The Sister-in-Law: An absolutely gripping summer thriller for 2021, Pamela Crane [reading eggs books .txt] 📗

that it’s something you create in your head? Like an imaginary friend. I promise you, sweetie, there is no ghost lady here.’

‘I can prove it,’ he insisted.

Worry buzzed in my head like a housefly. It might be time for mother-son therapy again. Self-destruction was our family religion, and we worshipped at its feet.

By this point the smoke detectors had drawn the attention of the next-door neighbors and the family across the street, who stood in their yard wearing thick robes and confused looks. I shivered in my tank top and shorts, having forgotten to grab a robe on my way out. While the spring days were hot here in the South, the nights still held a chill.

The alarms continued to blare as a crowd of those within hearing distance collected on the sidewalk. I had yet to see Candace since all this began. Her early-morning vacuuming came to mind. Was this another one of her schemes to annoy us out of the house?

I peered into the window. Nothing appeared fire-worthy. No smoke. No flames. Just the alarm … and then sudden silence.

‘Stay here, guys. I’ll be right back,’ I told the kids.

I slipped through the front door, running the perimeter of the first floor. Living room, empty. Dining room, empty. Kitchen, clear. I found Lane on a stepstool in his office, ripping the smoke detector off the ceiling.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

Lane examined the plastic casing, then popped it open. ‘I don’t know. I’ll replace the batteries; if they’re low that could have set it off. They design these new smoke detectors to all be interconnected, so if one goes off, they all do. Stupidest design ever. I don’t see any smoke, though.’

He tossed the culprit on his desk, and I headed back to the entryway to retrieve the kids, nearly bumping into Candace on my way out.

‘Where were you?’ I stopped her with my question.

‘Uh,’ she looked confused, ‘upstairs, trying to figure out which alarm was triggering the others.’

I shrugged her off, too tired to deal with it, and headed outside to shuffle the kids back to bed and the neighbors back to their homes.

‘False alarm!’ I yelled to the onlookers, embarrassed and angsty. There was no way I’d fall asleep again with all of the adrenaline that soaked my veins.

Lane and Candace were already halfway up the staircase, heading back to bed, when I shut the door behind me.

‘Try to go back to sleep, okay?’ I kissed Elise and Jackson on their heads, then walked them upstairs.

‘Don’t you want to see my proof about the ghost lady?’ Jackson asked when we reached the top landing.

I exhaled my combined agitation and exhaustion. If anything, humoring him could help put this matter to rest, proving just how silly it all was. ‘Sure, show me.’

He led me to the bathroom, then pulled himself up on the sink, his tiny legs dangling below. With a big breath, he exhaled a fine mist onto the mirror, and letters appeared. When he finished, he hopped down and pointed to the words outlined in his moist breath:

I’m watching you

A chill tickled the hairs on my arms. Okay, so clearly someone was messing with him. There was no ghost lady, but there was Elise … and I wouldn’t put it past Lane to pull a good-natured prank on his nephew.

‘Oh, sweetie, you know someone is playing tricks on you, right?’

‘Yeah, the ghost lady. I know it’s her.’

There was no point arguing with him about it now. I’d have to find out who was doing this and make them confess to Jackson. As the words disappeared back into the glass, I grabbed his hand and led him to bed, then tucked him in for what was left of the night. ‘Back to bed. I don’t need you guys getting sick from lack of sleep.’

It was inevitable, the sickness. One single night of sleep deficiency always ended first in Jackson getting sick, then Elise, then Ben. And since I took care of everyone else – disinfecting their germy bedding, wiping their running noses, feeding them soup and grilled cheese, and losing sleep while tending to their constant needs – I was always the last to get the worst of it. Of course, while I was battling it head-on, the others still needed Mommy to disinfect, wipe noses, and spoon-feed them. It was a cycle I dreaded, so the kids’ sleep was high on my priority list. I just hoped and prayed the germs would spare us this time. I could only imagine how pissed Candace would be if my children infected her too.

With the kids groggily returned to their bed, I decided I might as well put on a pot of coffee and earn my keep. I could clean the entire house and tackle the growing pile of dirty laundry by late morning. There were at least six loads’ worth dumped on the floor of the laundry room. I’d need to remember to pick up some laundry baskets so that I could separate the whites from the colors. How did Candace not know such simple rules of housekeeping?

After resetting the coffee pot to brew three hours earlier than usual – I had to give Candace props for at least setting it every night – I tossed in a load of laundry to wash while I figured out where to start deep-cleaning first.

Lane’s office. It was more cluttered than the discount toy bin at the thrift store. He had mentioned a couple times offhandedly how he couldn’t find anything in there; it would be a nice surprise for him to wake up to a clean, organized office. Grabbing a duster and some extra folders I had brought from home, I was armed and ready.

It was worse than I thought. The windowsill was littered with dead flies, and my fingertip cut a trail through a blanket of dust on his desk. What kind of wife didn’t dust? A neglectful one. Maybe Candace best learned by example.

I grabbed a pile of bills,