The Ashford Place Read online

  The Ashford Place

  Isabelle Ashford inherited her late aunt’s country home with a simple plan: a quick flip for a healthy profit, then off to buy her dream house by the water. But the house seems to have its own ideas. Startling discoveries reveal well-kept family secrets, drawing Belle into the mysteriously tragic life and death of her father’s young cousin.

  A flirtatious friendship with Deputy Sheriff Ally Yates blossoms into romance as they search for answers, hoping the clues they uncover will lead to the identity of a child predator and possibly, a murderer. Now with her plan for a short, uncomplicated stay in Danville foiled by the growing mystery and her undeniable feelings for Ally, Belle must decide whether to stick with her original plan for a clean getaway back to the Connecticut shore or to follow her heart’s lead.

  What Reviewers Say About Jean Copeland’s Work

  The Revelation of Beatrice Darby

  “The Revelation of Beatrice Darby at its epicentre is a story…of discovering oneself and learning to not only live with it but to also love it. This book is definitely worth a read.”—The Lesbian Review

  “Debut author Jean Copeland has come out with a novel that is abnormally superb. The pace whirls like a hula-hoop; the plot is as textured as the fabric in a touch-and-feel board book. And, with more dimension than a stereoscopic flick, the girls in 3-D incite much pulp friction as they defy the torrid, florid, horrid outcomes to which they were formerly fated.”—Curve

  “This story of Bea and her struggle to accept her homosexuality and find a place in the world is absolutely wonderful. …Bea was such an interesting character and her life was that of many gay people of the time—hiding, shame, rejection. In the end though it was uplifting and an amazing first novel for Jean Copeland.”—Inked Rainbow Reads

  The Second Wave

  “This is a must-read for anyone who enjoys romances and for those who like stories with a bit of a nostalgic or historic theme.”—The Lesbian Review

  “Copeland shines a light on characters rarely depicted in romance, or in pop culture in general.”—The Lesbrary

  “The characters felt so real and I just couldn’t stop reading. This is one of those books that will stay with me a long time.”—2017 Rainbow Awards Honorable Mention

  Summer Fling

  “The love story between Kate and Jordan was one they make movies about, it was complex but you knew from the beginning these women had found their soul mates in each other.”—Les Reveur

  The Ashford Place

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  The Ashford Place

  © 2019 By Jean Copeland. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13:978-1-63555-317-8

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: January 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Tammy Seidick

  By the Author

  The Revelation of Beatrice Darby

  The Second Wave

  Summer Fling

  The Ashford Place

  Acknowledgments

  First, I must thank my readers who continue to spend their money and their time on my novels. I couldn’t keep living the dream of being a published author without you, so thank you. I also want to express my gratitude to the amazing team of women at Bold Strokes Books for their continued support in all the aspects of publishing from brainstorming my proposals to promotion of the finished product and everything in between—Rad, Sandy, Carsen, Ruth, Tammy, Cindy, you all rock! So does my editor, Shelley Thrasher, for her tireless patience correcting my POV and dialogue tag faux pas. You make the editing process feel easy. Lastly, thank you to my friends and family who get excited about every new novel like it’s my first. Thank you to Anne Santello for her editing skills, Denise Spallone for her PR work, and to my girlfriend, Jen, and my octogenarian, avid-reader father, James, for their love and support. And finally, a special thanks to my favorite detective for all her technical advice.

  Chapter One

  Belle Ashford removed her card from the chip reader at Danville Hardware and grunted as she lifted the box containing two gallons of interior paint, brushes, and other home-improvement miscellany. After declining an offer of assistance from the skinny kid working at a Slim Jim wrapper with his teeth behind the counter, she realized her miscalculation as she shuffled toward the door, her biceps aching in protest.

  “Sure you don’t need any help, ma’am?” The kid grinned as he tore into the stick of meat with his molars.

  Of course, she needed help. Any dolt could see that, but out of principle and his stupid smirk, she replied, “Nope. Got it,” in a strangled voice.

  She hauled the box with both hands, leaving her defenseless to the tickle of sweat trickling down her cheek. Between contorting her face against the itch and using her shoulder to push open the door, she backed out and into someone walking in.

  “Excuse me. Sorry,” she said before noticing the sheriff’s uniform and gleaming badge on the elderly man.

  “Need a hand, young lady?” he said.

  “Oh, no thanks.” Belle smiled at the frail, lanky man as he held the door for her.

  Doesn’t anyone have a slow metabolism around here, she wondered after deciding she hadn’t wanted to be responsible for killing the old sheriff with a heart attack on her official move-in day.

  “You buy the Ashford place?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She smiled, slightly creeped out that he knew that fact. “I must have new girl written all over my face.”

  “Small towns,” he said with an easy shrug. “Got a lot of fixin’ up to do over there.”

  “I have my work cut out for me.”

  “Well, you look ready for the job. Sheriff Robert T. Morgan, by the way.” He extended an arm sprouting bony fingers.

  “Isabelle Ashford.” She freed one hand enough for a fingertip handshake. “People call me Belle.”

  “You don’t say?” He leaned against the open door like she was about to offer him tea and scones out of her box of painting supplies. “I didn’t know any Ashfords were left around here after Marion passed.”

  “Just my immediate family. My dad was her nephew through marriage. We all live down around the New Haven area.” She repositioned the box, growing impatient with the casual interrogation.

  “Jeez. We thought for sure the place would be sold to the town for demolition after the property-tax trust ran dry,” he said.

  Belle’s impatience with the nosy old fella veered to irritation. “Did I ruin your chance for your first strip mall or something?”

  He seemed to remember his obligation to be charming and chuckled.

  “No, no,” he said. “Strip malls aren’t our style here. Did you know in 2010, Connecticut Magazine voted us most traditional New England town?”

  “Most traditional, huh?” She rubbed a flip-flop foot over her rainbow ankle bracelet. “I would’ve guessed the ‘Land that Time For
got,’” she mumbled.

  He cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that now?”

  “Nothing,” she said, losing her grip on the box. “Well, I should be running along.”

  “Sure thing. Gonna be a hot one today. Anyways, welcome to Danville, Miss Belle. We look forward to having another generation of Ashfords here.”

  He tipped his hat and strode into the hardware store.

  “Thanks.”

  Miss Belle? She loaded the box into the back of her Highlander, contemplating what she’d gotten herself into this summer. Thankfully, the inherited house wasn’t her permanent residence, just a no-brainer real-estate investment. But upon closer inspection, the DIY flipper appeared to need a lot more Y than she’d originally estimated.

  Remember the endgame had become her new mantra. Finally, she’d be able to wake up to a glorious ocean view each morning. Had she dreamed of buying the house and living happily-ever-after there alone? No. But a handful of years as a player and another handful tied up in relationships destined to fail, one of which remained in a bizarre state of limbo, had altered her plan.

  “The house is yours,” her father had told her months earlier. “Your sister doesn’t want any part of it.”

  “Well, Carolyn’s always been the one known for sound judgment.”

  “She has first-born syndrome to the hilt,” he said with a smile. “You, on the other hand…” He slapped his forehead playfully. “But sometimes being a risk-taker works out better in the long run.”

  “I look forward to the day when that quality starts paying its dividends.”

  “It will.”

  Belle relaxed at the confidence in his voice.

  “Besides, you love little hands-on jobs on your summers off from teaching,” he said.

  “Uh, yeah, little ones—like refinishing dressers and end tables people leave on the side of the road.”

  “All you have to do is pay for the renovations and taxes until you sell it,” he said. “Or if you want, keep it.”

  Belle recoiled. “Keep it? What makes you think I’d ever want to move up to that God-forsaken part of the state?”

  “You’re gonna have to put a lot of cash and work into it either way, but in the end, it’ll be more than worth one summer of your life.”

  One summer. She had to admit he was right. What did she have to lose? How much could it possibly cost her to renovate a property in worse condition than the House of Usher? Depending on what award Connecticut Magazine would give Danville’s first open lesbian, maybe she’d keep it after all.

  The thought amused her as she pulled out of her parking space.

  Lost in the bliss of the breeze blowing her hair around as she drove the winding country road, she hadn’t noticed the squad car behind her until its siren squawked twice.

  “Oh, shit.” Belle tried to assess the officer through her rearview mirror as she pulled over. “Here’s where the sheriff’s inbred deputy son kidnaps me and locks me in a cage in the basement.”

  She threw the SUV into park and got her license and registration ready before he approached her window.

  “’Morning.”

  Belle looked up. The inbred mutant was actually a woman—a striking, soft butch with the fiercest tan and tastiest-looking lips she’d ever seen.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” Belle said with an obsequious smile. She held out the paperwork, but the officer didn’t take it.

  “Know why I pulled you over?”

  Belle pretended to think. “Driving while not from these parts?”

  “Cute.” She lifted her sunglasses and studied Belle with creamy coffee eyes nestled in lashes so naturally thick, Max Factor would’ve rolled in his grave with envy. “No. Your vehicle’s emissions has expired.”

  “Oh. Oh, crap. The notice must’ve got lost in the mail. It’s happened to me before.”

  “Happens all the time.” The officer seemed mildly amused.

  “You really pull people over for expired emissions around here?”

  She nodded almost apologetically. “Shows you what the crime rate’s like.”

  “That’s comforting. So, what now? You throw me in a cell with Otis the drunk for the afternoon?”

  “You got jokes,” she said with a smirk. “No. Go see Freddie at Auto Plus when you get a chance. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. I sure do appreciate that.”

  “It’s Deputy. Alexandra Yates.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Deputy Yates. I’m Isabelle Ashford.” She stuck her hand out the car window. “But something tells me you already know that.”

  She flashed a mischievous grin. “I even know you go by ‘Belle.’”

  “This is getting really weird.”

  “Don’t get nervous. I was in the hardware store earlier and heard you talking to Sheriff Bob.”

  “That hardware store’s the place to be.”

  “It’s the only thing open this early besides Ethel’s Quiet Corner Café, and I’ve already had breakfast.”

  Belle glanced around the road lined with trees and thickets of brush. “So when do the dueling banjo players jump out of the bushes?”

  Yates fought off a smile. “Right around the time the city slicker tells her third corny small-town joke.”

  “Touché,” Belle said, raising her eyebrows. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Officer. I have to get to tendin’ the homestead now, but I’ll be sure to go and see Ricky-Bobby about that expired emissions business.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Yates said, mocking a country drawl.

  “You could do this all day, couldn’t you?” Belle said.

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s what I figured. Take care,” Belle said with a wink and drove away, beaming over her second run-in with the law in the last half hour. However, that was one lawwoman she wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  “Keep your pants on, girlie,” she reminded herself out loud. “That is not why you’re here.”

  ***

  Belle pulled into the gravel driveway that was more overgrown grass and weeds than gravel. But then everything about that place was more what it wasn’t supposed to be than what it was. Kind of like her life. A summer away from her ex, Mary, and the played-out drama of her younger friends in and around the lesbian dating scene was precisely the diversion she needed. The idea of refurbishing this enormous disaster filled her with hope. Once she got this wreck all dressed up and habitable again, she could do the same with her personal life.

  Now that she’d procured the supplies required for the various jobs she’d tackle in the next few weeks, both indoors and out, she had to decide where to begin.

  Peeling her T-shirt from her chest, she groaned when she remembered the house had no central air. In all of her meticulous planning and list-making, she hadn’t remembered to buy a window air-conditioning unit. No way would she be able to sleep in a stuffy old house in that heat.

  “First-world problems,” she muttered, then unloaded the items onto the steps of the veranda that wrapped around the front of the house.

  As she headed back to her SUV, she noticed an older golden retriever wagging his tail, patiently waiting—no, expecting to be petted.

  “Hey, you.” She rubbed his head as he panted. “Who do you belong to?” She checked but no collar. When she gave him a drink from the bottle of water sitting in her car’s console, the dog lapped at the flow.

  “There, how’s that?”

  Once his thirst was quenched, the dog sat there staring at her like he was waiting for an invitation.

  “What do you want,” she asked. “You want to come for a ride to the hardware store?”

  He barked and jumped in without further persuasion, parking himself in the passenger seat.

  She turned the ignition, blasted the air conditioner, and started backing down the long driveway. “Okay, doggy. Off we go. I’m sure old Sheriff Busybody knows exactly who you belong to.”

  ***


  Parked outside Danville Hardware, again, this time with the car running and a/c blasting, Belle loitered at the rear hatch watching the skinny kid beaded with sweat hoist the new unit into the back of her SUV. She’d made her point about feminist independence earlier. No need to refuse his services again, especially as the day was only getting hotter.

  She glanced up and down the storefronts, hoping to steal another glimpse of that deputy, and then sighed. Never a cop around when you need one.

  “Thanks, Jimmy.” She handed him a five for his trouble.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yeah, there is. Do you know who this dog belongs to?”

  He looked into the passenger window. “That’s Red the Retriever. He doesn’t really belong to anyone.”

  “A stray? Can’t be. He’s obviously well cared for.”

  “He is. Everyone takes care of him. He belongs to the town.”

  Belle smirked. “How did I not know that?”

  “Ethel feeds him omelets in the morning, and he sleeps over at whoever’s house he feels like.”

  “Sounds like a few women I’ve dated,” she muttered.

  “Huh?” He used his T-shirt to wipe above his lip.

  “Nothing. So, if I let him hang out with me for a while, I won’t be branded a dog thief?”

  He laughed. “Nope. Not unless you keep him against his will.”

  “I’ve tried that a few times, too,” she muttered again, getting a kick out of her own private quips.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” she said. “Thanks again, Jimmy. If anyone’s looking for the dog, tell them he’s up at the Ashford place.”