Note of Peril Read online

  Books by Hannah Alexander

  Steeple Hill Women’s Fiction

  Hideaway

  Safe Haven

  Last Resort

  Dead of Night

  HANNAH ALEXANDER

  is the pseudonym of husband-wife writing team Cheryl and Mel Hodde (pronounced “Hoddee”). When they first met, Mel had just begun his new job as an E.R. doctor in Cheryl’s hometown, and Cheryl was working on a novel. Cheryl’s matchmaking pastor set them up on an unexpected blind date at a local restaurant. Surprised by the sneak attack, Cheryl blurted the first thing that occurred to her, “You’re a doctor? Could you help me paralyze someone?” Mel was shocked. “Only temporarily, of course,” she explained when she saw his expression. “And only fictitiously. I’m writing a novel.”

  They began brainstorming immediately. Eighteen months later they were married, and the novels they set in fictitious Ozark towns began to sell. Note of Peril is the first Love Inspired Suspense novel linked to the fictional town of Hideaway. The first novel of the series, Hideaway, published in the Steeple Hill Women’s Fiction program, won the prestigious Christy Award for Best Romance in 2004.

  HANNAH ALEXANDER

  Note of Peril

  Published by Steeple Hill Books™

  In memory of our beloved aunt, Enid Larue Patterson, born September 17, 1931, entered into rest October 24, 2004. The legacy of her generous spirit will live on in the hearts of the many people she has touched.

  STEEPLE HILL BOOKS

  eISBN 1-55254-334-X

  NOTE OF PERIL

  Copyright © 2005 by Hannah Alexander

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books.

  ® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  http://www.SteepleHill.com

  I will lie down and sleep in peace, for You alone,

  O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

  —Psalms 4:8

  With special thanks to our friends, Stacy and April Frerking, our own Branson stars. Thanks to their parents, Dennis and Bonnie, for their loving friendship.

  Thanks also to AJ the pharmacist for wonderful poisoning ideas, to Jerry Ragsdale for insight into the music world, and our brainstorming buddies, Brenda Minton, Deborah Raney, Nancy Moser, Judy Miller, Colleen Coble, Dave Coble, Stephanie Whitson and Barbara Warren.

  And Mom, once again, you’re the best!

  Dear Reader,

  Though the personal attacks Grace and Michael experienced were extreme for dramatic effect, you may have found yourself identifying with them. Everyone has experienced the pain of being unfairly judged at some point in life.

  There have been times in my life when someone with whom I worked, attended church or knew socially simply did not like me. Worse, there have been times when I was accused of something I did not do, and times when I was publicly humiliated. The unfairness of it all can be depressing.

  I have found, however, that when these incidents happen in my life, I’m drawn more closely to the Holy Spirit for the special comfort that only He can give. When that time of comforting is complete, I can be grateful for whatever it took to drive me closer to the side of my Savior. May He comfort you, as well, in your times of distress. May you always know that you can trust Him as your very best friend.

  Thank you for reading this first title of Steeple Hill’s exciting new line of romantic suspense. We are in for more exciting experiences in the months to come!

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  COMING NEXT MONTH

  Chapter One

  Colorful hues from multiple spotlights streaked across the stage in laser precision. The floor vibrated with the impact of drums as Grace Brennan smiled up at her Star Notes costar, Michael Gold.

  “I saw you watching me from the corner of your eye,” Michael sang, leaning forward and giving her a long, sultry look. “You like me, I can tell.”

  With an audacious wink at the audience, Grace placed a hand on Michael’s chest and pushed him backward. “I know you think you saw something you did not see. I like my hound dog just as well.”

  As they continued their comedic duet, Grace felt a familiar tingle. Michael could sizzle the bark from a tree in January with those smoldering dark eyes. And his voice was on a par with Josh Groban’s.

  Three vocal backups—Cassidy Ryder, Delight Swenson and Blake Montana—joined them onstage, and the Star Notes show breezed on with all the energy and laughter of a typical night. The interactive show—like a country Star Search—had become so popular that the waiting list for guest amateur appearances was ridiculously long. The audition manager chose only the best vocalists, and the winner of each show was invited to return for further competition.

  The theater was packed tonight due to the influx of tourists into Branson on the Friday after Thanksgiving. As the appreciative audience continued to applaud, Michael announced their final amateur guest vocalist of the evening. She came onstage and on cue began her ballad, with the Star Notes performers providing backup and harmony.

  The Star Notes cast had intense practice sessions daily, and their expertise showed. They could make almost any voice sound good. The ongoing one-liners and repartee—which changed from night to night—kept the crowds coming back for more.

  As the guest ended her song and turned to leave the stage, Grace invited another round of applause.

  Michael took Grace’s hand and kissed it. She met his dark gaze with a searching one of her own, and her skin tingled where his lips touched. Fresh cheers rose from the crowd.

  When the Star Notes director, Henry Bennett, had added romantic interaction to the show’s script last year, the crowds had responded with enthusiasm. So had Michael. Only Grace continued to have misgivings about it. Sometimes she couldn’t help wondering how much of what went on between her and Michael was an act, and how much was real. And lately she wondered about it after every performance.

  As the applause died and the theater lights came on, Grace eagerly anticipated the final phase of the show. She loved talking with the audience.

  An usher came down the aisle carrying a huge bouquet of red roses and a gold foil package. He stepped onto the stage and presented the items to Grace with a flourish. “Delivery services brought these for you, Miss Brennan.”

  The cast of the show often received flowers, gifts and cards from fans. Gifts brought onstage during the final
few moments of the show added to the “reality” ambience—another of the director’s ideas.

  The card with the roses read “From your biggest fan,” and it was signed “With love, Michael.”

  She read the note aloud, waited for the catcalls and applause to die down, then grinned up at Michael as he took the bouquet from her arms so she could open the lid of the package.

  She pulled out a music box of stained glass and caught her breath. The jeweled colors reflected the stage lights with sparkling intensity in its artistic representation of a winding, whitecapped river.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, touching the box reverently. She looked up at Michael. “It’s—”

  But she caught him frowning at the gift, and saw the barely detectable shake of his head.

  Okay, so this wasn’t from him. She lifted the lid, and music from the song “The Water Is Wide” spilled across the auditorium as its notes were picked up by her microphone.

  The tune chilled her with unwelcome memories.

  A gold-embossed card lay on the velvet lining of the interior. With carefully concealed reluctance she pulled it out and scanned the childish scrawl on the elegant card. The chill in her spine intensified.

  “Cheaters never prosper. Remember the contest? Soon everyone will know. There are some things time won’t erase. And this is just the beginning.”

  Grace froze at the accusation. The chatter seemed to fade around her, and she grew intensely aware of the waiting audience.

  She forced her smile back into place. No time to think about the ominous note now, or what lay behind it. She passed the gift to Delight, the youngest and most energetic member of the cast, who always welcomed a chance for the limelight.

  Snap out of it, Grace. There’ll be time to think about this later.

  Michael frowned at the momentary look of shock in his costar’s aquamarine eyes. Something was wrong. Just for a second, Grace’s smile didn’t quite fit.

  The impression disappeared, but he studied her as she chatted with apparent spontaneity, charming her way into hearts as she always did—as she’d long ago done with him. Grace didn’t realize the effect she had on people.

  For the final set she had changed into a satin-and-lace gown in a rich dusky purple, and had caught her hair up in a rhinestone clip. Her face glowed with healthy color. She had been discovered by Henry in an amateur contest eight years ago. Henry had quickly recognized Grace’s potential. Not only did she have a beautiful voice with exceptional range, but she was also a talented songwriter, whose words touched the very soul.

  Michael doubted anyone else had noticed Grace’s lapse of composure over the mystery gift. At last she thanked the audience for being there, and amid renewed applause made her way from the stage. Michael followed. Henry had called a meeting in the green room after the performance. They all knew the director would be waiting for them.

  “Hey, Michael, you pulling some kind of prank?” called the band’s drummer, Peter, as the rest of the cast filed along the wide hallway backstage.

  Michael glanced over his shoulder at the man with spiky short hair and a hole in his ear—on Henry’s stage, men weren’t allowed to wear earrings or other jewelry that involved body piercing. “Prank?”

  “What’d you do, ask her to marry you?” Blake Montana, the lead guitarist and bass backup, nudged Peter in the ribs.

  Peter snickered. “Yeah, she looked sick.”

  Blake laughed, and the two jokers high-fived each other as Delight rolled her eyes at their juvenile humor.

  Michael pulled off his cowboy hat as he glanced toward Grace, who walked alone several yards ahead of them. He knew she could hear the teasing, but she didn’t respond or even turn around. Ordinarily she’d be bantering with the rest of them.

  Michael excused himself, caught up with her and took her hand. “They think I sent the music box.”

  “I know you didn’t,” she said softly.

  “So who did?” he asked.

  “A secret enemy.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “I take it the card wasn’t filled with good wishes.”

  “Definitely safe to say that.”

  He frowned. “Bad note?”

  She nodded. “You can read it later.”

  “Who was it from?”

  “I might tell you if I knew.”

  “Maybe a star wanna-be who didn’t make the cut?”

  She spread her free hand out to her side. “Everyone knows I don’t choose who gets to join us onstage. The audition manager always makes a point of that with new contestants.”

  “But it’s possible that a disgruntled person who didn’t make the cut might take it out on you anyway.”

  They reached the open door to the green room, a large corner room spacious enough to accommodate all the performers. Michael touched Grace’s arm and nodded in a silent gesture for her to wait for the others to enter first. He wanted a chance to talk to her a little longer.

  Michael had met Grace backstage at the Roy Clark Theater when he worked as a stagehand and Grace as a backup vocalist. They discovered they shared the same hometown—Hideaway, Missouri, a village set on a peninsula on the shore of Table Rock Lake, much closer to Branson by boat than by the twisting, curving forest roads.

  At the time of their first meeting, Michael had been testing the waters in the Branson music industry. Grace was hoping to build a career onstage, but for him, the theater was a rest from impending med school burnout and a chance to indulge in his love of music.

  Now when Michael wasn’t performing or practicing at the theater, he worked part-time as a phlebotomist and lab tech at Hideaway Clinic. He still loved medicine.

  “So,” Michael said when the last straggler had entered the room, leaving them alone in the hallway, “are you going to tell me what the card said?”

  Just then the show’s producer, Ladonna Macomb, stuck her head out the door and raised an eyebrow at them. “Henry’s waiting.”

  “We’re on our way,” Grace said, then turned to Michael. “We’ll talk later. I’m curious what’s up with the boss.”

  Grace gave Michael a final, amused glance as he held the door for her to enter the green room. She could read frustration in the set of his jaw.

  He trailed her to a table with two empty chairs and pulled one of them out for her as he hung his show hat on a hook on the wall. What gallantry. No wonder the man’s telephone never stopped ringing and audiences cheered so enthusiastically when he stepped onto the stage.

  Michael Gold was a gentleman, not to mention his proverbial tall, dark and handsome good looks. When Grace had first met Michael, he’d reminded her of Adam Cartwright from the television reruns of her mother’s favorite show, Bonanza. She’d quickly learned that comments about his good looks embarrassed him, but he disguised his discomfort well in public with a casually amused attitude that served him well. And Michael didn’t need to coast on his looks, for he was richly endowed with vocal talent.

  His warm baritone voice could deepen to bass or climb the scales to high tenor.

  Returning her thoughts to the present, Grace suddenly picked up on the tension in the room. Denton Mapes, the owner of the theater, sat on one of the sofas beside Delight, chatting softly to her. Most of the others had fallen silent. Henry sat in a chair at the table closest to the door, hooded eyes narrowed as he glared from person to person. Only Denton was spared the anger in the director’s gaze.

  Denton took a strong interest in the theater’s activities, and tonight’s visit was no surprise. The fact that he’d chosen to be seated beside a beautiful young woman was in character with his reputation as a ladies’ man.

  “We may be hitting the big time,” Peter murmured to Cassidy, who sat across from him at the table next to Henry’s. “How many other shows are sold out at this time of year?”

  The director cleared his voice with pointed deliberation, glaring at Peter, then at the rest of them, his powerful bulldog jaw j
utting forward. “Don’t congratulate yourselves so quickly. You people seem to think that just because amateurs are brought onstage in your show, you can behave like amateurs, as well.”

  Silence blanketed the room, and Grace felt that old familiar tightening of her gut. Henry was in one of his moods—which was increasingly the case lately. His temper kept everyone on edge.

  “How did we behave like amateurs?” Michael challenged.

  Henry gestured toward Mitzi, the wardrobe manager, who sat to his left, shoulders slumped, gaze lowered as a flush crept up her slender neck and face. “I gave specific instructions about costumes for the first set, and Mitzi obviously didn’t convey my message. She’s been told that she’ll be fired if it happens again.”

  Delight gasped.

  “That wasn’t her fault,” Grace protested, bracing herself for the consequences but unable to remain silent. “I went into the wardrobe tonight and changed despite Mitzi’s protests. No way was I going to wear that vulgar costume onstage.”

  “I didn’t ask for your wardrobe advice,” Henry snapped.

  “This involved my wardrobe,” Grace said firmly. “Star Notes isn’t a peep show.”

  Delight barely stifled a laugh.

  Henry redirected his irritated gaze at the sunny young blonde. “Are we entertaining you, Miss Swenson?”

  She looked down at her hands and shook her head. “But I don’t see what the big deal is. Like Grace always says, it’s the music that counts, not the bare belly buttons. The guest vocalists just want the spotlight.”