Golden Night by Candice Poarch

From the Publisher

From the award-winning, national bestselling author of Bittersweet comes the first book in a thrilling new trilogy of romantic suspense.

A MISSING HEIRLOOM.

The town of Paradise Island, Virginia, is in the midst of a crime wave. Topping the list is the mysterious death of twenty-nine-year-old Gabriel Long's great aunt and the disappearance of her family's antique bowl. Now Gabriel finds herself the owner of her late aunt's B&B and trustee of the valued heirloom. But how can she begin to unravel the events of the night it disappeared when she barely remembers them?

LEADS TO SHOCKING DISCOVERIES.

Gabriel shares an amazing personal history with the B&B's chef Cornell Price. His great uncle and her great aunt were lovers for more than fifty years. Gabriel's relatives warn her to avoid Cornell. But the warning proves difficult to heed as their desire for one another intensifies.

AND THE GREATEST TREASURE OF ALL.

Gabriel and Cornell soon discover a friend of Cornell's also disappeared along with the antique bowl. As they search for answers, Gabriel finds herself in Cornell's arms-and in his bed. With so many mysteries surrounding them, they must risk their newfound love if they are to find the missing heirloom-and have a future together.

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Golden Night

Dafina Books

Chapter One

Back then she hadn't appreciated the gathering of family around her or what role each person played in her life.

As a child, she'd enjoyed the beach, playing and swimming with her cousins. She loved Aunt Anna and Grandma's island cooking. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell Aunt Anna's crabs frying in her cast-iron skillet. She and her cousins had squirmed in their seats waiting for Aunt Anna to place the first bunch of crabs on the layers of newspaper stacked high on the table to gather up the grease, which barely had a chance to touch the paper before the children had reached out, only to snatch their hands back when Aunt Anna warned them to wait while she patted up the excess. By then the crabs would have cooled enough not to burn their fingers.

And that first bite of succulent crabmeat. Oh, my gosh. Nothing on God's green earth could beat that.

Stomach growling, Gabrielle smiled at the memory. But this island was so much more than fun and food, or maybe it was a combination of those things and many other experiences that made it special.

Of one thing she was certain. It would take a lifetime to appreciate all of its bounties. A lifetime because you couldn't see it or appreciate it with your eyes alone. Vision only revealed a fraction of the story. You had to live it-you had to know the old folks to appreciate the rest. Which was almost irony itself. It wasn't until time had passed that wisdom emerged.

Wearing a thick housecoat over her pj's, Gabrielle Long stood outside her kitchen door enjoying her first cup of coffee while listening to the birds' racket outside and gazing at the wash of waves against the shore just a hundred feet from her old bungalow. She might have stood there for tens of minutes or only five. She didn't know which. But finally she turned and made her way inside through the screen door that had holes so large a cat could climb through. Boards on the screened-in back porch badly needed sanding; some also needed replacing and certainly a good coat of paint.

Once inside, she refilled her cup and glanced at the newspaper. A photo of an SUV was prominently displayed on the front page. Roger Moore drove a black Jeep Cherokee.

Gabrielle's hand trembled as she read the article. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup. Slowly she set it down on the table. He'd been missing since February. February 14, to be exact. Valentine's Day. That night Gabrielle had been feeling sorry for herself. Everyone seemed to be paired off. Her unromantic grandfather had even roused himself enough to spring for the last bunch of bedraggled roses and a box of inexpensive chocolates for her grandmother. Her cousins and friends had gotten roses, gourmet chocolates, diamonds, and whatever-and a man and sex. Sex seemed like something in the distant past for her.

Gabrielle had promoted a special romantic package for Paradise Bed-and-Breakfast-a romantic happy hour with truffles, chocolate-dipped fruit, and wine. A single red rose in each room. The B&B had sold out. But being around all those lovers made her realize how alone she was. She'd drunk wine with her guests, and it only intensified her bleak emotions.

After she left the B&B, she'd gone home to check on her aunt. Aunt Anna had soon gotten sick of her sour disposition and had demanded she go out with some friends. Gabrielle tried not to sink into depression. After all, she was alive, wasn't she? That should count for something.

After putting her aunt to bed, she drove to the bar. She had already downed a couple of Long Island iced teas before Roger joined her. It seemed that every time she drank, something horrible happened. She should have learned her lesson two years ago.

Gabrielle shook her head, casting that night to the back of her mind. All this time, Roger had been dead. And she'd thought he'd run away with her aunt's golden bowl.

Gabrielle nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang. It was, after all, nearly five in the morning. People didn't visit that early-not unless there was a problem.

Gabrielle padded to the door, and looked through the curtains. Sheriff Harper Porterfield-all six-three of him, dark and huge-stood on her front porch. He wasn't a man you wanted to get on the wrong side of or meet up with in an alley on a bad night. Years ago he had been the star linebacker of his football team. He'd even gotten a college scholarship, but he'd hurt his knees his senior year and never went pro. Defeated, he'd come back to tiny Paradise Island, where there wasn't much work to be had, and joined the local police department. They say he was fifty now and still single. The hair around his temples was turning gray, but that only made him look sexy as heck. Women ran after him as if he were the last breathing male.

Undoing the four locks, Gabrielle opened the door. Her aunt had been paranoid, and although her aunt was dead, Gabrielle still followed her routine before she went to bed, as if a thief couldn't break a window and come right in.

"Morning, Gabrielle," the sheriff's booming voice thundered in the room. "I went by the B and B but no one was stirring."

"I'm running a little late, Sheriff. Come on in."

"I won't take long," he said as he shut the door behind him. For such a large man, he was light on his feet.

"Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, thanks. Have you seen the morning paper?"

"I was just reading the article about the man they pulled from the lake."

He nodded. "The Virginia Beach PD contacted me about a key they found in John Doe's pocket. The key was to room 302 in your B and B. Could you check your records for a customer who may have stayed there in the last few months?" He gave her the license plate number.

"I don't have to check." She took a deep breath. "It was Roger Moore. He stayed there in February-around the time Aunt Anna died. He left a few things in the room. He'd been with us off and on for more than a year, so it wasn't unusual for him to leave things behind. I was wondering why he hadn't been back."

The sheriff took a pen and a small pad from his pocket and scribbled. "You're sure it's him?"

Gabrielle nodded. "He always asks for the same room. Room 302. He likes the privacy, and it's in a secluded area. He also drives a black Jeep Cherokee. I don't remember the license plate number, but I can pull the records as soon as I get to work. It won't take long."

"As soon as you do, call me. In the meantime, I'll send John Aldridge by to pick up his things. Can you have them ready by this afternoon?"

Gabrielle nodded.

The sheriff left, and Gabrielle stood there taking in deep breaths as she slowly closed the door. Heron Lake was her hangout with her cousins when they were teenagers and for summer vacations during her college years. She knew the area around that lake like the back of her hand. Not many people hung out there. It was out of the way, near the Dismal Swamp. People were afraid of all kinds of creatures out there.

Gabrielle had seen Roger in the bar that night. He'd told her he'd give her a bonus if she talked her aunt into selling him her gold heirloom antique bowl; he had even suggested she steal it. With her dementia, her aunt would never remember what had happened, he'd assured her. As if she'd even dream of doing such a thing. Angry enough to wring his neck, Gabrielle had tossed his wine in his face. She'd already told him a thousand times she wasn't going to sell it. It had been in the family since the early 1600s. He'd apologized profusely and told her he respected her integrity, but she didn't trust him one bit.

That night, Gabrielle had had enough of the bar scene. Suddenly, she felt wiped out and had gotten up to leave. As angry as she had been, why had she left the bar with him? No, she hadn't left with him. He'd gone outside at the same time.

After that, her mind was a complete blank.

Now she wondered-had she put thought to action? It was easy to say you wouldn't kill a person. And a golden bowl certainly wasn't just cause, even after being pestered for an entire year. But something had made her blank out. Had she been drugged? Had she seen something too horrendous for her brain to assimilate? Oh, God. Gabrielle rubbed a trembling hand across her brow. What happened between her and Roger on Valentine's night?

Cornell Price was sick and tired of crazy women. He'd gone back to New York to pack up the last of his belongings to ship to Virginia and close up his apartment. But his crazy ex-girlfriend, Angie, had trashed the place. Place had looked like a frigging chicken fight with feathers coating everything.

Ever since Waiting to Exhale, when Angela Bassett's character had filled her husband's car with his treasures and burned them, car and all, women started doing even more senseless shit.

But he'd made sure Angie paid. He'd given her an ultimatum. Either she paid for the damages-right then-or he was pressing charges. After a bout of tears and pouting he was totally immune to, she'd marched with him to the bank, but only because with her high-powered corporate position she couldn't afford to have a record. She could also afford to pay for the damages.

His gut roiled with regret. The greatest loss had been his mother's vases. She'd let his brothers and him choose their favorite designs. Angie had smashed every one. She knew they were his prized possessions simply because his mother had made them. They were irreplaceable.

He'd returned from New York the evening before and had spent the night at his parents' place in Norfolk. Now he was on the morning ferry to Paradise Island.

He couldn't count the number of times women had trashed something of his in a fit of anger, and he wasn't taking that crap anymore. Women were devious creatures. It was enough to make a man shake in his boots.

His mother was no better. Well, that wasn't quite true. She had enough sense not to damage anything valuable, but she'd do sneaky shit like cut up his dad's favorite pair of briefs or throw away his lucky golf shirt.

Crazy women were the reason he didn't give his key to dates. It had been a mistake giving Angie his keys so she could water his plants while he was away. She'd even killed the plants.

He sighed. Why did the men in his family put up with that crap? One night while he was visiting his Uncle Lucky on the island, he'd put the question to him. The older man, who was courting ninety by then, said he liked women with spice. But Lucky had divorced his spicy woman decades ago-and never got over her.

Cornell shook his head. To calm down, he opened the newspaper and read the article on the car in Heron Lake and wondered who might be in the vehicle.

He chuckled. It wasn't funny, but he wondered if the man's crazy girlfriend had done him in.

He knew one thing. No more spicy women for him. From now on, he was only going for the sweet, malleable ones. There would be no more of this "What about us? I've wasted a whole year on you. And now you decide to move. I can't just pick up and leave. I have a career."

His next woman would say, "Well, honey, when do you want to leave?"

He could already hear the "Oh, pu-leease, I didn't raise my sons to think like fools" coming from his mother's mouth. There was only so much of this madness a man could take. He had the right to protect himself, didn't he?

He wasn't going to be like Uncle Lucky and live down the road from the woman he loved for forty years because he couldn't live with her. And damn it, he wasn't going to live in fear of his wife destroying half his stuff whenever she decided to go whacko.

He glanced at the newspaper, thinking of the poor man they'd pulled from the bottom of Heron Lake. He wasn't going to end up like that poor bastard, either.

His dad had once pointed out that because of his sour disposition, he was painting all women with the same brush, but he wasn't willing to acknowledge it right now. He was still pissed off about his broken and smashed possessions, valuable things he'd accumulated over the years. All thrown in the trash because of Angie's uncontrollable temper. He wasn't buying her "I was PMSing," crap, either.

It was time the Price men made some changes. Besides, someone had to set an example for his two younger brothers.

His eyes were barely open when he dialed a number for a residence a few hundred miles away and listened to it ring four times before the receiver was picked up, dropped, and picked up again.

"This had better be good." Jade's voice came across the line sleepy and irritated.

"It is," he said, and proceeded to tell her about what he'd seen on the morning news.

"You think it's Roger?" she asked.

"Who the hell else? He's been missing for months. He's never done that before."

He heard the mattress creak as she sat up in bed. "Do you think he found anything?"

"We talked just before he disappeared, and he told me he hadn't."

"That doesn't mean a thing," she said, exasperated. "He's lied before."

"That backstabbing son of a bitch." Every time he thought about how Roger had cheated them on the last job, he saw red. "He better not have been holding out. Not this time."

"He knew better." Jade was using that calming voice now that grated his nerves. As if she was talking to a nitwit. Roger would cheat his own child if he could get away with it, and they certainly weren't high on his list. "We'll know as soon as the police reveal the contents of his car," Jade continued.

"Look, I didn't work my ass off to end up with nothing. We've been after this longer than any job we've done."

"You got a better suggestion? This will net us enough to get out of the business for good."

He remained silent. They'd been at it for months, and he had nothing to show for it.

"Listen, I have the contacts," Jade went on. "He couldn't have fenced it-not easily, anyway. So my bet is he didn't have it. He told me he searched the old biddy's place and couldn't find it."

"I checked his room when he first disappeared. Didn't find a thing."

"We're going to operate as if he didn't find it. Keep me posted."

He slowly hung up the phone. Easy for her to say. Her butt wasn't on the line. He needed money to finance his fixes, and he didn't have a lot of time to get it. He owed dangerous people a lot of money, people who wouldn't think twice about breaking his legs. So much for a sweet little deal situated in the middle of nowhere. Peace of cake, huh?

This was supposed to be their last job, but from the very beginning, it had been riddled with problems.

Gabrielle quickly dressed and left, but before her engine could warm up, she'd traveled the half-mile to the B&B and parked in the small parking lot in back. She lived close enough to walk if she didn't have to leave during the day to pick up provisions, or if she could wait for daybreak, but two professors were there on an extended stay, and they came down for breakfast at six sharp. They wanted coffee even earlier.

The imposing three-story building never failed to cheer Gabrielle. It sat like a gothic mansion against the backdrop of native trees and impressive gardens that would soon be hosting weddings. Cicadas and tree frogs sang in the background. Against the predawn backdrop, the dark windows lent a ghostly ambiance.

A native of Philly, never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed that owning a B&B in the middle of nowhere would give her comfort. As she exited the car, she heard the rushing of waves against the shore no more than two hundred feet away.

Instead of starting the coffee, she hurried to the storage room and collected the box of Roger's belongings. She'd gone through his things before and had found nothing. She wanted to make sure she'd checked everything thoroughly before she relinquished the box to John.

She wasn't surprised he'd left nothing useful in his room. A pair of jeans, a couple shirts, some socks, a razor and other toiletries, and a pair of sneakers.

Then she saw a white Post-it note stuck to a sock. It read: Should have the bowl soon.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Golden Night by Candice Poarch Copyright © 2007 by Candice Poarch. Excerpted by permission.
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