundraising Zahra Metcalf did on the hospital’s behalf.
Also, Vienna Mortenson donated a tremendous amount of money from her gambling wins.
Oftentimes, whatever Vienna donated, Giselle Gentry, a woman belonging to one of the founding families of Knightly, had matched.
Their community was tight-knit and very supportive of their hospital.
Thanks to Zahra and Vienna, both close friends of Harlow, the hospital could offer doctors, nurses and staff a good wage.
Because they could, they were able to attract excellent personnel for their hospital, making it one of the best and busiest in several counties, although it was small.
The day had been horrendous at work. Harlow had lost a good friend, a man she respected.
Lawyer Collins had been one of the first people she’d met when she moved to Knightly.
He’d set up her security system around her property.
He’d always been easygoing and friendly.
He’d even asked her out a couple of times, but Harlow preferred not to date, especially someone she had made friends with, and she genuinely liked Lawyer, which couldn’t be said of most men she’d met.
The worst part of his death was that the doctors couldn’t find the cause.
He’d seemed to have had a reaction to something, an insect or plant.
Something toxic for certain. There was talk about bringing in infectious disease experts.
Every spare minute she had, she sat by his side, whispering encouragement, sponging the sweat from his body, doing everything she could to keep him comfortable, but early that morning, he had succumbed to the terrible unknown pathogen.
The leaves were beginning to turn color, creating a magnificent photograph in her mind.
Spring was giving way to summer, but slowly, as if unveiling a lush landscape painted by a master.
Spring had brought unusual amounts of rain, turning every meadow into a riot of color.
The wildflowers grew in abundance on every conceivable ground surface.
Even now, in late spring, flowers were everywhere, their colors adding to the striking shades of green from the trees and brush.
Looking at the beauty that always brought her peace should have settled the churning in her stomach, the knots that refused to go away.
Or the ominous feeling she couldn’t rid herself of.
A storm was brewing; it might be in the distance, but it was coming toward Knightly—or maybe it was already here.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that the peace they had throughout this last year was about to be shattered.
The year before, one of her best friends, Shabina Ashcroft, originally Foster, had been set up to take the fall for a series of murders.
Worse, she had been slowly maneuvered into a severe PTSD episode that nearly took her life.
Thankfully, Rainier Ashcroft had arrived on the scene, and no one ever went against Rainier and survived intact.
He had worked for the Special Activities Division in the CIA for years and now owned a security company made up of men who had also worked in that division.
He was a force to be reckoned with, and Harlow loved that Shabina had his protection.
Rainier stayed away from most people, but those he considered family were under that umbrella of protection, just as Shabina was.
That meant Shabina’s closest friends, Harlow included, were looked after by him.
Honestly, that could be a pain in the neck.
Rainier tended to be the kind of man who gave orders and expected everyone to follow them—and they did.
This last year, as quiet and peaceful as it was, had made that trait in him difficult, but she had to admit, with the ominous feeling growing stronger every day, Harlow was grateful to have him.
As if losing Lawyer wasn’t bad enough, Harlow’s father, a U.S.
senator, had come under suspicion in the disappearance of a very young woman.
Harlow hadn’t had anything to do with her father in years.
He was one of the reasons she had moved to Knightly, to be far from him and the media.
Now, her family was back in the spotlight, which meant reporters were calling continuously.
Things were stacking up, one after another, to bring about a terrible storm, the last thing Knightly and its inhabitants needed. The last thing she needed.
Two weeks later, Harlow sat at the back table in the Sunrise Café, her favorite place to eat, and where she normally met with her best friends.
Shabina Ashcroft owned the café with her husband, Rainier, although Rainier liked to refer to himself as a silent partner.
Personally, Harlow didn’t think there was anything silent about Rainier, other than his walk.
He could enter a room and take command. He didn’t need words.
Just his presence, one piercing stare from him, said it all.
Harlow looked around the table at the faces of her friends.
These women were more like family to her than friends.
Over the years, she had learned she could count on them no matter what the circumstances.
They had proved themselves to one another over and over.
That was more than her family had ever done.
Stella Harrison Rossi sat directly across from her.
Stella had called the meeting. If the six friends had a center, Stella was it.
She had brought them all together, first with climbing the boulders so famous in the Knightly area, and then by inviting them to go dancing at the Grill.
Stella was a powerhouse in Knightly. She had saved a resort, turning it into a fishing mecca where fishermen came from all over to compete in tournaments.
That had helped every business in the town of Knightly.
She owned a second resort, higher up the mountain, devoted to skiers.
The love of her life was Sam Rossi. Sam had worked for the Division of Special Activities at the CIA, as had Rainier, Shabina’s husband, and Zale Vizzini, Vienna’s fiancé.
Sam had come to Yosemite to find peace. Two years before his marriage to Stella, he’d become part of their circle of friends, always volunteering to be their sober driver.
Stella hired Sam as a handyman when she first took over the resort.
He was excellent at just about anything to do with motors or carpentry.
They were a good fit. All the friends had come to love Sam like a brother, and he treated them as family.
Harlow was also certain that Sam knew about her parents and the shame she felt.
As was his way, he didn’t say much, but he was watchful, and she knew if she wanted to talk to him, he would listen.
She hadn’t yet disclosed the information about her family to the others, but she intended to.
“Where’s Shabina?” Harlow asked. She looked around the café.
Shabina was gorgeous. Her mother was from Saudi Arabia, and her father, from Houston, was legendary for putting out oil fires around the world.
Shabina had inherited her silky skin and gorgeous eyes from her mother.
She wore her thick black hair in a long braid she normally had wrapped in some intricate knot.