Changeable Facades

By Suzanne M. Hurley

Samantha Barclay is a counselor at Milton High. When a student confides that his mother was murdered, she is the only one who believes him.

Can she stop the murderer from killing a second time? Will handsome Deputy Al Michael help her? Can she escape with her own life intact?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781597051606

Book preview

Changeable Façades

To my surprise he jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room, visibly agitated. He shouted, NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING! NOT A THING! ARE THEY ALL BLIND? MY MOTHER DIDN’T DIE FROM NATURAL CAUSES LIKE EVERYONE THINKS SHE DID, SHE WAS… His words stopped abruptly, his pacing as well.

She was what, Tommy?

I held my breath.

His walls shot back up. He sat down and turned once again towards the window.

Surely he couldn’t be implying that his mother was murdered? The horror of that thought shook me but I also faced the fact that no matter what, he could not be pushed into saying anything until he was ready. My only hope was that in time, he would grow to trust me.

What They Are Saying About

Changeable Façades

Ms. Hurley answers these questions in an engrossing page turner that keeps the reader guessing until the unmasking of the villain in the harrowing climax. Along the way she depicts small town life with an attention to background detail that will make the reader long to visit West Virginia. Sam is an engaging heroine, strong and courageous, with compassion for those in trouble and a sense of humor. Al is the perfect hero—there to offer support and back-up along with the loan of his dog, an irresistible setter named Max. The characters are real and seem familiar, the kind anyone might have in his hometown. Changeable Façades ends with the promise of a sequel. I’ll be looking forward to it.

—Dorothy Bodoin

www.dorothybodoin.com

Changeable Façades is a fast paced, intricate mystery that will leave you gasping as you turn each page. Suzanne Hurley has a privileged view of the teenage mind. She understands the depth and impact of adolescent feelings.

In Changeable Façades, you find yourself constantly wondering just who is the bad guy. Though I won’t reveal the villain, trust me you will be completely taken off guard. I highly recommend this book and will look for others from this author.

—A. Dee Carey

The Fox Lady

www.adeecarey.com

Changeable Facades by Suzanne Hurley is an intriguing mystery with a dash of Romance. The mounting tension (and threats for the poor heroine) while Sam struggles to discover the truth is fantastic too. The ending threw me for a loop and I loved the fact that it hints at a sequel. I really look forward to reading more about Sam and Al because I enjoyed Changeable Façades so much.

—Marguerite Arotin

The Locktender’s Daughter

www.ohioromance.net

This is a deeply moving journey into a community that is one way on the outside with an undertow of complex secrets beneath the placid façade. Explore the lives, feel the angst of this young boy through the skillful hands of a master crafts woman—Suzanne Hurley. I highly recommend Changeable Façades—you cannot read it and come away the same person you were when you started reading it.

—Billie A Williams

Mystery Suspense author

www.billiewilliams.com

Wings

Changeable Façades

by

Suzanne M. Hurley

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Romantic Mystery Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

Senior Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2007 by Suzanne M. Hurley

ISBN 978-1-59705-160-6

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

September 2007

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication

To Michael, who patiently listens to all my plots, offering valuable input. Thank you for enriching my life and for providing the love, support and stability needed for my creativity to flourish. Thank you also for making me laugh. Keep singing! I love you.

To Jen, Frank, Mel, Jim, Joshua, Elliot, Finn, Holly, Bailey and Emily—for your love, support and for all the laughter and good times we share. You bring great joy into my life. Whenever I wondered if the women in my book were capable of doing certain things I thought, Jen and Mel could do it. Thank you!

For my family—Brian, Charlotte, Mary, Maureen, John, David, Danielle, and Catherine. Thanks for always being there! I will never forget your compassion and kindness.

To Pete who recently faced a big challenge with courage and faith. You are an inspiration to all of us. To Ann, Erin, Ben, Meghan, Adam, Paul, Pat, Jennifer, Jayson, Keira, their new little one due in December, Richard and Catherine—for your love, support, and most of all—for the ‘Hurley Humor.’

To my mother Mae Hurley for teaching me about unconditional love. I have never forgotten you.

To my father Adrian for teaching me about hard work and to always be on time.

To my step mother Mary for taking such good care of my dad.

To Mary Lou Quealey for keeping me focused. You are truly a guiding light.

To Mary Fuller—the ‘Christmas person’ in my life.

To Lynda Symmons who inspires me.

To Aunt Frances and Bertille, as well as Dorothy Bodoin for their kindness and wisdom.

Special thanks to the Wings Epress Staff—in particular Lorraine Stephens, a kind, creative and wonderful editor; Trisha Fitzgerald-Petrie for creating my thought-provoking cover as well as Ilona Mueller for the use of her photograph.

Each one of you have encouraged me to dream dreams and make them come true. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Prologue

I did it.

I killed her.

Leaning back I take another swig of beer.

Relief flows through me.

It’s all over and victory is sweet.

I fooled them all.

The waves off my deck crashed around me, forecasting the arrival of a storm.

I love storms—the danger and excitement of them—mimicking my mood, especially today.

She deserved to die—that bossy, prying witch.

I’m amazed at how easy it was.

Everyone always told me I was smart. All through school I got top marks.

For once I was able to use my brain to my advantage—to plan and pull off this murder.

I can still remember the moment when she knew I had poisoned her.

First there was shock, then sadness and finally disgust.

Fortunately she was too sick to do anything about it. It had all gone according to my brilliant plan.

But it was her own fault.

Everything would have gone up in smoke if I allowed her to live.

It’s now clear sailing ahead.

Soon I will be off to my hideaway in the sun—with a new name, identity and life.

I’m fed up with trying to pretend that I’m decent and moral. I’m tired of having to fake love for people I could care less about.

I’ve had it with responsibility.

After all I’ve been through, life owes me.

It’s time to play, time to have fun.

I deserve a comfortable life and I’m finally on my way.

No one suspects and no one is going to stop me now… and I’ll kill again if anyone even so much as tries.

One

Is this light ever going to change? My fist hit the steering wheel in frustration. What’s taking so long?

Irritated, Mrs. Horton’s phone call still rang inside my head.

Miss Barclay, you’d better get over here as fast as you can. Click, she hung up.

Instantly my mind went on red alert. What was going on over at the high school that the Principal had to call me directly?

Finally the light turned, and I sped out into the intersection. God help the cop who would even dare to try and stop me now. I was on a mission and determined to get there in record time. I glanced down at the speedometer and decided that if I pushed it up a bit more, I could shave off a few minutes.

At the same time I reached up to wipe the sweat pouring off my forehead. The air conditioner was cranked up full blast, but the heat was stifling and taking its toll. There had been a warm spell this past week in Paxton, and I was roasting.

At the next light, I tried to smooth my hair down into some semblance of order. I had just gotten back from a jog when I got the call and after a quick shower hadn’t had time to blow it dry and curls were popping up everywhere. I also added a swipe of lipstick to complete my attempt at looking presentable.

My name’s Samantha Barclay, Sam to my friends. I’m the new counselor at Milton High, in the small mountain town of Paxton, West Virginia, population 1103. It was a charming old school, housed in a red brick building at least two hundred and seventy-five years old, with a population of five hundred students. It was my first posting since graduating with my Doctorate in Psychology. I’m twenty-seven years old, and thrilled to have been selected for this position since I specialized in adolescent behavior. Although I arrived two weeks ago, classes have only been in session for three days, and I’m just beginning the challenging process of getting to know the students.

Thank goodness, I finally made it. I wheeled in; barely slowing down, when a series of loud shouts sent my head spinning.

Jumping out, I tried to take in what was happening as I noted broken windows in the portable classrooms out back. Glass was strewn about and crowds of students were gathering and pointing while a small battalion of teachers tried to herd them into the main building.

Anticipating violence I headed over to help. A loud "Miss Barclay, please report to your office stat" sputtered out across the schoolyard, courtesy of our school’s intercom.

Startled, I tripped, landing in the mud on my hands and knees! Just what I needed! The only lucky thing about it was that I at least had pants on!

The intercom bellowed again. "Miss Barclay, TO THE OFFICE, PRONTO."

Recognizing Mrs. Horton’s voice, I jumped up, wiped the mud off the best I could, and sent up a silent wish that no one saw me. I gave a quick look over at the crowd of students and was torn about whether to go and help, but fearing the wrath of the Principal, I decided that I’d better get to my office as soon as possible. I raced in the door and up the stairs and quickly clicked the button to answer.

Yes, Mrs. Horton, (pant, pant) I’m here.

It’s about time, she stated. Look, I’m ordering Tommy Bride to see you. He’s a ninth grade student who was caught red-handed breaking the windows out back.

So that’s what happened.

She paused for a moment, sounding indignant at the thought that someone would have the audacity to violate the sanctity of her school. At the same time, she seemed happy that Tommy had been caught, probably because so much vandalism in schools was unseen and the perpetrators were rarely fingered.

Administrators viewed the catching of someone in a criminal act as a great coup for they loved to make an example of troublemakers. They were then able to point out to students that if they didn’t obey the rules they may be banned from school for several days, if not indefinitely. Their expectation was to end, or at least curtail, all violent acts.

I, on the other hand, disagreed. I believed in getting to the bottom of why these students were troubled and then proceeding to reach out to help them get their act together. Suspending them was just downright stupid because they usually had poor attendance records in the first place, and to have them miss more was ludicrous.

Her lengthy pause ended. He won’t say a damn word to anyone. She was swearing, indicating that she was extremely angry.

I settled in, burrowing deep into my chair, attempting to get comfortable, realizing that this conversation might take a while. She spoke slowly emphasizing every word, as if she were enamored with the sound of her own voice. Dramatic pauses were her trademark, a technique to drill home her endless expectations.

Of course I have to suspend him, she continued, but I thought it might be beneficial if the two of you made contact today. I’ve told Tommy that he must go for some counseling on a regular basis. She sighed. It probably won’t make much difference because he seems very tight lipped, but maybe you can get him going. Considering this is the first week of school, he’s making quite a statement and we’ve got to nip it in the bud. Her voice rose in pitch. Please do not push him, and whatever you do, don’t keep him too long. His father is on his way over. Well, Miss Barclay? Are you able to see him… or are you too busy?

I noted the impatience in her voice, not to mention the biting sarcasm at my being ‘too busy,’ probably because I took so long to respond to her first call.

I answered immediately.

Sure I’ll see him. Please send him up and I’ll do my best.

I leaned back and sucked in a deep calming breath. To be honest, her conversation unnerved me. I couldn’t figure out why there was such tension between us. Sometimes she was nice and helpful, while on other occasions, she was cold and rude. I also noticed that she didn’t act like this towards anyone else. I was confused.

In general the rest of the staff seemed supportive of my role. Many had voiced their relief in having full time psychological help with the situations they were faced with. However, I got the distinct impression that Mildred Horton did not share their approval. She didn’t seem to think very highly of counselors, or maybe it was just me she disliked. At times I sensed she was disappointed that the board had hired me, especially full time. What a pain it was to deal with an unsupportive boss in my first full-time position.

Previously they had a part-time social worker who had recently moved to South Carolina. Based on her high success rate, she was excellent with troubled students, the school board decided to hire a full-time counselor to meet the rising demands of high schools in general, and the multitude of problems that teenagers face. They were particularly concerned about the upsurge of illegal drugs that were infiltrating schools, and the problems they led to. Rumor had it that Milton’s drug scene had been increasing over the past couple of years.

Expecting Tommy any minute, I leafed through the ninth grade records until I found his. I had read it before, but as I flipped it open to refresh my memory, I found my hands trembling. I smiled, and registered that I was nervous.

This was my very first referral here and it would sure surprise my schoolmates to witness my anxiety. They used to tease me endlessly about how seriously I took my studies and were constantly trying to lure me out to parties. But I’ve always been immersed in my work, could even be classified a workaholic, and would rather read a good psych book then attend another dreary ‘sit around and drink bash.’ Yet here I was, facing my first appointment, and I was nervous. Who would have guessed?

From my previous reading, I knew that Tommy’s father was Reverend Bride, a minister at Main Street Baptist Church. Mrs. Edwards, my landlady, could not stop singing his praises. She used every opportunity that presented itself to tell me how this town adored him, and that his Sunday Service was standing room only.

The note attached to the front of his file saddened me. Tommy’s mother had passed away suddenly, just six short weeks ago, July 26, to be exact. Mrs. Edwards had also mentioned this tragic fact to me, but she seemed in shock and had not gone into any detail. I had decided not to ask for any more information, not wanting to pry.

It was a loss that I had shared as well, my mother having passed away while I was also in high school. Shuffling through Tommy’s file, it was easy for me to summon up all of the grief and confusion I had felt back then. The difference being that my mother had been ill for years and it had been a slow build-up to her death, whereas Tommy’s mother had died quickly and tragically. I’m sure this sad chain of events horrified him.

On a happier note, Tommy’s elementary school files contained glowing reports of his excellent behavior and outstanding marks. He was a straight ‘A’ student and had been happy and well adjusted. His classmates had elected him Student Council President in his eighth grade, a top honor for any young student; however, it was his teacher’s end of the year summary that grabbed my attention.

A Mr. Tremaine had written a detailed report expressing concern that there was a gradual decline in Tommy’s behavior during June, the last month of school. He noticed that Tommy was withdrawn, and where once he was the leader of such games as touch football and baseball he now chose to go off by himself, shunning any overtures of friendship. Often he could be found sitting up against the fence encircling the school playground, staring off into space. Mr. Tremaine ended his written observation by stating that he intended to discuss this matter with Tommy’s parents, however, I couldn’t find any documentation to say how this meeting went, or even if it had taken place.

Excuse me, are you Miss Barclay?

I put the file down and turned to see a small, thin boy, standing at my door. My first impression was that he looked barely old enough to be in the eighth grade, let alone the ninth. He had on an old tattered baseball cap with a shock of white blond hair hanging over one eye. He was extremely disheveled, sporting a torn, dirty white t-shirt and grass-stained, threadbare jeans. Running shoes, caked with mud, completed the picture, however, it was his eyes that stood out as his most prominent feature. They were a brilliant blue tinged with blatant fatigue. It was these tired eyes that aged him for in many ways he looked like an old man who had seen too much of the dark side of life.

Somehow my leaning back to get a good look at Tommy dislodged my chair and knocked it over. I had to jump up quickly or I would have been sent flying back, landing in a huge heap on the floor. Flustered and embarrassed, I picked my chair back up thinking sarcastically that it was a great way to meet my visitor—as a total klutz, and reached out my hand to shake his.

~ * ~

He stared at me, deliberately ignoring the offering of my hand, his small smile of amusement at my antics eventually replaced by a defiant look, as his lips curled up in what could only be termed a snarl. As I slowly withdrew my hand, feeling a bit humiliated at his rejection, my heart went out to this sad, confused boy. I was sure that seeing me was not on his agenda.

Yes, I’m Miss Barclay. I smiled broadly. And you must be Tommy Bride. It’s good to meet you. Come on in and make yourself at home.

Tommy took a few steps forward, then turned and slowly looked around.

I was quite proud of my office, for I had gone to great lengths to create a room that I hoped would appeal to students. I wanted them to feel that this was ‘their’ room, a calm, relaxing place to retreat to when they felt the need.

It was large and comfortable, painted by my own hands a calming forest green. I had been given a small budget to furnish the room and had spent days scouring second-hand shops to purchase several cozy chairs and a slightly worn bright red recliner situated sideways by the window. It afforded a gorgeous view of ‘Old Grover Mountain’ the main tourist attraction here in Paxton, known for its enormous campground that boasted ‘real wildlife experiences’ especially for city slickers. My desk was tucked away in a corner, because I didn’t want it to be the focal point of the room and I wanted to rid the area of any semblance to a cold austere office.

Tommy selected the recliner, and stared out the window. I rolled my chair over, concentrating on securing it so that I wouldn’t flip out again and sat close by, giving him some space. I also snuck a quick look at my pants and was relieved to see that the drying mud seemed to blend right in with their dark color.

I waited to see if he would start talking. Minutes ticked by before I decided it was time to initiate some interaction.

How are you doing, Tommy?

Fine. His eyes never left the window.

Do you know who I am?

Yeah, some kind of counselor lady.

Yes, I am a counselor, Tommy. Just so that you know where I’m coming from, I’m here to listen, not judge. I paused. I just want to help.

His voice rose in anger. I don’t need any help. There’s nothing wrong with me.

I continued to speak quietly, aware that I was treading on private territory. I was hoping to disarm him, calm him down, and encourage him to share his feelings.

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with you. Mrs. Horton just felt that you are having a tough time.

Well, I’m not. I’m fine. His eyes left the window for a minute, but only to glare at me. He then turned back, trying to impress upon me his complete lack of interest in this conversation.

The Principal said that you’re in some kind of trouble.

So what?

Can you talk about it?

Nope. He rolled his eyes. Certainly not to you.

He was calm, almost too calm. It was a controlled stillness, adopted I assume to hold all of his emotions in check and come across that he was ‘all-together.’ It was obvious that he didn’t want anyone near his protected inner sanctum but I was still convinced that deep down he was a frightened, confused little boy. The fact that he was facing a school suspension, and the knowledge that his dad was coming would shake anyone to the core. Especially when your dad was the town’s revered and respected Reverend.

I also knew that I was getting nowhere.

I was not reaching him.

I decided to keep on trying, this time a little more bluntly.

Why did you break the windows Tommy?

Dunno.

I tried again.

What was your motive?

Didn’t have one.

What were you feeling?

Nuthin.

I then decided to take a stab at what I thought was the real root of Tommy’s sadness and acting out behavior. I had nothing to lose by trying.

Tommy, I understand that your mother passed away recently.

Clearly startled, he turned to look at me and for the first time, a flicker of emotion passed through his eyes.

You must miss her.

Still staring, he replied. Nope, don’t even think of her.

His eyes told a different story however; tears were welling up and he turned his head to hide them.

I had definitely touched a sore spot.

Gently I responded, Tommy, I want you to know that I am always here if you ever need to talk. I paused for a moment immersed in a private dilemma, deciding how much to share. I decided to just go for it.

I lost my mother as well when I was not much older than you.

I was always leery about sharing information about myself, as it was difficult to know if it would help or hinder. But I felt that in this situation it would be beneficial, for Tommy might be able to feel that I could relate to him, even in a small way, due to the fact that we had something significant in common.

I continued on, She died of cancer, when I was seventeen.

I waited a second to see if he would react. He didn’t move a muscle, but my counselor radar sensed that he was listening intently.

No one ever knows exactly how someone else feels, but I do know how hard it was for me. It would be my guess that you are going through a really difficult time right now.

He turned and stared again. For the first time I felt that I was glimpsing the intelligent, sensitive, well-spoken young man that I had read about in his files.

Quietly he said, You don’t know the half of it.

To my surprise he jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room, visibly agitated. He shouted, NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING! NOT A THING! ARE THEY ALL BLIND? MY MOTHER DIDN’T DIE FROM NATURAL CAUSES LIKE EVERYONE THINKS SHE DID, SHE WAS… His words stopped abruptly, his pacing as well.

She was what, Tommy?

I held my breath.

His walls shot back up. He sat down and turned once again