Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1) Page 2

  “Do you remember the first time you spoke to me?” she asked, warmed by the memory.

  “How could I forget?” He leaned over the console. “I left class early and found Beau pinning you against a locker. Seems to be a thing with him. Anyway, you threatened to tell everyone his dick was the size of a number two pencil. I was impressed.”

  She laughed as Beau’s horrified expression came back to her. “And you told him to leave me alone and then offered to buy me a soda. Never realized how thoughtful you were.”

  “Then why did it take you two months to go out with me?”

  Leslie started the car. “Because I wanted to see how serious you were.”

  A bit rough around the edges, Derek reminded her a little of James Dean, with his bashful glances and soulful brown eyes. He was from, what some would call, “the wrong side of the tracks.” The total opposite of the polished Beau Devereaux. But Leslie didn’t care where he came from or how he dressed—Derek Foster was the most perfect boy in the universe. Cute, smart, and funny, when he’d finally asked her out, she hadn’t wanted to ruin her daydreams of him with the disappointment of reality. But she’d taken a chance, and six months later, here they were.

  A funny fluttering cascaded through her stomach with one glance at his contagious smile. “If I agree to go to the river, what did you want to do there?”

  Derek sat back in his seat, his eyes on the road, his smile beaming. “I’ll come up with something.”

  Chapter Two

  Beau sat on a wooden bench outside of Ms. Greenbriar’s, aka Madbriar’s, door in the austere administrative offices of the school. He tapped one finger methodically on his elbow while staring out the window as students rushed by in the hall.

  He waited, keeping a lid on the anxiety rising up his spine.

  The occasional stares of the other students did not bother him, but he needed to get to practice. Coach Brewer hated it when any of his players were late, and Beau made it a point never to show a lack of discipline. Next to his father, Coach Brewer was the only man whose anger he tried never to incur.

  “Beau,” Ms. Greenbriar called from her office.

  He stood from the bench, raked his hand through his hair, and put on his best smile.

  Once in the tiny room, jam packed with bookcases, he took in her crummy desk and outdated computer.

  This will be fun.

  “You want to tell me what that was about with Leslie Moore and Derek Foster?”

  “I was speaking to Leslie when Derek came up. I accidentally hit him with my elbow when I turned around.” He cleared his throat, turning his eyes to the floor. “I know how you feel about fighting, and I completely understand if you want to punish me for hitting Derek Foster.”

  Madbriar took a seat behind her cheap desk, her chair squeaking. “Relax, Beau. You’re an exemplary student and an upstanding member of the community. No one is questioning your behavior.” She sat back, staring at him for a moment. “I was wondering if you could tell your dad to give me a call when he can. I want to talk to him about having Benedict Brewery donate beer for the fundraiser the school is having for the new gym addition.”

  Beau folded his hands, keeping the tips of his index fingers together, a thrill of amusement running through him. Everyone always wanted something from him or his family. Being the town’s biggest employer, his family was expected to donate to every fundraiser in St. Benedict. He sometimes wondered how his father put up with all the parasites.

  “Sure. No problem. I will let him know, but he’s always happy to help out.”

  She pointed at the office door. “Now, you’d better get to practice.”

  His tension eased, and he stood from the chair. Beau wanted to pat himself on the back for an impeccable performance.

  “Thanks, Ms. Greenbriar.”

  “And Beau, do yourself a favor,” she called when he reached the door. “Stay away from Leslie Moore.”

  He gripped the door handle, squeezing it with all his might.

  “Ma’am?”

  She picked up an open a folder “That girl is trouble. The kind you need to stay away from.”

  He nodded then hurried from her office, chuckling.

  Trouble is my middle name.

  * * *

  A load lifted from Leslie’s shoulders the moment she put the red-bricked walls of St. Benedict High School behind her. The place felt like a prison and made her stomach turn every time she pulled into the parking lot. She knew the reason—just the idea of running into his six-foot-two, muscular frame made her tremble. The months of putting up with Beau had taken their toll.

  She relaxed her hands on the steering wheel, the cool afternoon breeze running through her hair as she drove toward Main Street.

  She took in the rustic storefronts set between modern buildings. The hodgepodge of styles reminded her of the people in the town, an interesting blend of old families who had lived in St. Benedict for several generations, and new families running away from the urban sprawl taking over the larger nearby cities.

  Derek reached over and gently touched her leg. “Why don’t you like going to the river? You never told me.”

  Leslie glanced at a thick swath of honeysuckle vines on the side of the road, her unease returning.

  “All you ever said was you went to the river with Dawn junior year, ran into Beau and his friends, and swore you’d never go back.”

  Leslie’s shoulders drooped. “Dawn and I got invited to the river by some seniors. Being asked to party on the river at night was a big deal to me.” Her stomach twisted. “Beau started out talking to me, and I knew he was interested, but Dawn didn’t like that. So when I went to grab a beer, she stepped in and pretended she was me. She hit on Beau, hard. They hooked up and disappeared. I got stuck fighting off his football buddies who wanted to bring me to The Abbey and show me a good time.”

  Derek’s face scrunched. “What did you do?”

  Leslie raised her nose in the air, giving him her best snarky smirk. “I started spouting feminist literature and they ran for the hills.”

  Derek shook his head. “I bet that was a scary situation for you.”

  “It was.” Her voice cracked. “When three guys start manhandling you, you want to run away. I tried to get Dawn to go with me, but she refused and stayed with Beau. So I headed back to the road and walked to town.”

  “At night?” His voice edged up. “That was dangerous, Leslie.”

  She took in the sunlight skipping over the tops of the buildings along the street. The smell of grilling hamburgers from Mo’s Diner lingered in the air.

  “Staying at the party was dangerous. A virgin hanging around a bunch of drunk and horny football players would only end badly.”

  Derek edged closer. “I don’t want you to put yourself in that situation again. The only guy I want drunk and horny around you is me.”

  Leslie considered the inkling of possessiveness in his voice. “But you never try anything with me when you’re drunk or horny.”

  He sat back. “That will change one day.”

  Near the edge of town, the buildings retreated and tall oak trees covered with Spanish moss replaced them. The gentle breeze ruffling the treetops eased her tension.

  Leslie turned off Main Street and headed down Devereaux Road toward the remains of St. Francis Abbey.

  Derek hooked his hand around her thigh. “I want your first time to be special. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fool around at The Abbey.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

  She let her foot off the gas, slowing as the road narrowed, her sense of dread returning. “Are you sure you want to go to those ruins? The place is so eerie.”

  Derek flashed a boyish grin. “Hell yeah.”

  The trees around them dipped and the spires of St. Francis Abbey peeked out. The car cruised along the road and the ruins of the towering white marble and brick structure rose behind a patch of trees. A horrible chill enveloped her. Leslie slammed on the brakes, not
wanting to go any farther.

  Derek leaned in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

  Tearing her gaze away from the ghastly structure, she sought refuge in his eyes and the feeling passed.

  “Can we skip the tour of The Abbey? I don’t think I’m in the mood.”

  “We can do whatever you want.” He lightly kissed her lips. “I only want to make you happy.”

  * * *

  The smell of sweat and freshly cut grass greeted Beau as he strutted onto the practice field in his jersey and warm-up sweats. He tightened his grip on his practice helmet. The team, already on the field, was in the middle of their stretches. He was late.

  Coach Brewer, his protruding belly hanging over his gym shorts, walked between rows of guys, blowing his whistle to keep time with the exercises he insisted on before and after every practice.

  Beau’s attention drifted to the metal bleachers and the cheerleading squad working on their routine. Dawn was there, in a short, white cheerleading uniform accentuating her tiny waist. He loved how the bright red St. Benedict cougar hugged her breasts. The other girls on the squad, whose names eluded him, shouted their silly rhymes for victory and team spirit as Dawn watched them kick, split, and jump with enthusiasm.

  She turned to the field and, spotting him, waved.

  The wind caught her long blonde ponytail and brushed several strands over her shoulder, making it appear shorter like Leslie’s. Though they were physically identical in every way except for their hair length, Beau wished Dawn was the smart-mouthed bitch he really wanted.

  Before he could turn away, Dawn came running out to greet him. It was the last thing he needed. Coach Brewer would be pissed.

  “Hey, baby.” She frowned at him. “You okay? I heard Madbriar called you into her office.”

  Her voice wasn’t Leslie’s. He’d memorized the husky, sexy sound of her sister. The way she raised her tone ever so slightly when she was about to say something sarcastic. Dawn had none of Leslie’s nuances—her voice was utterly lifeless. Unlike her sister, Dawn worked hard on portraying a wholesome image by avoiding cursing and smoking, which he admired. But her love of red lipstick and clumpy mascara aggravated him. He had told her more than once not to wear so much, but she didn’t listen. She just put on more, thinking he liked it. Beau longed to wipe the color from her mouth, to make it clean and pure.

  He gave her a warm smile, hiding his thoughts. “She wanted to talk to me about my father contributing to the gym fundraiser.” He glanced at his buddies, who were warming up on the field.

  “I heard it was because you were giving Derek and my sister a hard time.”

  He snapped back around to her. How dare she contradict him? “No way, baby.” He laced his voice with extra charm to sound convincing. “Why would I waste my time on that loser Foster and your sister? I already have the sweetest Moore girl.”

  She squealed. Putty in his hands, Dawn melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “I knew it wasn’t true,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek.

  He smelled her skin. It wasn’t there—the heady aroma of clover always lingering on Leslie. Another difference between them, but one he was sure only he noticed.

  “Beau, get your ass over here,” Coach Brewer yelled from the center of the field while walking between players.

  “Gotta go.” He unwound her arms from his neck. “See you after practice.”

  “I love you,” Dawn barely managed to get out before he turned away.

  He pretended not to hear her and hurried to the field while putting on his helmet.

  Love wasn’t what he was after with Dawn. He was saving that for someone far more deserving.

  Chapter Three

  Leslie turned her car down a tree-lined street composed of tired old homes, with peeling paint, sagging porches, and varying degrees of disrepair. It saddened her to see the residences crying for attention. One of the older neighborhoods in St. Benedict, the atmosphere reflected the work-weary attitude of the people struggling to hold on to their dreams.

  She pulled into the cracked cement driveway of a familiar yellow wooden house. With a rusted tin roof, broken white picket fence, and bent mailbox, the residence mirrored others on the street. Despite its unsettling appearance, the home contained happy memories.

  She shut off the engine. “Is your mom still working doubles at the diner?”

  Derek shoved open his door. “Yes. Thank goodness.”

  Leslie got out of the car, astounded by his comment. “What makes you say that?”

  He pointed to the bruise on his cheek. “You know how she feels about fighting. She’s going to kill me when she sees my face.”

  “You can barely—”

  The chug of an approaching engine cut off her reassurances.

  A blue pickup truck, with a bent front fender and cracked windshield, pulled into the driveway alongside her car.

  Leslie blocked out the sun with her hand, a sinking feeling settling over her. “I guess you’re going to find out real fast.”

  “Thought I might beat you home.” A waiflike brunette stepped out of the truck.

  Leslie decided it was the polyester yellow waitress dress that made Carol Foster look a lot older than her forty-two years. It accentuated the deep crow’s feet and circles rimming her eyes. She saw little of the pretty young girl her father told her once made the male hearts in St. Benedict beat faster.

  Derek went to his mother’s side and helped her unload the groceries from the back of the truck.

  “What are you doing home early, Mom?”

  “I got the afternoon off.” Carol nodded to Leslie. “How have you been, dear?”

  She went to Derek’s side, nervous about what would happen. “I’m good, Mrs. Foster.”

  “I told you to call me Carol, sweetheart.” She ambled up the drive next to her son. “No need for all the—” Her eyes honed in on her son’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  Leslie’s insides clenched, and she winced.

  Derek coolly kept going to the porch steps, ignoring his mother’s reaction. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing, my ass.” Carol dashed up to him and turned his chin to get a closer look. “Who did this?”

  He tugged his head away. “It was an accident. I ran into Beau’s elbow.”

  Carol’s cheeks paled. “Gage Devereaux’s son? Why were you fighting with him?”

  “I wasn’t fighting.” The dejection in Derek’s voice cut across Leslie’s heart. “He turned around and caught me with his elbow in the hall. No big deal.”

  Carol wheeled around to Leslie. “Were you there?”

  Leslie cautiously approached, twisting her fingers as her guilt grew. “He was coming to my rescue.”

  “Your rescue?” Carol marched to the porch steps. “What did Beau do to you?”

  Derek waited for Leslie to climb the steps before following her with the groceries.

  “He’s been stopping Leslie in the hall a lot lately. Saying upsetting things.”

  Carol’s green eyes widened. “Beau Devereaux? Why would he pick on you?”

  “Because he hates me.” Leslie rolled her eyes, the sick feeling she got whenever thinking of Beau resurrected. “Always has, ever since the night he got with my sister. He keeps telling everyone he wants to be friends, but I don’t buy it. The way he looks at me, the things he says … He doesn’t want to be friends, not by a long shot.”

  Carol yanked her keys from her handbag. “Sounds like you need to steer clear of him, Leslie.” She opened the front door, but it stuck halfway. Leaning her shoulder into the warped wood, she shoved hard to get the door to budge. “I’ve been meaning to fix this.”

  A single mother working twelve hours a day deserved a break, but Leslie didn’t know how to help Derek or his mother. Getting ahead in St. Benedict took more than a strong work ethic; it took the good graces of the town patriarch, Gage Devereaux.

  Leslie followed Carol and Derek inside. The
sparsely furnished living room had a simple green sofa, a wobbly oak coffee table, and a cream oval rug covering the dull hardwood floors. The only new item was the flat screen TV mounted on the wall above the dusty mantle.

  “I haven’t cleaned.” Carol ran her hand over her forehead, hiding her worry lines. “But you’ve seen the place messier than this.”

  Leslie put on a reassuring smile, her heart aching for the woman. “You should see my room. My mother’s always complaining about it.”

  Carol set her five-gallon purse on a rickety, round table next to the kitchen. “And what about your sister? Do you two share your propensity for messy rooms?”

  Leslie shook her head as she considered her sister’s OCD-like ways. “No. Dawn is the perfect one. Her room is always spotless.”

  Derek took the groceries to the kitchen counter. “But her personal life is a mess.”

  “That’s not a kind thing to say.” Carol slapped her son’s shoulder, frowning at him.

  “Why not?” Derek tossed the book bag from his shoulder to the kitchen counter. “She’s well aware of how he feels about Leslie, but still, she says nothing to him.”

  “You don’t know that.” A pensive line across her lips, Carol went to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. “Right now, Dawn is caught up in having the attention of a guy she thinks is the catch of St. Benedict. Dating the football star and heir to the Devereaux fortune seems like a dream come true. She’s probably afraid to speak up and risk losing him.”

  Carol’s expression bothered Leslie. She sensed the woman was hiding something.

  “You seem to know an awful lot about what Dawn is feeling, Missus … I mean, Carol.”

  Carol lifted a milk from one of the grocery bags. “I was in your sister’s shoes once.”

  Leslie swallowed hard. “You were?”

  Derek removed eggs from a grocery bag. “Mom dated Gage Devereaux in high school. Didn’t I tell you that?”