Dangerous Mercy: A Novel by Kathy Herman Page A

Gillis’s murder cast a shadow over that.”
    Zoe sighed. “I’m more worried about Noah. Langley Manor can stand on its own merit. He can’t.”
    “Yes, but don’t be so sure the Langleys won’t take a financial hit. How many people will want to stay out there until the murderer is caught? In fact, I’d be surprised if Vanessa and Ethan weren’t feeling unsettled—especially about letting Carter roam freely unsupervised. We’re all speculating that Flynn Gillis was murdered because he stepped on someone’s toes, but we really don’t know what the motivation was or if the killer will strike again. Or if it’s somehow related to the bathtub killings. It’s not safe right now.”
    “Pierce, you’re scaring me.”
    He pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would hurt for us all to be a little scared. And if the sheriff doesn’t put a stop to these murders, tourism is bound to suffer. We could take a big financial hit too.”
    Zoe held tightly to Pierce’s arm. Could she ever have imagined things getting this frightening—or this complicated?

     

CHAPTER 11
     
    Late Thursday night, Adele sat in the window seat in her bedroom and looked up at the moon, which shone brightly through the live oak branches and formed strange shadows on the back lawn.
    She glanced across the moonlit room at the delicate poster bed—so different from the bulky seventeenth-century English oak canopy bed she and Alfred had bought in the Cotswolds on one of their antiquing trips.
    She had sold most of the Woodmore antiques in an estate sale and bought furniture more suitable for this smaller home. She settled on French Country decor—mostly because Zoe and Vanessa seemed so drawn to it. The new look proved warm and inviting, and everyone seemed comfortable and relaxed in her home. Why didn’t she? Perhaps it was because all the tangible reminders of Alfred were gone now—except for the wedding portrait she kept on her nightstand.
    She moved her gaze to the framed sepia photograph, barely visible by the light of the moon but vivid in her memory. Adele in her ivory peau de soie gown and lacy veil and Alfred in his gray morning coat and ascot—standing in the archway at the front door of Saint Francis Xavier Cathedral in Alexandria. Weren’t they a sight to behold—young, passionate, so full of themselves? They had little need of anyone besides each other. By the time they decided they wanted a child, they had trouble conceiving. And when they finally did, Adele lost the baby in the third trimester—a girl. Her anger and disappointment with God was even more crippling than the grief. Why had He taken from her the thing she wanted most—the one thing money couldn’t buy? She and Alfred mourned until they had no tears left. They wanted to conceive again, but it never happened, so they traveled the world, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous and living the life others only dream about.
    Adele sighed. Hadn’t the Lord known all along that her anger over not being able to bear a child would drive her away from Him for a time—but that she would return to Him spiritually barren and needy and ready for a relationship with Him?
    Would she have ever given her heart to Jesus and trusted Him as her Lord and Savior if she hadn’t experienced the emptiness that nothing else could fill? She’d had it all—the finest designer fashions, the richest food, the most exotic vacations. A husband who adored her. Perfect health. A magnificent home on a sprawling estate. Servants to tend to her every need: a maid, a chauffeur, a cook, a seamstress. Anything she wanted was hers—except a child.
    She went over and sat on the side of the bed, feeling a twinge of the shame that she had given to God long ago. How many people had she hurt in the years that followed her baby’s death? It had been hard to accept that she lost an infant daughter she would never know. Her attitude turned caustic—not with Alfred, but with the hired