Spotlight & Giveaway: Bitter Past by CJ Carmichael

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you CJ Carmichael’s new release: Bitter Past

A missing woman. A small-town sheriff. A cold case no one wants solved.

Twenty years ago, a young hiker vanished in the Montana wilderness. No body. No suspects. No answers. New sheriff Zak Waller has always believed it was murder—now, he finally has the power to prove it. But without evidence, he’s chasing a ghost.

Then, a new death shakes Lost Trail, drawing investigative journalist Joelle Medler into town. As she and Zak uncover long-buried secrets, someone else is watching—someone who has kept the truth hidden for almost two decades and is willing to kill again to keep it that way.

The deeper they dig, the deadlier the investigation becomes. Can Zak and Joelle expose the past before someone else dies?

A gripping police procedural with small-town intrigue and heart-pounding twists—perfect for fans of C.J. Box and Karin Slaughter.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Bitter Past 

Sheriff Zak Waller of Lost Trail, Montana, was preparing to meet with a man he’d once suspected of murder. He collected the papers on his desk, and returned them to the file labeled “Eve Brooks” in the bottom drawer of his battle-scarred desk. Through the window he watched as a dark-blue SUV angle-parked into a space across from his office. The plates began with the number 7, which told him the vehicle had been registered in Flathead County. Right on time for their meeting, Brent Culver emerged from the driver’s seat. Still tall, obviously, but broader, with the substance of a man in his prime. Brent glanced up and down the street, before crossing to the Sheriff’s Office.

Zak hadn’t seen Brent since they’d worked a summer together with the US Forest Service. Zak had been nineteen at the time, Brent a few years older. It had been a wonderful four months filled with rewarding work and camaraderie, right up until that last night when they and their co-workers found the dead body in the forest.

There was a tap on his door, then his dispatcher, Bea Rollins, opened it wide. A retired school secretary, Bea was both smart and efficient, the perfect addition to his small four-person office. Just five years ago Zak had been in Bea’s position. A lot had changed since then.

“Hey, Zak. Brent Culver to see you.” Bea let the tall man in, then closed the door quietly.

Zak crossed the room to shake hands. Brent was clean-shaven, his medium-brown hair professionally styled. His smile was confident and the cut of his pants and tapered shirt spoke of both quality and fashion. Life had clearly been good to the man.

It was just a four-hour drive from where Brent lived in Flathead County to the county seat of Lost Trail where Zak was Sheriff, but there was a world of difference between the two communities. Flathead County was affluent and trendy, a magnet to young people and tourists thanks to its proximity to Glacier National Park and pristine Flathead Lake. In contrast, Lost Trail, tucked into a remote corner of the Bitterroot Valley, served a mostly rural population of ranchers and forestry workers with a median income—and fashion sensibility—well below that of Flathead County.

“Thanks for seeing me, Zak. It’s been a long time.” Brent’s blue-gray eyes looked at him with a direct, business-like cordiality.

“It has.” He gestured for Brent to sit, then went to the mini fridge and snagged himself a bottle of apple juice. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’m good.” Brent leaned forward in his chair, hands planted on his muscular thighs. “You still running marathons?”

“I still run. But marathons? No time for those.” Zak had been raised by a father who was a bully, along with three older brothers, also bullies. Running had provided a physical and emotional escape back then, but while he still loved running for clearing his mind and keeping fit, he had no need or time for marathons.

Brent adjusted a picture frame on Zak’s desk so he could see it better. “Ah, married now. And a kid.”

The photo from last Christmas showed Zak’s wife, Nadine—also one of the two deputies who worked out of this office—perched on the railing of their front porch, with their one-year-old son in her arms. Colored lights from their tree sparkled through the window behind her.

“Yup. Jett is almost a year and a half now. You have kids, too, right?” Just a few weeks ago, Brent and his family had been big news across Montana when he was announced as the fourth winner of the Montana Millionaire Lottery. The draw had happened back in December, but the story as reported was that Brent had totally forgotten he’d bought a ticket until he happened to put on a jacket he rarely wore, and found the ticket crumpled at the bottom of one of the pockets. This happened just two weeks prior to the six-month cut-off. A different fashion choice and the million-dollar payout might have been lost forever.

“That’s right. My wife, Olivia, and I had twins five years ago. As you say, keeps a man busy.” Brent focused on the badge pinned to Zak’s chest. “I never figured you for law enforcement. How long have you been Sheriff?”

“Going on three years. And you? Living the life of leisure since your big lottery win?”

Brent gave an easy laugh, then crossed his legs, resting an ankle on his thigh. “I’d drive my wife crazy if I retired.”

“So you’re still an investigator with her law firm?” Brent’s profession was something else Zak had learned from that article.

Brent nodded. “But I’m not here in that capacity. This is personal. I wanted to ask you about that last night the summer we worked together. And the body we found.”

Though he’d suspected this was what Brent wanted to see him about, Zak bought time to think, taking a long drink of his antioxidant-rich apple juice. Back when she was pregnant, Nadine had developed a craving for apples. Both the fruit and the juice. And now he was hooked too. Besides a fridge stocked with juice, he also kept a fruit bowl on his desk. “What did you want to ask?”

Brent cleared his throat. “Seems to me we should be able to figure out who it was we found. I’ve checked missing persons reports in the area during that time period. There was an elderly man with dementia who wandered away from his care home, a teenager with a known drug problem. And then there was her.” Brent took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on Zak’s desk.

Zak didn’t need to look. “Eve Brooks.”

“Yeah.” Brent’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve looked into this too?”

“One of the first things I did after I was elected.” He had a stack of files in the bottom drawer of his desk—cases from the Ford–Butterfield years of law enforcement. The net result was at least six cases where justice had definitely not been done. Eve Brooks’s disappearance was one of them.

“Then you know the story. Eve Brooks was through-hiking the Continental Divide Trail that summer we worked for the Forest Service. Her last reported sighting was here in Lost Trail. Her husband and young daughter were supposed to meet her a week later in Leadore. But she never showed.”

The town of Leadore was south, on the other side of the Idaho border. About a two-hour drive by car, it would have taken Eve Brooks over a week of hiking to get there. “That was a long time ago, Brent.” Sixteen years to be exact. “Why the sudden interest in this case?”

Brent left his chair and strode to the window. Was he looking for something? Or someone? Brent’s chest expanded, then contracted slowly. When he turned back to Zak, his expression was once again tightly controlled.

“I’ve thought about that night so many times. You may have thought I needed those photos as a reminder, but they weren’t necessary.”

Zak knew the photos he was referring to but didn’t say anything.

Brent raised his eyebrows, implying, Really? Then he shrugged. “You guys thought I killed her. Didn’t you?”

“At the time, maybe. But we were all wasted. Not thinking clearly. By morning we all realized the blood on her chest was already dry.” The five of them—himself and Brent, as well as Amanda McKinnon, Wyatt Cocker, and Shawn Ward—had been celebrating the end of their summer work term. They’d driven to Chief Joseph Pass, then hiked up to a viewpoint that was along the official Continental Divide Trail, where they’d set up a propane stove so they could barbecue burgers. A fair number of beers, and a little weed, had been consumed too.

It had been dark, almost midnight, when Brent proposed a shooting game. He’d challenged them all to hit an old pine tree, blackened from a long-ago lightning strike, about fifty yards away. But after he took his first shot—missing the mark entirely—Amanda, who’d been his girlfriend at the time, had told them all not to be stupid. They were too wasted to be messing with firearms.

The mood had dampened instantly, and Zak had suggested it was time to hike back to the truck. As they packed up the stove and all their trash, Brent went off into the woods to relieve himself. A minute later, he was yelling at them to come.

They had hurried to his side, then frozen. Twenty feet away, the body of a woman had been clearly visible in the pale moonlight. Though partially hidden in the undergrowth, they could see her gray face, her vacant eyes, a bloom of red over her heart. No one had gone closer—they’d been totally freaked out, and it wasn’t like they could help her, since she was clearly dead.

“We need to call the Sheriff,” Amanda had said, but Wyatt immediately objected.

“We’re all wasted. Zak is underage. We’ll get in a world of trouble.”

“We could call it in after we’ve sobered up,” Shawn said.

“Yeah,” Wyatt had agreed. “That’s the smart plan. Let’s meet in the parking lot tomorrow at nine. We can tell the Sheriff we found her on an early morning hike. Until then, we all keep quiet. Don’t tell anyone.”

They’d all agreed to the plan. But Shawn had been so upset when he got home that his mother, Myrtle, got the story out of him. Then she’d told his father, Sam, who had told his best friend, Wyatt’s father, Edward, and of course Wyatt’s mother, Vera, found out about it too.

Sam and Edward, the two dads—both expert hikers and trackers—had come up with a different strategy. They’d called a breakfast meeting with all five of them and had told them to stay put. They would hike up the mountain, find the body, and report it to the authorities. Thereby keeping all of the younger folks out of it.

It had seemed like a good plan. Except when Sam and Edward got to the location where Shawn and the others had found the body—there was nothing. No trace of blood, or any disturbance to show where it had been.

Brent could have had time—maybe—to go up himself in the dead of night and dispose of the body. But did he have the skill to completely cover his tracks and fool a couple of experts like Sam and Edward? Zak and the others had wondered, but none of them had told the parents about Brent’s wild shot into the dark that night.

“For the record, I didn’t go back that night to move the body,” Brent said, guessing at Zak’s thought process. “And I couldn’t have covered my tracks, no matter how hard I tried. So what do you think happened to her?”

Zak leaned back in his chair. “Whoever killed her must have moved her after we left. For all we know the killer was hiding in the forest while we partied, waiting for us to leave.”

“But the scene was so clean the next morning. No blood. No impression on the ground. Not a trace of evidence…how is that possible?”

“If a professional crime scene crew had gone over the place, they might have found something,” Zak said. “We should have reported what we’d seen even though the body was gone.” That said, would Sheriff Ford have taken the trouble to call a team out from Missoula to check for evidence? Zak doubted the man would have bothered.

“I contacted Eve Brooks’s husband yesterday,” Brent said. “They never found out what happened to her. Still don’t know for sure if she’s dead or alive.”

Almost assuredly dead, Zak thought. But without evidence, that brought no closure or comfort to the family. “Let me ask you again—after all these years, why the interest now?”

Brent’s hand went to his pocket, the one where he’d kept the article about Eve Brooks. Did he have something else in there? But he dropped his hand and sighed. “I’ll give you an answer, Zak. But first I need to check a few things.”

“That’s cryptic.”

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t want to throw anybody under the bus without just cause.”

Zak frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. “I can be discreet.”

“I know. Just give me a day. Maybe two. You’ll hear from me soon.”

But Zak didn’t. The next day a news report came out of Flathead County. A man in a blue SUV had been killed in a hit-and-run, T-boned by a semi driving full highway speed. The dead man’s name was Brent Culver.

Amanda Cocker was slathering peanut butter on toast when she found out the man she’d worked with and dated one long-ago summer was dead. Brent Culver had been killed in a hit-and-run. Her husband, Wyatt, showed her the news bulletin on his phone. She set down the knife, licked a dollop of peanut butter from her index finger, then took the phone from him. Her hand was shaking.

“Sit.” Wyatt guided her to a kitchen chair.

Amanda glanced out the window briefly, reassured to see the usual view. The cattle barn, the pasture beyond, the rolling hills, and the Bitterroot Mountains. Then she clicked on the link to read the full report. The accident had happened last night in Flathead County. The driver—Brent—of a mid-sized SUV had been pulling out of a gas station onto Highway 93, when a semi, going full highway speed, broadsided the vehicle, ripping it into two pieces. The driver of the SUV was killed instantly. The semi—stolen fifteen minutes prior to the accident from a gas station to the north—was found an hour later, abandoned on a side street five minutes away.

There had been only one witness to the hit-and-run. A woman who’d been filling her car at a pump facing the highway said the driver of the semi appeared to be alone. And wearing a cowboy hat. Video footage from the gas station’s security camera caught nothing as the cameras were focused primarily on the pumps and the convenience store, not the highway where the accident occurred.

Amanda raised her eyes to her husband, but she was too dazed to really see him. Through the numbness of disbelief, a question popped into her head, then another, and another. Highest on the list: could this be a coincidence?

Wyatt gave a slight shake of his head. He was having trouble processing this too.

“This is so awful,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. Their two teenaged kids were still asleep, but they could come racing down the stairs at any moment.

Both of their phones pinged at the same time. Amanda didn’t have to look to know who was messaging them. Zak Waller, the County Sheriff, had also worked with Brent that summer. He must be equally shocked.

“This has to be a coincidence,” Amanda whispered again. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Moving behind her chair, Wyatt put his strong, work-roughened hands on her shoulders and applied a reassuring pressure.

They had been in their early twenties the summer they worked with Brent for the US Forest Service, based out of the Bitterroot National Forest office. Amanda had never fallen for a guy as fast and as hard as she’d fallen for Brent. She’d wished the summer would never end. But it did, and everything changed on that last day before they were all scheduled to leave Lost Trail.

They’d headed out to the forest for one last celebratory party. It had felt like the perfect end to the perfect summer. Until they found the body of the dead woman.

A thousand times since then Amanda had wished she could go back in time and do things differently. Though she and Wyatt rarely talked about it, she guessed he had the same regrets.

“I wonder if—” she started in the same quiet tone, only to stop when she heard a flurry of footsteps on the old wooden staircase. A moment later their daughter, Candace, burst into the room, already dressed for work in old jeans and a faded denim shirt. At seventeen, she’d just started drinking coffee, but she went for the pot like a seasoned caffeine addict.

“Are we fencing the west pasture today, Dad?”

“We better.” Wyatt moved out from behind Amanda’s chair and took over preparing her breakfast, spreading the rest of the peanut butter. “It took a lot of damage last winter.”

“Can we take the horses? And bring our bathing suits?”

When fencing, it was faster and more efficient to use a utility vehicle. But it was summer, the kids were on school break, and the sun was shining. Candace didn’t even need to plead her case.

“What the hell. Might as well pack a picnic lunch and make a day of it.”

“Yes!” Candace kissed her dad, then her mother. “Too bad you have to miss the fun, Mom.”

Amanda didn’t mind, not really. She was grateful to have been offered the position of head librarian after Sybil Tombe retired last year following a traumatic experience involving a man from her past. There were few ranches around this part of Montana who could operate without the safety net of a salaried job and that was especially true for her family, which had experienced more than one setback this year. Plus, in the winter, when bitter cold made the everyday tasks of keeping the herd watered and fed pretty miserable, it was nice to escape to town in her four-wheel-drive vehicle with heated seats.

Candace ran to the foot of the stairs. “Bruce! Get your ass out of bed. We get to take the horses and go swimming in Flint Creek!”

“Don’t forget the part about repairing fences,” Wyatt called after her.

Amanda almost smiled. It was nice to see her lately sullen teenaged daughter excited about the prospect of good old-fashioned fun. But then she remembered. Brent is dead. It didn’t feel real; it was far too horrible to be real. And suddenly a new regret hit her, something she should have thought of when she first heard the news. Her eyes flooded with tears.

“She doesn’t even—”

“I know, honey.” Wyatt understood without her finishing the sentence. “It’s a goddamn shame.” He handed her the plate. “Eat your breakfast and go to work. We’ll talk about it later.”

Would they though? Amanda wondered as she was driving to work. She and Wyatt were masters of the art of avoiding uncomfortable subjects. Despite their best intentions, Brent’s death would probably be added to that list.

Zak paced the length of his office as he waited to hear back from the others who had worked with the US Forest Service the same summer as Brent Culver. His adrenaline was spiked high, as he tried to process the news report he’d just read about Brent’s supposed accidental death. Had the others heard yet? What would they make of it?

He needed Amanda, Wyatt, and Shawn in his office, stat. But when his phone rang, the call was from his wife, Nadine.

“I just saw the news bulletin about Brent Culver.” She cut to the chase, as always. “Isn’t he the guy from Flathead County who came to see you yesterday, asking about that old missing person case?”

“Yes.” Until Brent’s visit, he’d kept his vow and had never told anyone about the dead body. But last night, after Brent’s visit, he’d caved and confessed the whole sordid story to Nadine.

“Well, that’s weird.”

“If by weird, you mean suspicious, then I agree.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’ve got a call in to our colleagues in Flathead County. And I also want to talk to Amanda, Wyatt, and Shawn. I’m guessing he paid them all a visit yesterday, too, and I’m hoping he told them more than he told me.”

“Good plan.”

“You still taking Jett to story hour at the library?”

“Yup. Then I’ll drop him at day care so I can give Making Magic a good run before my shift.”

“Take water with you. It’s going to be a hot one. Love you.”

“Love you back, Sheriff.”

Managing a four-person Sheriff’s Office stretched as thin as a pair of Spandex running shorts, while being married to one of his deputies with whom he had a young son, required a constant juggling of priorities, as well as a good deal of compromise. Complicating their home situation were the animals. He’d brought Watson, a grumpy old cat, into the relationship, while Nadine had her horse, Making Magic, and dog, Junior.

Not that Zak would change a thing about these variables. The dog and cat were family, and he understood that Nadine, who’d been a barrel racer before joining the Sheriff’s Department, needed Making Magic to stay sane and grounded. Much the same as he needed his running.

As for Jett, on those occasions when Zak’s and Nadine’s shifts intersected, or on the rare occasions where an emergency required overtime, he was cared for by a combination of day care and babysitting by Jett’s honorary aunt Tiff Masterson—and sometimes Tiff’s mother, Rosemary. The Mastersons owned a local Christmas tree farm, and Zak and Tiff had been friends for most of their lives. Entwining their lives further, Tiff had recently married his second deputy, Kenny Bombard, and was now eight months pregnant with their first child.

“One happy, messy extended family,” Tiff called them, which was a pretty accurate description.

The only downside to this carefully organized schedule was that Zak didn’t see nearly as much of his wife as he’d like. He missed the old days when they had worked together all day and hung out most evenings as well.

But Tiff’s mother, Rosemary, kept telling him to cherish Jett’s babyhood. “You’ll be an empty nester before you know it. And oh, how you’ll miss the chaos.”

His phone rang again, this time the generic chime. Zak picked up fast. “Sheriff Waller.”

“It’s Shawn.” He was normally a calm, unflappable person, but Shawn’s voice sounded strained.

“You’ve heard about Brent’s accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Brent came to talk to me yesterday. You too?”

“Yup. Also Amanda and Wyatt. I just spoke to them.”

Zak didn’t like the fact that they’d been conferring without him. “I’d like to talk to all three of you here in my office.”

“We figured. We’ll be there at quarter past twelve.”

That worked. It would give him time to consult the relevant authorities, which in this case was complicated. The semi had been stolen within Kalispell city limits, so their police force would be involved. The vehicular accident, however, had happened outside of the city limits, so it would be investigated by the Montana Highway Patrol, while Brent’s fatality would come under the purview of the Flathead County Sheriff’s Department.

It took over an hour for Zak to connect with the right people and pull together the available evidence. He learned that the stolen semi had been privately owned and had not been outfitted with the dash camera most corporate-owned semis had for insurance purposes. Video footage from the gas station where the semi had been stolen had caught blurred footage of the thief: a tall man in a bulky coat—a strange outfit for the middle of summer—with a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, sunglasses, and big bushy beard.

Meanwhile video footage from the gas station twenty miles down the road where the crash had occurred had been even more unhelpful since the cameras were focused predominantly on the pumps and the convenience store, rather than the highway where the accident had taken place.

After the accident, the stolen semi had been found on a nearby rural road. No sign of the bearded man with the coat and the cowboy hat had been seen since.

None of the relevant agencies thought that Brent had been targeted. He’d just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. A search for the driver of the stolen semi was ongoing, but everyone Zak spoke to said that their chances of ever finding him were slim.

Zak grabbed an apple from the bowl on his desk and mulled over the various reports. If the thief really had panicked after the accident, how had he managed to disappear so successfully after abandoning the semi? To Zak it seemed more likely that the crash had been planned and that the thief had stashed a vehicle on the rural road to allow for a clean getaway.

Zak had just finished his apple when he heard footsteps and voices, followed by Bea saying, “He’s in his office. Go right on in.”

Amanda walked in first, followed by Wyatt, and then Shawn, who shut the door behind him. Amanda and Wyatt took the chairs facing Zak’s desk, while Shawn snagged a chair from the small conference table. After a quick round of greetings, Amanda was the first to speak.

In her demure navy dress and flat, sensible shoes, with her curly black hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail, she looked every inch the librarian. And yet Zak had seen her carry forty pounds of heavy equipment into a remote location, watched her face down a grizzly with nothing but bear spray and rubber bullets. He knew she was a lot tougher than she appeared.

“Accidents can happen at any time,” Amanda said, twisting her wedding ring anxiously as she looked first at Zak, then her husband and Shawn. “But am I the only one who thinks it’s freaky that Brent got killed the day after he came to Lost Trail?

“It’s a weird coincidence,” Shawn said, his tone calm and reasonable. “But that’s what it must be. A coincidence. Don’t you agree, Zak?” Of all of them, Shawn was the only one who had made a career with the US Forest Service. He’d been with them full-time as a wildlife biologist for about fourteen years now. The guy was tall and fit and quietly handsome. But he’d been a bit of a loner, even when he was younger. Zak wasn’t surprised he still hadn’t married.

“To be honest, the coincidence bothers me,” Zak admitted. “Just like it bothers me Edward and Sam never found the body the next morning.”

Wyatt, a dark-haired, stocky man, glanced up with black eyes barely visible beneath the brim of his cowboy hat and made a scoffing sound. “We were all drunk. Maybe the woman wasn’t dead. Maybe she walked off that mountain of her own accord. Ever think of that?”

“You really think she wasn’t dead?” Shawn asked quietly. It was clear he didn’t share that opinion.

Wyatt set his mouth stubbornly. Zak had noticed him limping slightly when he walked in. Maybe he’d injured himself recently. Ranching was tough physical work, and horses and cattle weren’t always predictable.

“Brent came to me with a theory,” Zak said. “He thought the body we found that night belonged to a female hiker who went missing that summer. Eve Brooks. Did he discuss this theory with the rest of you?”

Amanda and Shawn nodded, and eventually Wyatt did too.

“Well, what do you think?” Zak continued. “Did he show you the article with her picture? Did you think it could have been her?”

“Maybe,” Amanda conceded. “But this happened so long ago. We have no idea who could have shot her. Or why her body disappeared.”

“Unless Brent killed her when he shot at that stupid tree,” Wyatt said.

“But the blood on her chest was already dry,” Shawn reminded him.

“So if Brent didn’t kill her, who did?” Amanda asked.

The room fell silent. After almost a minute, Shawn said, “Maybe the person who killed her heard Brent was in town asking questions, and decided he better shut him up.”

“That’s a great plot line for a movie. But in real life?” Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t think we should go looking for trouble.”

“Which kind of begs the question, doesn’t it?” Shawn said. “It’s been a hell of a lot of years. Why did Brent decide to come looking for answers now?”

Exactly what Zak was wondering. “Did you ask him that?”

“I did. He wouldn’t tell me.”

Zak turned to Amanda and Wyatt. “What about you guys?”

They both shook their heads, but Amanda didn’t meet his gaze. “Amanda?”

“She doesn’t know, okay?” Wyatt said, sounding annoyed.

If only Brent hadn’t been so cryptic the last time Zak spoke to him. There had been something that had renewed his interest in the case. He’d said he didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus. Who had he been trying to protect? Zak worried he might never find out the truth.

Excerpt. ©CJ Carmichael. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

Giveaway: An ebook copy of BITTER PAST + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

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Meet the Author:

USA Today bestselling author C. J. Carmichael has written over 50 novels, including two mystery series, as well as romance and women’s fiction. Three of her novels have been nominated for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award, including A Bramble House Christmas. A film version of A Bramble House Christmas premiered as a Hallmark Mystery movie in 2017.

Married, with two grown daughters and some adorable grandchildren, C.J. and her husband and their Welshie Jazz divide their time between their home in Calgary, Alberta and the family cottage on Flathead Lake, Montana. To be the first to know about upcoming releases and promotions please sign up for her newsletter.Visit C.J.’s website at http://CJCarmichael.com

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