Smoke and Mirrors

Book 8: Sloane Monroe

by Cheryl Bradshaw

Genres: Historical Fiction; Horror; Medical Thrillers

Synopsis

She races down the hallway, finding her mother's lifeless body on the floor in a pool of blood. Her mother's boyfriend Hugh is hunched over her. At first glance it seems Hugh is to blame, but is Hugh really her mother's killer?

As revelations about Caroline Ashby's secret life unfold, private detective Sloane Monroe takes the case, but it won't take long to find the killer. He's been watching, carefully tracking her every move. And now Sloane's own life is in grave danger.

If you're a fan of Sue Grafton and Mary Higgins Clark, you'll enjoy the Sloane Monroe series.

Praise for the Sloane Monroe Series:

"While I've found most mystery/thrillers to be rehashes ofthe same old plot line, this was refreshingly new/original." - Jack Murphy, New York Times bestselling author of Reflexive Fire

I can officially declare that I am now a Cheryl Bradshaw fan and look forward to reading the other books in the series over the summer. - Mel Comley, New York Times bestselling author of the Justice series

"Bradshaw writes a great thriller, with likeable characters, and a taunt timeline that keeps you reading way past lights-out." - Amazon Vine Voice Top 500 Reviewer

"Only once in a while do you come upon a novel that sweeps you literally off your feet. The pot-boiling tension in this story is out of this world. Cheryl Bradshaw can write like the pros did at the turn of the 20th century." - Glen Cantrell, Author of The Resume

Release date: August 25, 2019

Publisher: Pixie Publishing

Print pages: 225

Sample

CHAPTER 1







Cairns, Australia

Grace Ashby was having an unusual dream. A dream so real it seemed like her mum was beside her, sleeping in the same bed she was. But her mum wasn’t in her room. Her mum was screaming—emitting high-pitched, grisly shrieks of terror that startled Grace awake from her hellish nightmare.
The screams echoed through the hall for a few moments and then stopped, and the house returned to its usual quiet tranquility. Grace remained still, listening to the familiar creaks and groans she’d grown accustomed to over the years. Then she drifted off to sleep again, soothing her fears by assuring herself that what she had just experienced was nothing more than an all-too-realistic dream. But her self-soothing was short-lived, bursting like a popped balloon when she heard her mum shouting a slew of muffled sentences Grace couldn’t string together.

Nervous about what was happening, Grace wanted to remain in bed where it was safe, where her mum had told her to stay, but something about the tone in her mum’s voice wasn’t right. It was different. She sounded … frightened. Grace reached a hand through the darkness until she felt the cold metal of the bedside lamp. Sliding a hand up its base, she found the switch, turned the light on, and canvassed her room.
She was alone, and the house had gone quiet again.
“Mum? Are you okay?” Grace called out. “Is something wrong?”
There was no reply.
I’m too far away from her. Maybe she can’t hear me.
Grace cleared her throat, raised her voice, and repeated the question.
The outcome was the same.
Grace was afraid to leave her bed. She didn’t want to walk across the long, dark corridor leading from her room to her mum’s, but no matter how nervous she was, she knew sleep wouldn’t find her again until she was sure her mum was all right. She peeled back the covers, took a deep breath, and crept to the door, sliding one eye out just enough for her to peer down the hall. She looked out, seeing nothing but a faint sliver of light emitting from a crack beneath her mum’s door at the opposite end of the house—just enough to light the way for her.
She tiptoed down the hall, reached her mum’s door, and paused, hearing the whisper of a man’s voice on the opposite side. It was gruff and emotional.
Grace pressed a finger to the door, pushing it open just enough for her to glance inside. She slapped a hand across her mouth, stifling a scream as she saw her mum sprawled on the floor, unmoving. A man was hunched over her mum’s body. Grace stepped into the room, and the man’s head snapped back to look at her, his face grim and vexed, like her presence irritated him.
The man’s name was Hugh Beaumont. Over the last two years, he and her mum had been in a relationship. Grace had liked him at first, but in recent months, his behavior had soured after he’d knelt down and proposed marriage, sliding a ring on her mum’s finger before she’d had the chance to respond to his offer. Her mum had flat-out refused, taking the ring off, and handing it back to him, saying she cared for him, but she felt blindsided. She told him she wasn’t ready and that he should have discussed the idea of becoming engaged with her first before making such a grandiose gesture. Undeterred, he’d grabbed her mum’s hand, pushing the ring onto her palm as he said, “Keep it. Think of it as a promise ring, a sign of my commitment to our relationship.”
And she’d accepted it. He’d fooled her mum, but he hadn’t fooled Grace. She’d known the ring symbolized far more than a simple token of his devotion. It symbolized his power over her, a power he seemed to be exerting now.
Hugh stared at her a moment, then said, “Grace, you shouldn’t be in—”
“What’s wrong with my mum?” Grace asked. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do anything. You don’t understand.”
She understood plenty. His face was sweaty and red. Her mum was unconscious, or worse. She couldn’t tell yet. But there was one thing she knew for sure—he was to blame.
Grace charged forward. “Move! Get away from her!”
Hugh didn’t budge.
“I mean it! Get out of my way, Hugh.”
She stepped around him, noticing something she hadn’t until now—blood—and lots of it. It had soaked through her mum’s shirt, oozing drops of red onto the rug on the side of her body. Grace’s knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor. She leaned in, placing an ear over her mum’s mouth. There was nothing —no air, no signs of life. She grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll. “Mum, please. Wake up. Mum!”
When there was still no response, Grace sprung to her feet, stabbing a finger into Hugh’s chest. “She’s not breathing! And the blood … you! You did this to her!”
“Look, Grace, this isn’t the time to … I mean, I don’t know how to explain …”
He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. Before the call could go through, Grace lunged for the phone. “Give it to me! Let me have it!”
“Stop it, Grace! Stop it right now.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom door. “Go back to your room and wait for me until I come get you, all right?”
He was trying to get rid of her … Why?
And whom was he calling? A friend? Someone to help cover up what he just did? Was she next?
Eyes blurred with tears, Grace thrust her hands into his chest, shoving him backward. The phone clattered to the ground. She snatched it off the floor, waving it in front of him. “You’re nobody! You’re not my dad. You’re not her husband. You’re nothing, and you don’t get to tell me what to do. Get out of here right now! Get out of our house!”
Hugh grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the bedroom door. She wrestled away from his grip and ran into her mum’s bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it. Heartbroken and scared, Grace’s thoughts turned to the only man she’d ever trusted, a man she needed more than anyone right now. Glancing around, she eyed a window on the opposite wall—a window that was just big enough for her to fit through.