Enjoy this excerpt from the new installment of the Nick McDeare suspense series WHAT’S PAST IS PROLOGUE from Deborah Fezelle. You can find WHAT’S PAST IS PROLOGUE on Amazon in paperback or eBook format. In fact, check out the entire series!
PROLOGUE
Fifteen Years Earlier
Sarasota, Florida
Tess Cavanaugh sat with Father Locato in the front pew of St. Sebastian’s. The church was quiet. Very few signs of the funeral service that took place earlier that morning. Only the lilies on the altar and the scent of incense in the air.
Tess wasn’t here to pay her respects to the young girl who died. No, Tess met with Father Locato every Monday for counseling.
“So sad,” Tess remarked to the elderly priest. “That girl dying reminds me of—”
“Drugs. The plague of the young.” Father Locato turned to her. “So tell me. How’s Henry doing?”
Tess’s husband was inconsolable since it happened. Never leaving the house, he spent all day in their garage carving furniture. What had been his hobby was now his entire world. “The same.”
Three months ago, Henry and Theresa Cavanaugh’s son Frank was killed in Iraq. Frankie was their only child, their surprise package late in life. He was their blessing from God. Until he died in a desert halfway across the world.
“And your diary? Are you still writing in it?”
The priest had recommended Tess write down her feelings, expressing her grief on the page. He said it was a productive way to work through Frankie’s death.
“Yes. You were right. It helps.
“Good.” Father patted her hand. “Come. I’ll walk you out.”
Tess took the priest’s arm as they made their way down the wide main aisle. “You’re coming for dinner Thursday night?”
The priest grinned. “Don’t I always?”
“Father Locato?” A voice from above. The choir director stared down at them. “I was putting away the music and— Could you come up here for a moment? There’s a … Well. See for yourself.”
Tess followed the priest up the rickety stairs to the choir loft.
In the side room where music and robes were stored, a child sat on the floor. A little boy, not more than two-years-old. Wrapped in a worn blanket, a post-it note was pinned to his shirt:
Patrick
The child had soft blond curls and the most unusual eyes. Large, oddly shaped and a vibrant blue.
They seemed to see right into Tess’s soul.
*
The Present
New York City
Nick McDeare clipped along East Seventy-Fifth Street on a sunny September day. The trees lining the picturesque street were beginning to show hints of autumn colors. Central Park rolled into sight, as did the slate gray brownstone Nick called home.
It had been a successful day. A meeting with the screenwriter who was turning Nick’s last suspense novel THE SILVER LINING into a feature film. Followed by lunch with his agent Liz to deliver his current novel, BLEEDING BURGANDY. Liz was shocked the manuscript came in under the deadline. So was Nick. That’s what happened when you were separated from your wife and had time on your hands. Of course he didn’t say that to Liz. She’d been trying to get him into bed for years. Along with half the female population out there.
Nick turned the locks and pushed into the vestibule. He was met by deafening music and a voice all too familiar. Striding down the hall, he glanced into the pristine living room on the right, the gothic dining room on the left, past the staircase to the second floor and the bathroom tucked beneath it, all the way to the study in the back of the house. The source of the ear-shattering noise.
His thirteen-year-old daughter Kat sat on the leather sofa watching the television intently. A young man’s face filled the screen, his magnificent voice echoing throughout the house.
“For God’s sake,” Nick shouted, “turn that down.”
Kat jumped at the sound of his voice and did as she was told. “Isn’t Uncle Andrew fantastic in this show?”
Nick’s brother Andrew was fantastic in every Broadway show he did. But there was no need to shake the walls with his baritone voice.
Nick glanced up at the huge oil painting hanging over the fireplace. Nick McDeare and Andrew Brady in tuxes eying each other. A study in contrasts. Andrew fair with sandy hair like Kat. Nick dark with ebony strands spiking his forehead. But they both had the same large amber eyes that dipped at the outer corners, the same easy smiles, the same strong noses and dimpled chins. The Saint & The Sinner. Nick’s title for the painting. Andrew, the golden boy, beloved by all. Nick, the dark horse, the loner with a chip on his shoulder.
Actually, it was an exquisite painting, considering the artist used two photographs to put it together. Nick and Andrew never met in person, thanks to a twist of fate and their heartless ‘male sperm-donor,’ Nick’s term for their natural father. Nick was adopted at birth. Andrew was raised by their mother when she refused to give up another baby. Just when the two grown brothers finally found each other, Andrew Brady was murdered.
“Don’t you have your writing class tonight?” Nick asked, heading across the hall to the kitchen.
Kat shadowed his steps. “Yep. And I know what I want to write about next. Uncle Andrew.”
If this home had a heart, it was the kitchen. A large island with comfortable stools ran down the center, pots and herbs hanging above it. An old-fashioned breakfast nook nestled beneath a picture window in the corner. A second set of stairs led to the upper floors. A walk-in pantry, hooked rugs, potted plants and polished wood floors gave the space a homey feel.
Mary Bodine put a glazed chicken in the oven. Mary was a stunning black woman who ruled the McDeare home. She was tough but had a heart of gold. Mother to them all. “Thank you for making her turn down that TV. She’s been playing that same song for the last two hours. You know how much I loved Andrew. He grew up in this house, and I loved him like a son. But even I can’t deal with a song stuck on repeat.”
“I need to study Uncle Andrew.” Kat stole a cucumber from the salad on the island.
Nick poured some coffee and leaned against the counter. “Use your laptop or iPad. Up in your room.”
“But all of Andrew’s shows are stored in the study’s TV.”
“That’s an easy fix.” Nick, too, picked at the salad. “Anyway, why Andrew?”
“Because I want to know more about him. I get bits and pieces from everyone but not the whole story. I need to sit down and grill you about him. Both of you.” Kat was new to the family, the result of an affair Nick had years ago. He only learned of her existence last year when her mother died. Ultimately, he brought her to New York. After a rocky start, Kat settled into the household.
“Jessie’s the one to talk to.” Nick watched Kat’s face fall.
Jessica Kendall McDeare. Nick’s wife and Kat’s stepmother.
About to star in a new Broadway musical about Diana, the Princess of Wales. Currently living in a swanky midtown hotel.
Nick and Jessie separated in August.
*
It was an excellent rehearsal today. Jessie should be in a good mood. She wasn’t. Part of it had to do with missing Nick. The other part was missing Andrew.
She stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over her blond hair, over her tired blue eyes. Washing away the day’s exertions was soothing. If only Nick was standing beside her, skin against skin, his gentle hands roaming— Jessie shook off the memory.
This separation from Nick was taking its toll. Their young marriage had been so happy. Until Kat was thrown into the mix, reminding Jessie of Nick’s wild bachelor days, of his life before they met. Until Jessie made a fatal mistake while performing DIANA in London over the summer. A mistake that revealed hidden chasms between husband and wife. So now Nick lived at home, and Jessie lived in the Galaxy Hotel attached to the theater where DIANA would perform.
Their separation was supposed to be temporary, but they weren’t doing anything significant towards getting back together. Their public pretense that everything was fine between them became more difficult with each passing day. Jessie was supposedly staying at a hotel because her house was too hectic. Because she needed to focus on the monumental role of Diana right now.
No one bought it.
There were daily items in the gossip columns about their marriage. Hints and innuendos that the famous couple was heading for divorce. The press was convinced from the beginning that Nick’s old habits would eventually return. No matter what went down in London a divorce would be pinned on the roaming eye of Nick McDeare. Jessie stayed quiet, not wanting to poke the media rattlesnake. And of course Nick said nothing. He loathed the rags and their moronic mouthpieces.
As for missing Andrew, Jessie was rehearsing in the Crookston Theater where she and Andrew performed their signature musical HEARTTAKES. That must be why he was constantly on her mind. She missed working with him, singing with him, seeing those amazing eyes next to her on the stage. They’d been partners both onstage and off, married for over five years until Andrew was murdered. Which brought Nick to town. To find Andrew’s killer. Although she fought it, Jessie fell in love with Nick. With Andrew’s blessing.
Jessie smiled at the memory. As crazy as it sounded, Andrew’s spirit hovered over the family since his murder. Maybe his sudden death was what caused him to cling to this world. Jessie didn’t try to explain it. She just knew it was fact. She felt him near when rehearsals started, giving her strength. But lately he was silent.
Where was Andrew? Was he still around, watching over them?
CHAPTER 1
“Hey, Dad.” Nick’s nine-year-old son Anthony peeked into his second-floor home office. “Busy?
“Nope. What’s up?” Nick swiveled as Anthony plopped down on the chair next to the desk. His thick mop of dark curls almost obscured his penetrating blue eyes. Monty, a Portuguese Water Dog and Anthony’s constant companion, nuzzled Nick’s hand.
“Kat’s been asking me questions about Andrew. Which got me thinking. He hasn’t been around lately.”
“He comes and goes. You know that.”
“I’m afraid he’s gone for good.”
Nick rubbed Monty’s soft fur. “He wouldn’t go without saying goodbye.”
Anthony and Andrew had a special relationship. Years ago Jessie found herself pregnant by Gianni Fosselli, a young Italian owner of a fleet of cruise ships. When Gianni was forced to return home to Italy, not knowing about the baby, Andrew stepped in. He married his lifelong friend and secret love so Jessie would have a father for her baby. Also to protect Jessie, to prevent the powerful Gianni from ever thinking Anthony was his son. It didn’t work. Andrew’s gesture got him killed by a vengeful Gianni. Which resulted in Nick putting Gianni in his own early grave.
While investigating Andrew’s death, Nick discovered his brother was responsible for Gianni abandoning Jessie. Andrew’s intentions were justified – He knew what a despicable creature Gianni was and wanted to get him away from Jessie – but his devious actions weren’t. Andrew ended up setting off a chain of events that left more than one person dead.
Andrew’s halo was tarnished a bit in Nick’s eyes after that. But not Jessie’s. She felt Andrew was trying to protect her from a man she should have avoided from the start. Saint Andrew’s record was intact.
Anthony loved Andrew, the dad who saw him through his first five years. But he also loved Nick. When Nick married Jessie, he adopted Anthony, and a special bond formed.
“We’ll hear from him, Bongo.” Bongo. Both Andrew and Nick’s pet name for the boy. “Hang in there.”
*
Nick breezed through the master bedroom to the enormous walk-in closet. Which was more like Jessie’s dressing room with Nick’s clothes stuffed in the back. But with his wife gone, the place was his. In other words, a pigsty. Mary refused to clean in here unless Nick picked up his clothes. A boycott of doing Nick’s laundry was also in place until Mary could see the hardwood floor again.
He kicked off his shoes and tossed his socks into the mess. As he stripped off his shirt, Nick tripped over something. Pain shot through his big toe. Wincing, he dropped down on the stool of Jessie’s vanity. What was so bulky it could cause this kind of agony?
Andrew’s dance bag. What in the hell was it doing in the middle of the floor, buried under yesterday’s clothes? Pulling the large leather shoulder bag closer, he unzipped it. Yep. Andrew’s journals were still tucked inside. The last time Nick saw this bag was when he was chasing down Andrew’s killer. Nick pulled a few books out and ran his fingers over them.
“Dad?”
“In here, Kat.”
Kat paused in the doorway. “What are those?”
“Your uncle’s journals.”
“You’re kidding.” Her face lit up.
“Did you want something?”
“I want to jog with you in the morning, so wait for me, okay?”
“Sure.”
Kat was laser-focused on the items in Nick’s hands. “Can I read the journals? They could help.”
“I don’t think so. You’re a little young.”
“Did you read them?”
“The later ones. They helped implicate Gianni in Andrew’s murder.”
“How far back do they go?”
“From the time he was thirteen.”
“Then I’m not too young. I’m thirteen.
Going on thirty. And how did she always do that? Come back with the perfect retort? She should be a lawyer, not a writer.
“Please, Dad. Let me read them. Especially the early ones. There’s a lot on the internet about Andrew in his later years, but not much about when he was younger.”
“I told you. You should talk to Jessie.”
“No.” She flung her shoulder-length sandy hair back and folded her arms. The picture of obstinance. “She wouldn’t be honest with me. And we’d just end up fighting again.”
Kat had a point. Jessie was protective of her history with Andrew. She would never open up to Kat about him. Jessie and Kat were like Anthony’s dog and Kat’s Siamese cat. Claws unsheathed. Fangs bared. And a migraine for Nick.
“Then talk to Abbie. Abbie and Andrew met when they were seven. She was his best friend.”
Kat stared at him, thinking. “Yeah. Abbie. Thanks, Dad.” She bounced out of sight, happy again.
Nick rubbed his throbbing toe.
She was back. “I still want to read those journals.”
Nick swiped a hand through his thick hair and counted to ten. “Tell you what. Let me scan them first.”
“You’re going to censor the sex, right?”
“Good night, Kat.”
*
A Few Days Later
Abigail Forrester dragged home. It had been a long but productive day. After a career as an actress and lipstick model, Abbie’s new job was publicist/assistant for her old pal, Jessie Kendle McDeare. Surprisingly, she not only enjoyed her new position, she was good at it. As opening night loomed, flattering publicity for Jessie was vital. Which meant squashing the divorce chatter. Abbie’s goal was to fill the press with photos of a happy Mr. and Mrs. McDeare.
Willie Bodine waited for her in their kitchen. Willie. Mary’s nephew and Abbie’s fiancé. Her Denzel Washington look-alike and the love of her life.
“You made dinner.” Abbie smooched his cheek, inhaling the faint scent of the cologne she gave him for his birthday. “If I didn’t love you before, I certainly do now.” Abbie dropped down in their breakfast nook and swept her hair off her face. She spent the morning at the hairdresser’s, adding ashy highlights to her layered mahogany mane.
“I knew you’d be tired.” He ran his fingers through her hair, admiring it, and joined her.
They lived on the first floor of the brownstone behind the McDeare home. The two parties came and went through the back yards.
“And what did you do today? Besides preparing this amazing meal.” Abbie surveyed the table. Grilled steaks. Baked potatoes. Sauteed mushrooms. Yum.
“Not much. The kids never left the house, and Nick hoofed it on his own somewhere.” An ex-cop, Willie was both driver and security detail for the McDeare family. Nick and Jessie’s celebrity demanded protection. Willie also helped Nick at times on investigations. Besides being a best-selling suspense author, Nick was also a Pulitzer-Prize winning investigative reporter.
“How about you, Abs? How was your day?”
“Hectic. Too many questions about Jessie’s marriage.” Abbie closed her plump lips around a bite of steak.
“How’s she doing about that?”
Abbie shrugged as she swallowed. “The same. She’s waiting for a move from Nick. Andrew seems to be more on her mind these days. Probably because of working in that theater again.”
“Speaking of Andrew,” Willie helped himself to some mushrooms, “Kat came by. She wants to talk to you about him.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“It’s a busy week, but I’ll make sure I find the time.”
Read the entire series which includes these four novels! The Evil That Men Do, A Walking Shadow, Full Circle and Discretion. All are available in paperback and eBook.