A Willing Murder Read online

  New York Times bestselling romance author Jude Deveraux makes her debut in the world of mystery with a story of old secrets, deadly grudges and an improbable group of friends who are determined to uncover the truth regardless of the consequences...

  Sara Medlar is a household name in romance, with millions of books sold. But lately, retirement has been boring her and she’s found herself back in her hometown of Lachlan, Florida, remodeling the grand old mansion she’d admired as a child. It’s much too big for her alone, but she’d die before letting anyone in town know that.

  Then Sara’s niece Kate is offered a job in Lachlan—a start in what could be a very successful career in real estate. She accepts immediately, but with so little saved up, she’ll have to approach her estranged yet incredibly famous aunt for a place to stay while she gets herself settled. But when she arrives at Sara’s home, she finds she’s not the only long-term houseguest. Jackson Wyatt already has his own room, and though it’s impossible to deny his good looks and charm—he’s clearly got her aunt wrapped around his finger—she’s also never met anyone who irritates her quite like Jack does.

  However, when two skeletons are accidentally uncovered in the quiet town, this unlikely trio is suddenly thrust together by a common goal: to solve a mystery everyone else seems eager to keep under wraps. United by a sense of justice and the desire to right old wrongs, Sara, Kate and Jack will have to dig into Lachlan’s murky past to unravel the small town’s dark secrets and work to bring the awful truth to light.

  Praise for the novels of Jude Deveraux

  “With three stories told two ways, this third book in Deveraux’s Summerhouse series (The Girl from Summer Hill, 2016, etc.) is emotional, imaginative, and gloriously silly.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on As You Wish

  “Deveraux’s charming novel has likable characters and life-affirming second chances galore.”

  —Publishers Weekly on As You Wish

  “Jude Deveraux’s writing is enchanting and exquisite.”

  —BookPage

  “Deveraux’s touch is gold.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A steamy and delightfully outlandish retelling of a literary classic.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on The Girl from Summer Hill

  “[A]n irresistibly delicious tale of love, passion, and the unknown.”

  —Booklist on The Girl from Summer Hill

  “[A] sexy, lighthearted romp.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on Ever After

  “Thoroughly enjoyable.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review) on Ever After

  Some secrets are better left buried...

  When he was done what he came to do, he patted the dirt down, then stood up. To make sure it was done right, he went around the tree again and again, stamping harder and harder, crushing what was buried beneath the soil.

  As he walked away, he smiled at the peaceful houses around him. His small town was such a nice place. In fact, maybe ridding it of undesirables had been a favor to the neighborhood. A lesson had been learned, and nothing like that would ever happen again...

  Jude Deveraux is the author of forty-three New York Times bestsellers, including Sweet Liar, the Nantucket series and A Knight in Shining Armor. She was honored with an RT Book Reviews Pioneer Award in 2013 for her distinguished career. To date, there are more than sixty million copies of her books in print worldwide.

  judedeveraux.com

  Also by Jude Deveraux and MIRA Books

  As You Wish

  Look for the next novel in the Medlar Mystery series,

  A Justified Murder,

  available soon from MIRA Books.

  For more from Jude Deveraux, visit her website at judedeveraux.com

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  PROLOGUE

  LACHLAN, FLORIDA

  5 SEPTEMBER, 1997

  He was wearing the clothes he’d found in the back of the old truck. Filthy, with pieces of grass clinging to them, they smelled bad and scratched his skin. The baggy pants had fresh oil on them and stuck to him in places.

  He didn’t think anyone would notice the rusty old truck, but he was cautious by nature. He stopped in front of the house for just minutes as he unloaded the tree. It was in a five-gallon pot and heavy. Dirt slid up his arms, adding a new layer of grime to the shirt.

  He left the tree on the lawn, then parked a block away in a vacant lot.

  It was full night, but still, he hurried back as fast as his disguise allowed. He bent over and shuffled in the heavy-soled work shoes. They were too small and hurt his feet.

  As he picked up the tree, he paused at the gate, listening. Night sounds: a TV in the distance, a child crying. All ordinary and nothing to worry about. When he was sure no one was near, he went around the side to the hole in the back. It hadn’t been dug by him, but had been used to roast a pig and never filled in. There was still grease in places.

  Immediately, he saw that the dirt had been disturbed. His heart leaped into his throat and pounded hard. His mind raced forward to what would be done if someone found out what had happened. It would be the end of his life, of his family’s life.

  “Happened,” he said aloud. Yes, it had just happened. Not anyone’s fault. It was something that couldn’t be helped.

  When he’d calmed himself enough to look closer, he saw that the dirt had moved from beneath. Not from an outside disturbance, but from inside. Underneath.

  He refused to think what that meant. A vague question—which one?—ran through his mind, but he didn’t try to find out.

  The hole had been deep and they were small. Only a thin layer of dirt was over them, so there was still plenty of depth left for planting.

  He hefted the tree out of the plastic pot and put it on top of what was barely covered. He adjusted it so it was on the exact spot that had been disturbed.

  When he realized he didn’t have a shovel, he cursed in annoyance. Maybe there was one in the truck, but that meant he’d have to make another trip in and out. He couldn’t risk it.

  Angry, he got down on his hands and knees and began clawing at the pile of soil. The hole had been there a long time and was littered with beer cans and broken glass. When he cut his hand, he wiped the blood on the old shirt.

  Two times the earth shifted from beneath, but he ignored it. He was satisfied that he was planting a truly beautiful tree. It was a fitting monument to—to them.

  When he was done, he patted the dirt down, then stood up. To make sure it was done right, he went around the tree again and again, stamping harder and harder, crushing what was buried beneath the soil.

  By the time he finished, it was late. He left the backyard of the ramshackle house and walked down the street to the truck.

  For a moment he thought it wasn’t going to start, but it did. He drove it back to the owner’s house, removed the old clot