Waning Innocence: Serena Manchester Mysteries, #3

By Tyora Moody

A mother pleads for help to find her missing daughter. She's convinced the boyfriend knows something.

 

When the boyfriend's body is found, it becomes imperative to find the missing young woman. The son of one of the town's wealthiest families, the pressure is on. Law enforcement thinks the woman isn't really in danger but on the run after committing murder.

 

Not sure what to believe, PI Serena "Rena" Manchester is starting to wonder if she should have taken this case on at all. Everyone she questions leave Serena feeling helpless and confused about the events surrounding the last time the woman had been seen.

 

The clock is ticking as Serena and her crew crawl down a rabbit hole, trying to find a woman, whose time is running out or may have already ran out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tymm Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223506171

Tyora Moody

Tyora Moody is the author of Soul-Searching Mysteries, which includes cozy mystery, women sleuth mystery, and mystery romance under the Christian Fiction genre. Her books include the Eugeena Patterson Mysteries, Joss Miller Mysteries, Serena Manchester Mysteries, and many more series.  When Tyora isn't working for a client or doing something literary, she enjoys reading, spending time with family, binge-watching crime shows, catching a movie on the big screen, and traveling.  To contact Tyora about book club discussions or for book marketing workshops, visit her online at TyoraMoody.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Georgetown, South CarolinaSunday, May 19, 1:05 p.m.

Here I go again, running.

To my chagrin, my pursuer wasn’t comprehending my desire to escape. I cringed as I heard my name again and sped up. With my Honda Accord in sight, I zoned out the voice behind me. Keys already in hand, my breath quickened as my heels clicked across the asphalt.

Serena Manchester!

What does she want? Doesn’t she see I’m trying to get away from her?

I let out a huff. Either she was not taking the hint or more than likely, choosing to ignore my scramble to increase the distance between us. To prevent her from embarrassing her or me any further, I stopped several feet from my car. I was in the parking lot of Zion Baptist Church, conscious of the fact that others were eyeing me with curiosity. It’s something I was used to, people staring at me. I’d grown up in this very church and as soon as I turned eighteen, I fled from this town. Now back after being away about twenty-five years of my life, some things never changed.

The last thing I needed was to lose my cool, especially out here in the parking lot after church service. I tried to smile as other people passed me, heading straight to their cars. I could have been in my car if it wasn’t for this woman clopping towards me like she was a horse.

Queen Bradley.

That’s right. Her name is Queen. I’m not sure what her mother was thinking but I’m not one to judge. I just know from the moment I’ve met her, we’ve never gotten along. Mainly, because we both loved the same man.

Minister Trey Evans.

Dressed in an elegant pink pastel suit with matching pink pumps, Queen’s pretty face appeared distressed. It wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. She stopped abruptly in front of me, placing her hands on her hips. Her wide-brim fuchsia hat tilted dangerously close to the side as if it would topple off her head. 

She bent at her waist like she’d run a marathon. Serena, I’ve been calling you. Didn’t you hear me?

It was at that moment that I felt a little sheepish. But Queen wasn’t my favorite person. In fact, she was one of those people who would test me often. I sighed, I’m sorry. I was trying to get out before the crowd started leaving. 

Queen held up one finger. 

I frowned, now concerned. Are you okay? The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for this woman having a heart attack.

She gulped in air. I’m sorry to hold you up, but Trey thought I should talk to you.

And why did Trey think this was a good idea?

My concern switched back to wariness. How can I help you, Queen?

It’s not me. It’s Sister Rivers. My friend. My best friend needs your help.

That made me really look at Queen. There was no animosity from her today, but I knew a distraught person on the verge of tears when I saw. Sure, Queen. I will be happy to help your friend as best I can.

Thank you, Serena. I told her you were the best private investigator in South Carolina.

Her compliment stunned me. Queen was the last person to think my profession worthy. Once again, I had my guard up, remembering a warning my sister had given me about Queen. This woman always got what she wanted. Despite my relationship with Trey, it’s never been a doubt that Queen just gave up on snagging him for herself.

Could she be up to something?

Can you come now? Queen asked.

My eyebrow shot up, displaying my distrust. Come where?

Sister Rivers needs your help. The police won’t help her and she’s about to lose her mind.

Queen was taking me on a roller coaster of emotions. The mention of the police perked my ears. Those were the other people in town that I sometimes didn’t get along with, since I tended to stick my nose into their investigations. But I’d also helped solve those investigations.

Do we have to do this today? Bev is expecting me at her house. My younger sister was the black Martha Stewart. Sometimes I felt she led the perfect life, which included a home-cooked family dinner every Sunday.

Queen stomped her foot like she was two years old. This is urgent, Serena. Life or death. There’s no one else who can help her.

I hated to admit Queen had me intrigued. She wasn’t spilling any solid information, but her plea for help tapped into my past life as an investigative reporter. People would come to me all the time with leads for a story. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what Queen’s friend needed and hopefully I could help.

Let me call my sister and let her know I will be late.

Queen reached out and touched my arm. Thank you so much, Serena. You can follow me.

Though I had seen Queen hug people often, I was not a touchy feely person. I decided it was best to see what I could do. All the uncharacteristic actions displayed by Queen showed something was wrong. I climbed into my Honda and waited until I saw Queen ride up beside me in her older Mercedes Benz. 

Instead of calling my sister, I sent her a quick text.

Queen asked me to help her with a friend. May not make it to dinner. Save me a plate, please.

If I had called, my inquisitive sister would want to discuss this new development. Even though Bev was friends with Queen, she knew about the tension between Queen and I. 

The next person I texted was Trey.

Thanks for sending Queen to me. I think. I will see you later.

As I followed Queen out of the church parking lot, which had emptied since she caught up to me, I could hear my phone ping with responses to my text. I would check those later.

I thought about how little I knew about Queen. My sister Bev had a friendship with the woman that mainly centered around church volunteer work. I also knew she remained a constant in Trey’s life. She had ambitions of becoming a minister’s wife, and Trey continued to be the resident bachelor. Trey had been my best friend growing up and somewhere around our preteen years, I discovered I loved him more than a friend. Nothing ever moved beyond our friendship until I returned to Georgetown over two years ago.

He pursued me and I ran the other way, especially when I found out he was a minister. I’d had a life since I’d been away from home that I wasn’t proud of. It wasn’t until I went through yet another dangerous situation that I realized God had given me a chance with my one true love. I needed to stop pushing him away. People at church knew we were actively dating and Queen had been cool, but cordial towards me. 

I just hoped there really was a friend who needed help, and I wasn’t blindly following this woman. I really should have pumped Queen for more information, but her urgency compelled me to follow.

About twenty minutes later, we showed up in a neighborhood that was familiar to me. My father had been a resident over thirty years ago before he passed. In recent months, I’d met a young woman who now worked for my private investigation agency. She lived in this same cul-de-sac with her mother and younger sister.

Queen pulled into the driveway of a house that stood out from the other houses. That wasn’t easy to do in a neighborhood of cookie cutter homes with neutral colored shutters in black, gray, green or blue. But the first thing I noticed about this house was its fuchsia pink shutters. A female most likely owned this house and loved bold colors.

I parked behind Queen’s car. Movement in a window by the front door caught my attention as I closed my car door. I walked up the pathway, immediately admiring the garden of container plants in the front yard. There were a large variety of stone creatures, too. I saw turtles, rabbits and frogs. I almost felt like I was walking up to a house that could have been in a painting.

As we approached the door, I noted that someone was not only talented with gardening, but arts and crafts as well. Memorial Day was around the corner, and a large wreath hung on the door with a small American flag in the center. The decoration reminded me of my Aunt C, whose house I’d inherited. As a former schoolteacher and principal, before she passed, the woman loved decorating for the holidays, no matter the holiday.

Before Queen pressed the doorbell, the door popped open, startling me. Earlier, I’d seen movement at the window but I also wondered if there was a camera installed in the doorbell. That was common these days. Even I had one installed on my front door.

I peered at the woman standing behind the glass screen door. She stared back at me. Her eyes were wide and red like she’d been crying. She cracked open the front door, her eyes riveted on me. 

Are you here to help me find my daughter?

Chapter Two

Sunday, May 19, 1:48 p.m.

I felt a little blindsided, wishing Queen had given me more details before we arrived. I didn’t want to make any promises until I heard this woman’s story, so I nodded. I will do everything I can. 

The full-figured woman opened the door wide and I entered behind Queen into the house. When I passed her, I noticed she was much shorter than me and Queen. Dressed in a purple flowered kimono, she wore a matching purple hair band around her head. Her long box braids hung down her back, swinging as she walked. Despite the sadness etched on her face, she was a beautiful mocha-skinned woman with large brown eyes, making her appear younger than her actual age.

I stepped inside the living room. The space was clean and without a lot of clutter. That probably had to do with the shelves that lined two of the walls. One side reminded me of some of those HGTV shows where the designer used baskets on shelves to serve as storage and also to fix the decor. There were small potted plants and all kinds of figurines. On the other side were shelves full of books. Lots of books. The books weren’t haphazardly on the shelf like I had in my home office. Each book, I could tell had been placed in a specific order.

The woman smiled at me. I see you admiring my book collection. I’m an avid reader and lover of books. They’re my escape. 

Queen hugged the shorter woman. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.

Watching awkwardly as the two friends hugged, I wondered what Queen had gotten me into.

Queen turned, her eyes now teary. Sorry, I should have made formal introductions. Portia, this is Serena Manchester. She owns Manchester Private Investigations. And I know she can help you. Serena, this is my best friend, Portia Rivers.

Thank you, Queen. It’s nice to meet you, Portia. 

Most days Queen had nothing good to say to or about me and now she was pushing me into a situation that I didn’t know if I could help. While flattered by Queen’s confidence, I was still suspicious and feeling shaky on my feet. An uneasiness creeped over me as I observed the woman in front of me. She’d been crying and hope blossomed on her haggard face. 

Would I disappoint her? Dash her hopes?

I had a case a few months ago when a young woman went missing, and that turned out much differently than normal. Depending on how long this young woman had been gone, foul play could be in the picture.

Portia extended her hands to her couches. Please have a seat. I know you two just came from church. I appreciate you coming. Can I get you anything?

Queen and I both declined. I sat down on the couch in front of the window. Queen sat opposite of me in a high-back chair. I felt her eyes on me and chose not to look at her. I had the feeling if I didn’t help this woman, Queen would become more of an enemy.

I prompted the conversation. Portia, I understand your daughter is missing. Can you tell me the last time you saw her?

Portia took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for a traumatic encounter. She twisted her fingers, her panicked eyes locked on mine. I haven’t heard from her in five days. That’s almost a week. Her name is Laila Rivers, and she just turned twenty-three. Yes, before you ask, I went to the cops and reported my daughter missing. They didn’t take me seriously. They figured she’s an adult and she could have just went somewhere.

What made you think she was missing?

It’s hard to explain. Laila shares an apartment with a roommate. I raised her to be an independent woman, but she would stop by after work and we’d have dinner to catch up. Mama’s home cooking was still a comfort to her. The last time we ate together was two weeks ago. She graduated from the University of South Carolina about two years ago. She’s actually planning to return to UofSC in the fall for law school. I’m so proud of her. Portia laughed, but it sounded more like a sob as she tried to contain her emotions.

I flashed a sympathetic smile. Where did she work?

She’s a bank teller at First National Bank. It’s taken her a while to figure out what to do with her liberal arts degree. But I know she’ll do well in law school. She’s always been a brilliant strategist, even as a young girl.

I smiled, warmed by how Portia’s face glowed as she talked about her daughter.

Just as suddenly as her face brightened, her countenance returned to despair. I texted her Tuesday night and asked her to come by for dinner on Wednesday. She texted back that she couldn’t wait, but she never showed up.

The mention of food made me remember I was missing Sunday dinner at my sister’s house. I refocused back on Portia. 

I would survive.

Then I thought about what Portia said. You texted your daughter, but didn’t actually talk to her?

Portia shook her head, tears filling her eyes. That’s what the cop asked me. I just did what she wanted. Young folks love texting. Laila would say, ‘No one uses the phone to talk, Mom.’ But I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up. That’s not like her at all. She definitely would never miss a meal. And, she would’ve told me if she couldn’t make it.

I assume you’ve called the local hospitals.

I have and Queen’s been helping me with that.

Queen nodded. I work in accounts with the hospital, specifically the ER, so I can easily keep an eye out.

Oh, I didn’t know that. Queen knew more about me than I knew about her. My impression of her certainly didn’t have her working in the office of a hospital. I couldn’t say I’d even thought about where she worked. I only saw her at church.

I asked. Portia, do you have a recent photo of your daughter? It may be a good idea to get some posters up around town. 

Yes, yes. Queen and I were talking about that, but I wanted to meet you first. Portia went over to a buffet table that was off to the side near the dining room. I noticed there were pictures lined up all along the wall of a girl at various ages. Portia grabbed a photo frame from the top of the table and brought it over to me.

The first thing I noticed was Laila looked so different from her mother. She must resemble her dad. I could tell by the girl’s stature that she had long legs and was taller than her mother. Her skin tone shone lighter than her mother’s but she had Portia’s beautiful flawless skin, no makeup needed. Her mass of dark curls fanned around her face in this photo. 

I peered over at other photos of a younger version. Laila wore glasses in most of the photos. I could tell she’d been a brainy girl who had blossomed into a beautiful woman. 

She’s beautiful. Is she your only child?

Portia nodded. Yes, she’s my only child.

So her dad is not in the picture?

Portia’s face contorted as if she smelled something bad. "He is in her life. I divorced her father when she was ten, but he’s still been a good father. We didn’t get along as a couple. But for her, we have