Chapter 1 : Part 1

Passing Through Paradise
by Susan Wiggs

Less than two years ago Sandra was the happily married wife of Victor Winslow, the favorite son of a town called Paradise, a politician who could do no wrong. Then an accident took Victor's life, leaving Sandra under a dark cloud of suspicion.

Now Sandra has had enough. Her only way out is to rebuild and sell her Victorian beach house at the edge of town. When she hires Mike Malloy, she soon realizes he's skilled with his hands... and at touching her lonely heart. His fight to secure a future with his children awakens all her buried dreams. But can she trust a man with unbreakable ties to a community she's eager to leave behind, a man determined to discover her deepest secrets? Torn between her need to confront the past and her longing to begin again, Sandra must soon decide where her heart is - in a new life far away, or right here, in Paradise.

Chapter 1

Ten Tortures for Courtney Procter

1. Tell her she's finally growing into her face.

2. Organize a boycott of her show's sponsors.

3. Send her a silicon recall notice.

4. Get a convict to mail her fan letters from prison.

5. Tell everyone who she used to date - and why he dumped her.

"... officially ruled an accident, but the sleepy coastal town of Paradise still holds one woman responsible for the tragedy that took prominent politician Victor Winslow - his beautiful young widow, Sandra. Despite last night's ruling by the state medical examiner, unsettling questions persist."

The bluish image flickered as the camera tightened its shot on the blond TV reporter. "Witnesses who last saw State Senator Winslow alive on the night of February ninth have testified that he was engaged in a heated argument with his wife. An anonymous caller reported that the Winslows' car was traveling at a high rate of speed when it spun out of control on Sequonset Bridge and plunged into the Sound.

"Investigators later discovered a bullet embedded in the car's dashboard. Traces of the victim's blood were detected on Mrs. Winslow's clothing.

"None of this was sufficient to satisfy the state's burden of proof that a murder occurred, but this reporter promises to investigate further the trail leading to the late Senator Winslow's wife, the sole beneficiary of a large life insurance policy...

"And so Sandra Winslow, known locally as the Black Widow of Blue Moon Beach, is left with only her conscience for company. This is Courtney Procter, WRIQ News."

Sandra Winslow set down her journal and pen. Picking up the remote control, she aimed it at the morning newscaster's taut, surgically enhanced face. "Bang," she said, pressing the OFF button. "You're dead. What part of 'ruled an accident' didn't you get, Courtney Proctologist?"

She stood and walked to the broad, bow-front window, with her arms wrapped around the emptiness inside her. She savored a fragile sense of triumph - finally, the accident ruling had come through - but the local news report left the door open for trouble. No matter what the ME ruled, there were those who would always hold her responsible.

A harsh wind, on the leading edge of the coming storm, flattened the clacking dune grasses and churned the waters of the Sound into a froth. A handcrafted suncatcher in the shape of a bird vibrated against the windowpane, stirring memories she couldn't escape.

Sandra felt so far away from the person she'd once been, and not just because she'd moved into the old beach house after being released from the hospital. Only a year go, she'd sat at the head table of the Newport Marina ballroom, wearing a pink knitted suit with black trim and matching shoes, her gloved hands folded in her lap. With his trademark panache, her husband held forth from the podium, speaking with compelling eloquence of his commitment to the citizens who had just elected him to a second term. He'd spoken of service and gratitude and family. And love. When Victor spoke of love, he could make even the most jaded heart believe.

He'd singled Sandra out as his steady anchor in the shifting seas of politics. His family and friends surrounded her in a warm cocoon of affection, as if she were truly one of them. After the speech, she sipped coffee, shared small talk and smiles, held other women's babies and stood proudly at the side of her famous husband.

The man who was missing, and now presumed dead. She stared out the window, tucking ink-smudged hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

For Sandra, there was no "presumed" about Victor's death. She knew.

The wounded morning sky, as lackluster as midwinter itself, grew duller rather than brighter with the coming day. Looking out over the gray-shadowed beach, she felt a piercing loneliness, so sharp and cold that she flinched and hugged the oversized sweater tighter around her.

Victor's sweater.

She shut her eyes and inhaled with a shudder of emotion. It still smelled of him. Faintly spicy and clean and tinged with...him. Just him.

Damn Victor. How could he have done this, told her those things and then died on her? One minute you love someone, she thought, you believe you're tied to him forever, the next minute fate cuts you loose. And all the disillusionment and shattered hopes had nowhere to go.

Copyright © 2002 by Susan Wiggs

About the Author

Susan Wiggs is the author of the bestselling historical romance novels The Mistress, The Hostage, and The Horsemaster's Daughter. She won the Romantic Times career achievement award and the Romance Writers of America's RITA Award for best historical romance. A dramatic departure from her critically acclaimed and highly popular previous novels, THE YOU I NEVER KNEW is her first full-length work of contemporary fiction. A Harvard graduate and former schoolteacher, she lives on an island in Puget Sound with her husband and daughter.