Love in the Dark

By Wendy Dalrymple

The sleepy town of Vista, Tennessee is preparing for the total solar eclipse, and its newest resident, Julia Lowe, is trying to blot out her own sordid past. When she and handsome handyman Deacon McLeod discover the bodies of two murder victims, it binds them together — and forces them to face their demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: May 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094418292

Wendy Dalrymple

Wendy Dalrymple crafts highly consumable, short and sweet romances inspired by everyday people. When she’s not writing happily-ever-afters, you can find her camping with her family, painting (bad) wall art, and trying to grow as many pineapples as possible. Keep up with Wendy at www.wendydalrymple.com!

Book preview

Chapter One

Julia Lowe found the first body just outside of the rental cabin; the lifeless, bloody remains draped over the side of the Swedish hot tub. Steam rose from the heated spa water, illuminated by the early morning sunlight as a cool breeze spilled down from the misty mountain ridge carrying the smell of death to her nostrils. Her tote bag and cleaning supplies fell to her feet as Julia gagged and covered her silent scream with gloved hands. Her eyes widened, taking in every terrifying inch of the scene — the man’s waxy, dangling hand to the pinkish color of the bubbling chlorinated water. By all accounts, it should have been a beautiful summer morning in Vista, Tennessee, if not for the horror unfolding in front of her.

The back sliding door stood open, ominous and dark and unnerving. The usually peaceful property was silent with the exception of the soft gurgle of water and a happy chirp of an oblivious warbler in the trees. Her instincts told her to run, that nothing good would be found inside the cabin. Though her legs struggled to move, she forced herself to venture into the space. Julia knew she would never be able to forgive herself if she was too terrified to do anything and there was someone inside who needed help.

Julia didn’t even make it over the threshold before the smell hit her square in the nose. She was already too late to help. A woman — likely the wife of the deceased man in the hot tub — lay sprawled on the living room floor next to an overturned chair. The woman’s hand cradled the blood-splattered receiver, clawlike and frozen. The smell in the living room was just as putrid as outside, only more concentrated.

The Rainiers. They should have left yesterday.

A smattering of oak leaves littered the cabin floor, along with a muddy, boot-tread footprint that — under normal circumstances — Julia would have been quick to mop up. As she stood in the doorway, petrified, taking in the scene, she surmised that poor Mrs. Rainier and her husband must have been dead for days. Vista Vacation Rentals promised bucolic tranquility, easy elegance, and total seclusion at their five-star cabins. Apparently for the Rainiers that seclusion came at a price.

Julia’s legs were made of lead as she stood there firmly planted to the wooden deck, helplessly surveying the horror movie scene that played out before her. Subconsciously, she took in every last detail of the room from Mrs. Rainier’s ripped nightdress to the slightly askew painting of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the back wall. After what seemed like an eternity, Julia finally exhaled and willed her dead legs to work.

Phone. Car. Need to get to my car and call the police.

With her legs mostly cooperating, Julia turned on her heels and stumbled out the way she’d came, propelled by pure adrenaline. She tried not to look back at the corpse of Mr. Rainier in the boiling hot tub as she rounded the corner to the front of the rental house where she’d parked. She was so focused on escaping the waking nightmare that she didn’t register the soft footsteps on the deck headed her way. She collided face-first into a very broad set of shoulders.

Julia braced and let out a scream, her fists held high and ready for a fight. She was fully prepared to punch and scratch and attack whoever was in her way when a deep, honeyed voice she knew all too well yelled back in surprise. Julia clutched her chest and gasped as she registered the familiar blue work shirt, the kind hazel green eyes, and soft features of the Vista Vacation Rentals handyman that she had admired from afar so many times before.

Deacon! she said, her voice a ragged, gasping sigh. They’re dead. They’re all dead.

Section Break

Julia never suspected that she would someday move to a small town. Vista was the kind of place where everyone went to church on Sunday, everyone knew everyone else, and generations could be traced back to time-weathered headstones that predated the civil war. The nearest movie theater was in the next town over, and fine dining was relegated to a single Italian restaurant in the center of town. Vista was a blip on the map where just about anyone could disappear into the foothills without a trace.

As a little girl growing up in the hot and dusty, pine-scrub backwoods of Punta Gorda, Florida, Julia always knew that she wanted something more for herself. Her situation was not uncommon. She’d been born into a family on the brink of poverty. Julia was one of many siblings, left to eke out whatever she needed for herself from everyday necessities to the tiniest bit of attention. Boredom and neglect pushed Julia to dream of better than the hand she had been dealt. The urge to run had coursed through her veins.

On do-nothing Saturday nights, Julia and her siblings would lay in their backyard and stare up at the stars through the power lines overhead and manifest visions of skyscrapers and cafés, expensive shoes and fancy cars. In the summer she would scratch at mosquito bites and wish to live somewhere far, far from her oppressive rural home. In the winter, she would pick the sand spurs from her socks and curse under her breath as the briars pricked her fingers and caused her to bleed. Julia counted the weeks and days until she was old enough to go somewhere better. Somewhere clean and fast and full of life.

And so, it was on that hot July morning, faced with death and the prospect of her past catching up with her, that Julia remembered why she had stayed in Vista in the first place. Deacon McLeod was one of the nicest perks her new surroundings had to offer besides the anonymities that she so badly needed. She had only originally planned to stop through the little Appalachian town on her way to Canada while her car was fixed, but Deacon’s easy smile and reassuring voice, somehow, had inspired her to stay. It didn’t hurt that he pointed her in the direction of an okay-paying job and a free place to live just when her savings had started to dwindle. No. Deacon McLeod wasn’t the only reason to stay in Vista, but he was a pretty good one.

What’s wrong? he asked, his hands still planted firmly on her shoulders.

The Rainiers. The urge to heave suddenly took over. Julia’s legs once again refused to work as shock began to consume her in waves.

Deacon looked up from her shuddering form toward the hot tub as the gravity of the situation finally hit. His features turned to ash as he took in the same scene that Julia had discovered only moments before.

Oh my God, he whispered.

Who could do such a thing? she said in between sobs.

Come on. He wrapped his arms around her. Let’s go wait in my truck. We need to call the police.

Julia shook her head as panic constricted her lungs and spread from her chest, edging its way up her neck. Finding two dead bodies was already stressful and traumatic enough but speaking to the police was sure to be worse for her. All it would take was a little bit of digging around by investigators and Julia’s anonymity would be compromised. She had moved to the mountains to become invisible, to blend into the landscape and disappear. Speaking to the police would be risky; running from a murder scene simply wasn’t a good idea either.

As she sat in the passenger seat of Deacon’s truck, the shock of coming face-to-face with death, and the realization that she might soon have to leave her beloved new little mountain town, truly set in. Julia sucked a breath deep into her lungs as she watched Deacon through the windshield while he spoke to an emergency operator on the phone. As his authoritative baritone relayed the scene in detail, Julia’s heart rate and breathing finally began to slow.

In the six months since she had been in Vista, Julia had hoped to somehow see the inside of Deacon’s truck, though certainly not under the present circumstances. His cab smelled of leather and red Tennessee clay, with a distinct musty undercurrent of menthol cigarettes. A photo of a smiling little girl with dark hair and two missing front teeth peeked back at her from the dash: seven-year-old Grace, his daughter, no doubt. A Tennessee Titans air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, and an empty coffee cup from the Gas N’ Go on Highway 411 sat full, still steaming, in the cupholder. She collected all of this information, and more, about the handyman as she waited for him to get off the phone, all while trying to push the image of Mr. Rainier’s bloated corpse from her mind.

Police will be here in about a half an hour, Deacon said, sliding behind the wheel of his truck. Said we should stay put.

Julia nodded. Takes everyone a half hour to get up this mountain, I suppose. She exhaled deeply.

You gonna be okay? He tapped a Newport Light loose from a pack.

He offered one of the menthol cigarettes in her direction. Julia shook her head. I’ll be fine, she lied. No thanks.

I’m trying to quit, he said, motioning to the picture of his daughter. Grace doesn’t like it when I smoke. After that…. He was silent for a moment. I think I need one though.

I don’t blame you, she said, shivering.

This gonna bother you? He rolled down his window. "I can step