The Promise of Tomorrow – Excerpt

Blessed Children’s Home
Dorchester, Massachusetts
December 31, 1993
5:30 p.m.

Social worker Maddy Davies wanted to change lives … not risk hers. At least, that’s what the Sisters who raised her at Blessed Children’s Home reminded her of daily. Yet, one desperate cry was all it took for her to throw caution aside and rush to help.

“Maddy, why are you here?”

Rats!

She glanced up to see Sister Masie Blue, the Director of Blessed Children’s Home, leaning against the doorframe.

“I was just finishing the paperwork for the Connors’ adoption.” Maddy tapped the file. “Why? Is there something you need me to do?”

“No. I thought you were going to a party tonight. It is New Year’s Eve, after all.”

“So it is,” Maddy sighed. “I was going …”

“Maddy,” Blue, as everyone called her, scolded, “you’re young. Go out and have a good time with your friends.”

“But I …” Her argument faded when she noticed the indulgent look on the older woman’s face. What could she say that hadn’t already been said? “Alright. I’m going. I’m going.”

“Good.” Blue turned to leave and, at the last minute, stuck her head back in the door. “Happy New Year, Maddy. Have a good time.”

Once Blue’s footsteps faded, Maddy stashed the folder in her bottom drawer. The older woman was right about the New Year’s Eve party. But with everyone paired up, she preferred to go straight home. 

On her way out the door, the phone rang, causing her to hesitate. Her job as a social worker involved helping others navigate through difficult times. If someone needed her, she wanted to be there.

The decision made, Maddy rushed to answer.

“Maddy,” the woman on the other end cried. “He found me. I can hear him yelling. He’s trying to get inside.”

It took Maddy an extra second to weed through the crying and figure out who was on the other end. “Alisha?”

“Yes! Maddy, help! Tell me what to do!”

With every word the other woman uttered, there was a little more panic in her voice. Maddy’s heart raced, and her mind searched for what to say. She could hear someone pounding on the door. Could hear the cries of Alisha’s little girl.

“Call 911, Alisha,” Maddy instructed. “I’m on my way.”

“Hurry, Maddy. Hurry.”

Maddy hung up, left her briefcase on her desk, and ran toward the front door.

“Maddy?” Blue questioned. “What’s going on?”

“Call 911 to 15 Peach Street. Domestic situation,” Maddy yelled on her way out. “I’ll meet them there.”

“But Maddy—”

The Home’s front door slammed, shutting off whatever Blue was going to say. She’d apologize later. Right then, Alisha needed her.

She left the Home’s grounds and took a right. Halfway there, she realized she’d forgotten her coat. Except the memory of the young mother’s cries wouldn’t let her turn back. They propelled her forward, praying she wasn’t too late.

Alisha Chapman had come to her attention one Saturday afternoon. Thin with dishwater blonde hair and an infant on her hip, Maddy recognized desperation when their eyes met. She’d immediately taken the other woman under her wing and helped her get back on her feet.

Unfortunately, the peacefulness lasted less than a year. That was when the man Alisha was seeing completely changed and wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a restraining order in place and a subsequent move, they’d thought everything would be fine. However, if he’d found her ….

Maddy turned onto Peach Street and could hear sirens in the distance. A good sign, but sadly, right then, the negative outweighed the positive.

She ran up the steps of Alisha’s home and found the door hanging open, shattered glass littering the floor. When she’d spoken to the young mother, someone was pounding on the door, and the child was crying. Now, there was only silence.

“Alisha,” she called softly. “It’s Maddy. Are you okay?”

There was a groan, then a shuffling sound, before it was quiet again. Something inside was saying, ‘Run! Run!’ but the memory of the cry for help rang louder. She took one step and then another. Seeing blood drops littering the floor had her racing around the island to find Alisha sprawled on the ground.

Maddy dropped onto her knees, and what she needed to do raced through her head. In the distance, the sirens screamed, and urgency pressed down on her. With time rushing by, she checked for a pulse and began CPR. After the tenth pump, a noise alerted her she was no longer alone.

Hesitantly, she lifted her head to see a man holding a bloody knife and charging toward her.

                                                                                        ***

Dorchester, Massachusetts

December 31

6:00 p.m.

Detective Mason Weaver’s car radio blared to life: Caucasian male reported running up Peach Street. He’s armed and dangerous. Officers in pursuit.

Mason turned away from the highway and started toward Peach Street. Technically, he was off duty, but ….

Officers on the scene of a domestic dispute at 15 Peach Street. Two females down. One deceased, the other on her way to King’s Castle General Hospital. Social Services has been called for the little girl found unharmed.

“Damn!”

He and his partner had stopped by the house more than once in the last thirty days. They were looking for Parker Turner, a man whose name had come up multiple times in their current investigation. One that involved the drug ecstasy and high school parties.

Had he added murder to his repertoire?

When Mason reached Peach Street, he parked a few houses from the crime scene. Multiple law enforcement vehicles blocked the road—including several cruisers, one from the morgue and another that belonged to his lieutenant.

He sat still for a moment, contemplating the scene. His date was expecting him at a New Year’s Eve party. If he didn’t show, she would be pissed. It forced him to decide—what was more important?

Ultimately, the reason they’d visited the home won out. It pushed him through the sea of officers and onto the porch.

“Weaver,” Mason’s lieutenant greeted him. “I wasn’t aware you were on the duty roster tonight.”

“I could say the same for you,” Mason returned.

The lieutenant brushed back his salt-and-pepper hair and gave him a self-deprecating smile. “My wife’s still out of town. Now, it’s your turn.”

“Dad, I’m not fifteen any longer.”

Scott Weaver, Mason’s father and Lieutenant, stepped aside to allow room for the medical examiner’s gurney to exit the house.

“Anything else, Lieutenant?”

“TOD?” Scott asked.

“Less than an hour.”

“COD?”

“Looks like exsanguination secondary to multiple stab wounds,” the medical examiner replied. “I’ll know more once I complete the autopsy.”

“What about the second woman?” Mason questioned. “Do you have a name?”

“She didn’t have any identification on her.”

“And the child?” Mason followed up.

The medical examiner shrugged. “She’s at King’s Castle General, waiting for the social worker.”

Mason nodded his thanks and followed his father inside.

“Why are you watching this house again, Mason?” Scott asked quietly.

“Drugs.”

“Is there a connection between this and the recent teen hospitalizations?”

Instead of answering immediately, Mason wandered deeper into the house and took in the scene. There were multiple smells—blood, urine, fried foods, and … was that powder?

“Is the woman who lives here your suspect?” Scott asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s possible the drug dealer we’re looking for has a connection to this house.”

“With the woman?”

“I don’t know,” Mason snapped, just sharply enough to earn a look from his father.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “For some reason, this case frustrates me more than normal.”

“Does it remind you of another time?” Scott put him on the spot.

“It reminds me of how careless high school kids can be.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Scott assured him. “I know you will.”

Mason gave his father a half-smile and then wandered around the room. It was small, utilitarian almost. The furniture was old but looked comfortable. There was a kitchen to the right and two bedrooms to the left.

The crime scene technicians were working in the kitchen, which was the only reason he stopped at the threshold. 

“Did you find any ID?” he asked the tech.

“Purse is in that bag.” The tech nodded toward the table. “Do you need some gloves?”

Mason slipped on the gloves, opened the clear plastic bag, and took out a backpack-style purse. Inside, he found two diapers, some wipes, an extra pair of child’s socks, and a snowsuit. At the very bottom, he found a wallet.

“Alisha Chapman, age 21,” he read from the Boston license. “She was young.”

“And the man you’re looking for?” Scott asked. “What’s his name?”

“Parker,” Mason answered. “Parker Turner.”

“Had you spoken to Ms. Chapman?”

“Not yet. She wouldn’t answer the door,” Mason sighed. “Either that, or she wasn’t home.”

He continued sorting through the wallet. Besides the license, he found three photos: one of a child, one of a woman and child, and one of an older couple. On the back of the child’s photo was a date.

“Anything about the child?”

“She’s almost two, but I can’t find a name.”

“And the other woman?”

“Nothing,” Mason stated. “Do you know what happened?” he asked the tech.

“I can give you my current working theory,” the tech answered. “Just don’t hold me to it.”

“Go on,” Mason encouraged.

“The male kicked down the door and chased the woman through the house.” The tech pointed to several broken or displaced items. He then indicated a butcher’s block on the counter. “Either she grabbed one of those knives, and he took it away, or the assailant took the knife and went after the victim.”

“What about the other female?” Mason asked.

A little smile spread across the tech’s lips, making him wonder what he’d missed.

“My working theory,” the tech began, “is she came into the house and interrupted the killer. He knocked her down, but she went right back at him.”

“How did she get away?” Mason frowned. “How did she not end up the second victim?”

The tech showed them another evidence bag. Inside was a cast-iron skillet.

“She hit him with a skillet?” Scott grinned. “Really?”

“I think so,” the tech hummed. “It’s the only way to explain howthe second female’s still living.”

“Was the visitor a neighbor? A friend?” Mason murmured. “Did Alisha call them when she heard someone outside?”

“Haven’t gotten there yet,” the tech answered. “But you could hit *69 on the phone and see who she called last.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

                                                                                ***

King’s Castle General Hospital

December 31, 1993

8:30 p.m.

When the nurse finished wrapping her arm, Maddy sat up, ready to leave.

“Hold on,” the nurse stopped her. “You aren’t going anywhere right now.”

“Why not? I need to find Tori.”

“Tori?”

“The little girl whose mom died tonight. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry. But I can try to find out.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“While I’m gone, rest,” the nurse instructed. “You have quite the shiner where your head bounced on the floor. We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Until she heard the word, Maddy felt fine. The power of giving voice to her issues caused her head to pound, and she lay back against the cool sheets.

“Why did you remind me?” she grumbled.

“Does your head hurt?”

“It didn’t until you said the word concussion,” Maddy sighed. “Now, there are jackhammers in there.”

“Let me get you something for the pain. In the meantime, close your eyes and put this cold cloth over them.” The nurse handed her a wet rag. “I’ll be right back.”

Maddy laid the cloth over her eyes and tried to relax. However, each time she heard a child cry, she thought about Tori. Each time it was too quiet, she remembered the silence in Alisha’s house. When she shut her eyes, she saw the flash of the knife and felt the pain as it tore into her arm. With that, her heart raced, and fear climbed a little higher.

A handful of minutes later, she heard her name spoken in a baritone voice that caused her heart to race, but not from fear. This time, it was all about the connection between a woman and a man.

“Are you family?” one nurse asked.

“No.”

“Then I can’t let you go in there.”

The nurse’s response was definitive, bringing a smile to Maddy’s lips.

“I only have a few questions,” the man pressed.

“Sir,” the nurse said irritably. “I said no.”

“Will this change your mind?”

Maddy wondered what he’d said or done because the nurse returned less than a minute later.

“Maddy,” she whispered. “Do you feel up to a visitor?”

“Who?”

The nurse placed a business card in her hand. “He said his name is Detective Mason Weaver. He has some questions.”

Maddy lifted the cloth, and the bright light immediately made her stomach churn. She fought the feeling and tried to focus on the nurse’s words.

“If you don’t feel up to it …”

“I’ll see him,” she whispered. “Maybe he can explain what happened. In the meantime—”

“—Find out about the child,” the nurse guessed.

“Please.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Maddy replaced the cloth and waited for the Detective to enter. When he did, a sense of heat stretched between them. It warmed her from the outside in, and his smell—a combination of soap and cologne—caused her head to swim.

“Miss Davies,” he purred in a sexy-as-sin voice. “I’m Detective Mason Weaver. Do you have time for a few questions?”

His voice shouldn’t have affected her, but it slid across her skin like velvet—too smooth, too warm, too much. She wasn’t supposed to notice things like that. Not tonight. Not after what she’d seen.

She told herself it was just adrenaline. A trick of her exhausted, overtaxed mind. But the way her breath caught when he spoke? That wasn’t imagined.

Maddy held off for another heartbeat or two before she couldn’t stand it any longer. She slowly removed the cloth. Her gaze clashed with the detective’s, and her breath caught.

He was tall, his eyes were dark, dark brown, and his hair was short. His stare was intense but not scary intense. More in an ‘I wasn’t ready for this—whatever this is’ kind of way.

“Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” he asked after a moment.

She tried to answer, but couldn’t get the words to form.

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Please.”

He hit the control to elevate her head and handed her a cup of water. “Do you need help?”

“I can do it.” Her hand shook when she took the proffered cup, forcing her to support it with the other.

“Don’t drink too much,” Mason cautioned. “You don’t want to get sick to your stomach.”

He was watching her like he saw more than just bruises and a bandage. Like he could read what she was trying to hide beneath the calm.

And worse—he made her want to say it out loud. To tell someone what it felt like to kneel in blood, trying to save a woman who’d trusted her.

That was dangerous. Wanting comfort was dangerous. Wanting his comfort was unthinkable.

“How did you know Miss Chapman?” Mason began.

“How did you find me?” Maddy countered.

“*69.”

Maddy sighed. “I was too late to save her.”

“You’re damn lucky you aren’t lying in the morgue next to her,” Mason snapped. “Why didn’t you wait for the police?”

“Because she called me!” Maddy barked right back. “She’d lost faith in your kind.”

“My kind?” Mason’s brows rose. “You’re telling me she didn’t trust the police?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know all the reasons,” Maddy answered. “What I can say is, at my insistence, Alisha reported her boyfriend’s behavior more than once, and look how much good that did for her and Tori. Speaking of the little girl, where is she?”

“Tori is the child?”

“Yes! She’s almost two.”

“I see,” Mason replied. “Social Services was called in, so you don’t need to worry about her.”

“I’m Social Services,” Maddy retorted. “The child is now my responsibility.”

The combination of her frustration on top of her pounding head caused her stomach to churn even more. She swallowed several times, trying to force down the bile, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.

“I’m,” Maddy could feel it rushing up and barely had time to lean over before everything bubbled up and out.

                                                                                         ***

You’ve just met Maddy. She’s brave, determined, and about to have her world turned upside down. Want to know how far she’ll go to protect the ones she loves?

Preorder The Promise of Tomorrow and keep turning the pages.