She came to warn her estranged mother of danger. But will the cost of unraveling family secrets be too much to bear? If you love domestic suspense with romance, you’ll love The Key Collector's Promise.

Summer 1983:When young real estate agent Sandra Lejeune receives an anonymous letter threatening her family, she leaves her home in Cypress Bend, Louisiana and travels to England, intending to warn her estranged mother. But first she has to find her. Sandra starts her search in the Suffolk coastal village of Eden Cove, untangling memories and mysteries along the way.

Conner Harrison, her father’s lackey and Sandra’s main business rival, follows her and tracks her down, claiming he flew over the ocean out of concern. It’s hard to take Conner at face value. In the past, he threw away the chance to win her love.

Who sent the letter? Her father’s shady business partners? The private investigator Sandra previously hired?

Or perhaps it’s someone closer to Sandra’s heart.

One month before arriving in Eden Cove

April 1983

In all my twenty-six years, I’d only wanted two things. One, to be with my mother again someday, and two, to make my father proud. My progress on the first task required tracking down my mother. That had stalled.

And I was completely failing on the second, if today was any indicator. 

In my defense, Daddy hadn’t informed me of who the prospective business partner was. If he had, I would’ve voiced my opposition well before we’d been seated by the waiter.

I put my glass down onto the cream damask tablecloth and forced a brittle smile. “May I speak with you, Daddy?” 

The clink of silverware and sedate conversations of other diners at The Point—one of Cypress Bend’s finer eating establishments—continued, but the men seated at our table stilled, as frozen as an artist’s tableau. The Businessman’s Folly, they could call it, or maybe Men About to Discuss a Bad Idea. 

No matter how intimidating Mr. Strickland was, I couldn’t let Daddy make such a terrible mistake as to invest in Strickland’s plan for office complexes.

Conner, Daddy’s right-hand man, was doing nothing useful just now, only darting nervous glances between Daddy and Mr. Strickland. Having the appearance of the perfect realtor with his wavy hair and manly jawline didn’t do Conner Harrison much good in this situation. I shot him a look, hoping he’d catch on and help me out. He pretended to be oblivious. Even though our office romance had been short-lived, Conner certainly knew me well enough to read me, but he ignored my silent plea. The rejection stung, though wasn’t completely unexpected. He tended to go along with Daddy.

I reached for my necklace, a habit when my nerves were stretched taut, and felt the cool smoothness of pearls. My key necklace was at home. I’d forgotten I’d paired the pearls with my classic navy sheath dress. 

Trying not to fidget, I cleared my throat. “Daddy?”

With deliberate care, Mr. Strickland set down his knife and fork. All eyes were on the stocky man as he dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin. He smiled a wicked shark grin at me. I refused to shiver, instead acknowledging him with lowered lashes and a nod. 

Dismissive, he flicked his fingers. “That’s fine, Whit. Go talk with your girl.”

Arrogance like his from any other man would’ve set my blood boiling, but I was too worried, and scared, if I told myself the truth. Daddy didn’t need to partner with Strickland’s kind.

Strickland’s associates began eating again, and Conner took this as his cue to start telling a story about an alligator. My daddy, Bobby Whitaker Lejeune, known by all as Whit, pushed back his chair. He smoothed the front of his suit and walked toward the lobby.

All pretense of grace deserted me and, ungainly as a new colt, I hopped up and followed.

The minute we were clear of the room, Daddy spun on his heel. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

The power in his deep, quiet, voice took me back to childhood days when I’d gotten into trouble. Not something I’d done often.

The Shrimp Garden Salad resting uncomfortably in my belly threatened to rise, but I carried on, ignoring his tone and the way he seemed to tower over me. 

There was too much at stake to be cowed.

“I could ask you the same thing! You can’t seriously consider partnering with Strickland.”

Daddy rubbed his temples with his long, manicured fingers. He’d worked so hard to project an image, with his well-cut suit, his stylish dark brown hair worn just short enough to avoid offending older clients, and his impeccable business dealings. Now he was throwing it all away.

Calm, and in a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “It’s become necessary.”

“No, it hasn’t! Strickland?” 

Strickland may have high connections and gave the impression he had the governor’s ear, but he also had the stink of corruption clinging to him. It was well known that Strickland’s company fudged safety inspections. A fact he cared not one iota about, since he wriggled out of criminal charges. It didn’t keep him from having his picture in the paper. The man had a stake in every game around, from building hotels to buying up old houses at rock-bottom prices, making way for development, and making unfair profits. Not to mention how people who stood in his way had a habit of suddenly leaving town. Rumors of payoffs and shady deals abounded. I didn’t need to know details to know we wanted no part in any deal with him.

I said, “Nothing good can come from partnering with Strickland. You can’t be seriously considering this real estate deal.”

Daddy glared at me, ice in his blue eyes. “The housing market is a mess. I have to think of the company’s future.” He lowered his brows and set his jaw in a stubborn line. “We are going back in there to talk with Mr. Strickland, and you’ll behave.”

At those last words, heat flushed my cheeks as if I’d been slapped. I wanted to say no, I wasn’t going back in. I wanted to make him listen to reason, but he wasn’t in a listening mood.

“Sandra, I know what’s best.” Daddy’s attention moved past me and he strode away, leaving me standing alone in the lobby.

After a beat, I went along after him. What else could I do? At least this way I could keep an eye on Daddy. Through the rest of dinner, I remained silent, a perfect decorative southern woman.

As soon as we hit the parking lot, Daddy strode toward his Cutlass. I hurried after him, adding half-running hops to keep up.

“Daddy, wait. We need to talk.”

Without slowing, Daddy flung his hand up and spoke over his shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it, Sandra. Conner will take you home.”