Secrets of Magnolia Falls

By Tonia Johnson

When Emelia Avery's grandfather dies, leaving her the sole heir to his estate, she makes a trip to the small Georgia town of Magnolia Falls to learn more about the man she never knew. She quickly discovers her grandfather was the prime suspect in the murder of a young girl many years before.

With the help of a handsome white cop, Emelia tries to clear her grandfather's name. Uncovering secrets long buried, Emelia puts herself in danger and the life of the man she's come to love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Lotus Publishing
• Release date: Jul 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781498974844

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

There are moments in life when you just know that big change is happening. Maybe you’re leaving your current job for a brand new career, or packing up your things to move across the world. More often than not, these decisions are well thought out, but seem to culminate in a single moment that you remember for the rest of your life. You plan ahead of time and are wholly prepared when the time comes to say goodbye to your old office or board the plane. You’re aware of the fact that this is the moment that things are about to become completely and unmistakably different.

These shifts in life are just part of growing up and evolving as a human being. These choices are all part of the natural progression of things, and you fully expect them to have an impact on you.

I was always looking out for the opportunity to make these major decisions in my life. I was waiting for a big change to come along and sweep me off my feet or dramatically alter my perception of the world around me. I never even gave a second thought to the fact that it could actually be the smallest of changes, one that happened gradually over time without me even realizing it, that really had the power to turn my life upside down.

I'd been married to Mark for seven years. When I'd first met him he was in medical school, studying to become a doctor. Now, he was a resident at the local hospital, specializing in neurology. During the first couple of years of our marriage, I was certain that I loved him and that he felt the same about me. If someone would have told me that seven years in I would be indifferent toward my husband, I wouldn't have believed them. I wouldn't have believed that it was possible to not care about whether or not he spent hours at work, or even if he came home some nights with someone else's smell on his clothing. Falling out of love with him was one of those gradual changes that happened over time, so small and slow that I didn't even realize it was happening at all.

It might seem silly or insignificant, but I knew that things were falling apart when he started calling me Emilia. That's my name, of course, but in the beginning Mark would always refer to me as Em. He would say it with such affection, and such warmth, that I could tell that he loved me. In the end, though, he began using my full name. It sounded so cold, like a stranger, and it made me painfully aware of the notion that he was, in fact, a stranger now.

I was only twenty at the time of our wedding, which had been held at the country club where his parents were members. I'd always wanted a church wedding, with lilies draped along the pews and bridesmaids dressed in pink silk sun dresses. Mark's mother, Adele, had pictured the wedding to be more of a sophisticated affair, however. She arranged for orchids and roses to be delivered to the country club and placed in ornate arrangements around the outdoor aisle. My bridesmaids wore elegant black evening gowns, and they arranged for a justice of the peace to officiate the ceremony, because Mark's mom didn't want to offend anyone with a denominational priest.

Much of our marriage went according to her wishes as well. She would visit our home whenever she liked, and was wholeheartedly disappointed when I didn't get pregnant with her first grandchild within the first year of our marriage. She also didn't agree with the fact that I wasn't on speaking terms with my parents, whom I hadn't seen for a number of years. Adele thought that being raised by my grandmother may lead people to believe that my parents were somehow unfit and undesirable, so she encouraged me to not mention anything about my upbringing at social events. She told me that less people knew about a person's history, the better, because idle gossip was something that had the potential to permanently harm the family's reputation.

I don't think that she was particularly fond of the idea that I was black, either. She would often make remarks about it being a good thing that I was light-skinned. She wasn't overtly racist in public. Her prejudice was reserved for behind closed doors. There was one occasion when Adele even commented on how she thought that if Mark and I had children, that they would probably turn out okay because he was so pale and I wasn't too dark.

At first, I would often complain to Mark about his mother. I would tell him how uncomfortable she made me feel, but he didn't do anything about it. I think it was because he was afraid of her, more than he was afraid of me leaving him because of what she said and did. Throughout our entire marriage I was completely aware of the fact that he would have chosen his mother over me, or his job over me, or even that other woman he was seeing over me. I knew that I was near the bottom of his list of choices, especially toward the end, and I just couldn't live my life like that anymore. I was tired of being the afterthought.

One day when Mark was working late yet again, I packed up my things and went to stay with my friend, Lucy, who lived nearby. She had always said that I had a room at her house if I ever needed one, and I took her up on her offer. Adele was more upset about my moving out than Mark was. She called me several times, emphasizing the fact that I was blemishing the family name by separating from her son and that I was making the rumor mill circulate faster than she'd seen in quite some time. I told her that I wasn't happy with Mark, and she replied that marriage wasn't about happiness, but commitment and sacrifice. She tried to talk me into coming back, but I had no intention of living with Mark again.

A week or two after the divorce was finalized, I began writing my first novel. I'd always had a passion for writing, but had never really tried my hand at penning anything longer than a short story or a poem. I couldn't stop writing now, however, and would rush home every day from the department store where I worked at the perfume counter in order to work on another chapter of my manuscript. I'd lock myself away in my bedroom at my friend's house, and I would dive into the world I had created. Within my small page-filled world, the heroine was always in love, and the man who had won her affection was never undeserving. I wrapped myself up in my words, and was able to finish the novel in just a month.

Lucy encouraged me to send it off after she'd read it over. She said that it was better than some of the things she'd picked up at the book store, and that I should at least try to see if any publishers might want to take it on. I sent it off to about a hundred literary agents, until one gave me a call and said that she wanted to