The Forgotten Girls (Book #1 in The Suburban Murder Series)

PROLOGUE

Joslyn Freed had always been terrified of water. Tonight, as she made her way down to the shore on the jagged, uneven path alone, in darkness, she felt a rising sensation to turn and run as fast as she could. She didn’t, of course. She had said she would be there and she would.

Carefully and slowly she navigated the trail, her shimmering, sky-high stilettos faltering under the pressure to support her. They gave way on a pile of loose rocks when she slipped and fell, catching herself as she landed on her side.

Shaken, she lifted herself, brushed dirt off her dress and continued, unsteadily, down to the yacht she had promised she would go.

Joslyn had regretted agreeing to this meeting before she even snuck outside and now, as she approached the dock, she felt queasy, gagging from the smell of salt water and fish.

She bent over and vomited.

Miserable, she straightened herself and looked back up the hill at the well-lit club, the faraway sound of voices and laughter eerily distant.

She turned. The gate to the marina stood before her, hanging loosely off its hinges, tempting her. Swirling, agitated water slapped against the side of the pier. She felt queasy and turned away.

Joslyn had never liked the sea, found it way too unpredictable. Even as a young girl she could never relax when in its grip. On her family vacations, her father would hold her hand and walk her out, deep into the water, to a spot where they could dunk under the gigantic waves that crashed for them, one after another. She would hold her breath even after she came up for air and beg him to let her go back to shore. He would just laugh.

Joslyn stood frozen, staring at the churning, deep water, and wished she hadn’t allowed herself to be talked into coming down here. She needed to learn to say no, to not worry so much about others’ feelings. That was her problem; she was too kind. After tonight, she decided, it was time to make some changes.

For starters, she would get out of Greenvale this summer to spend time with her sister back home. The years had passed without her having shared with her daughters the simplicity of her childhood in rural Wisconsin—so different from the life they knew here. She would plan a surprise girls’ trip in honor of Carly, her oldest, off to college this Fall. A pang of sadness tore through her as she thought of the double suicide of two high school senior girls in town, both of whom Carly knew. Now, instead of sending their girls off to college, their mothers had just finished burying them. What was wrong with this town?

Leaving for a while wouldn’t be enough, though, and she knew it. She was going to have to end the toxic relationships that permeated her life, starting with this one, the worst of them all. Really, what was left to say? Their differences were glaring, and this last-ditch attempt to revive something was a waste of time. This would be the last time she would engage, she promised herself. Ending this relationship was way overdue.

Joslyn forced herself forward, through the gate, out onto the dock and toward the yachts, lined up like sardines. Her instructions were clear: walk to the very end.

Paradise Found

would be on her left.

She hadn’t been on a yacht in years, though she had been invited many times. As she walked past them, she had forgotten how imposing they looked up close, each one grander than the next. They screamed money and leisure like nothing else. She thought of the gala that evening, how it too broadcast the same message: a self-congratulatory air for being rich, privileged, and fabulous.

Suddenly it dawned on her. It wasn’t the wealth in her town that bothered her—she liked beauty and luxury as much as the next person. It was the way everyone around her idolized it. It was the way they all strived to project an image of perfection, especially through their kids; succeeding at all costs, at any cost, had become everyone’s number one goal.

She was sick of all the affect, the self-absorption, the constant preoccupation with themselves and their children. No one she knew had saved the world last time she checked, or found a cure for cancer or worked as a firefighter and saved a life. She was disgusted with it all quite frankly, and with herself, for having become so fully lost in it. Somewhere along the line, her life had morphed into a bubble of money, privilege, status, and inordinate self-obsession. She was suffocating in it; she had to get out.

It was eerily still as Joslyn meandered down the rickety, wooden dock, an invisible force pushing her along. Two lampposts at either end cast a shrouded light, and a few errant stars hung in the sky, defying the quickly-moving cloud cover. The yachts groaned angrily, struggling against their tethering ropes.

After a few more reluctant steps, Joslyn reached the 54-foot Alden Ketch, nestled proudly into a side slip at the very end. A small white note was taped to the piling, its words barely legible in the dim light:

“Come inside.”

Joslyn looked down the gangway and saw the cabin, lit.

Trying to be cute

, she thought.

As she unstrapped her heels she heard a door slam on the yacht and looked up.

No one was there. Where was Fred? He always worked the marina during parties, but she’d noticed he hadn’t been in his chair near the entrance.

Leaving her shoes on the deck, Joslyn gripped her clutch and the gangway rails and gently made her way down the plank. She felt like an intruder as she stood, barefoot, on the rocking teak deck, steadying herself.

The cabin door stood slightly ajar and a warm, comforting light glowed inside like a refuge from the elements, from the churning sea. Tentatively, she made her way toward it.

As she reached for the door, Joslyn suddenly had an awful premonition; before she could understand what it was, she sensed motion and saw a face, contorted in rage, and rushing for her at full speed. She was confused as she saw hands, wearing gloves despite the warm weather, rushing up for her mouth—and the last thing she saw, as they clamped her mouth, was the teak deck of this million dollar yacht, rushing up to meet her.