I chuckled and shook my head. “Fucking Townsends.”
Not many would suspect that one of the wealthiest and business savvy families in the country also held these types of deep, dark secrets. That in basements like this scattered throughout the country, Joshua Townsend not only fought in his underground fight club, but could also dole out death sentences as if he were the undertaker himself.
Of course, just like his two older brothers, Joshua had a reason. Townsends never did anything without rhyme or reason. It’s what made them so good. And there was no higher reason for killing Michael Stephens than love.
Chapter One
Nine months earlier …
Kayla
It’s just your neighbor,I inhaled deeply, reminding myself.
“I’m coming!” I yelled from my hallway to the front door of my apartment. I rolled my eyes and sighed at the way my heart rate quickened when I first heard the knocking on my door. “It’s not them,” I murmured as I picked up my steps toward the front door.
I’d lived in my apartment for a few months without any problems, save for my next door neighbor knocking on my door some early mornings. I really needed to relax and get used to my new small town living.
I let out a breath when my suspicions were confirmed as I peered through the peephole and saw the profile of my next door neighbor.
I pasted on a smile and pulled the door open. “Mrs. Bevins.” Despite my prior nervousness, it actually was a pleasure to see my seventy-something-year-old neighbor. When she glanced up, smiling, the edges of her eyes wrinkled, I already knew what she was going to ask.
“I hope I didn’t wake you, dear.”
My smile grew. “Mrs. Bevins, you know good and well what time I wake up. We’ve been over this.”
“Oh well, I didn’t want to disturb you too much. I know you’ve got that big important job to get to. I just had a question. My primary care physician thinks it’s time to increase my insulin but I’m not sure about that. What do you think?”
I shook my head. “Hm. That’s a complicated answer, Mrs. Bevins. I’d need to see your latest blood work, talk to you more about your lifestyle. But I suspect if you’ve been eating all of the banana loaves and muffins you’re always trying to force on me, we might be able to do something about your diet before increasing your insulin.”
Her cheeks grew rosy as she blushed.
“I’m Italian, you know my family likes to eat and celebrate everything with food,” she giggled.
“Mhmm. I suspect your family wants you around more than they want the sweet treats. Have you been keeping up your walking regimen?”
“Sometimes.”
I tilted my head and lifted my eyebrows.
“Okay, no. But who wants to walk in the rain or the snow.”
“Mrs. Bevins, you’ve lived in Portland most of your life, as I recall. You should be used to the weather changes by now. If weather conditions are your reason for not walking, you’ll never get in any exercise. What about buying a treadmill or joining a fitness class at the gym?”
She tapped her wrinkled cheek with her pointer finger, pondering. “I could do that,” she replied, and nodded.
I glanced up to read the time display on my stereo system. “We can talk more about this when I get in from work this evening. Is that all right?” I asked while reaching for my light jacket from the rack next to my door.
“Oh yes, yes. Please, go on ahead. I don’t want to hold you up.”
I gave her a knowing look because I was certain that wasn’t the last out of my neighbor. In the short period of time I’d lived in the apartment building, I’d come to recognize Mrs. Bevins as the unofficial welcoming committee. And once she’d decided she liked you, it could be a challenge getting rid of her.
Once again, I was correct in my assessment, when she held the door open, still asking questions here and there as I retrieved my briefcase and keys to head out. She accompanied me all the way to the front door of our apartment building which was two flights down from the floor we lived on, asking questions about her diabetes as well as her husband’s health. While her questioning could’ve been perceived as annoying, I wasn’t too bothered by it. Outside of work, I rarely had much contact with other people. Most of the friends I’d made in Portland were still in the city or had moved out of state. And, to be honest, I feared going back to the city much due to the events that’d transpired there, causing me to move.
Besides all of that, I honestly loved the work I did as a naturopathic doctor. I never regretted the nonconventional route I’d taken into medicine. My field was growing and more and more people were recognizing the benefits of preventive and holistic care to not just treat disease and illness, but to avoid them altogether. I’d told Mrs. Bevins my profession soon after I moved into my apartment a little over six months ago. She’d stopped by to welcome me to the building with a basket of her freshly made blueberry scones. She’d seen some of the medical books I had while unpacking and questioned me about my job. Since then, she’d been somewhat of an unofficial patient. Though I leave any prescriptions and diagnosis to her primary care physician.
I inhaled deeply once I stepped outside and I could smell the moisture in the air. The wet patches on the asphalt of the parking lot told of the rain that started and stopped in the early morning hours. Right then, the sun was shining and it had to be close to seventy degrees. It was perfect early spring weather. I thought some type of outdoor activity might be fun.
“Maybe I’ll go for a bike ride,” I mused while heading across the parking lot to my light grey SUV. It’d been so long since I’d spent any real time outdoors.
