The Stillwater Bay Collection (Books 1-4): Stillwater Bay Series Boxed Set Read online

  StiLLWATER COLLECTION

  Steena Holmes

  Contents

  Welcome to Stillwater Bay

  Stillwater Bay Map

  Letter from Steena

  STILLWATER SHORES

  STILLWATER SHORES

  A NOTE FROM STEENA

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  STILLWATER RISING

  STILLWATER RISING

  A NOTE FROM STEENA

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  A NOTE FROM STEENA

  STILLWATER TIDES

  STILLWATER TIDES

  Dear Readers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  STILLWATER DEEP

  Stillwater Deep

  Welcome to Stillwater Bay

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  WANT TO READ MORE?

  About the Author

  Also by Steena Holmes

  Welcome to Stillwater Bay

  STEENA HOLMES

  www.steenaholmes.com

  www.facebook.com/steenaholmes.author

  www.twitter.com/steenaholmes

  This collection is dedicated to the readers who fell in love with the Stillwater Bay Series and encouraged me to continue writing.

  Stillwater Bay Map

  Letter from Steena

  Thank you for joining with me on a this journey. The community of Stillwater has become very dear to my heart and I hope you will feel the same way. In my fictional town of Stillwater Bay a tragedy hits that affects every single member of the community. The series is not meant to focus on the event, but rather the aftermath, or the healing.

  Included in this collection are the following stories:

  Stillwater Shores - full novella

  Stillwater Rising - first 5 chapters provided by my publisher.

  Stillwater Tides - full novella

  Stillwater Deep - full story

  Any similarities found between my fictional event and town and anything found on the news is purely coincidental.

  Steena Holmes

  STILLWATER SHORES

  STILLWATER SHORES

  PREQUEL TO STILLWATER RISING

  BOOK ONE

  STEENA HOLMES

  www.steenaholmes.com

  www.facebook.com/steenaholmes.author

  www.twitter.com/steenaholmes

  Copyright © 2014 Steena Holmes

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-9920555-5-4

  ISBN: 978-0-9920555-5-4

  A NOTE FROM STEENA

  STILLWATER SHORES was once called BEFORE THE STORM.

  The story is the same - the only thing that has changed is the cover and the title.

  The reason for the changes is for branding purposes - the title fits better in with the rest of the series titles and the same with the cover - I felt it works better.

  Thank you to the readers who would continue to ask me to rebrand the covers and this title specifically.

  1

  CHARLOTTE STONE

  Present Day: Friday, June 21

  One by one, members of the small town of Stillwater Bay headed into the community church, their heads lowered, their hands clasped, their footsteps muted as they came together to say goodbye.

  Charlotte Stone kept her head raised, her glance steady, her hands available to touch a shoulder or to give a hug when needed. She would stay strong for those who couldn’t, and on a day like today, not many could.

  How did you say goodbye to a child? What words could you say to someone who lost their son or daughter in a senseless act while the world looked on?

  There were no words. No promises of a better day. No explanations of why God turned his eye when he should have been protecting with his hand and heart.

  She kept her attention on the one journalist they’d allowed into the service. While Charlotte trusted Samantha Hill to respect the privacy of the families there today, she also knew the reporter had a job to do. Right now Samantha stood with Jennifer and Robert Crowne, and Charlotte felt a twinge of guilt knowing she was the reason they were speaking with Samantha.

  There were twelve families grieving today. Twelve families who had lost a child or a spouse in the nightmare of the school shooting three weeks ago. Today was meant for the town to come together to honor those lives lost, to remember them and be there for the families It wasn’t meant to be a day captured by the media.

  And so, instead of all twelve families being forced to once again have a microphone in their faces or be seen on the news, only one family stood there. A few days ago, in her office at Town Hall, it had been Robert who offered himself up to speak when the idea had been suggested.

  While Robert remained stoic in front of the microphone as Samantha asked him a question, Jenn stood there, dressed all in black, her hands clutching at the small purse in front of her body like a shield. Charlotte made her way down the stairs of the church and stood beside her, placing her hand on her friend’s back to let her know she was there.

  She wasn’t even sure Jenn noticed.

  Jenn held her body straight as a board as she stared out across the street to the town park. Her gaze, empty. Charlotte wondered if maybe she was on the medication her doctor had prescribed. Since her youngest son was shot dead, Jenn had retreated inside herself, unwilling—or maybe unable—to interact with anyone.

  “Mr. Crowne, thank you for taking time to speak with me today. I have one final question for you, if I may?” Samantha hesitated and glanced at Charlotte, as if asking for permission. Charlotte looked to Jenn, and then to Robert and caught the tight lines around his mouth and the way he swallowed, as if holding back his emotions. Robert gave her a look along with a slight nod, as if to tell her he was okay.

  “We need to head into the service, so please make it short.” Charlotte took a step up and angled her body toward Samantha, hoping to act as a shield for Jenn.

  Samantha nodded, glanced down at her notes, and looked back up, her head held high. From the way the woman squared her shoulders, as if finding the strength deep within to ask the question, Charlotte knew it wasn’t going to be an easy one.

  And that ticked her off. She’d specifically told Samantha to be gentle, not to prod too deeply today; otherwise she’d be banned along with all the other media snakes who were parked along Main Street hoping to catch a glimpse of the families as they entered or exited the church.

  “Today is meant to be a day of remembrance, correct? A day for all the members of Stillwater Bay to come together to mourn the lives of those who were killed during the shooting at the school. And yet there is one person I haven’t seen arrive, and I’m wondering . . .” Samantha paused, and Charlotte wasn’t sure whether it was for effect or cour
age. “Do you think Julia Berry, the mother of the teen shooter, Gabriel Berry, will be here? And most important, would she be welcomed?”

  Before Charlotte could step in, Jenn woke up from her daze, fury on her face, and she grabbed the microphone from Samantha’s hand.

  “We are here to mourn the loss of our children, not to focus on the one who took them away from us. How dare you even ask such a thing!”

  Charlotte reached for the shaking microphone in Jenn’s hand and handed it back to the reporter.

  “That was uncalled for. If you have any more questions, you can wait until tomorrow and come by my office.” She stared down at the woman, who at least had the decency to look ashamed. And so she should.

  Charlotte waited while Robert led his wife up the stairs into the church, and then took a step into Samantha’s personal space.

  “I was very specific about the line drawn here today.” She clenched her jaw and forced the smile to remain on her face. No need for everyone around them to know something had just happened.

  “And I didn’t cross it. As agreed, I spoke only with Robert and left the other families alone.” Samantha stood her ground, lifting her chin.

  For that, Charlotte was impressed. Most people would have backed down already.

  “No, but you asked a question you had no right to bring up. Not to them.”

  Samantha nodded. “You’re right. But you keep saying this is a tight-knit community, going so far as to call it a family. If Julia Berry is part of this family, then shouldn’t she also be welcomed today? From what I’ve heard, she’s an integral part of this town. Or am I wrong?”

  Charlotte sighed. How was she to answer that? Until the day Julia’s son walked into the public school and killed ten students and two teachers, Julia had been one of the strong foundations of the community, a person others could count on—and one of Charlotte’s good friends.

  She was still Charlotte’s friend. That would never change.

  “It was Julia’s choice not to come today. She didn’t want to add more distress to the families, and I think she made the right decision.”

  “So she’s not ostracized then?”

  What a word to use. Unfortunately, it was probably the right one too, as much as it hurt to admit that.

  “The decision was hers.”

  “So you’re saying that if Julia Berry were here today, she would be welcomed inside the church and be allowed to mourn the loss of her son’s life alongside his victims?” Samantha asked.

  “What do you want me to say, Samantha?” Charlotte clenched her fists in anger.

  “Sometimes”—Samantha’s voice softened, reminding Charlotte why she liked her so much: because she wasn’t afraid to show her heart—“we have to face the truth, even when it hurts.”

  Charlotte stood there for a few moments, struggling to think of what to say and how to say it. The truth was gritty and ugly and a huge mess. But did that need to be made public? There were good people here in Stillwater Bay. Good people who didn’t deserve to have their lives ripped apart like they had been for the past few weeks, thanks to a senseless and unanswerable crime.

  “Charlotte?”

  She turned to find her husband, Jordan, holding the door open at the top of the stairs.

  “You need to come in now.”

  She gave him a smile in thanks and saw something in his gaze that gave her the words to say to Samantha.

  “The truth is that we are a town full of grieving families and it’s going to take time to heal. But we will heal, and we’ll do it together. That’s what makes Stillwater Bay so unique—because we’re not just a community; we are a family.” With that, she turned and walked up the stairs to meet her husband at the door.

  They were a family. She believed that with all her heart. It was the cornerstone of the strength of their community, why they continually rose above anything that came their way—because they took care of one another.

  And yet she’d be blind not to admit that there were cracks in that foundation, and she was more than just a little worried that those cracks would grow until everything around them came crumbling down.

  Charlotte paused for a moment before she entered the church sanctuary, needing to take everything in. All the seats were full and there were even some people who stood off to the side.

  The church was brightly lit; soft music was being played on the piano at the front, where Scott Helman and another pastor stood. Scott had introduced them earlier, but for the life of her, Charlotte couldn’t remember his name—until it hit her: Mark. Reverend Mark Giffin, an old mentor from Scott’s days at seminary. He’d come today to help support Scott and lead the service, allowing Scott to sit with his family and actually take time to mourn, or at least try.

  At the front were framed pictures of the victims, along with a beautiful array of wreaths and objects that represented them.

  She saw Bobby’s photo first as she walked up, Jenn’s son, and tears welled up in her eyes. There was a small bouquet of flowers by his picture, but there was also a large stand full of miniature cars and trucks. She smiled through her tears; that boy sure did love his toys. Jenn had bins all over the house full of LEGOs and small vehicles, and whenever Charlotte came over for coffee, she’d inadvertently step on one or two while she was there.

  The last time she’d been there, she’d broken a hinge off the door of one of the cars. She reached inside her purse and pulled out the replacement she’d bought for Bobby but never given him. She swallowed hard as she placed it down on the stand. She couldn’t look at Jenn, not yet; otherwise she wouldn’t be able to contain the sobs that wanted to come out.

  Crying was out of the question right now. She needed to be strong, to be sympathetic but a shoulder for others if they needed her. She could and would cry later—in the shower, as she’d been doing off and on for the past three weeks.

  Next to Bobby’s picture was Wes’s, Lacie’s beautiful boy. His smile always lit up the room, and he was so kind and gentle. What would Lacie do without him now? What would Liam, their other son, who had Down syndrome, do without Wesley there to help calm him down?

  Then there was a photo of Katie Hansen, the kindergarten teacher who was shot while protecting her students. Hers was a very sad story. She’d just given birth to a beautiful little girl and had been called in as a substitute for the day.

  The other adult who died had been an innocent bystander, someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ethan Poole was basically a kid himself, and from what she’d heard, he’d been at the Golf and Country Club working when he’d received a call that his nephew had forgotten his backpack in his pickup truck. He’d been at the school only to drop it off when he’d been caught in the cross fire.

  It was hard to see all the images, to see the youthful faces, their smiles that would never light up again.

  Charlotte made her way to her seat beside Jordan and placed her purse in her lap. She looked at her husband, saw the grief-stricken look in his eyes, noticed the way his hands trembled and the curve of his shoulders and how he tried to hold back the tears. He should have seen the signs years ago. He was trained to, as the principal of a school, after all. Why hadn’t he?

  Charlotte knew Jordan had issues with Gabriel when he was in his school. He’d often come home at night and complain about the boy . . . but did he try to help him? Charlotte couldn’t remember.

  If he had, if he’d spent time with the boy and tried to understand him, maybe all of this—the heartache, the loss, the grief—maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

  Hours later, after the service, Charlotte told Jordan she’d see him at home later and walked down the street to where Julia lived.

  Julia sat huddled on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her thin body. Her eyes were dry but sunken, and Charlotte had to open every available window to help breathe new air into the small home.

  She’d picked up a small casserole she’d left in her vehicle earlier and brought wit
h her, but when she walked into the kitchen, she realized she should have brought something else. The cupboard was full of sandwiches and salads, the table covered in muffins and biscuits, and when she went to place the small dish she’d brought with her, she realized both the fridge and freezer were full. This warmed Charlotte’s heart, knowing there were still some members of their community who didn’t view Julia as anything other than a grieving mother.

  “Julia, have you eaten anything at all?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to eat.”

  Julia shrugged. “Could you take some of that food over to the church or the retirement home? I’m sure they could use it.”

  Charlotte sighed. It would only go to waste here, so yes, she’d take it, but . . .

  “On one condition: You eat a plate I make you of something light. Okay?”