Sketch of Secrets (The Garnet Trilogy - Book 1)

By Willa Jemhart

On Martie’s 17th birthday her mother inexplicably disappears. With nothing more to go on than an old drawing and a mysterious name and address, Martie sets out alone and afraid, determined to find some answers. Her journey steers her on a path that will bring much more than she thought possible: love, discoveries about her own past, and the shocking truth about her mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willa Jemhart
• Release date: Oct 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301690022

Willa Jemhart

Willa lives in British Columbia, Canada. She enjoys a variety of activities, but her favorites are those that involve relaxing. Sitting in the backyard with a cold cooler in the summer, and cozying up with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn while watching a movie in the winter are at the top of her list. Of course she loves to read, and while she is not picky on the genre, she prefers books that contain romance in one form or other.To date, Willa has written the ebook YA novella series; The Garnet Trilogy, and a paranormal romance; Ridley House. Her latest ebook, the YA dystopian, Drowning in Deception has now been released and will soon be available at most online retailers.For more information, please visit her website: www.willajemhart.com

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The Garnet Trilogy

By Willa Jemhart

Book 1: Sketch of Secrets

Copyright 2012 Willa Jemhart

Published by Willa Jemhart at Smashwords

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events are the product of the author`s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

She stepped out of the front door of her high school, shading her eyes from the blast of bright prairie sunlight. Her hand reached into her purse to retrieve her sunglasses which she hastily shoved onto her face. Martie Johnson’s chest filled with anticipation. Not only was this the last day of school, but it was also her 17th birthday. She could barely wait to find out what her mother’s surprise would be this year.

She skipped down the smoldering cement steps while fishing her cell phone from her bag. Powering it up, she moved into the shade of a nearby tree. Friends passed by with wishes of a happy birthday or a good summer vacation, before bustling on to their own two months of freedom from teachers and homework. Martie gave them each a smile and a thank you, and passed on return well wishes.

But what she really wanted was to know what this year’s birthday surprise would be. Her mother was a master at coming up with the greatest ideas. She worked as a receptionist at a travel agency, and therefore had taken Martie on a number of great trips. She would never let on where they were going, saying only that she needed to pack. Last year, for her 16th, the surprise had been helping her with the purchase of a car. Martie had managed to save one thousand dollars and her mother matched that amount. They spent the following Saturday car shopping. She had eventually settled on a little red Toyota. It was old, with dots of rust here and there, but it was in good running order, and best of all, it gave her a sense of independence. Last birthday’s surprise was going to be hard to beat.

Her phone, having found a signal, beeped, indicating there were messages waiting. The first was as expected - a text from her mom. Martie grinned eagerly as she opened it.

I love you with all my heart. Never forget that. Do what Fran says.

A small snicker escaped her mouth. Fran was her mother’s closest friend, and obviously she had enlisted her help this year. Her mother was outdoing herself, and the fun and mystery of this game of surprise had Martie’s insides bubbling over. She scrolled to the next message. It had been sent only five minutes after her mother’s. As expected, it was from Fran.

Martie, DO NOT go home. Come straight to my house. HURRY!

A couple of passers-by gave her sidelong glances as Martie squealed with glee while sprinting to her car. Her mother had never involved Fran before, so she was certain this year’s gift was going to be something great. They were by no means wealthy, but her mother always came up with the perfect gifts.

The short drive from J Brooks High to Fran’s house was impossibly long. Though the traffic was light, it moved in slow motion. Pedestrians had to cross at every single crosswalk she neared, and the traffic lights turned red just in time for her approach. Her fingers drummed frantically on the wheel, and her bottom lip became sore with chew marks. When she finally pulled into the driveway of the small white house where Fran lived, she was afraid she was going to spontaneously combust.

The second she put her car in park, Fran flew from the house, opened the car door, and grabbed her by the hand to pull her out. As Martie tripped along, trying to keep up with Fran she thought how great it was that Fran was totally getting into this too. It was an awkward maneuver to pull her mini jean skirt down properly while being yanked up the few steps and into the front door. She laughed out loud. What could it be? What had Mom and Fran done?

Fran immediately slammed the door shut and turned to Martie. Her usual tanned face was pale and she looked sick. Martie’s smile vanished as she looked into Fran’s swollen blue eyes. She had obviously been crying.

She trembled as she released her grip on Martie.

What’s wrong? Martie asked.

Before Fran could respond, her seven year old daughter skipped into the entryway and grabbed Martie around the waist, hugging her hard. Martie had a soft spot for the cute little girl with big blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair that never looked freshly brushed.

Hi Ainsley, she said affectionately as she ruffled her hair. Martie was aware that Ainsley idolized her, and she welcomed the admiration because she never had a little sister of her own. In fact, she had no siblings, but always wished she had.

Ains, said Fran a little too sternly. Can you please go downstairs and watch T.V. I need to talk to Martie alone.

Okay, Ainsley pouted and looked up at Martie with grumpy eyes, hoping her hero would come to her rescue. But Martie couldn’t this time.

I’ll hang out with you another time, she promised. Clearly not happy with the rejection, she released her hold on Martie and slowly shuffled away.

Martie turned back to Fran with eyebrows raised and lips parted.

Fran was clearly not her usual self. Her make-up was smudged and her clothes were disheveled. She ran a quick hand through her own messy dark brown hair before taking Martie’s hand again to lead her to the living room, where she gestured for her to sit beside her on the couch. She then grabbed her other hand and faced her with a wild eyes. It’s your mom Martie, she blurted. The worry glistened in her eyes.

Martie swallowed, trying to gauge what was happening. Surely her mom wouldn’t get this elaborate to surprise her. She examined Fran’s distraught face carefully, and decided there was no way this could be a game. Fran was incapable of keeping a straight face. She was the type of person who started giggling long before the punch line when telling a joke. No, Martie decided that whatever was going on, she needed to take it seriously.

She’s gone, continued Fran. She called me about forty-five minutes ago. Told me to get you here. You’re not to go home. Do you understand?

Yes. Um, no. I don’t understand. What do you mean she’s gone? Gone where?

All she said was that they found her. And they are taking her back. She didn’t know what they would do to you, or if they would do anything at all. She said it’s best for you to just not go home.

Martie’s face twisted in confusion. They? Who are ‘they’?

Fran paled to an even whiter shade. You don’t know? she asked.

Know what? Martie’s voice had risen and her face began to flush. She suddenly felt a little light-headed.

Fran dropped her head, but quickly raised sad eyes back up to gaze at Martie. This time when she spoke, her voice was no longer frantic. It was almost a whisper. I don’t know. She would never tell me. But I always assumed she would have told you.

Martie stood and threw her arms up in the air. She shook her head as she marched to the other side of the coffee table. Her fingers began to rub her temples, attempting to block an emerging headache. She wasn’t sure if she should be mad or terrified. Fran remained on the couch with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

Fran, Martie begin, trying to keep herself together. She spoke slowly and decisively. What exactly is it that you think she would have told me?

Fran took a deep breath and ripped her fingers through her hair. Her eyes were wide with fear when she looked up at Martie. About her past, she breathed.

Martie furrowed her brow, shaking her head. This wasn’t making any sense. Her mom was gone. ‘They’ came to take her back - whoever ‘they’ were - and wherever ‘back’ was. If her mother had a dark or strange past, she knew nothing about it. For a brief moment, she decided this was all just a big weird misunderstanding.

She took out her phone and dialed her mom’s number, but it just rang and rang. Her voice message didn’t even come on. Frustrated, she slammed the phone onto the end table.

Fran sat speechless for a moment, staring at Martie, and Martie reflected the same back. Suddenly Fran rose from the couch and scurried out of the room.

Martie began pacing back and forth in the small living room, trying to sort out what Fran was telling her. It occurred to her then that this might have something to do with her father. He was the only mysterious thing about her mom’s past that she could think of. Her mother was always very vague about him. He’d remained a mystery to Martie her entire life. There was only one picture of him; a tiny one of him with her mom. It was pasted inside a gold heart-shaped locket her mother wore on a chain around her neck. For the first part of Martie’s life, her mother never took the locket off. But the photo was so tiny that the only clear feature of her father was that he had sandy colored hair.

Martie had asked about him over the years. The facts about him that her mom had been willing to share amounted to very little. His name was Martin Jones. Martie was named after him. Her mother referred to him as a good man. He loved her mother dearly and was elated they were going to have a child, but he had to leave before Martie was born. Her mother would never tell her why, saying that it was complicated, and he had no choice. To Martie’s knowledge, the two of them hadn’t been in touch since.

When she was younger, Martie would imagine that her father was some sort of important secret agent, travelling the globe on special assignments that ensured the safety of the world. She would often make up stories about these missions and share them with her friends. They would listen wide-eyed and think that it was all very cool.

But as she grew up her opinion of him started to change. From time to time Martie would see her mother lying on her bed holding the locket and crying. Eventually she took it off, and Martie never saw the locket again. She began to wonder what kind of a man would just leave like that. He had a beautiful, kind woman, who obviously loved him, and at the time when he left, he had a new baby on the way. What could be more important than that? No longer in Martie’s mind was he a mysterious hero. In fact she grew to have a small hatred for the man who, the way she saw it, chose to remain out of her life. Her mother always got very defensive when she spoke badly about him. She would say he loved her and that he didn’t want to leave, but he had to. That’s all she would say. She refused