All Mine

By Ashley Brandt

After participating in a reality television dating show, Maggie Simons is ready to settle back into her former lifestyle. But when her ex-beau and reality television star Grayson Wynters turns up murdered, Maggie resolves to bring his killer to justice. Terrorized by a stalker, Maggie suspects whoever is following her is the same person that killed Grayson. Calling on former flame and Private Investigator Damon Ybarra for help, Damon and Maggie hunt for answers.

 

Time is running out as the stalker closes in, and Maggie must catch the killer before the killer catches her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Brandt
• Release date: Jul 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223962663

Book preview

All Mine

Ashley Brandt

Published by Ashley Brandt, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ALL MINE

First edition. July 2, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Ashley Brandt.

Written by Ashley Brandt.

For Mom, who got me interested in mysteries.

Chapter One

Texas weather was variable, but mother nature had followed through on her promise of scattered thunderstorms throughout the day. It was early March, with mowing season right around the corner. Lovie the cat sat perched on the back of the sofa, absorbing the heat from the crackling fireplace. I’d just finished off my second cup of coffee for the morning. It was Saturday, and the outdoor thermometer mounted on the tree outside my kitchen window indicated that it was in the low fifties. I listened to the news channel while I folded my laundry, one of the many tasks reserved for Saturdays.

I’d lived all over growing up, but I’d been a Texas resident for the past eight years. Waxahachie, Texas, had once been rural, but like everything else, it had begun its evolution into an extension of the metroplex area. I loved it despite the increasing traffic and explosive construction, and for a population of forty-two thousand residents, it still held its small-town charm.

My house was a modest three-bedroom cottage that I had inherited from my grandmother Ellie when she passed away. It was built sometime in the 1950s, a white clapboard construct with a wrap-around porch and original wood flooring. The backyard was an acre or so, with sprawling green grass, a tiny greenhouse on the North-Eastern portion of the lot, and lots of flowers. Grandmother Ellie loved to garden.

In its earlier days, the home had been one of three in the neighborhood, over a mile from its neighbors, and a fifteen-minute drive into town. Now, there were neighbors within a stone’s throw, and two major highways within five minutes. The town itself had several coffee shops, salons, chain restaurants and other assorted businesses, but the downtown area was my favorite. Despite the growth, downtown had managed to maintain its original 1900s charm, with a collection of old boutiques and furniture stores nestled around the massive County Courthouse, constructed in 1897. About a mile from that, the Marcus P. Wellington Memorial Park was thirty-three acres of lush trees and expansive grass lots, walking and biking trails, a creek, and several playgrounds. During bluebonnet season, families would traipse through the blue blooms there, posing for pictures to grace their mantles.

Lovie the cat yowled and plopped down from her perch, sauntering over to her food bowl in the kitchen. Lovie was an overweight tabby cat who had shown up on grandmother’s doorstep ten years ago and never left. Grandmother Ellie was known to feed every stray cat in the vicinity, but Lovie was the only one of them to make it a permanent arrangement. I’d inherited Lovie along with the house.

Is it tuna time? I asked, dishing Lovie a can of her favorite canned cat food. Lovie snaked her way between my ankles before attacking the bowl of tuna surprise.

I paused loading the dishwasher when I heard a familiar name and padded into the living room to listen to the news reported on the screen.

. . . Authorities are currently investigating the apparent murder of thirty-twoyear-old Grayson Wynters, of Orange County, California. Wynters is a well-known real-estate developer in the Inland Empire, as well as the coveted Groom in last year’s season of Diamonds and Dames. Wynters was publicized to have married and subsequently divorced contestant Lacy Everman from the show and resumed his primary residence in California. Wynters was reportedly found dead in his Oceanside vacation property yesterday by his cleaning service. No additional details have been released at this time . . .

I stood there gaping, willing the news anchorman to retract the story. Grayson’s photo was there on the screen, his brilliant smile and perfectly styled hair displayed above the news of his death. I began flipping from channel to channel, searching the other news outlets for additional reports on Grayson’s death. Surely, there had been some sort of mistake!? This had to be a publicity stunt or a misinformation campaign! After finding only one other news station reporting featuring Grayson, I abandoned the television in favor of an internet search. Grayson and I hadn’t been in touch since right after his wedding to Lacy.

Over a year ago, I’d gotten the crazy idea of auditioning for the television reality series, ‘Diamonds and Dames.’ I’d just graduated from college with hefty student loans and no romantic life to speak of, and the idea of starring in the sensational television series had been tantalizing. Even more shocking than my own lapse in character was the fact that the producers had selected me to be a contestant in the show.

I spent the next four months living in with eleven other women in upscale hotel rooms, being coached and made up by some of Hollywood’s most notable talent. Each of us dated (competed for) the handsome and well-established bachelor, Grayson Wynters. In the end, only one of us won his heart. What had begun as a wild hair and a means of paying off my college loans had somehow evolved into a genuine love affair, at least on my part, with Grayson Wynters. We’d participated in dates and interviews weekly, sabotaging, and uniting, until one by one we were sent home. Lacy and I had been the final two contestants, and Grayson had chosen Lacy Everman, his now ex-wife.

For Grayson’s part, he’d never promised me anything. I’d never intended to fall in love, and he’d never promised to love me in return. The very public rejection stung, nevertheless. I’d returned home to my quiet life in my grandmother’s house in North Texas, with a decent savings account to show for my time and trouble.

I swiped at my eyes while scanning the last internet article on Grayson’s death. After confirming the news on three different platforms, his death began to sink in. I stared at a photo of him, taken on one of the reality show’s beach dates, in fact, posed in the surf in a white cotton button-down shirt and cargo shorts, his dark hair trimmed and expertly styled, his perfect white teeth straight and gleaming for the cameras.

Oh Grayson, I whispered. The news articles hadn’t mentioned a manner of death, but I hoped that he’d met a quick end. Despite the shame surrounding ‘Diamonds and Dames’, I’d only had good wishes for Grayson, even if I secretly felt that he’d doomed himself by marrying Lacy. It had been a messy divorce, earning Lacy plenty of property and publicity in the process.

I turned off the computer and padded into my bathroom to shower and change. The rain has stopped, the clouds breaking in a hint of sunnier skies. I showered quickly, taking time to dry my long strawberry blonde hair and apply a little light makeup. I’d never been considered Hollywood beautiful, but I was conventionally attractive, in the small-town girl sense of the word. I was slim, five foot six inches and one hundred twenty pounds. I had fair skin, with light eyelashes that I covered with mascara. I had my father’s light blue eyes and my Mother’s slender nose. Both of my parents live in Connecticut now. Neither of them approved of my television stint.

As if on cue, the phone rang, and I rushed to answer it. Maggie? Have you heard of it? Mother asked.

Joan Simons had always been a no-nonsense kind of woman with a sound business sense. Her husband, Daniel, was the artistic one, with a penchant for words. Together they managed a small publishing company on the East coast.

Yes, Mother. He’s- he’s dead.

I bit back my tears, knowing that Mother would only chide me for them. She’d told me in no uncertain terms that my competition for a man on National television was debasing, and my failure had only proven her evaluations correct.

Allowing me a minute to collect myself, she said, I’m sorry, honey. I know you cared about him.

Have you heard how it happened? I ventured.

No. There have been rumors, of course, but the official press conference isn’t until this afternoon, and who knows what the police will divulge.

I wanted to inquire about the rumors but decided it was best if I didn’t.

Dear- I know it’s been some time since the two of you have spoken, but it might be wise to get a lawyer on retainer, just in case…

"A lawyer, mom?! What for!?"

Just for your peace of mind, honey. We may not have all the details yet, but the reports say that he was murdered. Aside from his real estate business dealings, he has the history of a dozen women to contend with, not to mention the many fans you all gained during the filming of that ridiculous show.

Mother used the term ‘fans’ loosely. During filming, I was one of several ladies to receive viewer fan mail, some of it benign and others bordering on stalkerish. Grayson had received a great deal of attention himself, though I had seen none of the letters myself.

Do you suppose the police will question all of us? I asked, fixing myself another cup of coffee. I was going to need it.

Oh, honey, who knows? Maybe the police already have a suspect in mind, and it’s all just a matter of proving what they know. Just in case, I’m sending you Everette Markinson’s phone number. He’s the lawyer your Father and I use from time to time. He’s reputable and worth the money.

Meaning expensive. Mother scoffed.

You can afford it, she said.

After another few minutes on the phone, Mother and I hung up and I left the post-it- note with Markinson’s number on it by the phone, promising to call him later. Right now, I needed to get out of the house and outside of my head. I collected my reusable shopping bags and drove to Willaby’s with my handy grocery list and a stack of library books that were due for return.

The Waxahachie library was one of the oldest buildings in the downtown area, save for the old courthouse. Recently remodeled, the construct boasted two stories and an elevator, extensive children’s and young adult sections, newer computers and filing systems, and lovely grounds. They built the library in 1903 and added to and refurbished since then. It occupied a four-acre lot across the street from a small fire station, a coffee shop converted from an old colonial home, and a boutique or two. In the spring, the library hosted free community events and children’s story time three days a week.

Slipping the stack of books into the book return slot, I greeted Marjorie at the circulation desk. I volunteered here a few years ago, and Marjorie had been one of my mentors then. Marjorie was in her mid-sixties with gray hair cropped very short, heavy glasses, and a plump figure. She was your standard librarian.

I fingered a few of the titles in the romance section, debating on which to get next. Though

I had checked out a couple of suspense novels yesterday, the library was peaceful and comforting,

and I needed its refuge. Choosing an unfamiliar author, I settled into a chair in the small reading nook by the window, which most patrons overlooked.

Chapter Two

Maggie?

At the end of the stacks, Ybarra looked like a romance novel character.

Damon, hi! I stood and offered him a hearty hug. The smell of bergamot and cedar was as good as he looked. Damon wore a suit- he worked for an insurance agency in town- but today he was wearing pressed khakis and a navy polo shirt. His dark hair and features hinted at an exotic, mixed-race, perhaps a delicious combination of Latin and Middle Eastern, but his accent was