Witch Hunt

By Carol C. Morgan

As bestselling novelist Rebecca Spencer, trying to put an ugly divorce behind her, prepares to move back home to Texas, she receives a letter from her high school nemesis, Catrina Sullivan, now on Texas death row for the brutal murder of her 3-year old daughter. What could she possibly want??? Rebecca tosses the letter in a desk drawer and forgets about it. As she is settling back into life in the small East Texas town of Oleander, and struggling against her growing attraction to her high school sweetheart, Sheriff Russell Jareau, Rebecca decides to read Catrina’s letter, only to find that it’s a plea for help. “My appeals are running out. You’re the only one I can trust.” Why me??? Rebecca wonders. How can I be the only one you can trust??? And trust with what???

Curiosity wins out and Rebecca visits Catrina who vehemently denies her guilt. She wants Rebecca to research her case, write her story, and hopefully find something that will exonerate her. Skeptical and unsympathetic, Rebecca agrees to listen to her story, only to come away with growing doubts about Catrina’s guilt. Against everyone’s advice, she begins to delve into the heinous murder, and Catrina’s warning comes back to haunt her:

“Be careful. As long as I’m in here with the world thinking I’m guilty, the killer is safe. When you start asking questions, somebody might get worried.”

Soon somebody is very worried. People Rebecca interview about the crime begin to die. As the body count rises, she narrowly escapes one attempt on her own life ... and it won’t be the last.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664131767

Carol C. Morgan

Carol Corinne Morgan has published several previous novels. She spent many years researching death penalty issues and one case in particular that caught and held her interest. Witch Hunt, a fiction novel, is the result of that research. Carol is a native Texan now residing in the Kansas City area.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

T he same morning that Rebecca Spencer’s latest book reached number ten on the New York Times best seller list, she dropped into her husband’s office with an autographed copy for his secretary and to invite him to lunch to celebrate. Kenneth Grant was sitting at his desk, fly unzipped, with Tamsin’s curly blonde head bobbing up and down in his lap.

As her book jumped to number nine and steadily climbed to number seven, then number five, Rebecca was mired down with the divorce proceedings and struggling to decide whether to stay in New York or go back home to Texas. Then there was the last minute sorting and packing and tossing out reminders of a marriage gone bad, and she didn’t realize until Ruth Goldfarb at McKewn-Williams Publishing called, that The Last Dying Breath had arrived at number one.

Rebecca listened to Ruth’s shrieks of excitement while imagining that Kenneth was slow roasting on a spit at one of those luaus in Hawaii where he and Tamsin were honeymooning. It was after the call ended that reality hit her. It was a dream come true to reach number one on the New York Times bestseller list, but she was too depressed to enjoy her triumph.

Moving back to the small East Texas town of Oleander was not what she had envisioned for her life, but she wasn’t sure she could afford to keep the elegant apartment in New York and all the trappings of their old lifestyle. And quite frankly, she needed a change of scenery. McKewn-Williams was already nagging at her to start another book, but the divorce had drained her mentally and emotionally and left her paralyzed by writer’s block. She was grateful that she hadn’t gotten around to selling the house in Texas that Aunt Lorene left her when she died a year ago. She could go back there to hole up for a while and lick her wounds.

The letter arrived in the afternoon mail, unobtrusive amongst the credit card bills, catalogues and magazines. She almost tossed it in the trash until she noticed the return address in the upper left corner.

Catrina Sullivan???

Since their high school days, Catrina Sullivan née Ainsley had gone from blonde bombshell cheerleader, to affluent suburban housewife, to poster child for heinous murderers. Rebecca recalled with a shudder the picture of three year old Madeleine Theresa Sullivan, her green-gold eyes shining with innocence from the television screen as the brutal details of her murder was broadcast into every home in America. There had been allegations about a rocky marriage, financial problems, and a life insurance policy. Then, two weeks later, Catrina was arrested. That was nine years ago. Another lifetime for Rebecca.

She vaguely recalled her sister Janine mentioning that Catrina’s case was being reviewed by the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, whatever that meant. So what was Catrina doing? Writing letters to everyone she’d ever snubbed? Getting ready to meet her Maker? Rebecca tossed the unopened letter into her desk drawer and continued packing. The movers would arrive at eight the next morning and her flight to Houston was at noon.

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Oleander, Texas was a quaint town that had already settled in for the night when Rebecca arrived a little after eight p.m. The neighborhoods were lavishly decorated for Halloween although it was only the first week of October. Tombstones rose up in yards. Spider webs stretched across porches, and skeletons dangled from eaves. Jack-o-lanterns glowed eerily on porch railings. One house had an elaborate life-sized witch on a broom silhouetting against the moonlit sky, wired cleverly between two chimneys on the roof.

Aunt Lorene’s house was a Queen Anne Victorian, ochre colored, with a wide porch across the front and a turret room on one side. The backyard sloped down to a line of thick woods. A fence enclosed the yard, and a detached garage sagged at the end of the gravel driveway.

Rebecca saw curtains parting and felt eyes watching her as she parked the rental car in the driveway and walked up on the porch. Unless things had changed drastically, and she was sure they hadn’t, gossip about her divorce would cancel out the triumph of her bestseller.

She locked the door against the chilly October night and wandered through the house. Janine had dusted and polished and had everything in ship shape order, complete with a bottle of Chardonnay in a shiny new wine chiller. Rebecca would have preferred frozen margaritas and glanced into the freezer hopefully. No margaritas. Still, it was the thought that counted.

She loved this old house and felt a twinge of regret at the thought of selling it. The few pieces of furniture she was keeping would arrive on Thursday. Kenneth and Tamsin could deal with the rest when they returned from Hawaii. Her desk and credenza and voluminous book collection would go in the downstairs turret room, and her sofa, favorite chair, and a few pieces of artwork would go in the living room.

The first day of the rest of my life, she yawned, I’m thirty-two, single again, and at 8:45, all I want to do is go to sleep.

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Rebecca woke to the smell of coffee the next morning. It was eight o’clock. She stretched and yawned and looked around. The familiarity enveloped her like a warm cocoon. It felt good to be here while she got her life back on track. It would just take time, something she certainly had plenty of. She pulled on jeans and a sweater and opened her laptop to check her email, wanting to postpone facing Janine’s good intentions. Finally the coffee smelled too good to ignore.

She surveyed herself in the mirror. Her shoulder length raven hair needed an all-over trim. Her jeans were baggy and the navy blue sweater was dowdy. Losing twenty pounds was the one good thing to come of the divorce. She would go shopping and drop in at Ramona’s Beauty Oasis. That way she could put off worrying about a new book.

Rebecca, your breakfast is getting cold! Janine called up the stairs.

I’m on my way! She dabbed on a bit of eye shadow and mascara and went downstairs.

Violet was sitting at the table in the kitchen with strawberry jam smeared around her mouth. Janine was washing dishes at the sink. Aunt Lorene had not trusted a dishwasher to get the dishes clean. Rebecca decided she would have one installed. It would add to the value when she sold the house.

You look mostly pretty, Aunt Rebecca, Violet told her, seeming surprised.

Thank you, sweetie. She found a clean spot on the little girl’s face and kissed her.

When you came to Aunt Lorene’s funeral, you looked like warmed over dog poop.

Violet! Janine’s cheeks flushed.

Well, you said so, Mommy.

Thanks a lot, Janine. Rebecca hugged her sister. I didn’t know I looked that bad.

Well, you were going through a rough time. Janine held her at arm’s length to study her. Are you okay now? It’s still rough, huh?

It’s getting better.

Janine poured coffee and set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. My goodness, you’re absolutely skinny now. Those baggy jeans and sweater swallow you. Violet goes to afternoon kindergarten at eleven. I’ll drop her off, then you and I can go shopping and have lunch.

That sounds like fun. In the meantime, I’ll stop in at the Beauty Oasis.

It’s not the Beauty Oasis anymore, Janine said. It’s the Maison de Beauté now … even got that little slanted thingy over the ‘e.’ Ramona Satterwhite sold it to a …. Janine fluttered her hands helplessly.

A what? Rebecca bit off a piece of bacon. One of those nationwide chains?

No, actually she sold it to a … ah, homosexual hairdresser … if you can believe.

At least you didn’t say the ‘Q’ word.

I am a progressive woman. I swear, Rebecca, you haven’t lost that caustic tongue of yours!

That’s because I feel caustic most of the time. A gay hairdresser in Oleander, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it. It felt good to smile. Maybe there’s hope for this place yet.

CHAPTER TWO

S arabeth Langtry was just leaving Maison de Beauté with her short brown curls freshly highlighted. She greeted Rebecca with a warm smile. She was Catrina Sullivan’s older sister and, according to Janine, they had been estranged since Catrina went to prison. Gwen Faust, a high school acquaintance, was under a dryer having her own highlights refreshed. She was Mrs. James Laird now, one of the clique of soccer moms who sported the muddy brown tans of a tanning bed and wore diamond tennis bracelets with their designer jeans. All of which reminded Rebecca of the letter from Catrina. What had she done with it? She should find it and read it.

We heard you were back in town, Gwen said. What a tragedy about your divorce. How are you holding up?

It’s behind me now.

A tall, elegantly handsome young man in slim jeans and a pink t-shirt came in from the back. His blond hair was below shoulder length, pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck with a silver Scrunchie.

Mr. Wainwright, Gwen said, this is Rebecca Grant.

Spencer, Rebecca corrected. It’s my maiden name and my pen name. I’ve taken it back legally since the divorce.

Well, Spencer, then. She’s our hometown hero, a bestselling author. But she’s going through a traumatic time. Her husband, can you believe, walked out on her and married his nineteen year old secretary!

I’m sure it was his loss. Ryq dismissed Gwen’s catty remark. The august ladies of Oleander feel that they must call me Mister, he grinned mischievously, to distinguish, I suppose. But I hope you will call me Ryq. I’ve read your book. I loved it. I must get you to autograph my copy.

Thanks, I’ll be glad to. This was too good to be true. No wonder prim and provincial Janine had seemed so abashed. Well, Ryq, I don’t have an appointment, but I really need something done with my hair.

Girl, that is an understatement! He grimaced in mock horror. You’ve totally neglected these lovely raven tresses, he touched her bangs diffidently, "and I know you did not do this to yourself."

I’m afraid I did trim the bangs a little.

And used a hacksaw, I believe.

Nail scissors, actually.

Laying his wrist against his forehead, Ryq swooned out of the cubicle, paused to test Gwen’s hair under the dryer, and returned a few moments later with two cups of cappuccino. He handed one to Rebecca and the other to Gwen.

As you can see, I’ve added a bit of panache to the establishment.

Much needed panache, I’d say.

Alright, Rebecca, let’s get you shampooed, and we’ll set things right. I’m thinking longish layers just brushing your shoulders, he looked her over critically, and definitely a manicure and pedicure.

While he shampooed her hair he explained that Ramona Satterwhite’s arthritis had worsened so that she decided to sell her shop. Desolate after a broken relationship, he answered her ad, and even though she thought him ‘a tad bit funny,’ he reminded her of Lucille Yerby’s nephew who was a total dear, so she sold the business to him.

You remember Rhett Yerby, don’t you, Rebecca? Gwen asked. He had naked Greek statues in his apartment. I think he opened a florist shop in Austin.

I didn’t know that, Rebecca said.

Since you went off to college and got married and all, you haven’t kept up much with us home folks. You’ve only come home what? Once in thirteen years? Why, you hardly know your niece and nephews. Titus Jr. was barely two when you left.

Yes, I regret that.

You do know that Russell Jareau and Portia Fremont are divorced?

Janine may have mentioned it.

Rebecca and Russ were quite an item in high school, she told Ryq, her pale blue eyes gleaming maliciously, but Portia took him away from her.

Ryq made a soft meowing noise under his breath. Portia was my first client here in Oleander. Alright, let me get my snippies and we’ll soon have you looking divine.

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You look wonderful, Janine said over lunch at Millie’s Hometown Café. Mr. Wainwright does good hair. It was Portia, you know, who opened the doors for him around here. She put her stamp of approval on him, and others soon followed.

Ryq said she was his first client.

I can tell you, it was scary at first. I still feel kind of weird around him. But we realized how dreary and old fashioned Ramona was.

He’s refreshing. This place could stand a bit of shaking up.

Oh please! We had all the shaking up a decent town needs nine years ago. Janine shuddered exaggeratedly. Catrina, you know. Oleander was on nationwide television!

That reminds me ….

Look who just walked in. As Rebecca started to look, Janine swatted her arm. Don’t turn around! It’s Russ. He gets better looking every year. He was a real knock out in high school, remember?

I’d rather not remember. Rebecca was tempted to turn around but contented herself with a bite of fried okra instead.

You were head over heels in love with him, and ….

And Portia took him away from me, as Gwen reminded me this morning.

That was just ugly! Gwen hasn’t changed since high school.

You know, Janine, it seems like nobody ever changes much after high school. There’s a whole adult world out there.

Well, but you’re back now. You’re absolutely stunning, all slender and sexy, with your new hair style and those new jeans and sweater. Now that Russ is single again, maybe ….

Don’t go there, Janine!

Russ is Sheriff of Uriah County now, you know. Randy Bueller retired last year and Russ was elected.

How nice for him. Rebecca caught an oblique glimpse of Russ as he was shown to his table. Janine was right. He had gotten even better looking over the years. Now, listen, I was trying to tell you something really weird that happened.

Oh, alright, Janine sighed. But you’ve got to start thinking about the future. Kenneth turned out to be a despicable asshole, but you’ve got a whole new chance at life, and ….

I got a letter from Catrina.

Janine’s mouth fell open. Well, why on earth did she write to you?

I don’t know. It came the other day while I was in the middle of packing.

What did she say?

I don’t know. I didn’t open it.

Are you going to?

I don’t even remember what I did with it.

She wrote to Sarabeth a few times after she went to prison, but Sarabeth couldn’t deal with it. She was heartbroken, she loved her baby sister so much. She’d been real fragile before that after having several miscarriages. She and Jack adopted Catrina’s son after Drew died.

That’s heartbreaking.

Well, Catrina deserved what she got. I hope you’ve got better sense than to get involved with her.

We were never friends. She and her little clique went out of their way to make quite a few girls miserable.

CHAPTER THREE

T he moving van arrived as Rebecca was pouring her first cup of coffee. It was threatening rain so they made haste in unloading her things. By noon she had everything rearranged and in its place. It was then she remembered Catrina Sullivan’s letter. She had tossed it in the top drawer of her desk. Now that she was settled in, she was curious why Catrina had written to her. She went upstairs to get the desk key.

Janine arrived then with sandwiches for lunch. There was no getting away from it. Time alone was a rare commodity in Oleander. Janine meant well, but she had always been the extrovert and could not understand anyone wanting to spend any time alone. Rebecca slipped the unopened letter back in the drawer to read later. She didn’t want to share it with her sister until she had read it herself. Janine was also a charter member of the Oleander grapevine!

It was almost three when Janine left. On her way out, she invited Rebecca to supper. I thought maybe I could invite Russ too. Wouldn’t that be fun?

Don’t you dare, Janine. I’m serious.

But don’t you want to get back in the swing of things?

I have just come through a really ugly divorce and I’m not interested in getting into that kind of swing right now. Or maybe ever.

But you have to sometime. Janine looked perplexed. She and Titus Harper were unabashedly happy in their marriage. You know what they say about getting back up on a horse after you’ve been thrown?

If Kenneth was a horse, maybe I’d feel differently. No, Janine. I would like to spend the evening alone. I’ve got a pitcher of frozen margaritas in the fridge and a new book to start writing.

You can’t just write all the time.

Yes, I can. It’s how I make my living. And I love it. Now, goodbye.

She closed the door gently and firmly. Janine turned the knob and stuck her head back in. Did you find that letter from Catrina yet? What did she say?

Rebecca felt her cheeks flush. She was not a very good liar and especially not to her older sister. I forgot all about it.

You’re no fun at all. Alright, go ahead and sulk away your life with margaritas and work.

Rebecca suspected three o’clock was a bit early to have a drink in Oleander, and especially if one was drinking alone. She salted a glass rim and sat down with a frozen margarita to read the letter from Catrina Sullivan.

Dear Rebecca, I know you wonder why I’m writing to you. We weren’t friends in school, but that was a long time ago. Both of us live in different worlds now.

You certainly do, Catrina, Rebecca murmured. Come to think of it, so do I.

"I read your bestselling book and loved it! Mama said you were divorced now and moving back to Oleander. The thing is, I need to talk to you, so I took the liberty of putting your name on my visitor’s list in case you would come. Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but … it’s very important, and you’re the only one I can trust. Please come.

"You could visit on a weekday. You can’t bring a purse or cell phone or anything inside, just some money for the vending machine. Visits last two hours. Oh, and don’t wear white or they might not let you in … or back out again :). I can’t write more, they read all our mail even though they say they don’t. Please try to make it soon.

Sincerely, Catrina"

Well, she murmured, I’m sure things are bad, but how do you think I can help you?

Rebecca hadn’t given Catrina’s situation much thought. She had gone to New York right after graduation and enrolled at Columbia University. Then she met and married Kenneth. After she lost a baby, they began to drift apart and she had drifted farther and farther away from home and family. She immersed herself in writing and submitting manuscripts. Her first book, Waiting in the Shadows, had been turned down numerous times before Ruth Goldfarb, dogged and determined, took a chance with her. It was moderately successful. Now her second book was number one on the New York Times bestseller