Silent as the Grave: Sloane Monroe Series, #0

By Cheryl Bradshaw

Enter the life of private investigator Sloane Monroe as she investigates her first murder mystery.

 

38-year-old Rebecca Barlow drops her son off at her parents' home, promising to return by five. Five comes and goes. Then six. Then seven. Worried, Rebecca's parents try calling. There is no answer. They call her friends. They haven't heard from her either. It seems no one has.

 

As concern for Rebecca heightens, her father drives to their lake house, a place where Rebecca has been staying. Her car is spotted in the driveway. Inside the house, her purse has been left on the kitchen table. But Rebecca is nowhere in sight.

 

The following morning, Rebecca's naked body is found floating in the lake and questions abound. Did she drown by accident, or is something far more sinister behind the cause of her death?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pixie Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393166276

Cheryl Bradshaw

Born and raised in Southern California, Cheryl Bradshaw became interested in writing at a young age, but it was almost two decades before she put pen to paper. In 2009 Bradshaw wrote Black Diamond Death (Book One: Sloane Monroe series). Within six weeks it entered the top 100 in two different categories and remained in the top 100 for over a year. Since that time, Bradshaw has written three additional novels in the series, and is now hard at work on the fourth. In 2013, Bradshaw introduced a new pranormal thriller series: Addison Lockhart, the first book titled Grayson Manor Haunting. Bradshaw is the founder of IWU on Facebook, a writers group with over 1,800 members. In August 2012, Bradshaw was named one of Twitter's seven best authors to follow.

Book preview

Prologue

Even as a young girl I was aware of the darkness that would haunt me throughout my life.

– Rebecca Barlow, June 2007

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Rebecca Barlow dangled her legs over the edge of the dock and stared into the horizon, her mind heavy, troubled by a sense of unrest. She dipped her big toe into the water, swirled it around, and stared at a row of pine trees on the opposite side of the lake. The trees swayed in the summer breeze like they didn’t have a care in the world, something she wished to emulate but couldn’t.

At thirty-eight years of age, Rebecca assumed she’d have life all figured out by now. The truth was, she was far from it. Her life was a mess, and the harder she worked to put it together, the messier it became. The first part of the year hit a high note with a surprising romance. The guy had showered her with gifts and affection, and she felt something she hadn’t in years—hope. All hope was dashed in an instant when he delivered an ultimatum, one which forced her to make an impossible choice.

Rebecca pulled her knees into her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and let the tears flow as the memories of a night she wished she could forget flooded back to her. The last argument they’d had seemed more like a nightmare than a reality. But it was reality, her reality, and she’d lived with the harsh slap of his rejection ever since.

A trio of ducks waded along the water, a pleasant diversion to Rebecca’s unpleasant thoughts. She sat up, reached into her shorts pocket, and pulled out a note she planned to leave on his windshield the next morning. She unfolded it and scanned its contents. The note was perfect, every word selected with care. Once he read it, she was sure he’d realize they were meant to be together no matter what the cost.

He would realize it, wouldn’t he?

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Rebecca’s face, courtesy of the warm summer day. She wiped it off and slipped the note back inside her pocket. Then she stood up, stripped off her shirt and shorts, and did something she hadn’t planned on doing until now. She dove into the lake. Moments later she resurfaced, shivering, having realized the water was a lot colder than she’d anticipated.

Rebecca reached for the wood planks of the dock to pull herself out of the water and froze when her eyes came to rest on a pair of black shoes. Men’s shoes. She was no longer alone. Eyes blurred with water, she squeezed them shut and back open again and glanced up. Before she could identify the uninvited guest, a hand clamped onto her head and pressed down, forcing her back underwater.

Rebecca’s arms and legs flailed about, desperate to find a way back to the surface again. Her attacker was far stronger than she was, and no matter how much she writhed to release herself from his grip, she couldn’t break free. As the air left her lungs, she held her breath and tried to force her oxygen-deprived mind to think of a way to stay alive.

Think, Rebecca!

Don’t give up!

The man fisted a hand around her long, dark hair and yanked her out of the water. She sucked what little air she could into her burning lungs, and then he plunged her beneath the water again. She opened her mouth to scream, but she could scream all she wanted—it wouldn’t change a thing. No one would hear her even if she did, and this time, he showed no sign of letting up.

1

Three Months Later

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After our third loop around the park, I looked at Lord Berkeley, a.k.a. Boo, and said, Time for a break, okay?

He looked up at me, confused. I bent down and scooped him into my arms. There was a bench nearby, and I intended to take full advantage of it before sundown. Boo settled in next to me, and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, breathing in the cool breeze. Fall was my favorite time of year in Park City. The start of Utah’s ski season was still a couple of months away, and the locals were out and about, mingling and enjoying each other’s company.

Cute dog. What’s his name?

I opened my eyes, removed my sunglasses, and glanced up. A tall man of sizable girth sat on the bench next to me, his eyes fixed on Boo. He was retirement age, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and had a thick mane of silver hair.

Lord Berkeley, I said. I call him Boo for short.

How old?

He’s still a puppy. I got him a few months ago.

The man stuck out his hand. I’m Ernest.

I’m Sloane.

Your puppy … he’s a Westie, right?

I nodded. Do you have any pets?

One, a golden retriever named Whiskey. He’s too old to walk around the park, I’m afraid. Ernest stared at the ground and added, I inherited Whiskey a few months back after my daughter passed away.

Oh? I’m sorry to hear it.

Yeah, me too. Been walking here and there almost every day to clear my head. Don’t know what it is about nature, but it helps put my mind at ease. It’s a remedy of sorts, I guess. You live around here?

Not far. I’m just outside the city in Jordanelle. What about you?

My house is a few minutes away. What line of work are you in if you don’t mind me asking?

He asked a lot of questions for a person I’d just met, but the recent loss of his daughter prompted me to indulge him.

I’m a private investigator, I said.

He leaned back and rubbed a hand over his chin. Private eye, eh? What sort of cases do you take?

All kinds.

You, uhh … you hear about the woman who died at Moss Lake a few months back?

The Barlow woman, yes.

Rebecca. She was my daughter.

Rebecca Barlow hadn’t been much older than I was when she died. From what I’d read in the paper, she was a free spirit who hadn’t held down the same job for more than a year in her entire life. Some speculated she’d killed herself. Others thought her death was an accident and she’d drowned. Others still were certain she’d been murdered. Either way, the mystery surrounding her death was the current hot topic of gossip around the city.

I heard the police are still investigating what happened to your daughter, I said.

Yep. Seems they’re in disagreement over it. Chief believes it could have been a homicide, but without more evidence, the lead detective isn’t so sure.

The lead detective … Drake Cooper?

He nodded. Yep, that’s the one.

Detective Drake Cooper, who went by Coop to those who knew him well, had a glass-half-empty personality and uttered every thought as soon as it entered his mind, no matter how crass. He once told me the reason a person became a private