Without a Doubt Read online

  Praise for the Carol Childs Mystery Series

  BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)

  “A high-speed chase of a mystery, filled with very likable characters, a timely plot, and writing so compelling that readers will be unable to turn away from the page.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “Will keep you turning pages late into the night and make you think twice about the dark side of the Hollywood Dream.”

  – Paul D. Marks,

  Shamus Award-Winning Author of Vortex

  “Radio host Carol Childs meets her match in this page-turner. Her opponent is everyone’s good guy but she knows the truth about the man behind the mask. Now Carol must reveal a supremely clever enemy before he gets the chance to silence her for good. Great read!”

  – Laurie Stevens,

  Award-Winning Author of the Gabriel McRay Series

  “A story of suspense, raw emotion, and peril which builds up to a satisfying climax…Silverman has given us another book where we can sit down and get our teeth into, and I look forward to the next in the series. Highly recommended.”

  – Any Good Book

  “Fast paced and cleverly plotted, an edgy cozy with undertones of noir.”

  – Sue McGinty,

  Author of the Bella Kowalski Central Coast Mysteries

  SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)

  “Silverman provides us with inside look into the world of talk radio as Carol Childs, an investigative reporter, finds herself in the middle of a Hollywood murder mystery, uncovering evidence that may point to her best friend. A hunky FBI Agent and a wacky psychic will keep readers guessing from beginning to end.”

  – Annette Dashofy,

  USA Today Bestselling Author of Lost Legacy

  “Silverman creates a trip through Hollywood filled with aging hippies, greedy agents, and a deadly case of product tampering. Forget the shower scene in Psycho; Shadow of Doubt will make you scared to take a bath!”

  – Diane Vallere,

  Author of the Material Witness, Style & Error,

  and Madison Night Mystery Series

  “A thoroughly satisfying crime novel with fascinating, authentic glimpses into the world of talk radio and some of its nastier stars… The writing is compelling and the settings ring true thanks to the author’s background as a newscaster herself.”

  – Jill Amadio,

  Author of Digging Too Deep

  “Carol is a smart, savvy heroine that will appeal to readers. This is a cozy with a bite.”

  – Books for Avid Readers

  “Absolutely engaging, I could barely put it down. The characters in the book were well-developed and the plot was chillingly genius.”

  – Lyn Faulkner,

  NetGalley Reviewer

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  Copyright

  WITHOUT A DOUBT

  A Carol Childs Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | May 2016

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Cole Silverman

  Cover art by Stephanie Chontos

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-025-8

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-026-5

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-027-2

  Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-028-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  Books in the Carol Childs Mystery Series

  by Nancy Cole Silverman

  SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)

  BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)

  WITHOUT A DOUBT (#3)

  Dedication

  To my family

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have to thank my good friend, hiking partner and first editor, Rhona Robbie, for helping me to find the opening scene in this book. It was at her suggestion we do the Beverly Hills chocolatiers’ tour. Yes, folks, there really is such a thing, and during the holidays, if you’re in L.A., it’s a must. For us, the tour was not only fun, but we came away with such a chocolate high I was determined to use the scene in a book. It seemed natural for Carol and Sheri and a particularly tasty way to open Without A Doubt.

  I also want to thank my publisher, Kendel Lynn, who has been a big support to me as the Carol Childs Mysteries have unfolded. My editors at Henery Press, Erin George and Anna Davis, are master craftswomen when it comes to refining story and I’m forever grateful for their keen eyes and understanding of story structure. Stephanie Chontos, who has done it again with another great cover and Art Molinares, who keeps the Hen House on an even keel.

  And, finally to my family. Each and every one of you are what make my life wonderful.

  Chapter 1

  “Don’t rush me. I need to savor this moment.”

  Sheri stood outside the Beverly Hills chocolatier and let the small square chocolate truffle liqueur melt in her mouth. Head turned up to the midmorning sun, she closed her eyes and, with a look of ecstasy on her face, sighed, almost orgasmically.

  I grabbed her hand. I couldn’t leave my best friend standing on the sidewalk with her eyes closed, looking flushed, like she’d just died and gone to heaven.

  KCHC’s new Chocolate Christmas Charity Campaign was dependent upon my roving report of the Beverly Hills chocolatiers. And no matter how tantalizing Sheri’s descriptions for the competing makers of the sinfully sweet delicacies had been, we needed to move on.

  “Carol? Are we ready?” Kari Rhodes’s saccharine sweet voice boomed in my ear and out over the airwaves. “Or has our taster succumbed?”

  “OD’ed might be a better description, Kari.”

  I explained that after visiting five different confectioners, Sheri was understandably lightheaded. We had begun the morning broadcast at Teuscher Chocolates on Brighton Way, sampling champagne truffles with buttery-sweet chocolate-filled liqueurs, and moved on to Vosges Haut-Chocolat on Beverly Drive. There we tasted their caramel marshmallows and later compared them to Madonna’s favorite dark chocolate mallows from the Edelweiss on Canon. While Sheri sampled, I filled listeners in on the fact that Edelweiss was the scene of the once-famous chocolate factory where Lucille Ball had gone to learn to wrap chocolates with Ethel.

  Off mic, I nudged Sheri and whispered, “One more, girlfriend. Hang in there.”

  Turning my attention back to Kari, I announced our next stop: Bouchon Bakery, famous for their French pastries, chocolate croissants, and small, intimate dining tables.

  “Like an escape to Paris,” I said.

  “Oh, you must bring back samples, Carol. Some croissants and maybe the French press coffee? I can almost smell it.”

  I planned to get plenty of the coffee into Sheri, and quickly.

  I described the baker
y’s best, ooh là là-ing over their tarts and cakes, their macarons, and their twice-baked chocolate croissants, then signed off. “This is Carol Childs with KCHC Talk Radio, hoping all our listeners will take our Chocolate Charity Challenge. Visit Beverly Hills and vote for your favorite chocolatier to help support St. Mark’s.”

  A portion of all sales from participating merchants during the month of December would be donated to St. Mark’s Children’s Hospital and the chocolatier with the most donations would win a year’s worth of free advertising. Tyler Hunt, KCHC’s boy wonder, and my now-is-never-soon-enough boss, said it was a win-win for everyone. Especially since he demanded I return to the station with enough chocolate to replenish the candy stash hidden in the top drawer of his desk.

  Finishing my coffee, I threw my mic in my purse and turned around to find Sheri outside the café. She was leaning up against one of the city’s holiday garland-trimmed lampposts licking her fingers. In her hand were three more of the chocolate liqueurs she had been given as samples from Teuschers. I whisked them from her, pocketed two, and threw the third into my mouth. If it’s possible to get drunk on chocolate liqueurs, Sheri was close to plastered.

  Sheri looked down at her empty hand, furrowed her brow, then back at me. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

  “For now.” I glanced at my watch. I reminded her I needed to drive her home and that I had less than an hour to get back to the station for my afternoon shift. I turned and headed in the direction of the parking garage with Sheri close behind.

  “I want my chocolates. I’ve been dieting all week for this, and I want them. I want them now.” Sheri stopped behind me. I turned around to see her with her hands on her hips like a defiant child about to throw a tantrum. She was refusing to take another step. “They’re mine.”

  “I know. Which is why I’ve put them away.” I was about to remind Sheri she had made me promise I’d not let her overindulge when she grabbed my arm, the look in her eyes going from disappointment to shock.

  “Oh my God, Carol. Don’t look.”

  “What?” I couldn’t imagine what it was Sheri didn’t want me to see. Had we missed a new candy store she couldn’t resist? I turned around, expecting to see some giant chocolate Santa, and froze in my tracks.

  Less than a block up the street coming out of Henry Westin’s, one of Beverly Hills’ most exclusive jewelry stores, was Eric. My Eric. And tucked neatly under his arm was Carmen Montague, the soulless socialite. A dark, sultry, raven-haired beauty known for absolutely nothing, famous for being famous. That happens in Hollywood. With the right connections, showmanship trumps talent. In Carmen’s case, she’d made that connection numerous times. She was famously divorced, filthy rich, and had been linked to a number of dubiously well-heeled international businessmen, actors, playboys, and the like. And now she was very definitely with the man I had rolled over next to in bed this morning.

  I stood unable to move. My heart, like a rock in my chest, refused to beat.

  Sheri leaned next to me. I could feel her breath on my shoulder. Eric, with his arm still about Carmen, dressed in a cashmere Burberry jacket and wearing glasses I didn’t recognize, looked straight in our direction. Without so much as a nod, he ducked into a black stretch limo double parked in front of Henry Westin’s and sped off.

  “Was that…?” My mouth went dry. I couldn’t finish the thought.

  “No.” Sheri looked at me, the dark curls against her head shaking as though she were trying to erase the picture. “Couldn’t be.”

  Before I could make sense of what I’d just seen, an explosion far worse than what was going on inside my head rocked the ground beneath my feet.

  From inside Henry Westin’s, a thunder blast shook the street like an earthquake. The big gold double doors on the front of the building blew open. Alarms everywhere, up and down the street, began blaring. People screamed, panicked, and started running. It was chaos. From within the building, a white cloud of dust, like smoke, began to billow out the doors and settle in the now nearly empty street littered with shopping bags and orphaned shoes.

  Chapter 2

  It was a bomb.

  Funny how instinct kicks in, even when there is no precedent to draw from. My chocolate high turned stone-cold sober. Ear-piercing white noise—surreal in its emptiness—caused a shrill ringing in my ears. Around me, things started to move in slow motion. Papers fluttered weightlessly in the air and people running by appeared to almost float in their haste to escape the scene. Time took on a wacky sense of proportion. Seconds stalled, stretching into minutes.

  I yelled at Sheri, my ears still ringing, “Are you okay to get home?” Tipsy from the liqueurs, I worried she wasn’t herself. But there was nothing I could do. I needed to stay. “Something’s happened.”

  “What is it?” Sheri gripped my wrist, her brown eyes wide, riveted on mine.

  “I don’t know. I need to call the station and you need to get out of here. I’ll call later.”

  I told Sheri to grab a cab and pointed toward Wilshire Boulevard where traffic was already starting to back up. In the distance, I could hear the warble of sirens echoing between buildings, coming in my direction. I reached into my bag for my phone and called the station.

  Tyler answered on the first ring. “Carol, you still there?”

  “There’s been an explosion—”

  “I know. I’m getting a report on the police scanner now.”

  “What’s happening?” I felt vulnerable standing in the street as I waited for Tyler to answer. In the background, I could hear the squawking of the newsroom’s small black police receiver and the clicking of computer keys. Tyler’s fingers were already flying across the keyboard. I knew he’d be alerting Kari to the emergency. He yelled at me as he typed. “An employee inside Henry Westin’s says there’s been a robbery.”

  “Anyone hurt?” I looked down the street where minutes ago I’d seen Eric getting into a limousine in front of the jewelry store. Now all I could see were swarms of police cars. LAPD, Beverly Hills police, and emergency vehicles were parked outside the building. The gold double doors were still flung open. But no one was coming out.

  “You tell me! You’re the only one who’s there. Go. Get the story, Carol. We need something. Now!”

  Tyler slammed the phone down, the silence in my ear almost as deafening as the explosion.

  I reached back into my bag for my mic and, finding it, began to run. Skirting abandoned shopping bags and businessmen in Armani suits, I dodged leggy supermodels in six-inch heels as moms pushing baby strollers rushed past me, away from the explosion. In the back of my mind, the memory of the Boston Marathon and the fear of another explosion pushed me forward. I had a story to cover. I needed to focus.

  Ahead of me, more emergency vehicles had arrived, jamming the street in front of Henry Westin’s. Their lights flashing and their doors flung open blocked my view of the entrance. Parked lopsided on the sidewalk was an LAPD black and white and double-parked on the street were an ambulance and a large black Bomb Squad truck.

  Half a dozen uniformed cops had already begun to secure the scene with yellow crime scene tape. I stood behind it, my heart pounding. I had run only a hundred yards but with the bomb and the jolt of seeing Eric with Carmen, I felt as though I had run a marathon.

  I leaned over the tape and yelled as an LAPD uniformed officer and a plainclothes detective came out of the building. A glint of light reflected off the detective’s badge revealing his Sam Browne and shoulder holster. “Detective, can you talk? What happened? Was anyone hurt?”

  “Stay behind the tape, ma’am.” The detective, his face flushed with excitement, yelled back at me, pointing to the yellow tape between us.

  “I’m with the press.” I held my mic up in the air, hoping he’d see it and come closer. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  He stopped momentarily. I noticed small beads of
sweat had started to run down the side of his face. “Someone planted a bomb,” he said tersely.

  “Was it—”

  “Terrorists? No.” He shook his head. “This was a robbery. Third jewelry store this month.” He started to move on.

  Third? Robberies may have flown under my radar, particularly in a city the size of Los Angeles, but a bomb? I wouldn’t have missed that. It may have the third robbery, but it had to be the first with a bomb.

  “Anyone inside hurt?” I hollered back, my voice strained.

  He stopped and came back to me. “What station you with, Miss?”

  “KCHC.”

  He looked at the bright yellow station ID flag on my mic and smiled. “Chick Radio, huh? What are you doing here?”

  I wasn’t surprised by the question. KCHC wasn’t exactly known for its news reporting. Robberies, homicides, and bombings weren’t our thing. Instead of hard news, KCHC was entertainment-focused, light news and lots of talk. I introduced myself and I explained I’d been doing a holiday report in Beverly Hills when I heard the explosion and asked if I could get his name.

  “Detective Lewis,” he said. “My wife listens to KCHC. Calls it the good news station. She’s a big fan.” He shook his head again. “But I don’t think your listeners are going to like this one.”

  “So someone was hurt?” I couldn’t imagine being inside when the blast went off. Bells were still going off inside my head like a pinball machine and I’d been halfway down the block.