Laurel Falls, N.C., Summer, 2015: "What do you do when the sheriff says an old friend killed someone … but he swears he didn’t do it?

Believe him.

I never thought I’d see Dusk Holt again. He was just a boy when I helped Della Kincaid find what happened to his mother all those years ago. And now here he stood at my front door—an ex-con with prison tats crawling up his neck.

He promised he wanted to do good going forward. But next thing we knew, he’d gotten himself arrested for murder before his hair had time to grow out from that awful prison cut.

Not to mention all the evidence that kept piling up against him. No question about it. The sheriff was after Dusk.

Instead of the real killer.

I’m not proud how often I wanted to give up our investigation. And why wouldn’t I? I got beat up, tires slashed, and almost drowned. Della and I tore all over the mountains of North Carolina and chased clues to the Pacific Northwest and back.

I’ll say this for that killer—he was good at being evil. He wore us out and then some.

But when a friend—even one from long ago—needs you, how can you turn your back?

You can’t."~ Abit Bradshaw

You'll enjoy this suspenseful story because who doesn't long for justice?

If you love Jacqueline Winspear, Sue Grafton, and Cheryl Bradshaw (no relation to Abit Bradshaw that we know of), you're sure to enjoy the Appalachian Mountain Mysteries series.

Get it now—for the rich natural setting, colorful characters, and suspenseful investigations.

After Dusk is the eighth novel in the Appalachian Mountain Mysteries series by award-winning author Lynda McDaniel. It is a standalone novel.

EXCERPT FROM AFTER DUSK

Spruce Lake

Gragg, N.C.
June, 2015

Prologue: Erik

I dreaded the swelter awaiting me in the cabin, but I was sick of the banal chatter and mindless drinking at The Way Out bar. Besides, people at work had complained that my countenance was best described as dyspeptic. (If they only knew how true that was!) I thought an early night might help.

Once home, I headed for the deck and dragged my lounge chair into the shade of a giant oak. The webbing groaned under my weight, but the cold Pabst went down easy.

I tried to relax, but who was I kidding? That hadn’t happened in years. Ten months ago when I’d moved to Spruce Lake, I had hopes of a new beginning. Then fate intervened and drew him into my path, igniting the wrath that had smoldered for decades.

He hadn’t recognized me as we passed each other on the street, even though he had taken everything from me—wife, daughter, respect, health, even the nature of my breath. In a flash, the bitter tang of hate filled my mouth.

Lost in cruel memories, I was brought back to the deck by a buzzing sound. I searched for its source and was delighted to discover a wasp struggling in a large web under the eaves. People here call them waspers, but that made them sound cartoonish. I knew all too well they were deadly.

I studied its attempts to escape, but there was no way out. As I sipped another beer, a black spider emerged from the shadows like a gladiator.

I toasted the spider with my Pabst, knowing it was time to finally settle the score.

Laurel Falls, N.C.
Summer, 2015

Chapter 1: Abit

I was sweating. Not just from the hot June day but because some guy was giving me the stank eye. His face, cool and unbothered by the heat, said he was still on the young side, maybe late twenties, but his eyes looked weary. I got one of my shivers when I saw a couple of prison tats on his neck. Blue crosses, one on each side.

I was standing in the produce department at the SuperMart, the grocery out on the highway past Laurel Falls. I didn’t shop there much. The growing season had been good so far, and I got most of what I ate outta my garden or picked up at the farmers market at Coburn’s General Store. Now that Annie Totherow ran the store, she’d come up with new ideas to bring in more business. It felt good to see that parking lot hopping with trucks and transactions. When I was growing up and Daddy was doing his best to run Coburn’s into the ground, only a car now and again stirred up dust.

I put a bunch of grapes in my basket and cut my eyes over to where that fellow had been. Good. He was gone.

Until he wasn’t.

After I picked out a few more things and went through the checkout, I caught a glimpse of someone moving up on me. I turned, ready for him, staring back hard.

“You’re Mr. Bradshaw, aren’t you?” he asked. “Adam, isn’t it?”

“Who wants to know? And it’s Abit, not Adam.”

“That’s right!” he said, snapping his fingers and breaking out with a big grin that made him look less scary. “We have that in common—unusual first names. They sure can be a pain in the backside.”

“That right?”

“Right.” He looked round, nervous-like. “You may not remember me, but I’m Dusk Holt. You and the woman from the general store, Ms. Kincaid, helped look into my family’s mess.” He smiled even though those memories had to be painful.

Dusk Holt. Grown up, as tall as my six-foot-three frame with muscles he’d likely worked on in prison. Blond hair flopped over his forehead and almost covering his eyes, looking more like a surfer dude than an ex-con. Except for those tats. “You were such a young’un then,” I said. “I’m surprised you remember much.”

“Well, my sister, Astrid, never forgot that summer, and she kept telling me all about it. And how could a kid forget that his mother had been killed?”

That hung so heavy I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I knew the real story about his mother, but I’d never tell him. Not even if he asked. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to find Ms. Kincaid,” he went on, looking round as if she were hiding behind the bread display. “Astrid told me to stop by the store, you know, and say hi and thank you.” Then he bowed toward me, like he was tipping a cap. “And to you too. She said you were real nice to her, especially that day on the bus.”

I was going along with this happy reunion until something struck me as odd. “How’d you recognize me? It’s been what? Twenty year?”

He held up his cellphone. “Astrid again. She sent me a photo of you two Ms. Kincaid included in a Christmas card one year.”

I felt ashamed of myself, so quick to judge him. I recalled what a nice boy he’d been back then. And what dark days that family had gone through. As much as Mama had driven me crazy at times, I woulda missed her if she’d left. I was lost in those thoughts when I heard Dusk clear his throat. I jerked my attention back. “Oh, Ms. Kincaid, er, Della, moved back to Washington, D.C.,” I said, “and she gave Coburn’s to me.” He looked at my sack of groceries from the SuperMart and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, well, Coburn’s doesn’t carry everything,” I said, as if I owed him an explanation. “What brings you back to town?”

“How do you know I’ve been gone?”

“Well, besides never seeing you in such a small place, I, er …” I realized too late I was running my fingers along my neck.

He pulled up his collar. “That was a big misunderstanding,” was all he said.

“Okay, but why’d you give me the stank eye?”

He surprised me when he laughed. “I need glasses. I was squinting to make you out. I wasn’t sure if it was you, until you turned my way.”

After that we stood there a while, both uneasy about what to do next. I could tell Dusk wanted to ask something, and I wanted to know why he was going by that name when as early as six year old he’d asked to be called Dee. But I reckoned we all changed over time, especially after a stay in prison.

“Well, I guess I’ll be moving on. Good to see you again,” I said. Not very original, but it got the job done.

“Yeah, and I’ll see you better next time.”

Next time? I thought, with no hint of kindness.

Dusk misunderstood my quizzical look. He put his hand up, as though he were lifting something to his face. “Yeah, when I’ve got my new glasses.” He laughed again, like that were hilarious.

I waved behind me on the way out the door.

I drove out of the parking lot, pulled over, and called Della. We’d stayed in close touch since she’d moved a few year ago. She’d been back to visit five or six times, and the boys and I had gone to D.C. twicet before they’d each graduated from high school and left Laurel Falls behind.

“Della, you’re not gonna believe who I ran into at the SuperMart.”

“What are you going out there for?”

Not her too. “Grapes. And sweet corn. I didn’t plant any this year, and no one at the farmer’s market had any yet.”

“So who was this mysterious person?”

“Dusk Holt. You know, Dee. He said he was looking for you.”

She was silent for a while. I knew both those kids still played on her mind. After a time, she asked, “What ever happened to him?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly old home week. Apparently he’s had a rough time of it. Say, did you know Astrid now lives in Paris? And I don’t mean Kentucky.”

“Yeah, we exchange Christmas cards and the occasional email. She always did say she was going to get out of that place. But what did you mean by rough time for Dee?”

I filled her in on the prison tats. I heard her sigh. “How did you recognize him?”

“I didn’t. He was giving me the stank eye and eventually introduced himself.”

“Why?”

“Why did he introduce himself?”

“No, why was he giving you a dirty look?”

“Turned out he was just squinting at me. Said he needed glasses.”

Della laughed. I guessed it was funny, oncet I thought about it. “What did he want, besides my whereabouts?” she asked.

“I’m not sure, but I could tell he was after something.”

“Let’s hope it goes better than the first time we met him.”

Chapter 2: Abit

Someone was knocking on my front door. That just about never happened. I either knew them and they walked right in, or they didn’t come at all. I spent a lot of time by myself, what with my boy, Conor, traveling with a bluegrass band outta Nashville and my other boy, Vern, down in Asheville at cooking school.

Mollie wasn’t used to the kind of visitors who knocked. She started barking and carrying on, unlike her usual quiet self. When I first got her I’d even asked the vet if there was something wrong with her voice box. She was that quiet. I peeked out the window and got another shiver.

Dusk, standing there with a six-pack in hand.

I thought about ignoring him, but I couldn’t fake not being home. Mollie had given us away.

“Mr. Bradshaw? Are you in there?”

No good ever came from being called Mr. Bradshaw, but I opened the door anyway. “Er … hello, Dusk. What brings you round?” The beer was obvious, but the reason wasn’t.

“I just thought we could chat a while and have a beer or two. Or more if you like.” That strange laugh again.

He’d cleaned up nice, making an effort, and I reckoned the boy was lonely. Maybe not long outta prison. I got Mollie calmed down, opened the screen door, and stepped out onto the porch. For some reason I didn’t want him in my house. I made excuses about the house being stuffy on such a hot evening, but deep down I knew different. I ushered him toward the big maple tree between the house and barn.

We settled into the chairs I kept out there, and dang if he hadn’t brought my favorite beer. He handed me one, popped the top on his, and started telling me about moving back to Laurel Falls. He’d been living in a hostel since he got out, not welcome to live with his daddy at the old family home. That word family made me shake my head.

Dusk picked up on that. “Yeah, some family, huh? My father doesn’t claim me anymore. He’s busy with his new family—and the new house he’s building. Easier to start fresh than to deal with me and Astrid. Not that Astrid’s done anything to be ashamed of. And of course, our mother is gone, though I barely remember her. That’s partly why I came here.”

“To Laurel Falls?” I asked, hoping that was what he meant.

“Well, yes, in part. But also to see you.”

I felt a weight like a rock-filled rucksack bear down on my shoulders. I nodded and we sat like that for some time. My mind drifted back to the tumult of those days long ago. Neither Dusk nor Astrid had any idea their mother went off to live the high life in Washington, D.C. Their crazy father, Enoch, decided it would be easier on the kids to think of their mother as dead than to go through their lives knowing the truth.

Della, with a little help from me, found her and made certain she made payments to the father for the kids’ well-being. I was wondering if that was still the case when I heard another pull-tab spew and Dusk say, “I was hoping you could tell me something about my mother. Did you ever meet her? And how did you find her body?”

Oh how was I going to get round all those questions? Not truthfully, that was for sure. “It wasn’t me who found her, Dusk. It was Della Kincaid.” That was at least true, as far as it went.

“But Astrid said you helped.”

“I did, yes.” I turned toward the man, who at that moment looked so hopeful my heart ached. I told him all I could, explaining that I’d barely met her. Again, the truth if I stopped there. Besides, he didn’t need to know all the dirty details about his mother.

When I’d finished, he sighed and swallowed the last of his beer, then crushed the can with one strong hand. I looked at my watch, hoping our evening was coming to a close, though I had to admit it’d been more enjoyable than I’d reckoned. Except for those prison tats, he seemed to have grown up okay. Then he threw me back on my heels.

“I asked around and heard you sometimes rent out your guestroom. I need a place to stay. That hostel is just one step up from … well, you know.”

I felt uneasy all over again. Was he checking up on me, what with bringing my favorite beer and knowing about my spare room? I’d allowed plenty of folks to live in the guestroom I’d fixed up out in the barn. Nigel Steadman; Duane Dockery; Shiloh, my woodworking partner, who’d moved in and outta there more times than I could count. Even an FBI agent. But an ex-con? Well, I thought, at least I don’t have to worry about the safety of the boys with an ex-con living on the farm, but what about mine?

Dusk noticed my unease and stayed quiet for a change. Mollie sensed it too. She came over and licked my hand. I took that as a sign. I said, “First I need to know what sent you to prison.”

CHAPTER 3 Abit

“I can see by the look on your face you think I’m a serial killer. Well, I’m not.”

I felt ashamed I was so easy to read. Funny he’d said that too. A number of year ago, I’d dealt with a serial killer who’d seemed ordinary enough. Not anyone we would ever suspect.

“I just got into dumb stuff in high school,” he said. “A little weed selling, later kiting a few checks. Listen, man, I was screwed up after my mother died. My dad was okay with us, I suppose, but it didn’t fill the hole in my heart. Can you understand that?”

I knew about holes in the heart, so I nodded. Then I added an unasked-for opinion. “Those prison tats aren’t doing you any favors.”

His hand flew up to his neck and color screamed up his face. “I can’t wear a turtleneck year-round, you know. I’m planning on getting those laser treatments when I get settled. It was just a stupid thing to try to fit in. Imagine how low you’ve fallen when you try to fit in in prison.”

When he put it that way, I felt more kindly toward him. I doubted his troubles were just “a little weed,” but I no longer felt afraid of him. Goodness knows I coulda gone down the wrong path with just a hair’s difference in circumstance.

Dusk looked uncomfortable, squirming in his chair. “I’ve got something else to ask.” I felt myself go stiff. I’d heard setups like that before, and they never came to any good. Con artists were expert at that one-two punch. I waited for him to explain. He hung his head when he said, “I should be ashamed to ask, but like I said, I’ve already hit rock bottom. At least I hope I have.” He paused so long I made a motion for him to go on. I was dreading whatever he had in mind and wanted to get it over with. “When you opened your door to me, I smelled some fine cooking, and I wonder if there are any leftovers.”

I coulda wept. Lonesome and hungry was a mournful state to be in. We all need good people and food to survive, and he had neither. “That was fried chicken and greens that left their stink hanging over the whole house,” I said, trying for a chuckle.

“Oh, they smelled like heaven to me, sir.”

I stood. “OK, while I warm them up, come on in and wash up. And try getting used to calling me Abit rather than sir.” He did chuckle at that.

Dusk plowed through those leftovers faster than Conor and Vern going through a growing spurt. It hurt to see people tear into their food, knowing they’d likely been going without for some time. Eventually he wiped his mouth and put the napkin down. “Just so you know, I’m in the 12-step program and I’m making amends.”

“You have no amends to make with me, Dusk. Your mama’s the one who needs to be doing that.” I coulda kicked myself, messing up the big lie. But it seemed to pass him by.

“See, that’s the thing. I don’t know much about her. Astrid said Ms. Kincaid found out what she’d been doing when she died, and …” He paused and took a big glug of beer. “… I was just wondering about what little family I have.”

When I looked over at him, he seemed lost in some kinda dream. I kinda nudged his foot with my boot. He sat up straighter.

“Oh, sorry. Just went down a rabbit hole. I do that sometimes.” I was about to clear the table when he took the last biscuit and mopped his plate. I’d made the biscuits the day before, but he didn’t seem to mind it being on the dry side; better to mop with, I reckoned.

“So here’s the deal. Enoch has given up on me. He never came to see me when I was at Cold as Hell.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “That’s what everyone called the place where I did my time: Caldwell Correctional Center. That nickname doesn’t make much sense, but then nothing in prison makes sense. Anyway, I called Enoch when I got out and came back here, but he said not to bother contacting him again until I got my act together. That hurt, but I’m used to that kinda thing. He’ll see. I’m going to do better. I want to help people. Not just making amends by thanking those who’ve helped me and asking forgiveness from those I’ve hurt, but doing right by folks in need.”

I was thinking how odd it sounded to call his daddy by his first name; said a lot about their relationship. Then again, who was I to talk? Whatever, I hoped he meant that about doing right. At the time I didn’t think to ask what he had in mind. I just figured he’d find a job helping old people or repairing poor folks’ homes. I shoulda asked, but looking back, I doubt anything I’d’ve said then could’ve stopped what fate had in store for us.

“To be honest,” he started up again, “I don’t recall much of anything leading up to Mother’s death. Astrid says Enoch and Mother were fighting a lot, and she pulled a knife on him. It was all too much at the time, and it’s been explained to me that I’ve blocked a lot. I only know what Astrid has shared.” He tapped his beer can against mine and added, “She sure was fond of you.”

I learned something that evening: Dusk was a talker. He carried on about the therapist he’d met in prison. Most guys just blew off that kinda stuff, he said, but he’d listened and read. “Things she told me started to make sense of my life. She’s the one who got me in the 12-step program.”

I looked at the beer he was finishing. He didn’t miss much, because he added real quick-like, “Oh, I’m not an alcoholic. I’m in a group for people with crazy relatives. That’s not the official name, but that’s what it boils down to.”

He stared at me again, and this time I didn’t cringe. I looked him straight in the eye and saw something good. Kind even. I sighed, thinking how kindness might be the only thing keeping this mean old world from slipping off its axis.

I heard myself say, “I’ll help you move in.”