If you’re white, this may not happen to you, but if you happen to be a person of color, it’s likely happened to you far too often. Have you heard of SWB, shopping while black? Recently, on a trip to buy a dress for my daughter’s graduation, we had to drive to Victoria. We walked into one of the only department stores that carries really nice long dresses, and because of the pandemic, it wasn’t crowded by any means, with only a few people inside. We made our way to the formal dress section, where, by the way, all the gowns were drastically marked down because there are no weddings allowed, and grad is only days away, yet no one is buying them. After a few moments of going through the racks, my daughter seeing dresses she liked, and me realizing how long this would take, I asked her to please grab the ones she liked, and I’d carry them as she looked, and then she could try them on and decide which one to buy.
Now, I don’t like shopping, and spending hours in a store is something I could compare only to having a root canal. I became the one with my arms full of dresses, following behind her while she went through the racks, and next thing I realized—and I don’t know what had me looking over my shoulder—suddenly the store security guy was there. I’m not talking about a guy with the mall security getup. I’m talking about the plainclothes guy you’re not supposed to see, you know, the white guy who’s supposed to blend in. Only he wasn’t even inconspicuous as he followed us around, pretending very badly to slide the clothes on the racks about ten feet behind us wherever we were standing, following us from rack to rack through the store without pulling his gaze. It really was ridiculous as he followed us all the way to the change rooms. If my daughter hadn’t needed the dress so badly, I’d have dumped them all in a pile and left the store, because it became a matter of us having to try not to look at him. It was creepy, and it had me looking in the mirror, trying to figure out why this very creepy man was harassing us and stalking us in the store.
Now, to be clear, I’m white, so this isn’t something that happens to me often. But apparently this was a slow day for him, as I couldn’t see any people of color in the store. It’s sick that people of color often endure this from the moment they walk through the door. Nevertheless, what many don’t understand about white privilege is that it isn’t about having money or power or raising kids who look down on others who have nothing, or about having a silver spoon in your mouth and doors open to everything, or about having access to the kinds of things the average person will never have. It’s about things people take for granted, such as being able to call the police for protection, or having customer service people go above and beyond for you, or being able to call a politician to make sure the dead-end road by your property stays that way—which is something that happens more than people realize.
Let’s face it. The conversation can be difficult because it can trigger responses of “But I’ve suffered discrimination too” or “The haves always look down on the have-nots.” White privilege doesn’t mean you haven’t had to struggle, or haven’t had your rights violated, or haven’t been discriminated against because of what you don’t have, or haven’t had some underhanded crappy thing happen to you because someone else had the power to hurt you, steal from you, or make your life a living hell. It means only that your challenges aren’t related to the color of your skin. It means that being white is similar to being given a head start in life, kind of like a pass to skip to the front of the line. That doesn’t guarantee you’re not going to face a ton of challenges or make it out ahead, or that you won’t still be discriminated against in some way. But being white and looking white comes with being seen as innocent and worthy of protection and safety.
If you’re white, you can live in any neighborhood (if you can afford it) without fearing discrimination or being followed or seen as suspicious when you’re out walking at night. If you’re white, you don’t have to teach your kids that they’ll be judged by the color of their skin. Instead, you have to teach them to open their eyes and see how others who are not white are being seen and treated. It isn’t okay anymore to have blinders on just because it doesn’t happen to you. We may have been taught that everyone is equal in the eyes of justice and freedom, but in reality, that isn’t true. Those on top, those in charge, running things, either have blinders on or don’t want change to happen.
As a white parent, what do you say to your white newly licensed son about driving? Well, for one, white parents normally do not deal with racism or things like the stop and frisk policy, which means that if you look suspicious, the police have the right to stop and frisk you without a reason. I mean, which politician was responsible for creating that law, anyway? For a white parent, talking to your son about driving entails telling him, basically, “Keep both hands on the wheel, keep your music off, don’t speed, and don’t get into or cause an accident, because if you’re irresponsible and drive like an idiot, I’ll take the keys away and you’ll walk instead of driving again until you’re twenty-five.”
Parents of color may say the same, but they have to go much further: “Never have your wallet in your back pocket or in the glove box, because when you’re stopped by the police, you don’t want to be reaching for anything. When you’re stopped, you keep both hands on the wheel where the cop can see them, don’t look the cop in the eye, don’t argue with the cop, and make no sudden moves. When the cop makes you get out of the car and a gun is in your face, you don’t talk back. You get out with your hands outside the car, slowly. You don’t fight him when he cuffs you, and again, no matter what, you don’t mouth off.” Lastly, if you’re white, one of the things you don’t have to worry about when a cop pulls you over is freaking out and worrying about where your passport is so you can prove you’re a citizen.
What about when your kid is just going out for a walk? Well, for a child of color, the warnings are something along the lines of “Don’t wear your hood, and don’t put your hands in your pockets. If you get stopped, don’t run. Put your hands up and don’t make a lot of moves, and if your parent works for someone important, say that.” These are not the kinds of words white parents or parents who look white tell their white kids. What about when your kid is in a store and is followed by store security because she is suspected of stealing, and maybe someone points a finger and accuses her of stealing when she didn’t? Yes, it really happens. When it comes to a kid’s friends, how many parents discuss the importance of knowing who’s going to have your back and who’s going to screw you around, or who you let in your car with you, because if your friend has drugs in your car, guess who’s going to jail? You are.
I think one of the greatest crimes is families raising their kids not to get involved. By this, I mean parents telling their kids not to speak up when they see someone being taken advantage of, having their rights violated, or being hurt or discriminated against. Just recently, there was an incident in the Vancouver area where a group of black kids with an out-of-province plate were reported to be waving a gun outside their vehicle. They were swarmed by police, a lot of police, with guns drawn, and they were cuffed and stuffed into the back of a very hot cop car and left there for quite some time while their car was searched. Two women who were driving by stopped and pulled over and filmed the entire incident and the search, then stayed as witnesses to make sure those kids were okay and stayed okay. They didn’t stop filming when the police asked them to; they stood their ground because that’s where we are now. The kids, of course, were let go, apparently with an apology, because there was no gun. It’s the type of person who would call in that report that I’m trying to get through to. We need everyone to get involved in these situations, to see it, to stop and film it, and to speak up.
White people don’t have to teach their children they will be judged by the color of their skin, and those children do not grow up with that fear. But I’ve heard a few white people shrug off the protests and not understand why they’re happening, when the truth of the matter is that it’s surprising it’s taken us this long to get to the point where protests happen. The only reason it’s being noticed now, and the only reason the media is actually reporting on it now, is because it’s having a direct impact—and that’s a good thing. That means, as I’ve said to my son, you have to turn around and look behind you. You have to open your eyes and really see which doors have been opened for you and closed to those who don’t look like you. Because unfortunately, until outside pressure is applied by people standing up and fighting together, and until the media gives airtime to those fighting for their rights, businesses, law enforcement, and governments will still take advantage, still violate rights and discriminate and refuse refunds, still give preferential treatment.
Not everyone can get involved to fix things in the same way. For you, it may mean donating money to a cause, whereas for someone else it means volunteering time to an organization. For some, it means making sure they’re talking about it and seeing it now, or maybe even joining a protest. It’s not about doing everything for others or fixing people’s individual problems for them. It’s about pointing the way and giving directions so people can do it themselves, and then you back off and let them find their own way.
Recent Release
“A fast-paced story with strong feelings almost exploding and some romance. Very entertaining and easy to read!” ★★★★★ Claudete T., Amazon Reviewer
Looking for a thrilling romance series to add to your TBR pile? Enter to win THE NEIGHBOR (The O’Connells, Book 1) on BookSweeps today —plus 45+ exciting Romantic Suspense series starters from a great collection of authors… AND a brand new eReader. Click here for details. Contest ends July 7, 2021.
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As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
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Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Walk the Right Road titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
She was thirty-one years old, and she had a daughter, a tattoo she would never be able to remove, eighteen dollars and forty cents in her pocket, and a prison record that would keep her from ever having anything else. Reine Colbert wondered when she hadn’t felt this hollow ache that had become a part of her, of who she was, an anger that had only grown deeper, so much that it burned her with every breath she took.
She stared at the brick homes, sidewalks, and grass lawns of picture-perfect suburbia, with flowers planted in front of porches that welcomed visitors, family, and friends with glasses of lemonade, laughter, and small talk.
But that life wasn’t for someone like her. That life had been ripped from her. Reine had once had a husband, a daughter. She’d once felt joy. Now she felt only anger.
It hurt more than anything to feel she was supposed to be thankful that she got to breathe the same air as people who had homes, lives, and freedom. Wasn’t that exactly what her parole officer had said after he finished grinding her into the ground as she sat in his dingy office, realizing he didn’t see her as human? He’d stared at her file instead of her, making it clear she’d never matter. She’d better learn her place, keep her nose clean, take what was offered. And he didn’t want to hear any complaints or whining about anything, because rights were something she didn’t have.
No drugs, no liquor, no weapons.
And the last, which had nearly choked her, was no respect. That was something she wasn’t entitled to anymore. She’d been officially categorized as a person with no rights and no dignity, and she was terrified, as she stood on the concrete sidewalk, seeing weeds sprouting up between the cracks here and there, staring at a house, that what she was doing now could have her right back behind bars.
It would take just one call from someone who mattered, even though that would be cruel. Then again, cruelty had become familiar to her, and it was a quality she saw in everyone now.
Someone was watching her. This was that feeling prison had taught her, the one that had kept her alive and breathing. She waited a second before turning to see a woman with long dark hair across the street, staring.
Reine pulled at her old hoodie, lifting the hood over her shoulder-length dark hair even though it was mildly warm out. She made herself look away, around and up the street to see what could be coming at her. It was a quiet morning, and cars were parked in front of most of the houses. The sheriff’s cruiser was in the driveway as the early sun topped the horizon.
She reminded herself she couldn’t keep standing there, as someone would call the cops, and she’d be questioned, told she didn’t belong. Reine made herself take one step and then another, hoping whoever was watching her would let her be instead of hitting her with the knowledge that she didn’t belong there.
She kept moving in sneakers that were so worn she could feel each pebble she stepped on, but the pain was welcome as she walked up the sidewalk toward the two-story craftsman. Her legs were shaking, and her stomach was hollow, and Reine was very aware of the voices she could hear from inside.
The three front steps were painted gray. As she stepped up, she glanced down at the holes in her sneakers, and her heartbeat thudded long and loud in her ears. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She wondered whether she’d ever shake that feeling of being watched, having to look over her shoulder, never feeling a moment’s peace because of that deep ache in her soul, a reminder of everything she’d lost.
She took another step up, and the creak of the wood ricocheted through her. Her inhale was long and loud in her ears, her heart pounding, her hands sweating. One more step, and she knew she shouldn’t be here, fearing the hand that would reach for her and pull her back, another living nightmare. Reine prayed for the day when that fear would truly leave her.
She fisted her shaking hand, feeling the sweat under her arms, down her back. Her blue jeans hung on her hips. The inside door was closed, and she stared at the screen mesh and lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, but instead she knocked on the white painted frame.
The sound was weak. Standing there, she wasn’t sure if anyone had heard her. She lifted her hand again when she heard voices and footsteps, and then the door opened. She’d never forget his face, his blue eyes, that all-cop look, even though she’d forgotten how tall he was, standing there in his sheriff’s uniform.
For a moment, the silence hung thick in the air as she stared at the man who was responsible for everything she didn’t have.
“Marcus, who’s at the door?” someone called out. It was her voice, Charlotte.
Reine fisted her hands where they hung at her sides and stared through the screen that separated her from a man she felt only bitterness for. She took in the confusion that knit his brows, his hand on the door. He didn’t answer his wife.
“Reine?”
Was he happy or angry? She couldn’t tell from his deep voice. The screen was still closed, but then he pushed it open with a loud squeak. She heard the sounds of children and a voice she’d go to her grave knowing, because it was a part of her.
Eva.
“I don’t understand. What…? How?” Marcus gestured toward her, and she could hear the confusion as his gaze bore down on her. “What are you doing here?”
She pulled her hood down. “Hello, Marcus,” she said, her heart still hammering as she took in the gun holstered on his duty belt. Once, she’d never have believed she could come to hate that uniform, but now she did because of what it had taken from her.
He was still standing in the doorway, looking down at her. She knew she wouldn’t be invited in. What, exactly, had she expected?
“Marcus, you didn’t answer. Who’s here…?” There she was, Charlotte, dressed for work in a brown deputy’s shirt, her long dark hair pulled up. Her eyes widened as she stood beside Marcus, staring down at her. Charlotte’s head just topped his shoulders, but they were both taller than her.
She was still trembling inside, facing the gatekeepers to her Eva. More guards, even though she was no longer behind the walls of a prison.
“Reine, what are you doing here?” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know you were out. What’s going on?”
Not even a welcome or a smile. That was something she expected, and there it was, the change in Charlotte’s face, in her eyes. Gone was the caring, and the woman who’d taken her daughter was staring at her now in a way that told her she didn’t want her here.
“I’m here to see my daughter,” Reine said.
She didn’t miss the exchange between husband and wife as if her fate was still up for debate, as if someone else decided what she could and couldn’t do.
“You’re out of prison?” Marcus said. “I don’t understand. When did this happen?”
When had she become so aware of the tone of people’s voices? Marcus’s had an edge she hadn’t expected.
“Yes, I’m out. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” She wondered if sarcasm dripped from her words. Maybe that was why she still hadn’t been invited in.
Marcus stepped out of the house, forcing her to take a step back, something she was too familiar with. Then he took another and another, and she had to fight the urge to look back to see the steps she could fall down. He was right in front of her, his hands on his duty belt beside cuffs she hoped never to feel around her wrists again. But she refused to cower even though she was terrified of what he could do to her.
The screen door hadn’t closed, and she knew Charlotte was still standing there, holding it open.
“Marcus, the children…”
Was that worry or fear in Charlotte’s voice? Reine couldn’t look at her because the sheriff was staring down at her with a hard expression, the only way people looked at her now.
“Go inside and take Eva and Cameron upstairs,” he said without pulling his eyes from her.
Reine wasn’t about to lower her gaze, either, even though looking a guard in the eye in prison would have been seen as challenging, threatening, with repercussions that ranged from having her privileges taken away to being beaten or tossed in isolation. Cruel was cruel, and that had been all she’d known for too long.
Reine made herself take a breath and instinctively fisted her hands at her sides again.
“Marcus, everything okay here? Jenny said there may be something wrong,” came a voice from behind her.
She had to look away, down to the man looking up at her from the sidewalk in a park warden’s uniform. He was tall, too, and from the way he looked at her, she could feel this going sideways.
“No, everything is fine, Ryan,” Marcus said. “This is Reine. She’s out of prison.” He sounded so matter of fact, but the way he talked about her, as if addressing the weather or the news, ached.
From how the other man was looking at her now, she expected to be told to leave or maybe walked down the street by the two of them, out of the neighborhood, with a warning never to come back.
“You have my daughter, Marcus,” she said. “I want to see Eva right now.”
He lifted his gaze back to her sharply with an expression she didn’t like, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Reine. She’s happy now, and she wouldn’t understand. You just showing up here like this isn’t good for her. It’s confusing, and—”
“She’s my daughter!” She thumped her chest with her fisted hand, cutting him off, and it felt so damn good to do it, because it was something she’d never have been allowed to do in prison.
His gaze snapped to the sudden movement, and she reminded herself she was in front of a cop, standing right on his doorstep. She needed to be careful not to be construed as threatening or aggressive, even though the words she wanted to say were screaming through her head. The anger that radiated through her was clouding her reasoning.
“No, Reine,” Marcus said. “She’s our daughter now. Charlotte and I adopted her. Did you forget it was your idea? Now you’re showing up here without calling, demanding to see her. What is this?”
That was something else she’d become far too used to, being denied everything she loved. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, and tears burned her eyes from the anger that was only swelling deeper, bigger, burning a hole right through her.
“This is about my daughter, Marcus. Mine. I gave birth to her, and she was taken from me…”
He lifted a hand, and for a moment she thought he would touch her, so she jerked her shoulder sharply away. He must have known, as he pulled his hand back. “I can see you’re angry and hurt, but I really don’t think right now is a good time,” he said. “We’ll talk, and maybe we can look at something down the road when you’re a little more settled.” His hand went to his duty belt again, and she felt the dismissal, knowing the other man was still standing there, watching her, maybe waiting for her to move too fast or do something he didn’t like.
Reine didn’t nod. This was too familiar, being told to leave. Then they’d circle the wagons and make sure Eva was moved further out of reach. She was shaking her head as she said, “No, I’m not leaving. I came to see my daughter, and you can’t keep her from me.”
“Reine, you’re making this very difficult. I said no. What is it you really want here? What is this really about? If you were truly thinking of Eva’s best interest, you wouldn’t be here now, showing up without calling.”
She tried to look past him, but he was right there, blocking the door. She lifted her chin and refused to look away from the hard blue eyes of the cop looking down on her. “What I really want is to have the life that was stolen from me. That’s what I really want, Marcus. But I can’t have that, and I have to live with the shitty hand I was dealt. I’ve already asked you, and you’ve denied me seeing my daughter. So hear me, Marcus O’Connell. I’m standing here on your doorstep, and you have my daughter inside, and I’m telling you I want her back. Not to visit, not to make an appointment so you can decide whether I can or can’t see her. I want her back. She’s mine.” She was trembling and knew she should be terrified by the way he was staring down at her.
“No, absolutely not,” he snapped.
She picked up the sharp edge in his voice and heard the creak of the step behind her, knowing her time was up. A hand would grab her and push her away.
She didn’t think. She could feel the panic and the agony of her daughter being ripped away from her again. It was her sweet face, her image, and her name that had kept her sane, so she did the only thing she could think of. She opened her mouth and yelled, “Eva!”
The O'Connells
The O’Connells of Livingston, Montana, are not your typical family. Follow them on their journey to the dark and dangerous side of love in a series of romantic thrillers you won’t want to miss.
“Totally Engrossing. You know there hasn’t been a story in this series that hasn’t had a powerful message, and this one is no exception.” ★★★★★ Catlou, Amazon Reviewer
If you want another heroic heartthrob to add to your TBR pile, you can enter to win my book, DON’T CATCH ME, on BookSweeps today —plus 30+ exciting Military & Hero Romances from a great collection of authors… AND a brand new eReader. Click here to enter. Contest ends July 7, 2021.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
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Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these McCabe Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Who doesn’t love music? I don’t think there’s a person out there who doesn’t. But there is a time and a place. When neighbors constantly blast music while outdoors in the garden, sitting in the yard, or barbecuing with friends, or they just turn it on because they need the noise, everyone can hear it. Worse, have you ever had neighbors who blast music at midnight or two in the morning because they’re drinking and have friends over, which wakes everyone up? Or how about camping? At many of the campgrounds I’ve stayed at, people have brought their Bluetooth speakers or blasted music all day long from RVs with amazing sound systems.
Then there is the rise in home deliveries because of the pandemic. I’ve lost count of the number of delivery drivers who’ve driven in with their music blasting from inside the vehicle, so loud you can hear it before they’ve opened the door. A few don’t bother to turn it down even when they open their doors, rather leaving it on as they search for your package and walk it up to your door, and the entire time you get that cranked-up blast of music that everyone on the block can hear.
I often wonder how people don’t understand that just maybe, everyone else doesn’t want to hear their choice in music. Maybe, just maybe, people would prefer to sit outside and enjoy some peace and quiet rather than listening to Blake Shelton or Led Zeppelin. I know when I’m outside, which is where I write every day, I really do not want to hear my neighbors’ music. If they have contractors working, which has happened more than a few times, the music soon follows, and it has to be loud enough for them to hear it over their power tools. It’s disruptive, to say the least, and I’ve never been able to understand how people wouldn’t even consider that their neighbors next door maybe, just maybe, don’t want to hear it.
I’ve often found myself wanting to call out and ask if they’ve ever heard of earbuds or earphones, a magical invention that has evolved into tiny devices that are completely wireless, so much so that you won’t even feel you’re wearing them. Better yet, you can play music anytime, anywhere, as loud as you want, and no one but you can hear your love of Taylor Swift. Think about it. How many people really want to hear the soundtrack of your life? Music blasting in the back country is a really big annoyance to everyone else out there.
Then there are the hikers. Believe it or not, signs were recently put up on the trails because people were starting to bring their portable Bluetooth speakers and blast music while they hiked. Of course, when I heard this, my only response was, “Huh? You can’t be serious.” Why hike with music? Hiking outdoors should be about the outdoors, the peace and quiet, not about sharing your love of music with people. Many go outside because that’s their way to decompress, to get some peace and quiet. Some argue that they go hiking to get into a mood, into the groove, and they need music to do it. Okay, sure, but put earbuds in if you feel the need to have music on!
But even with earbuds in, there are also safety issues, because if you have earbuds in and are listening to music and you come upon a bear, you’re likely going to walk right up on it, not having heard anything but your music. Depending on where you live, hiking involves listening for wildlife such as bears and cougars. But if listening to music instead is your choice, and you need it for yourself, invest in some earbuds, because with all the noise out there and all the absurd things going on right now, everyone else hiking on the trails is likely there for the peace and quiet. Being on the trail gives them a moment to step away from the craziness elsewhere, and when you’re sharing your love of music anywhere, everywhere, anytime, all that does is frustrate people who don’t want to hear it.
My kids have more earphones than the entire universe put together, I think. They are always listening to music. My daughter is a country girl, and my son is into old-time rock and roll, but when they listen it’s with earbuds. Evidently, they understand my point, as I did my best to drill into them that there are other people out there who don’t want to hear what they’re listening to. When you’re blasting your music, ask yourself whether that person sitting in her car at the ferry, out for walk or a hike or camping, or sitting in her yard wants to hear it.
Looking for a thrilling romance series to add to your TBR pile? Enter to win THE NEIGHBOR (The O’Connells, Book 1) on BookSweeps today —plus 45+ exciting Romantic Suspense series starters from a great collection of authors… AND a brand new eReader. Click here for details. Contest ends July 7, 2021.
Join my Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Walk the Right Road titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Happy weekend, all! It’s Preview Friday, and I’ve got your sneak peek at the next Billy Jo McCabe mystery, ABOVE THE LAW! This upcoming title will be released next week, but you can pre-order your copy AND read the first five chapters here today. Plus, DON’T HIDE FROM ME isnow on audio; claim a free Audible code while supplies last. Enjoy & have a wonderful weekend!
Chapter 1
“You ready to go?” Mark called out the minute he stepped into her place.
No “Hi.” No “How are you?” It was always “Hurry up, already.”
Billy Jo stared at the makeup she’d been about to put on, then tossed it back in her makeup bag, untouched. What had she been thinking, forking over her hard-earned cash on a whim for something she never wore?
“Seriously, Billy Jo, what are you doing?” she said to her reflection in the mirror as she flicked her hands through her plain and boring shoulder-length brown hair, noting the freckles that dotted her nose.
She’d never be the supermodel type. So, again, why was she doing this?
“Hey, didn’t you hear me? What are you doing in here?” Mark said as he strolled in.
She stared up at the tall, rugged, arrogant cowboy. His new jean jacket didn’t quite match his faded blue jeans, and his wavy red hair was short and appeared freshly cut. The way he talked to her, it was always as if he didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. He rested his hand on the doorframe and took in her small bathroom.
“I’m doing what a girl does: getting ready,” she said. “You said dinner at that new Mexican place. You made a reservation?”
He stepped back from the doorway, dragging his gaze down, taking in her new sleeveless black blouse and dressy capris, a gift from her mom. He had her feeling both uncomfortable and awkward.
“What?” She knew it came out quite sharply.
There was the pull of his lips, the smile that wasn’t really a smile but rather a sign of his amusement at her expense. Maybe that was why she could feel the frown knitting her brow.
“Didn’t say anything,” he said. “And no, didn’t get around to making a reservation. We don’t need it.”
She wondered at times what it was about him that had her wanting to pull her hair out. “It’s new and it’s busy. We need a reservation or it’s going to be fish tacos at the stand again—and I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
He only angled his head, those blue eyes flickering, too good to look at. She knew he would rather argue than just go along with what he was supposed to do. But that seemed to be who they were and how this thing, whatever this was between them, worked.
“You worry too much,” he said.
At the jab, she felt her hands fisting at her sides. “And you seem to think we can just walk right in there and…what, we’ll be given a table?”
He flicked his jacket back as if trying to make a point, resting his hand right beside his badge, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He said nothing.
“You seriously think you can just show your badge and they’ll bump us right to the front of the line?” she said.
He made a rude noise, one she’d heard from him too many times when she just didn’t go along with his way of thinking. “You make it sound like a bad thing. Everyone knows who I am…”
She could tell exactly what he’d been thinking by the way he trailed off. “And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that? Walking right in, past all the people who actually thought ahead to make reservations, past anyone else waiting their turn on the list? You seriously think that just because you’re a cop here, you get priority?” She flicked off the light in the bathroom and stepped out.
He suddenly seemed at a loss for words. “Now, wait a second. That wasn’t what I meant.”
She angled her head. He stepped back, and she walked around him to the island, where her cell phone was plugged in and charging. She took a second to check that it was in the green, at one hundred percent. As she looked over, she thought he dropped an F-bomb under his breath before pulling his cell phone from his pocket and dialing.
“Yeah, this is Detective Mark Friessen. This is probably short notice, but do you have a table available for dinner for two? I was planning on coming now and just showing up, but it was pointed out to me that you’re likely busy, and…”
She could hear someone talking on the other end.
“Uh-huh,” was all Mark said. As he flicked his gaze over to her, his blue eyes seemed to simmer with something. “Sounds great. We’re on our way,” he said, then hung up and tucked his phone in his pocket.
She stared at what seemed to be smugness in his expression.
“Apparently there’s always a table available for me,” he said. Then he shrugged. “I called like you said. You should be happy now.” He gestured as if she’d made a big deal out of nothing.
“Yet you just couldn’t help yourself from using your detective title before asking for a table,” she said. “Mark, it’s the same as if you’d walked in there and flashed your badge. Ever heard of abuse of authority? There shouldn’t always be a table for you. That is very much someone giving you something for a favor.” She tucked her phone in her bag.
He narrowed his gaze. “I am the last person to use my position to get something. Seriously, I don’t work that way. I can’t be bought and don’t give out special favors. You’re making it sound as if I’m taking a kickback or something. I pay my own way. I don’t take gifts or bribes.”
She pulled her arms over her chest, taking in how defensive he suddenly sounded. “I hate to tell you this, but a table in a crowded restaurant is a kickback, whatever you want to call it, if you got it using your position in the community.”
“Do you want me to cancel? Is that what this is?”
She realized in that second that he didn’t get it. He stared at her with what she thought was the usual frustration that happened in their discussions, where she had one idea and he seemed to pull counterarguments from his ass.
“No, I’m hungry,” she said. “Let’s go.”
He stood there for a second as if he didn’t believe her. “There’s a test in here, right?”
She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything. She simply took in her three-legged cat, Harley, as he hopped up onto the sofa. Mark looked down at her with the same kind of apprehension with which he might have looked at a ticking timebomb.
“Don’t look so worried,” she finally said. “Let’s go. But hear me on this: If we get there and there’s a crowd waiting, and, sure enough, they’ve bumped you to the front of the line because of your phone call, you say no to the table and ask them to put us in the queue, where we should have been to begin with.”
He lifted his hands as if surrendering. “Fine. Point made,” he said, then gestured to the door.
Billy Jo had to remind herself that it wasn’t healthy to enjoy this butting of heads that seemed to come naturally between her and Mark.
Chapter 2
The sun was going down. Mark took in his watch, noting that it was approaching eight thirty. He had to remind himself to fight the instinct to go back over to the hostess just inside the door, who still had a spooked expression.
Billy Jo had been right. Maybe that was why he was so uncomfortable as he sat outside on the bench, because he’d done what Billy Jo had expected and asked the hostess whether she’d bumped him to the front of the line, ahead of the dozen or so people already waiting, just because he was Detective Friessen.
What had her answer been? She had stared in horror, because apparently he wasn’t supposed to have asked that. Nevertheless, she had replied that all but two of the waiting couples had called and been there before him.
His stomach rumbled again. Waiting at a restaurant for over an hour for a table was something he had never done. His gaze continued to dart over to the nearby taco stand, which was now closing up for the night.
Billy Jo smacked his arm. “Okay, two more are leaving their tables. Come on, hurry up, people.” She tapped his arm again. She was staring through the big picture window, nothing discreet about her.
“You sure they’re not leaving because of the way you’re staring them down, making them feel as if you’re about to walk in there, rip their plates away, and tell them they’re done?”
She made a rude noise.
He took in her impatience, the way she fidgeted. She looked rather nice tonight. Her clothes were unlike the baggy things she normally wore. Girly was one thing Billy Jo wasn’t, but tonight was different. He found himself really taking in everything about her, though there was nothing flirty or teasing there.
What was wrong with him? He seemed to always be drawn to the wrong kind of girl. But then, he trusted Billy Jo more than anyone. He pulled his hand over his face, wondering why he wasn’t like his brothers.
“Yup…yup,” she said. “Look, that’s our table, and we’re taking it. Come on, get up.” She kept tapping his arm.
For a moment, as he took in her impatience, he thought she might even go in and yell at them to hurry up and pay the bill. “You know, just saying, that could have been us. We could have already had dinner and been on our way, but no. You insisted I make everyone feel uncomfortable and go to the back of the line because…”
“Oh, stop it, already. If you’d actually called and made a reservation earlier today like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be sitting out here, starving. What the hell is up with some of these people, though? They’ve been sitting there forever, done eating yet not leaving. Those two must have been married forever, because they’re just staring off into space.”
The way she said it, he half expected her to walk in there and over to the people at the tables in question and tell them to leave. She was staring down with the kind of look he wouldn’t want to have been on the receiving end of. Complicated, difficult. Being with her was just like treading over a minefield.
He stood up beside her as she stared through the big window, leaning in.
“Could someone get up any slower?” she said. “Come on, people. Move it, already.” She clapped her hands this time.
He wondered whether people could hear her from inside.
“Let’s go. We’re taking that table.” She gestured sharply as she strode to the door and pulled it open, and he had no choice but to follow her. He gripped the edge of the door, looking right and left, really taking his time. She was already up in front of the hostess, gesturing quite sharply. Would that hostess ever forget them? Likely not.
Two couples walked out past him as he carefully took a step inside, looking around.
“Come on, Mark. Let’s go,” Billy Jo called out.
The hostess already had two menus in her hand, and she led them into the open restaurant, which had about twenty tables. It was well lit, with lots of windows that offered an amazing view of the now darkening sky.
“I have a window seat here,” the hostess said. “Can I get you two anything to drink to start?”
Mark reached for the chair at the table for two, which had just been cleared and wiped down but was not yet set for anyone, and pulled it out. “I’ll have a pint of your lager on tap.”
Billy Jo was still standing, her hands resting on the back of her chair. “A glass of your house red,” she said.
The hostess left the menus on the table and walked away. Billy Jo was still standing there, not sitting, and Mark didn’t have a clue what she was doing.
“You’re not seriously expecting me to pull your chair out for you?” he said.
She shot him a look that told him to drop dead, a look she’d mastered, and then looped her purse over the back of the chair before pulling it out. “Don’t be an ass,” she said as she sat, then nodded behind him. “You have any idea who those people are over there?”
He glanced around to where she was gesturing, seeing a restaurant full of people he didn’t really know.
She wiped her hands over the damp table and then rubbed them together. “Don’t look,” she hissed under her breath.
He turned back to her and wanted to point out how ridiculous she sounded. “You asked me if I knew who they were. If I can’t look, then how am I supposed to tell you?”
One of the servers brought a basket of breadsticks along with two rolled napkins with utensils. Not exactly Mexican, but hungry was hungry. Mark reached for one and took a bite.
“Do it conspicuously,” she said. “Come on. You’re a cop. You should know how to watch people without them knowing you’re looking at them.” She was serious.
He reached for the menu and leaned on the table before glancing behind him. Then he looked back to see her standing. “No idea who you’re talking about. What are you doing? I thought you were hungry.” He gestured to her chair.
She reached for her purse, not pulling her eyes from his. He could see the edge to her, which was always there. “Table of four women who’ve been watching us, or rather you, since we walked in here. But even earlier, when we were sitting outside, they kept looking over.” She leaned in again. “Come on, Mark. The table of four women at two o’clock? Please tell me they aren’t women you dated and have forgotten about?”
Now he had even less interest in looking. “Okay, you know what?” he said. “I’m hungry. If they want to look, let them. And, for the record, I remember every woman I’ve dated. What are you doing?”
She was now standing, her bag over her shoulder. “I have to go to the bathroom. Order something to start while I’m gone,” she said, then started to the back of the restaurant.
He just shook his head. Being with Billy Jo was anything but easy. He stared at the menu, the choices, as a lanky server wearing a black shirt and pants appeared with Billy Jo’s wine and his beer.
“Do you have any starters before we order?” Mark said. “Chips, salsa…?” He looked up to the waiter as he took in the menu, which had so many options.
“Sure. I can bring you a basket of chips and salsa, or we have nachos with shrimp con queso.” He pointed at the long list.
Mark didn’t have a clue what Billy Jo wanted. “You know what? You choose,” he said.
“Hi, Mark. I thought that was you,” said a woman behind the waiter. She was attractive, leggy, slender, wearing a hat over a mix of dark and light hair. “I guess you don’t remember meeting. I’m a friend of Sybil Gillespie. We met at the coffeehouse when she was closing up a while back.” Her smile was perfect.
He could feel the unease, a knot in his stomach. He looked up to the waiter, who was still standing there, and said, “Whatever you bring is fine.”
The waiter had been staring at the woman, whom Mark didn’t remember meeting. “Okay then…” was all he said before he left.
Mark leaned back, wondering why the woman was smiling down at him. He took in the perfect smile of someone who seemed too familiar with him, and he wondered whether this was where he was supposed to ask how Sybil was.
“Sorry, your name is?” He gestured toward her.
She shrugged. She wore skin-tight jeans, a crop top, and a jean jacket, with heavy eyeliner and hoops in her ears. He was pretty good with faces and names, so he didn’t know why he didn’t remember. He thought of Sybil, super hot, exactly the type he gravitated to. Yet he hadn’t stepped back in that coffeehouse since things went sideways.
“Lynn,” she said. “So you don’t remember me?”
He pulled in a breath, wondering what it was about the way she was staring down at him, watching him. “Sorry, I meet a lot of people. You’re having dinner here with friends?”
He wondered now whether that was who Billy Jo had meant, the people watching him. He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to see the three other women, who smiled and waved. He didn’t have a clue who they were—young, attractive, exactly the type that was unhealthy for him.
“Yeah, just over there,” Lynn said. “We saw you walk in with that social worker, and I thought I’d come over and say hi. Sybil was just mentioning you the other day, oh so cool and forever single. She didn’t mention you were seeing someone else…”
He reached for his beer and took a swallow. Something about this seemed too familiar, playing games, dancing around subjects, women sticking their noses in his business. “Well, again, Lynn, sorry I didn’t remember you, but enjoy your dinner.”
She hesitated, as he’d made it clear they were done, before saying, “Sure, sorry. Great to see you again, Mark. I’ll let Sybil know you said hi.”
He didn’t pull his gaze from her as he shook his head and settled his beer down on the table, not even trying to stop the rough laugh that slipped out. He hated these games. “Please don’t, Lynn. Not sure what this is, coming over here. I’m sorry I don’t remember meeting you, but I’m having dinner with a friend. Whatever has you walking over here and getting in my business…”
“Oh, no,” she said, cutting him off, a hint of pink in her cheeks. “I hope you didn’t think that’s why I came over. Of course not. I just… Well, this is embarrassing now. That’s not what I meant. It was just careless small talk, really. I’m just…”
He could see how flustered she was, yet he didn’t know why she was still standing there. She took two steps to Billy Jo’s chair, pulled it out, and sat down. He wondered whether his eyes bugged out.
“What are you doing?”
“Look, one thing Sybil always said about you was that you’re a great guy and you’d be her first call if she was in trouble, even though things aren’t good between you. Mark is who you call if you’re in trouble, she said.”
Something about the way she was talking had him glancing over to the back of the restaurant where Billy Jo had gone. He still didn’t see her. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble or something?”
She hunched a bit and leaned on the table, moving the wrapped cutlery to the side. She looked away. “Look, before you came to the island, people knew not to bother calling the police if something happened. Depending on who you were, it wouldn’t be taken seriously. But Sybil said you wouldn’t look away if someone you knew did something. She said you’d actually look into it and do something rather than protect someone because he was family or a friend. Is that true?”
He felt uneasy, taking in her ball cap and wondering if that was her way of hiding. “Why don’t you just get to the point, Lynn? Did something happen?”
She firmed her lips and fisted her hands on the table as she sat back, looking around, then lifted her hand to the side of her head as if she didn’t want anyone to see her. “Look, there’s a man who comes into the coffeehouse and makes her uncomfortable. The way he looks at her, the way he acts… She took it to the chief once, but he wouldn’t do anything about it.”
He let out a sigh and leaned forward. “Did he do something to her? I’m kind of at a loss here. Is it just that she’s uncomfortable, or is it something more? Has he threatened her in any way? Is he harassing her? You need to be a little more specific. Does she have reason to believe he’ll hurt her? Who is this, anyway?”
“Look, it’s not what he says but what he does, the way he ogles her. She says it’s creepy. He hasn’t exactly asked her out, but he takes things as if he has every right, little things, like he helps himself to a cookie and doesn’t pay for it. The last time he came in… You know that basket of muffins she keeps by the register? She went to move it, and he grabbed her arm so hard he left marks. I told her to report him, but she already did twice, before you came to the island, and all the chief said was that he’d talk to him.”
“So why is it you are coming to me and not Sybil?”
She stood up from her chair and pressed her hands to the table. “Because she said things ended badly between the two of you, and I know she’s super hurt that you’re interested in someone else. Call it ego, call it whatever. But the fact is that the last time she talked to the chief, the guy walked back into the café the next day, lifted the glass lid off the cake plate, and dropped it so it shattered right beside him. He didn’t look away from her. All he said was oops, then told her not to take it to the chief next time she had an issue with him.
“Then he walked behind the counter, helped himself to a sandwich, and took a bite out of it before dropping it on the floor too. Of course, no one was there. Yesterday, when I stopped in, she said she wanted it to stop. He doesn’t take anything worth more than a few dollars. But the fact is that he’s Roland Shephard—you know, the chief’s brother? I told her to call you regardless of what happened between the two of you. She just wants him to stop coming in and knows the chief won’t do anything.”
The last thing he wanted was to be dragged back into Sybil’s world, but if someone was harassing her, he wouldn’t look away. The chief’s brother? “Okay, I’ll talk to her,” he said.
This time, Lynn didn’t pull her gaze, her light brown eyes. She gave him a smile and rested her hand on his shoulder. “That’s great. There. I guess that wasn’t so hard after all.” Then she pulled her hand away and walked off just as the waiter reappeared with a platter of steaming cheese-covered nachos.
Still no sign of Billy Jo.
What was it with women and bathrooms?
Chapter 3
As she washed her hands, Billy Jo took in the woman at the other sink, who wore a baby blue bandana around her dark hair as if to contain it. She had a round dark face and was wiping mascara that had flaked under her eyes.
Billy Jo didn’t have to fix anything on her makeup-free face except for the freckles over her nose and cheeks, which she had always wished would disappear.
“You’re that social worker, right?” the woman said.
Billy Jo rinsed the soap from her hands and turned her head, unsure what was coming next, knowing she’d never seen the woman before. “I am a social worker. Have we met?” She turned off the water and reached for a paper towel to dry her hands.
“No, we haven’t met, but I know who you are. Saw you’re friends with that detective who also showed up on the island. I know there was talk when you showed up not long after one another, coming into a new place. You’re not part of the community, and that worried a lot of folks who said you’d change things in a way that would upset people. You know how it’s always been done here.”
Billy Jo didn’t have a clue what to say. The woman stood about five inches taller than her and appeared her mom’s age. She knew well that change was something no one welcomed, even if it meant something better. “I guess that’s the thing about small communities. When you’re new, people don’t have any idea whether you’ll fit in or you’re some wildcard, coming in with crazy ideas to change the way things are done. I’ve heard it before. But hey, as you put it, I’m just a social worker.”
Then there was Mark, but she wasn’t talking for him. Billy Jo tossed the paper towel in the trash and lifted her bag over her shoulder, taking a step to the door.
“You know, that’s the thing about someone new coming in. That person doesn’t know about some of the things that go on in a community, and most times they don’t want to know. For example, there are problems happening right under the nose of the chief of police.”
Her hand had been on the handle of the door, but she froze, realizing this wasn’t just a friendly chat. She turned back to the woman, who was now watching her in a way that said she had something on her mind. Maybe Billy Jo didn’t want to know.
“Sounds like you’re hinting at something,” she said. “You know the chief?”
Billy Jo slid her hand over the strap of her baggy cloth purse, holding on to it over her shoulder. The woman wasn’t smiling, and Billy Jo still didn’t have a clue who she was.
“Everyone on the island knows the chief—or knows about him, his family, how he runs things. You kind of have to get used to it. Someone like that, with how deep his roots go here… The thing about communities is that everyone has ties going way back, and there’s always one family that runs things as if they founded the place. It morphs into their kingdom, their rules. They get their hooks into the island, and it’s impossible to ever get them out. It’s passed down through families, and if you’re part of that group, you know, and you’re good with it because it benefits you.
“Most people know this, and no one ever thinks it’s a problem, or if they do, they only laugh it off as if that’s just the way it is. Don’t know how to fix it or change it, because you learn to either put up or move on out. Everyone else just goes along and decides it’s not a problem because it doesn’t affect them, or that’s how it’s always been done. People tell you to leave it alone because it happens everywhere.”
The way this woman was hinting at something only added to the giant unease Billy Jo felt, which she figured had always been with her. She’d grown up on the wrong side, it seemed, of everything. “You know, I haven’t been here that long, you’re right, and you evidently already know that,” Billy Jo said. “But I get the sense that you know something and don’t really want to say what it is. I can’t help wondering if you’re trying to figure out what side of the fence I’m on. Are you wondering if what you tell me will get back to the chief? I wish you would just say it. But I’m at a loss because you know who I am but I don’t know who you are.”
The woman reached for her small black bag and looped its gold chain over her arm before smoothing down her blue and white shirt, a little long and baggy in the front. “You know why people don’t come forward when something bad has happened to them or someone they know? Because they know nothing will change. Or, worse, if they do say something, they’re suddenly the one with a target on them, the one in the spotlight, with bad things happening to them, because no one ever likes the person who blows the whistle.
“And what happens to that person who calls out a liar or a thief, someone who does bad things and gets away with it? That person suddenly finds herself hunted, with her life upended and a spotlight shining down on her and her family. Skeletons she doesn’t even know she had are dug up. Then she loses her job, or her friends suddenly turn away, or she has even bigger problems. Going after a cop, especially one who runs a community, is a surefire way to find yourself under investigation for something. Then your friends are either running the other way or throwing you under the bus to save their own skin.”
She knew she was frowning, and she realized now what she was seeing on the woman’s face and hearing in her voice. “Are you trying to figure out if I’m going to share whatever you tell me? I can assure you I won’t, but then again, you don’t know me. I can see you’re likely trying to figure out whether you should tell me whatever it is. First, I don’t know your name, because you haven’t told me, so whatever you tell me isn’t going to come back on you since I don’t know who you are. And I get having trust issues…” She made herself stop talking. Convincing someone to trust her was something she would never try to do. She let go of the strap of her purse and lifted both her hands to stop herself. “You keep hinting at the chief, at the idea that he did something. Let’s say he did. Is this something he did to you?”
The woman pursed her lips as if considering her answer. “Not to me but to someone else. As I said, it was something that was happening right under the watch of the chief, right in his own family. You know what I mean? How often do families protect their own, look the other way, or maybe wear blinders because they don’t want to know the truth even though they really do? How often do you really not know that someone in your family is doing bad things to another family member? Think about it. What would you do if you found out something like that about the chief and his family?”
Billy Jo pulled her arms across her chest. She had an unsettled feeling every time she had to be around the chief, talk to him, or listen to him talk down to her as if she were less than him. Maybe that was why she’d never give him the benefit of the doubt.
“You’re saying you know something about the chief, or is it someone in his family? You want to know what I’ll do? Well, I won’t walk into his office and tell him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I do know enough about him to understand that nothing goes down on this island without him knowing about it, though. I guess I would have to consider what it is and then figure out a way to handle it. But I wouldn’t confront him, not someone like him.”
The woman seemed to consider her reply, then nodded. “Well, you’re right about one thing: You don’t know me. You know how big the chief’s family is?”
What did Billy Jo really know about the chief? That he was married to Gail, for one, and she’d seen photos of their grown kids, but other than that, she knew nothing. “I know very little, but maybe that’s a good thing.”
“The chief and his wife have a large family, with nine siblings between them. Five are married, and three are currently single. One’s been married four times. The chief has dozens of nieces and nephews and four of his own kids, three with Gail and the eldest with a woman he was married to for five minutes. Most of their family lives somewhere else, another state, another country, but there are more than a dozen of the shirttail kind who still live here.
“One of them is a niece by the name of Cheyenne Potter, just one of a few who were preyed on by someone they should’ve been able to trust. It started when she was fourteen, and she told her mother when she was fifteen. The predator is a man who’s been married too many times and is known for his affairs. He shows up for every family dinner, gathering, or reunion. He’s the one who never forgets the kids’ birthdays, who puts the party hat on and gets down on a level with the little ones. He treats the boys like gold, and he loves the girls who sit on his lap… You have any idea where I’m going with this?”
She did, which was maybe the reason for the sick lump sitting heavy in her throat. She forced herself to swallow. “You’re saying she was molested. How old is she? Who did it?”
“She’s too old for you to do anything now. She’s twenty-six. Just ended her engagement because that kind of thing messes with you and takes away any chance of having something normal. She never told her fiancé, because who in her right mind would want to talk about something like that?”
“And she didn’t report it? Her mother didn’t?”
The woman shook her head. “You haven’t listened to anything I’ve said. He’s family, the chief’s family. You think they don’t know? The funny thing too is that Cheyenne’s schooling was paid for, but she dropped out and never finished her degree. She was in Boston, a long way from here, and she should’ve stayed there. But for some reason, she came back, and the only thing I do know is that she’s not allowed to talk about it, any of it—whatever that means. She just bought a house, though where she got the money…”
The woman shrugged. “So I’m going to walk out of here now. Please don’t follow me, but if the stories and rumors on this island about you are true, then I expect you’ll look into it, that you won’t give the chief and his family a pass just like everyone else does. Oh, and if you come looking for me, I’ll deny we had this conversation. Remember, Cheyenne Potter. And if you talk to her, don’t tell her where you heard this from.”
The woman walked around Billy Jo and pulled open the bathroom door, leaving her standing there, pulling in a breath, feeling as if a little bomb had been dropped. She stepped out of the bathroom into a half-empty restaurant and found herself looking around for the woman, her heart pounding. But she must have already walked out. For a moment, she wondered who else knew.
She dragged her gaze over to Mark, who was sitting at the table by the window, eating what looked to be nachos. She crossed the restaurant and took in the way he lounged in the chair, those blue eyes flickering with what she thought was annoyance.
“Took you long enough,” he said. “Was starting to think you ran out the back door. The waiter said the kitchen was about to close up for the night, so I overstepped and ordered you the special, a shrimp enchilada. Don’t be pissed if it’s not what you wanted.”
“That’s fine,” she snapped as she flicked her hand to him, looped her purse over the back of her chair, and scraped back her chair and sat down. She glanced at the empty tables around them and leaned forward, keeping her voice down as she said, “I was just cornered in the bathroom by a woman who told me something about the chief.” She scooted her chair closer, her arms resting now on the table, and glanced around. She could see she had all his attention.
Mark stilled, having just shoved a nacho into his mouth. “Is this something I’m going to want to hear?” He wiped his hands and glanced over his shoulder before settling those baby blue eyes on her.
She pulled in a breath. “Probably not, but let me ask you this: What do you know about the chief’s family? Would he cover up a crime to protect a relative?”
Mark glanced to the side again and then behind him as if to make sure no one was listening. “I think you’d better tell me what this woman said to you,” he said, an edge to his voice. “And, Billy Jo, don’t leave anything out.”
Chapter 4
Mark took in Gail, who was rustling papers, stapling something, then slid around in his chair and took in the chief. The man was in his office, talking on the phone. Mark’s dog was lying on the dog bed, his eyes open, staring at him.
His phone dinged with another message from Billy Jo:
Well?
So much for their peaceful dinner out. The evening had turned into a bombshell of secrets about the chief’s family.
He turned off the screen and turned his phone over, still trying to get his head around what Billy Jo had told him. Then there was Sybil at the coffee shop. He planned to stop in later and have a talk about Roland Shephard, who was harassing her. But as he stared at Gail, he had no clue how to go about tactfully and carefully looking into the problem in the chief’s family without the chief and her knowing.
What was the story, the real story?
“What’s on your mind, Mark?”
He only lifted his gaze from where he lounged in his chair, giving his head a shake, not missing the way Gail seemed to be studying him with an amused grin. He really did like her and the way she served as a buffer between him and the chief.
“Quiet day on the island,” she said, teasing. “You sure there isn’t something?”
“Nope, just waiting for the phone to ring and enjoying the peace and quiet for a moment without having to handle some problem,” he replied. Then he heard the ding of his phone again, and he noticed the interest in Gail’s expression.
“Someone seems persistent,” she said.
He took in the long line of texts from Billy Jo:
Did you ask?
Why aren’t you answering?
I’ve done my part. No report here.
???
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and texted back: Not yet. Give me a minute.
He knew Billy Jo wanted him to get the inside scoop on who this Cheyenne Potter was and whether she was related to the chief or Gail.
Then there was Sybil. He hadn’t shared the other problem in the chief’s family with Billy Jo. Was it the same person?
“Yeah, just a friend, you know,” he said. He didn’t know what to make of the way Gail smirked.
“I heard you and Billy Jo tried out the new Mexican restaurant last night. Also heard you had to wait after showing up and making Lindy, who was hostessing last night, put you at the bottom of the list even though she had a table ready for you.”
“You spying on me, Gail?” he said. There was something about this place. It seemed every move he made was reported back to Gail, the chief, and everyone else in town. It was the kind of thing that made him really uneasy. He gestured vaguely when she quirked a brow. “Billy Jo pointed out to me that I’d used my position as a cop to get to the front of the line, and that kind of abuse of authority is a problem.”
Gail let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I see. She’s really got you toeing the line. Man, I love that girl.”
He didn’t know what to make of that comment, considering he had a mind of his own but just didn’t see things the way Billy Jo did. “I’m not toeing anything. I just didn’t believe her. When I asked the hostess last night whether she’d put me at the top of the list and given me a table over everyone who was already waiting or had called to reserve, I didn’t expect her to say yes. So it’s not about toeing the line. It’s about the fact that I didn’t even realize it was happening.”
She pulled in a sharp breath, watching him. “You know, Mark, I remember years ago, when I still worked in the male-dominated banking industry, all the men I worked with—or rather, under—walked right through the doors that were open wide to them. They didn’t see the struggles I had, being a woman, or the struggles others had because they weren’t white. The men I worked with landed so easily into positions of power because of who they were and how they looked. They didn’t see all the hurdles I had jumped through to get the position I had, from delivering them their coffee, to picking up their mail, to dry cleaning their suits, to even dusting down their desks only to be left in the office when the boys all gathered at the club for drinks.
“Don’t get me wrong; they were friendly, even nice. They told me hello, asked how my night was. But I was not on their level, and the worst thing was that they never even saw that. It was clear from simple things, such as a favorite table always waiting for them at a restaurant when everyone else was put on a list and had to wait. Honestly, I remember bringing it up once to this man we’ll call Fred, and the look he gave me, it was as if I’d lost my mind.
“That told me everything. He didn’t believe he was getting anything special, said I was being overdramatic. Yet he could pick up the phone and call anyone, a lawyer, another bank, some retail giant, and get put right through to the corporate president. You know what really got me was the fact that it was people like him who were the gatekeepers, and the people who work in those places simply conform—like the girl who works a minimum-wage job and had your table ready because she was conditioned to automatically give you a leg up because of your power, your position.”
Mark hadn’t realized he was squeezing his phone. He set it down. He hadn’t expected this, not from Gail. “So, what, are you saying I’m at fault here? Geez, you sound like Billy Jo…” He sat forward. Damn, he felt uncomfortable, and he didn’t understand how he hadn’t seen what she was talking about.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a knot, Mark. It’s how this country was built. You can’t change centuries of how things have been done overnight. People aren’t ready for the kind of change that needs to happen. People, even minorities, keep doing the same old thing even if it doesn’t work just because it’s familiar. Something new is uncomfortable, and no one likes that. Just mentioning change is enough to start a fight. That’s not your fault. But if you don’t turn around and see what’s happening to the person behind you who doesn’t look like you, that’s on you.”
He gestured toward her. “You’re making it sound as if it’s up to me to fix this.”
She stood up and stacked her files. The way she looked over to him, for a moment she seemed so much like his mom, ready to set him straight. “It is up to you, Mark. It’s up to every white male out there who looks like you to stop in that doorway, when something is so easy for you that you don’t even realize it, and turn around. It’s up to you to ask if you got a job fairly, if you’re making more money because you’re white and male, if you have the ability to call anyone and go over the heads of people everyone else has to deal with, people who don’t get the same service as you, the same benefit as you. You thought it was a simple dinner out?” she added in a teasing tone.
He found himself looking over to Carmen’s empty desk. “Do I make more money than Carmen?” he said, his heart thudding. He just assumed…what, that it didn’t matter?
Gail pulled in a breath and let it out. “She’s not a detective. You are,” was all she said.
He dragged his gaze from Gail back to the empty desk, thinking of the prickly deputy who always had his back. He knew what Gail hadn’t come right out and said. “But she does the same job as I do.”
Gail pulled open the filing cabinet and started tucking in her files as he sat there at his desk, unable to figure out why he was so uncomfortable. “How about that, Mark? Good on you for noticing. She does do the same job, but she’s not a detective. Her title is deputy, which is a way of justifying the wage difference. It comes down from the top, the state, all the way to the county, the mayor, and the council. Even though we don’t have a sea of white men running everything like we once did, we do have minorities who have moved into those positions and conform, carrying on the same way of doing things. So no, Carmen doesn’t get paid what you do. You technically have more authority than she does, although, job to job, what you do here on this island is exactly the same. The only difference is that you have a title, and she doesn’t.”
How the hell had they gone so far down this rabbit hole? He had to remind himself to blink, to pull in a breath. “This isn’t okay,” he replied. He didn’t know what else to say.
“No, it’s not, Mark.”
“Isn’t the head of the town council a woman?” He was sure of that.
Gail rested her hand on the files in the cabinet. “Did you miss the part about conforming? To be clear, Mary Jane Trundell faced the same closed doors I did, watching as promotions she would’ve earned were given to men who had no qualifications. She was called honey, fetched coffee, made less than her male coworkers, and had to claw her way to where she is. Yet she was all for the idea of a white male being the detective with higher pay. She argued that Carmen could not have a promotion, so, as a result, the title of deputy earns her twenty percent less. Kind of leaves you with a warm and fuzzy feeling, doesn’t it?”
From the way Gail shoved the filing cabinet closed, he wasn’t sure whether she was angry and finished making her point or whether she still had something else to point out about how he didn’t see what was happening around him.
“I swear, Mark, this is the first time I’ve seen you at such a loss for what to say,” she said. “But, as I said, I think Billy Jo is good for you. Glad to hear you two are seeing each other.”
“Billy Jo and I are just friends, Gail…”
Good friends, and she was the one person he found himself wanting to talk to about anything and everything—except Sybil.
“Oh, please,” Gail said. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re seeing someone else or that Billy Jo is. Bite the bullet, Mark. Make it official. You’re perfect for each other. In fact, why don’t you bring her for dinner tonight at the house?”
His phone dinged again, but he didn’t turn it over. Gail was walking over to the coffeemaker and pulling out the basket of grounds—to make a pot for him?
He pushed back his chair and stood up. “You know what, Gail? Let me make the coffee,” he said, shrugging out of his jean jacket and tossing it over the back of his chair.
She turned around, holding the basket, confusion knitting her brows. “You want to make coffee?”
He reached to take the basket of grounds from her. “I don’t want you waiting on me. I can make coffee. I mean, you just finished pointing out how I don’t see things.”
She was still gripping the basket. He wondered if she’d refuse. When she relented, he wasn’t sure whether he saw panic or distrust in her expression. “Just make sure you wipe up the grounds you spill on the counter, only fill it half full, use cold water to fill the carafe, and…”
“Do you want to make it?”
She ripped the basket from his hands. “I don’t want to clean up a mess, and I want it done the right way.”
He said nothing, wondering if he should point out that he’d offered.
“Don’t say it,” she snapped.
“Say what? All I was going to say is that Billy Jo and I would love to come for dinner. So what time should we be there?”
They could talk about family, the personal kind of stuff they didn’t talk about at work, and Billy Jo wouldn’t be texting him about it every five minutes.
Gail filled the carafe with water. “Come about six.”
He heard the ding of his phone again and started back to his desk. As he did, the chief stepped out of his office and said something to Gail in a low voice. Gail was a complicated woman, and her husband was a man Mark would always keep an eye on.
He picked up his phone and saw another message from Billy Jo:
Hello, what are you doing?
He replied, Got us an invite to dinner at the chief and Gail’s tonight.
He spotted three dots, then nothing. Then a thumbs-up appeared.
Okay, one woman appeased. Now he had to figure out how he was going to find out everything he could about Cheyenne Potter before dinner that night. Then there was Sybil. He needed to find her and have a talk with her about this nuisance brother of the chief.
He dragged his hand over his face, knowing he was being dragged deeper into something that could end badly for him and his career as a cop.
Chapter 5
Mark had been unusually quiet since pulling in to pick her up five minutes after she got home. He’d blasted the horn without getting out of his Jeep, which she knew was his way of saying, “I’m here. Let’s go—and hurry up about it!”
At any other time, she’d likely have ignored him, but as he sat in his idling Jeep, Lucky panting in the back seat, the floor of the passenger side free of takeout packaging, something about Mark just seemed off.
“So how did you manage to get us invited for dinner at the chief’s?” she said as he backed out and swung around, already shifting gears while driving out to the road. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses he always wore when driving, but she could sense an edge to him tonight.
“I didn’t. Gail suggested it as I was warding off all your texts, trying to figure out a way to find out who Cheyenne Potter is, considering she didn’t show up in the database. I figured a nice social get-together away from the office would be the perfect spot to talk about family.” He glanced over to her and then back to the road.
Lucky leaned forward and licked her face, and she reached back and rubbed his head, his floppy ears. She really loved Mark’s dog.
“Well, I did Google Cheyenne,” Billy Jo said. “She’s on social media, with all kinds of photos with friends, selfies. Pretty girl, but no privacy settings. From what I can see, she loves to play some Candy Crush game and hasn’t figured out that her online profile shows everywhere she goes and everything she does. If I ever try to sign up for one, remind me why it’s a good idea to keep things offline.”
He only shook his head. She’d expected a smile, but there was nothing. Okay, something was up.
“Anyway, I did cover the bases on my end and search the DCFS records, but her name never came up. So what’s the plan tonight? How are you going to bring up Cheyenne and steer the conversation there?”
He darted his gaze to her and back to the road, and she could tell how off he was by the frown he couldn’t hide. “I’m not planning on bringing it up. That’s why you’re here to help steer the conversation to family. You said she’s a niece? So find out the details of their family without asking outright. You know this could be some wild goose chase or someone messing with you. You said you didn’t know who this woman was, that she wouldn’t give her name but she knew you and me. This could be nothing except someone trying to stir something up and have us walking into a problem with the chief and Gail.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected from him.
“Everything okay there, Mark? You seem not your cheerful self.”
He rolled his shoulders the way she knew he did when he felt cornered, then let out a heavy sigh. “This isn’t a walk in the park, you know. I’m already on the wrong side of the chief, but I like Gail, so I’m having a hard time with the idea that she could know about this, if it’s true. You said Cheyenne Potter told her mother, but nothing happened. Would her mother have told Gail and the chief? If they weren’t all over this, I don’t understand. It makes no sense. Family doesn’t do that, none that I know of. There has to be more to it, or someone’s created a story to stir things up.”
She didn’t pull her gaze from him. She could see how much trouble he was having with the idea as he pulled into a driveway that led up to a two-story house on twenty acres that belonged to the chief. It was impressive, and she knew it had been in the family a long time.
Mark parked beside the police cruiser and Gail’s white Tundra, and Billy Jo put her hand on the door as he turned off the engine.
“You know, Mark, I get that you’re having trouble with this, but the thing about families is that you don’t really know what goes on behind closed doors. The picture you see from the outside is what the family wants you to see so you would never believe the ugly truth.” She yanked the door open.
Mark sighed heavily and ran his hand roughly over the top of his head. “You think I don’t know that? I do.” He gestured sharply. “I’m just saying in this, it doesn’t make sense. So how about we don’t crucify this family and convict them because of something that hasn’t even been substantiated? And especially not with this kind of accusation, because if we sound the alarm and it’s found to be untrue, you can’t un-ring the bell. The damage is done, and you’ve already destroyed someone’s life.” He dragged his sunglasses off.
The strength that seemed to radiate from his expression was mixed with something she had never seen before, and she realized she couldn’t push him tonight. Something was up.
She only shrugged as she stepped out. Mark already had the dog out, and Lucky trotted all the way to the open front door, in which the chief was standing.
The man gave all his attention to Lucky, leaning over and patting him, running his hand over his ears. “Lucky, come on in here. Gail has a big old bone ready for you.”
Billy Jo didn’t miss the fondness he seemed to have for the dog, who was first in the house, walking in as if he were an invited guest. She kept her gaze on a moody Mark as they walked around the front of the Jeep.
“Mark,” the chief said, nodding to him.
For a second, from the look that lingered between the two of them, she suspected things were already quickly going sideways. Then the chief dragged his unsmiling gaze over to her.
“Billy Jo, glad you could come,” he said. He gestured wide, sweeping to the open door for them to come in.
She could hear Gail making a fuss over the dog, who apparently knew exactly where to go, as she went in first, Mark behind her. She slipped off her flats, noting that Mark only wiped off his cowboy boots before gesturing for her to keep going.
The chief closed the door behind them, and they headed into the kitchen, which was big and open to the family room and a deck out back, where, through the open sliding glass door, she could see a barbecue smoking.
“Hey there, Billy Jo,” Gail said. “It’s great to see the two of you. Wine, right? Red?”
So she’d remembered.
“Sure, thank you,” Billy Jo said as she pulled out a high-back padded stool at the island. She felt Mark’s hand settle on the back of it as she sat down.
Gail handed him a cold beer from the fridge and poured red wine in a glass for Billy Jo, who took in the salad Gail was making and a plate of burger patties ready to go on the grill.
“So nice to see the two of you together and catch up away from work,” Gail continued. “So how have things been with DCFS, Billy Jo? Heard from Tolly that you all had an issue last week removing a young boy from his home.”
Right, the new policy had her being accompanied by the police to any incident now, and the chief had been the one who got that call.
“Nothing unusual, just the same distressing call, having to pull a child from the only home he’s known and stick him with a bunch of strangers.”
Having the chief there had only added to the anxiety. The child had been terrified, the mother distraught, but their life was now just notes in a file.
“I noticed your family portrait above the fireplace over there,” Billy Jo said. “Your kids? I don’t remember hearing if they live here on the island.”
Mark was leaning on the island beside her, so close, and she knew he was letting her take the lead on this. At the same time, he had been and still was unusually quiet. The chief reached for a beer that was already open on the counter and took a swallow, looking from her to Mark.
“Funny thing about kids,” Gail said. “They leave and say they’ll never come back, that they can’t wait to get off this island, but Richard and Lori moved back last year. Trish is studying in Paris under a pastry chef right now, and Graham is back in Minneapolis, where his mom lives. He’s Tolly’s son, from his first wife. What is he doing now, Tolly?”
Billy Jo turned her head, taking in the photo and the smiling tall black kid who towered over the chief. She looked back to him, noting that he hadn’t pulled his gaze.
The chief shrugged. “Mechanics. Has an uncle there who took him under his wing.”
She didn’t know what to make of that comment. Just then, the dog strode back in the open door, his tongue hanging out, and headed to a bowl of water on the floor, which he lapped up.
“Tolly, grab that bone in the fridge and take it out on the back deck to give to Lucky,” said Gail.
There was something about the way the chief seemed to follow her orders. Billy Jo watched as he pulled open the fridge and pulled out a prime rib bone on a plate.
“Come on there, Lucky,” he said, and the dog followed.
Mark seemed to track the chief, and she elbowed him sharply when Gail turned away. She made a face when he frowned down at her.
“So how long have you lived here on this island?” she asked.
Gail opened the fridge, pulled out a potato salad, and rested it on the long granite counter. The center island had a gas insert, and it appeared the place had been freshly remodeled. “Oh, I grew up here, just like Tolly did. It’s home. The place is in the blood. Can’t imagine living anywhere else. Did at one time in my younger corporate life, but I moved back here when Tolly and I got married. So what about you and Mark? Are you both finding that this island life is growing on you? It’s a great place to raise kids.”
Billy Jo reached for her wine, lifted the glass, and took a swallow. Gail’s questions were veering into that personal territory of where she and Mark were or were not. She dragged her gaze to Mark, who still hadn’t said anything, and she wasn’t sure what to make of the way he was watching her. “It’s good here, right, Mark?”
He pulled in a breath. “Yup. You want those burgers on the grill?” He gestured to the plate.
Gail reached for it and handed it to him. “Yeah, good idea. Take this out to Tolly and tell him to get them started.”
Mark headed out the back door, where the chief was watching the dog, who was now lying on the deck, chomping on the bone.
“Everything okay between you two?” Gail said.
It took Billy Jo a second to realize the woman had picked up on something. She just took in the chief and Mark, the barbecue now open. The two seemed to be talking. “Yeah, it’s just Mark, you know, moody. Figure he had a rough day. He tends to clam up.”
The smile and soft chuckle from Gail had her really looking at the woman as she said, “Ah. I gave him a little bit of a hard time, showing him the reality of what he doesn’t see. Could tell I hit a nerve. Mark doesn’t hide it well when he’s rattled. Tolly has warned me I tend to take it too far sometimes.”
“Oh…?” She wasn’t sure she should ask and hoped it wasn’t about her.
“He’s a good guy, though. But you know that already.”
She wondered whether her face portrayed her unease. “You’re right, I do know that. Considering I don’t have family here, I call on Mark for anything. You and Tolly have other family here?” She wanted to pat herself on the back for her quick thinking.
“Sure we do. My two sisters are here, but my brother is down in Sacramento. Have a few nieces and nephews on my side, and Tolly has two brothers and four sisters. We had a big reunion just last year and were missing only four.”
Gail stepped over to the bookshelf, which held a framed photo, and walked back over with it. It looked like forty people, easy. She held out the photo, and Billy Jo took it, her gaze seeking out Cheyenne Potter, whom she’d seen online. There she was on the end, not smiling. A man next to her had his hand on her shoulder.
“I’ve seen her in town. Who is this?” she said, wondering how the lie could roll off her tongue so easily as she pointed to Cheyenne in the photo.
“Oh, that’s Cheyenne, my sister Patrice’s daughter. She owns the nail studio down on main street. Did you have your nails done? Is that where you saw her?”
Billy Jo was still holding the photo, taking in the curiosity that lingered in the way Gail was watching her. The woman was smart. Billy Jo needed to be careful. She held up her hand and her short nails. “These? Please. I am the last person to have my nails done. Is that her father behind her with his hand on her shoulder? And which ones are your sisters?”
Gail leaned on the counter and seemed to really look at the picture. “My sister Bev is here, and Patrice is there…” She pointed to two women in front who were sitting on the grass, laughing together, their arms linked. “That’s Philip behind Cheyenne. He’s married to Bev… And those are our kids, there.”
Billy Jo took in the photo. The family seemed picture-perfect. But something about Philip’s hand on Cheyenne’s shoulder had her stomach knotting.
“Gail, burgers are almost ready…” the chief called out from where he was barbecuing, Mark beside him.
Gail reached for the framed photo. “Okay, I’ll grab the buns. Billy Jo, can you take the potato salad and put it on the table?”
And that was the end of that. Gail put the photo back on the bookshelf, and Billy Jo slid off the stool. Mark walked in and over to her as she reached for the potato salad, and Gail was gone down the hallway—to a pantry, she thought.
“Well?” he said in a low voice.
“Yup. Cheyenne is the daughter of Gail’s sister Patrice. There’s a photo over there. And behind her is her uncle, married to her other sister,” she whispered.
Gail walked back in. Mark had that way of looking at her that told her he understood what she was saying. He was so close, in her space.
“What are you two whispering about?” Gail said. “Whose place you’re going to after or just plans in general?”
Mark stepped back. “You just don’t let up, do you?” he said teasingly.
Gail laughed softly. “Nope, not when you two look this good together.”
Mark just shook his head and stepped around her. When Billy Jo placed the potato salad on the table, she turned to see Mark already reaching for her wine on the island. The chief walked in with the plate of burgers, and Billy Jo pulled out a chair on the other side of the table, taking in the redheaded cowboy in the jean jacket he never took off, realizing she liked him more than a friend ever should.
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When I think of what to write for my Monday blog posts, I realize some things are almost too crazy to put down and are best not talked about. Racism has very much been in the spotlight, with a very dark history that has to be undone. This issue is something we all need to face head on. But what happens when someone is wrongly accused of being racist because of the color of his or her skin?
There are days I am so glad I don’t have to leave home and can stay in my happy place. This week is the countdown to my daughter’s graduation, which will consist of nothing but a diploma being handed to her. The parents even received an email from the school banning us from staying in the parking lot. This came after an administrator rounded up all the kids who have to take the ferry to commute to school. Remember the post where I recounted the story of the few mischievous kids who blew up an outhouse at the ferry terminal? Well, apparently, the same kids decided to lock the porta-potty from the outside, resulting in an older gentleman being unable to get in. Of course, he raised holy hell with BC Ferries, and apparently he had enough clout that he was connected to the right person and achieved a result the average customer wouldn’t have gotten. The school was contacted, and the administrator rounded up the many kids who take the ferry and told them that because of the few kids who locked the porta-potty, BC Ferries would be banning all the kids from the ferry and they wouldn’t be able to come to school.
One of the many students there pointed out that the kids in question weren’t among the rounded-up lot of kids facing this inquisition. Evidently, everyone knew who did it—including the ferry worker down at the dock and all the commuting adults who also take the ferry. Yet no one had said anything at the time. Of course, the administrator said he didn’t think the culprits were there, but that was how things worked: They rounded up all the kids and issued a strong warning, a little threat, even if they didn’t do it. One of the other kids lifted a hand and mentioned the firecrackers the kids had dumped in the porta-potty earlier to blow it up. Apparently, the school administrator hadn’t heard about that, and BC Ferries had never mentioned it either. The older man being unable to get into the porta-potty was more serious, so because of that, all the kids would be banned and wouldn’t be able to get to school.
When my daughter told me about the roundup, I said, “One, the administrator and BC Ferries can’t do that, and two, shame on them for rounding all of you up and having you face consequences for what someone else did.” I pointed out that BC Ferries has surveillance videos, but the problem is that their security people won’t share the footage with workers or even police, which I found out when my autistic son was robbed on the ferry. Then I pointed out that it’s a good thing my daughter will be done school in another week. Did someone rat out the kids eventually? Yes, of course. I’m pretty sure that was the entire reason for the roundup and the threat.
But the events of my daughter’s week didn’t end there. Yesterday, she came home from work really upset because an Asian woman had come in and called her and another young waitress racist because they were white. I was like, “Excuse me?” That is a loaded word that should never be used carelessly or tossed out because of the color of someone’s skin. Although we are seeing spikes in racism, most people won’t stand for it anymore. Pretty sure most of us have called racism out at some point, saying we want a spotlight shone down on this. But apparently, this customer wanted one of the tables at the railing, which were all reserved, and she didn’t have a reservation. She went over to the owner, who isn’t white, and said, “I don’t want to talk to those girls because they’re white, but you’re a person of color, so you understand how I’m feeling. They didn’t give me the table at the railing because I’m a person of color, and everyone sitting at those tables is white.”
Now, of course my daughter was horrified and upset beyond belief. The owner pointed out that those tables were all reserved, but the customer didn’t stop there. She was quite vocal about pointing out that everyone who had a table at the railing was white, and then she said she had even asked the people at the tables whether they had reservations. She next tossed out the accusation that all white people on Vancouver Island are racist. The owner, of course, argued with her that no one was being racist and told her that those tables were reserved, so there were no tables left to give her. Apparently, she kept arguing, stating, “This is how I’m feeling. This is my perspective.” In fact, she had been walked through the restaurant and given her choice of the unreserved tables.
The other waitress asked my daughter to go sweep upstairs so she wouldn’t have to hear any more. The incident had become upsetting to everyone. The owner was quite upset as well, understandably, but how do you convince someone who is seeing racism where it doesn’t exist? Calling someone racist is not something that should be done thoughtlessly. It is a loaded word, a dangerous word, and a very hurtful word. Isn’t giving someone a label because of the color of his or her skin what we’re fighting against?
As for the school roundup and BC Ferries, what can you say? I guess it’s always been easiest just to round up a group of kids and tell them that although they may not have caused a problem, they’ll lose their rights because of troublemakers who did. Thank goodness school is almost over, but with those kids and their shenanigans, I’m sure something else will happen down on that dock sooner or later.
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Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Walk the Right Road titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Does anyone really have any idea of what’s going on out there? Depending on where you’re living, do you really know whether case numbers are going down, whether restrictions are being lifted? Does anyone really know?
I had to ask my kids for the latest news because graduation for my daughter is fast approaching, coming up in a few weeks. Currently, the only graduation ceremony she is going to get is to receive her diploma in a small group, and parents are not allowed to be there. This is according to the email that landed in my inbox. The staff are allowed to attend, but no parents. I’m sorry, but I’m going to say it: The staff didn’t raise my kid. The decision to offer a graduation ceremony is left up to the school itself, which determines how to interpret the current restrictions. Yet the world around us seems to be opening up. The ferry is full, people are traveling, and restaurants are crowded, but our kids seem to have been forgotten about.
During this entire pandemic, there have been calls to close the schools, including from the media, but where we are, the only case of Covid was from a staff member, an adult, who gave it to one of the kids. That was it. When you see it from another side, from those most vulnerable and without a voice, you can really understand how the scales have continued to be tipped. Is this anything new? It’s not, unfortunately. It’s just that the pandemic has really shone a spotlight on where we are and on how we have a long way to go. But does anyone really have any idea where to start? When you hear about racism, inequality, the haves and have nots, is there a point where you want to turn off the news and say you don’t want to hear about it anymore?
During this pandemic, I as an author was not affected in any dramatic way. In fact, authoring is an isolated career and, for some, a lonely job. To be an author, you really have to be comfortable with yourself and love being alone. So the pandemic, with restrictions and stay-home orders, was not something that affected me at all. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air, as it gave me time to step off the crazy busy carousel of demands and catch my breath.
But not my kids.
Looking back at my notes from when the pandemic first started, I realize we seem to have changed courses so many times. There was an expectation of financial disaster, but what happened was that the haves became wealthier—and not just by a little bit. The ever-disappearing middle class went in one of two directions, wealthy or struggling. Pivoting became the name of the game. And our kids are the ones who have had to pivot more than anyone. The younger generation have had to face more closed doors, more roadblocks, more public shaming than anyone.
As my son said to me, owning a home one day has been taken off the table for him completely, because what did our government do but start printing money, take over the Bank of Canada, drop interest rates close to zero, and give so much money to corporations and businesses that were already making record profits? The haves started buying property, creating a frenzy that drove up real estate prices and completely removed any hope this younger generation has of buying a home. One of the questions no one asks is does anyone really need to own five houses, ten, twenty?
Worse, I hear one politician saying that we need to build more, to take away the long delays for permits. Yet our kids still can’t afford a home, and building more is only going to make the haves leverage more and buy more, because they already have the assets, the money, and the ability to finance with the bank. Building more would leave them still with a monopoly, still driving prices up. That solves nothing for our kids, our younger generation, who are being priced out forever from owning a house. I know one of the things that has bothered me more than anything is the sheer number of people during the pandemic who have had to live in their cars or RVs, moving every night because the police are enforcing bylaws.
Is it about jobs? No. There are lots out there, and I’ve heard from friends that they are being offered jobs because businesses can’t find people to apply. Yet these jobs offer only minimum wage. Our younger generation need to have a roof over their head, their own roof. Buying a house should be within reasonable reach, but right now, that’s the forgotten problem no one wants to address.
Everyone looks to the government to fix something, but I often hear that the problems we see now are because of decisions the government has made. To some, a graduation ceremony is way down on the list of priorities. Our kids don’t write their politicians, and they don’t vote, and they don’t really have a voice. But when restaurants are open for indoor dining again, and people are traveling, and house parties are happening, our kids still don’t get that special day with their families. With overpriced, sky-high renting on the horizon, that is not a bright future for our kids. So again, where are we exactly?
Now on Audio
THE CHOICE ???? Now on Audio! Narrated by Jennifer Pickens
One woman. Two men. And a choice that could kill her…
Grab a FREE US or UK Audible code below–first come, first served!
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Walk the Right Road titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
“One of my favorite things about this talented author is that the stories are very real and thought provoking. This one proves my point.” ★★★★★ Yvonne C., Amazon Reviewer
When an at-risk girl disappears from an island wilderness camp, social worker Billy Jo must team up with a detective who’s her polar opposite to bring her safely home. But one missing girl is just the beginning…
“This book had great insight into the mind of college aged kids and was so true to life. Very enjoyable and a great addition to a series I can’t get enough of.” ★★★★★ PaPackrat, Kindle Customer
When Sara Friessen is brutally attacked one night in a darkened parking lot she is saved by a mysterious handsome stranger who comes to her rescue. Only Devon Reed would never consider himself the kind of guy that could ever belong to her world, considering the ruthless dark world he belongs to and the fact he may no more about the night she was attacked, and who really tried to hurt her.
When a one-night stand from years ago comes back to town, Jeremy meets the son he never knew he had… Meanwhile, Trevor feels like he can’t fit in — until he encounters a woman who understands him in ways he never thought possible. A captivating box set!
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
What a week this has been. It seems as if long buried secrets are starting to resurface, all the dirt and scandal and the ugly truths after years of government recommendations that were never implemented. Too many times, it seems inquiries over truly horrible things in our communities have been quietly filed away, not spoken of again. Someone once told me that committee members are not allowed to look too far into an issue, as the outcome of the report is pre-determined. Despite the financial cost to you and me—as these inquiries we pay for cost money, a lot of money—how many of us believe that after the committee issues its findings, the expected changes will be followed through on and actually implemented?
Many years ago, I was living on one of the Gulf Islands. A wonderful small community of locals lived there year-round—and when I say small, I mean small. Everyone knew each other. It was safe, the one place my autistic son could learn independence. But the school there was known as a throwaway. In other words, the teachers offered no meaningful education other than ticking boxes. The community relied on weekly summer vacation rentals, as the people who owned most of the properties basically parked their money in real estate and charged ridiculous amounts for rent. They had somehow convinced those in power that this was what the community needed, which meant our teachers ended up being transient despite the fact that they needed those jobs, as they could get only short-term rentals for the winter.
Those types of communities, and there are far too many of them, do not have long-term housing. And that does not result in a successful, stable community with a school that actually provides quality education. These communities can provide only a revolving door of teaching staff. Let’s be clear: Good teachers are not attracted to places like these. However, a number of residents were retired, with the kind of political and professional clout that could make something change for the better. For a few years in our small community, the parents who lived there full time banded together to shine a spotlight on the issue, to have quality education for their kids, forming committees to make something great for the community.
But as this was underway, a community member who’d been in politics for years said, “Don’t you understand this isn’t how it works? Committee reports and plans and ideas like this aren’t actually implemented. There’s a cabinet where you file it away after the report is done. Yes, there is a problem, but you don’t fix it.” If you’re thinking Hmm…, you can bet I was too.
As happened every year, one of the classes had a new teacher, a transient. She was teaching grades one to three, and many of these kids couldn’t read. Midway through the year, parents questioned this new teacher, asking, “What are you actually teaching?” Her response was to have her students do up reports, and not just any reports but very detailed reports that included outlines, research, facts, characteristics… There was a point where I had to look up the definitions of some of the requirements of the completed report this teacher had requested. It was at a level that would be expected in high school, as if she’d pulled something from a high school curriculum and handed it out.
There we were, us parents, having to step in and do the project because it was way over our kids’ heads. Again, many could barely read, let alone write. There was a point where I said, after days of sitting there, doing this for my kid, “Nope, nope, nope!” Did I turn in my homework? Hell no, and I said so to the teacher. It had basically been all the parents doing the work, because these very young children were suddenly being expected to research at a high school level. It was ludicrous.
Then there was my autistic son in the other class, because there were only two classes. Instead of following the program outline I had paid for, even though my consultant had come in and trained her, my son’s education assistant took it upon herself to do all his schoolwork for him. I contacted the head of the special education department and demanded she come out, and I showed her all the workbooks and all the blank pages. I made her stand there as I pulled out everything from the classroom to show her all the work that had been done by the EA. I sensed that she didn’t believe me, this department head who didn’t live or work on the Gulf Islands. What did she do? She simply walked away, saying it was a fight she wasn’t willing to take on.
We didn’t stay on that island, of course, but that was a lesson to me. I saw the bigger picture of how voices aren’t heard at the community level, and it unfortunately takes a public outcry for accountability to be had, for changes to actually happen. When I hear of reports and inquires and recommendations, my question is how often all of them are filed away because the spotlight on the situation is now gone, with the media having moved on to something else, a new story.
Maybe one good thing has come out of this pandemic that shut down the world: The masses are now making demands after a lifetime of systematic abuse. We’re seeing the average person standing up for his or her rights. We’re seeing videos posted over social media about abuse, about crimes, about threats, because it’s been the only way to expose people who have the law on their side or to get the police to investigate an issue for someone who, to them, doesn’t matter.
I bet everyone would like to return to a calm and somewhat sane normal. But I remember, many years back, a man telling me that systematic racism didn’t exist anymore. My response was “What universe do you live in? Of course it does, but you just can’t see it.” Did that solve anything? Not at the time. But now I really am hopeful that we are seeing a tide of change for the better, a better future for my kids, all because the average person out there really does care. It seems more and more people are starting to come forward and demand truth and reconciliation, being willing to stand behind those who’ve been hurt and taken advantage of for too long and say, “What can I do to help?”
New Collection
“…packed with lots of emotional issues and social issues. Ms. Eckhart is a master at weaving the issues together in ways that make you care and wonder what you could be doing to help in real life. A breathtaking series!” ★★★★★ KEC200, Amazon Reviewer
NY Times & USA Today bestselling author Lorhainne Eckhart brings you a new crossover series! The social worker and the cop, an unlikely couple drawn together on a small, secluded Pacific Northwest island where nothing is as it seems. Protecting the innocent comes at a cost, and what seems to be a sleepy, quiet town is anything but. Includes Nothing as it Seems, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Cold Case
Nothing As It Seems: Protecting the innocent comes at a cost, and what seems to be a sleepy, quiet town is anything but.
Hiding in Plain Sight: A long-buried secret that was never meant to be uncovered could suddenly put a target on both Detective Mark Friessen and Billy Jo McCabe.
The Cold Case: What happens when you stumble across a case that should never have been closed?
Detective Mark Friessen uncovers a disturbing mystery: A little girl was taken, but when evidence disappeared, the case was closed.
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
This Preview Friday, I’ve got a sneak peek at the next Billy Jo McCabe mystery, ABOVE THE LAW, for you! This upcoming release is due out at the end of June, but you can pre-order your copy AND read the first chapter here today. There’s also a new audio box set release (be sure to grab a free Audible code while supplies last) plus a few titles now offered in print. Enjoy, and cheers to a wonderful weekend!
“You ready to go?” Mark called out the minute he stepped into her place.
No “Hi.” No “How are you?” It was always “Hurry up, already.”
Billy Jo stared at the makeup she’d been about to put on, then tossed it back in her makeup bag, untouched. What had she been thinking, forking over her hard-earned cash on a whim for something she never wore?
“Seriously, Billy Jo, what are you doing?” she said to her reflection in the mirror as she flicked her hands through her plain and boring shoulder-length brown hair, noting the freckles that dotted her nose.
She’d never be the supermodel type. So, again, why was she doing this?
“Hey, didn’t you hear me? What are you doing in here?” Mark said as he strolled in.
She stared up at the tall, rugged, arrogant cowboy. His new jean jacket didn’t quite match his faded blue jeans, and his wavy red hair was short and appeared freshly cut. The way he talked to her, it was always as if he didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. He rested his hand on the doorframe and took in her small bathroom.
“I’m doing what a girl does: getting ready,” she said. “You said dinner at that new Mexican place. You made a reservation?”
He stepped back from the doorway, dragging his gaze down, taking in her new sleeveless black blouse and dressy capris, a gift from her mom. He had her feeling both uncomfortable and awkward.
“What?” She knew it came out quite sharply.
There was the pull of his lips, the smile that wasn’t really a smile but rather a sign of his amusement at her expense. Maybe that was why she could feel the frown knitting her brow.
“Didn’t say anything,” he said. “And no, didn’t get around to making a reservation. We don’t need it.”
She wondered at times what it was about him that had her wanting to pull her hair out. “It’s new and it’s busy. We need a reservation or it’s going to be fish tacos at the stand again—and I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
He only angled his head, those blue eyes flickering, too good to look at. She knew he would rather argue than just go along with what he was supposed to do. But that seemed to be who they were and how this thing, whatever this was between them, worked.
“You worry too much,” he said.
At the jab, she felt her hands fisting at her sides. “And you seem to think we can just walk right in there and…what, we’ll be given a table?”
He flicked his jacket back as if trying to make a point, resting his hand right beside his badge, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He said nothing.
“You seriously think you can just show your badge and they’ll bump us right to the front of the line?” she said.
He made a rude noise, one she’d heard from him too many times when she just didn’t go along with his way of thinking. “You make it sound like a bad thing. Everyone knows who I am…”
She could tell exactly what he’d been thinking by the way he trailed off. “And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that? Walking right in, past all the people who actually thought ahead to make reservations, past anyone else waiting their turn on the list? You seriously think
that just because you’re a cop here, you get priority?” She flicked off the light in the bathroom and stepped out.
He suddenly seemed at a loss for words. “Now, wait a second. That wasn’t what I meant.”
She angled her head. He stepped back, and she walked around him to the island, where her cell phone was plugged in and charging. She took a second to check that it was in the green, at one hundred percent. As she looked over, she thought he dropped an F-bomb under his breath before pulling his cell phone from his pocket and dialing.
“Yeah, this is Detective Mark Friessen. This is probably short notice, but do you have a table available for dinner for two? I was planning on coming now and just showing up, but it was pointed out to me that you’re likely busy, and…”
She could hear someone talking on the other end.
“Uh-huh,” was all Mark said. As he flicked his gaze over to her, his blue eyes seemed to simmer with something. “Sounds great. We’re on our way,” he said, then hung up and tucked his phone in his pocket.
She stared at what seemed to be smugness in his expression.
“Apparently there’s always a table available for me,” he said. Then he shrugged. “I called like you said. You should be happy now.” He gestured as if she’d made a big deal out of nothing.
“Yet you just couldn’t help yourself from using your detective title before asking for a table,” she said. “Mark, it’s the same as if you’d walked in there and flashed your badge. Ever heard of abuse of authority? There shouldn’t always be a table for you. That is very much someone giving you something for a favor.” She tucked her phone in her bag.
He narrowed his gaze. “I am the last person to use my position to get something. Seriously, I don’t work that way. I can’t be bought and don’t give out special favors. You’re making it sound as if I’m taking a kickback or something. I pay my own way. I don’t take gifts or bribes.”
She pulled her arms over her chest, taking in how defensive he suddenly sounded. “I hate to tell you this, but a table in a crowded restaurant is a kickback, whatever you want to call it, if you got it using your position in the community.”
“Do you want me to cancel? Is that what this is?”
She realized in that second that he didn’t get it. He stared at her with what she thought was the usual frustration that happened in their discussions, where she had one idea and he seemed to pull counterarguments from his ass.
“No, I’m hungry,” she said. “Let’s go.”
He stood there for a second as if he didn’t believe her. “There’s a test in here, right?”
She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything. She simply took in her three-legged cat, Harley, as he hopped up onto the sofa. Mark looked down at her with the same kind of apprehension with which he might have looked at a ticking timebomb.
“Don’t look so worried,” she finally said. “Let’s go. But hear me on this: If we get there and there’s a crowd waiting, and, sure enough, they’ve bumped you to the front of the line because of your phone call, you say no to the table and ask them to put us in the queue, where we should have been to begin with.”
He lifted his hands as if surrendering. “Fine. Point made,” he said, then gestured to the door.
Billy Jo had to remind herself that it wasn’t healthy to enjoy this butting of heads that seemed to come naturally between her and Mark.
New Audio Release
Narrated by Leo Jones
Follow the social worker and the cop, an unlikely couple drawn together on a small, secluded Pacific Northwest island where nothing is as it seems.
Includes Nothing as it Seems, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Cold Case.
Grab a FREE US or UK Audible code below–first come, first served!
Recent Release
“Riveting…gave me chills and many questions to ponder.” ★★★★★ Rebmay, Amazon Canada Reviewer
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Wilde Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
One of the subjects my daughter wanted to take in school was indigenous studies, learning more about First Nations, Native American people, and social injustice, but I told her she wasn’t going to learn an accurate history of First Nations in school, because the curriculum is outlined by the state, the government. We have a history of atrocities and inequities against indigenous people, the genocide, the trauma, yet in some places they have removed references to residential schools from the curriculum. The history of horrific abuse, ripping children from their families, some never to be seen again, is not taught, but it should be. That kind of abuse is something the average person doesn’t want to know about, to talk about, and it would give children nightmares. The discussion should not be just about residential schools but about the social injustice that still very much exists.
Then there are the missing and murdered indigenous women. I read an article not long ago about red dresses hanging in trees at the sides of the road. I remember seeing them with my son when we were driving, and he asked about them, about why there were so many. Those dresses represent missing and murdered indigenous women. That empty dress hanging there is a visual reminder and representation of a girl, someone’s sister, someone’s daughter, someone’s mother, who is missing, or maybe her body was found badly beaten. When I see one of those empty dresses, I wonder who the murdered or missing girl was. What was done to her? Was anyone looking for her? Has any meaningful justice happened for those girls?
Indigenous women and girls are stereotyped as partiers, as promiscuous. Add in the systemic inequities endured after years of residential school systems, colonialism, economic marginalization, and racism, and all of this has lasting impacts, from violence to trauma. One Canadian report has the homicide rate for indigenous women as six times higher than for other women. If that doesn’t have you sitting up, I don’t know what will. In the US, Native American women are more than twice as likely to experience violence, and one in three is sexually assaulted during her life. Activists in the US and Canada have fought to bring awareness to these issues.
Then there are property rights. Reservation land is held in trust by the federal government. So why were reservations created by the government to begin with? Indian reservations are among the poorest places, yet few understand the root cause behind this: a lack of property rights. Aren’t we in a time when the spotlight is on the wealthiest in our population? People often assume poverty on reservations is because of alcoholism, corruption, a lack of education, long distances to travel for a job, and undeveloped land with few resources. But unfortunately, it is a much deeper issue, and those are just symptoms of the real problem. Prosperity is built on property rights, and reservations have neither. An argument can be made that the great divide in which the wealthy become wealthier and the poor become poorer is widening now across this country, with more and more of the haves parking money in real estate.
In my newest book, The Trap, the fictional character Whitney Chandler was living in a remote location on a reservation. With the poverty she lived in with her brother and her mother, they had no car, so she had to hitchhike to a job miles down a highway, a prime hunting ground for male predators. Everything about her and what she had to overcome was a strike against her. Cell phone service on that remote stretch of highway was non-existent, as happens in so many places because cell phone companies aren’t required to provide it everywhere. In poorer areas such as around Indian reservations, the remoteness lends its hand to a lurking danger. It’s the perfect place for a predator, because girls can’t call for help.
Some may wonder why Whitney didn’t have a car, a driver’s license. Well, poor is poor, and places that issue driver’s licenses are only in populated areas, not in remote areas. You are required to show proper government ID, and believe it or not, often just the color of your skin results in services being denied. Then there is driving school. Who is teaching you how to drive? You have to be able to afford a car and obtain insurance, but getting a loan can be difficult if you’re indigenous, especially if you have no credit. Whitney was only seventeen when she disappeared while hitchhiking on a remote highway, leaving work late one night and never returning home. Her body was eventually found, but what happened to her? She never got the justice she deserved. We can understand her brother’s anger, how he’s forced to take justice into his own hands, because he won’t get it otherwise.
Education is the only way to bring an end to this vicious cycle and to start to repair the damage that has been done. We must understand how widespread systematic racism is, how deeply embedded it is in our countries, and how it comes into play in the reactions of the public when a woman goes missing and is found murdered. Is your first thought, Oh, what did she do? Until we get everyone in the country to care enough, it’s an uphill battle.
Just remember that we are not all treated equally. Consider this: If twenty-five white women from an upper middle class part of the country went missing and were found murdered, would authorities not pull in every resource available, every law enforcement agency? Maybe government leaders would do a news conference to toss more money at task forces and come down on the heads of every law enforcement officer, asking why the killer hasn’t been caught. Would women not be warned of a possible serial killer? Would governments not shut down highways and roads and put out extra police protection? The cost to taxpayers would be a small fortune. But it would be expected.
So when has this been done for indigenous women?
Until we get the majority of people to care enough when an indigenous woman goes missing or has been found murdered, until we all put out a cry for justice for these families, nothing will change. Where does it start? How about in school, teaching the real history and not a glossed-over version of how we got to where we are?
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Fecebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
