Murder, dark family secrets, and the unwavering bond of sisterhood— regardless of the cost, perfect for fans of Gregg Olsen and Karin Slaughter.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Mary Keliikoa’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Follow, which is out June 4th 2024.
Beth Ralston, a paralegal in Portland, Oregon, would rather be racking up billable hours than mingling at an office party— especially when her sister Lindsay, aka her plus one, is a no-show.
After making her obligatory rounds, Beth returns to her office to find that her boss, who she’d talked with moments before, has been murdered. She sees a woman fleeing the scene. Wait— was that Lindsay? Unable to catch up to her in time, Beth waits for the police to arrive and notices that Lindsay has left her phone behind with an unsent text message to Beth displayed on the screen: “ Don’t ask. Don’t follow.”
Lindsay is unreachable for days, and when Beth starts to come under suspicion for the crime, she decides that waiting is impossible. While retracing Lindsay’s steps, determined to bring her home, Beth uncovers what her sister, an investigative reporter bent on changing the world, was trying to expose— corruption, secrets, and betrayal on an unimaginable level. Revealing the truth might bring back the one person she’s desperate to find— but it could also destroy the only life and family Beth’s ever known.
TWENTY YEARS AGO
Lindsay’s long red hair glimmered in the moonlight. My big sister. By only three years, I’d reminded her a million times when she acted like fourteen was so much more mature. Her silhouette filled the window as she strung her purple purse across her body.
I sat up in bed with a yawn. “Where you going this time?”
“Just go to sleep, Beth. But cover for me, okay?”
In other words, don’t ask. Always the same. I huffed out a breath that sagged my shoulders and made the back of my throat tingle. “You always tell me that. But it’s so late.”
“Not that late.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Like you would. Besides, you wouldn’t have any fun.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re going to meet a boy, aren’t you?” It wouldn’t be the first time. The last escape had her talking nonstop about some freshman quarterback and how they’d made out. Boys were cute, but way too distracting. Not that I knew a lot about that. My time hadn’t come yet, according to Nova, our nanny.
“It’s not a boy.”
I scanned her face. She didn’t blink. “Then where?”
She sighed as she pulled her hair back and wrapped it with one of the bands on my dresser. “No following either.”
Great. Don’t ask. Don’t follow. Wait—somewhere close? The center of my stomach took flight.
Lindsay stared out the window and then back at me, everything perfect from her nose to that straight flowing hair. For some reason, I’d been given the gift of dark curls. Nova said that too, anytime my hair stuck out in ten different directions.
My sister leapt onto the side of the bed. “Look. I’m just meeting a few friends. I won’t be gone long.” The flat silver flask tucked into her purse said otherwise. And I’d be the one trying to make up stories if Dad came in. Which he might. He could. Not that he had . . . I didn’t worry about Mom waking up after her pills kicked in.
I flopped back onto the pillow. “Fine.”
She smiled, her teeth sparkling. “You’ve always been the good daughter.”
I huffed. “One of us has to be.”
Lindsay jumped off the bed, startling me. “You’re the best.”
She hopped into the window frame.
“Lin?”
“Yeah?”
I sat up again and hesitated, wishing she’d crawl under the covers and talk like we used to. To tell me her plans. She always had big ideas about life and how it would unfold for her. But she’d changed. This past year especially. She’d be in high school starting next month and we’d be in different schools. I was no match for girls her age. I missed her already. “Love you. But if you’re not home before morning . . .”
“You always worry, Curls. Don’t. I’ll be okay.”
“I hate when you call me that,” I said.
“Love ya.”
She disappeared.
I slid out of bed, padding across the fuzzy rug before my feet hit the cold wood floor. I shivered, watching her shuffle down the roof to the edge. Like a ninja cat, she dangled over on her stomach, her feet brushing the fence. Be careful. She dropped, hit the ground, and took off running.
At some point, she’d climb back in the same way since my room had access to the lower roof. Otherwise, I’d be as much in the dark about what Lindsay was up to as our parents. I’d never thought about what I’d say if Dad came through that door asking where she’d gone, but he was the other reason I hadn’t followed. His disappointment in me would outweigh any fun with Lindsay and her friends.
But tonight, her lack of an answer about where she was going bothered me.
I watched her shadow across the property expecting her to be catching a ride. The light of the single streetlamp would track her on the road.
Instead, she veered to the right of our family’s property . . . which led to a trail at the edge. The trail led to an open field, and on the other side, a river where an old wood trestle crossed over. No tracks on either side, removed long before we moved here. You could get to it from the main road, but only if you knew it was there. It was isolated. Quiet. Perfect. Our place.
My heart sank, joining the thump in my stomach. Lindsay might have decided it was better not to tell me, knowing I’d be upset that she’d told her friends about our spot. My eyes stung with tears.
Knock it off! I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Except it was the first time I’d caught Lindsay withholding the truth.
PRESENT DAY
CHAPTER 1
I preferred things black or white. Fact or fiction. Fact: I hate office parties. Also, fact: had I kept my butt in my chair, head down working, the night would have ended differently.
Gray—or the unknown—happens when you let others influence you. That’s what happened when instead of sticking to what I knew, I got sucked into the holiday spirit.
My closest office friend, Mandy Perkins, had everything to do with that. She was another paralegal at Ralston, Higgins & Schroeder, my father’s Portland-based law firm.
She bumped my shoulder. It was after office hours and we stood at the edge of the lobby that resembled the Four Seasons with its marble floors, maple and glass fixtures, and waitstaff drifting about, their trays filled with mini quiches and bacon-wrapped scallops. The pre-holiday holiday party had begun.
“This must be killing you, but you can’t hide in your office forever.”
The open bar flowing with hot-buttered rum and mixed drinks would help with my social anxiety, but Mandy was only half right on the other. Working endless hours without a break was one of my superpowers. “I have a ton to do. Don’t you have a stack yourself?” I fought the urge to run and dig back in.
She wrinkled her mouth in a quit making up excuses sort of way. “It’ll be there Monday, Beth. One drink won’t hurt. It might even make you more fun.”
“Fun doesn’t pay the bills.” Or get you ahead in life. Or a better interior office with a view of the Willamette River. An office I’d coveted since Day One at the firm, even if snagging the view required the attorney’s door be open.
That part wasn’t up to me though. The associate I worked for, Craig Bartell, had to make senior partner first. My hard work could help him get there. “Besides,” I said, “my plus one was a no show.”
Another something I had little control over. My older sister, Lindsay, had blown me off without a reason. She’d never exhibited the same obligatory pull that I was cursed with, but it still stung that she hadn’t bothered to text.
“I’m your plus one.” Mandy smiled, cheesy as hell and showing teeth. “I just wish you’d dressed for the occasion. After all, Ms. Ralston, I do have a reputation to maintain.”
My gray chinos and a black cardigan made the appropriate statement: up and coming, serious about being a lawyer, someday. But I’d ditched the ballet flats for strappy sandals and taken an extra twenty minutes to straighten my shoulder-length brown hair.
“What’s wrong with this?”
Mandy’s twinkling red sweater screamed Ho Ho Ho at me.
She shook her head. “You need a drink worse than I thought.”
With no escaping my fate, I scanned the guests. Two of the attendees were my parents: Frederick Ralston the III, drink in hand and with his usual ramrod posture, semi-retired as of last year, and my mother, Shelby. My father hadn’t seen me yet, and I avoided eye contact to delay the inevitable.
Judge Evelyn Johnson, who’d come up through the ranks of the law firm before her election to the bench, stood next to my father and laughed at everything he said. She glanced up, flashing me a quick smile before stepping away and becoming engrossed in another conversation with a few lawyers—about Oregon Revised Statutes and compelling arguments, no doubt.
I should have chosen to hide instead of focusing on her because the inevitable became reality. My father motioned me over to his group that included several unfamiliar faces. I turned to Mandy and dropped my voice to a whisper. “This is why I should’ve kept working.”
“Just do your daughterly duty and get back here. I’ll nab you a martini.”
“Make it a double.” I stuck my tongue out at her. “See, I can be fun.”
She laughed as I swooped a bite-sized quiche from a passing tray, shoved it into my mouth, and started across the room.
My boss, Craig, intercepted me before I got two steps. “Beth. We need to talk.” His green eyes bore into mine with a huge dose of seriousness.
Most of the secretaries thought my very single associate was quite handsome. The fact he was great to work for, most of the time, meant more to me. “Can it wait? My presence has been requested.” I tilted my head in my dad’s direction.
Craig raked a hand through his dark wavy hair. “I didn’t realize he’d be here.” His eye twitched and his ever-present smile was MIA. Droplets of sweat covered his top lip. The same thing happened to me when I was nervous.
It wasn’t an odd reaction to the great Mr. Ralston being in the house—he made most associates quiver. “Even when he’s fully retired, he won’t miss a party.” Have to make sure the firm’s profits aren’t wasted on frivolities, he liked to say.
Craig frowned harder as he gripped my arm tight. “About that, you could use more billables this month. Being out here won’t accomplish that.”
Whoa. Did he expect me to blow off my father? Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.
Matching Craig’s serious look with one of my own, I stepped away enough to make his hand drop from my arm. “That deposition summary you wanted will be finished over the weekend. And I’ve already crushed this month’s required billables.”
He nodded and forced a smile that didn’t look right on him. “Sorry. Of course, you have it handled.” More surprising, that perspiration had progressed to his forehead.
“You feeling okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Go ahead. We’ll talk later.”
I squeezed his upper arm. “Wish me luck.”
Still thinking about Craig’s off behavior, I approached my father and his fan club. “Dad.”
My father wrapped his arm around my shoulders and introduced me to his inner circle, lingering on the people I hadn’t recognized. Turned out they were city councilmen. Word on the street was Dad was vying for political office and had formed an exploratory committee to begin early stages for a mayoral campaign.
Mom hadn’t said much at the “mandatory” family brunch last Sunday—not so mandatory, it appeared, since my sister hadn’t attended the last three and was a sporadic guest before that. But the way Mom had taken to chatting with Dad’s long-time paralegal at the far corner of the room instead of being at his side spoke volumes about what she thought of the idea.
“I’d like to introduce you to my new campaign manager, Ericka Hough,” Dad said, puffing his chest.
“Guess it’s official then?” I asked.
Ericka reached out a cold thin hand. “Pleasure.” She held my gaze with her cool blue eyes. “I’ve heard about you.”
“All good, I hope?”
Her lips-only smile response had me shifting feet.
My father took a drink from his ice-clinking glass filled with scotch—that’s how he rolled—and cleared his throat. “How’s my little girl?” He gave me no time to respond. “She’s a paralegal here, working for an associate by her own choice. She could have been through law school and practicing as a full-fledged attorney by now if she’d accepted my money. Determined to make it on her own or forget about it.”
They all nodded. They either admired me or thought I’d lost my mind. But Dad’s money never came without strings, and while I worked at the firm to maintain peace, I was determined to control some portions of my life. A part of me resisted blazing the same path he did—and the mountain of debt that loans brought held no appeal. Even more true, with no idea what I wanted yet, staying buried in work made it easy not to decide.
“Stubborn, this one,” he added as an underscore.
“Chip off the old block?” one of the councilmen said.
My father chuckled.
He introduced me the same way every time, so what came next was no surprise.
“Now her sister, Lindsay. She’s an investigative reporter bent on changing the world.” It was subtle, but he rolled his eyes.
The group burst out laughing—my cue to bow out. Even though my father and Lindsay butted heads on environmental issues, he had an image to uphold as the ever-supportive father. My sister’s resume would now take the stage and, love or hate her causes, she had the ability to dazzle.
Except when it came to communicating.
I yanked my phone from my cardigan pocket and shot her off a text: You’re missing a great party. You really should be here. Dad’s speaking your “praises!”
My phone remained silent.
I was being petty. She was always busy out “saving the world,” as Dad said. Anyway, unlike her, I never stayed upset with her for long.
Tucking my cell back into my sweater, I found Mandy holding my double martini. “Thanks.” I took it and searched the room for Craig. “You see my boss anywhere?”
“He disappeared after you left for your chat. You guys are clearly Virgos—never stop working. You’re perfect for each other.”
Our birthdays were a day apart, and the rest might be true, but I shrugged and took a long sip of my martini with a wince. “Did you triple this?”
She giggled. “Nice dodge.”
Over the next hour, I finished my drink, mingled with a few of the staff, gave my mom a hug goodbye as she ducked out because one of those horrific migraines is coming on, and avoided getting caught by Dad or his campaign manager. In an effort to be more fun, I even let Mandy talk me into another dirty martini instead of generating billable hours.
When Mandy headed to the bar for her third—or fourth drink—I snuck out to the bathroom. On my return, I used the rear entry that led to the hall near my office and keyed in my security code. The introvert in me had hit a socializing wall, and I hadn’t gotten back to Craig, whose door had been closed when I passed by. I’d circle back in a few. He’d appeared a little maxed himself and I’d touch base with him on my way out.
In my office, I gathered a couple of depos in the wrongful death case going to trial next month that needed to be summarized and shoved them into my bag. The CEO’s deposition had been on my desk when I left for the party. Shoot. Craig must have grabbed it. Guess we’d chat sooner rather than later.
As I stepped out of my office, a woman with a jean jacket, electric blue tennis shoes, and straight red hair darted out of Craig’s office and sprinted to the back door at the end of the hallway. The woman looked like my sister, especially with those signature bright-colored shoes.
She turned her head as her hands smacked through the exit bar.
It was my sister.
“Lindsay,” I hollered, wondering why she’d been in Craig’s office. More to the point, why hadn’t she texted if she’d planned to make an appearance?
Maybe she’d tried to find me instead. Between Mandy dragging me around and that second martini, we might’ve missed each other.
“Lindsay?” I called again as the door latched shut.
The least she could do was offer an explanation. I ran to the end of the hall and shoved open the exit door. An elevator dinged in the lobby. By the time I rounded the corner, the doors had closed.
I caught the next car down and sent another text. Saw you. Wait up.
Lindsay would park in the underground lot where the firm-paid stalls were located, but she hadn’t responded by the time I stepped out of the elevator. The dim lights on the low ceilings did a poor job of illuminating the concrete cavern. It reminded me of the building’s dungeon—at least that’s what I called the firm’s basement, where archived files and wills were kept. No one went to that floor voluntarily, often leaving the task to the administrator. This area gave off the same tomb-like sensation. Unlike the “basement”, exhaust hung in the cool air. A shiver ran through me.
During the day, every stall would be filled. Now, half the cars remained, which accounted for the partygoers upstairs, and none included Lindsay’s white Prius. I scanned the lot one last time to see if she’d caught a ride with someone else.
And that’s when I saw him. A man slunk low behind the steering wheel of a black sedan, dark hair his only distinguishing feature. The lighting made it hard to tell anything else about him except that he seemed to be watching me. The hairs on my arms raised.
I listened again for footfalls or the sound of an engine turning over. Nothing. Either Lindsay hadn’t parked here, or she’d left before I’d made it down.
When I turned back to the elevator, it had closed. Looking paranoid might offend the guy in the car if he was a chauffeur waiting for one of the bigwigs upstairs. Offensive or not, I refused to be too comfortable in this setting. I glanced at the black sedan once more.
The man was gone.
My heart kicked into a hard knock while I searched the area and punched the UP arrow like I was sending Morse code. When it arrived, I hustled in and slapped the CLOSE DOOR button.
Once inside the safety of the elevator’s walls, I balked at my paranoia, until the sound of heavy footsteps gaining speed grew louder. I squashed the impulse to hold the ride and willed the closing doors to hurry. My jaw remained clenched until the metal pressed together.
It took ten floors before my breath released. One martini would be my limit in the future. The guy in the car could have dropped something and bent over to pick it up, and anyone could have been running to catch the elevator.
Even so, my skin had not stopped tingling and I was relieved to be back upstairs.
The party had started to clear when I came through the front doors this time, and that included Mandy, and my father and his entourage. Only a handful of hangers-on remained at the bar. Guests had been going downstairs while I was coming up. The footsteps I’d heard must have been one of those partygoers rushing to their car.
I started in the direction of my office and kept walking towards Craig’s. He might know why Lindsay had stopped by, and I’d yet to retrieve the CEO’s file.
Craig’s brown leather chair was turned away when I tapped on the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Coming for the Graham depo. I promise to have it done first thing Monday.”
He didn’t respond.
The files were stacked on the credenza against the wall in front of his desk. “About earlier.” I headed that way. “I apologize for not making time right then to talk. My dad has a way of throwing me off when he’s here.” I swooped the files into my arms. “But hey, I saw my sister. Was she looking for me?”
Craig still didn’t respond. If he had his headset on, he wouldn’t hear me. Mandy was right about one thing—we were both workaholics.
To avoid startling him, I stepped to the side of his desk. Craig’s head was at an odd angle. God, he’d passed out, and I’d been rambling on.
“Wake up, sunshine. Party’s over.” I touched his chair. His head fell forward, his chin bouncing on his red shirt.
I clutched the files to my chest.
That shirt was pale blue an hour ago.
Now it was soaked in blood.
