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

invoices, and receipts strewn across the desk and tapped the edges to straighten them out. Setting them aside, an envelope on top caught my eye. The return address peeking out from the tiny plastic window in the corner belonged to a birthing center. Glancing at the open doorway to find myself predictably alone, I closed the door. Debating whether to open the envelope or not, it only took a moment before I slipped the contents out and unfolded the paper.

A bill. For an ultrasound and fetal test. This couldn’t be right. Candace couldn’t possibly be pregnant so quickly … could she? Unless she had conceived right before they got married … which would account for the shotgun wedding.

So she had trapped my brother with a baby. Lane wasn’t the type of guy to impregnate a girl then ghost her. No, he would do the right thing and make an honest woman of her. Except that Candace was anything but an honest woman. Every step toward friendship we had made vanished. Fool me once, shame on you. But I wouldn’t let this lying, scheming snake in the grass fool me twice. And I sure as heck wouldn’t let her fool my naïve brother.

Thump. Then another soft thump approaching.

The creak of the floorboards sent my fingers to work hastily shoving the bill back in the envelope. After tucking it into the pile, I pretended to be dusting when the office door swung open. I glanced up and exhaled relief. Thank God it was Lane. It was too early for an encounter with Candace.

‘Why are you still awake?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.

‘I couldn’t fall back asleep.’ I lifted the duster. ‘Figured I’d get some cleaning done. What’s your excuse?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m too wired after the whole alarm debacle.’

‘Want some coffee?’ I offered.

‘You know I never say no to coffee.’

I followed him to the kitchen, finding the sink I had spent an hour last night emptying and cleaning had been refilled with a mug ringed with tea, an empty water glass, a cereal bowl with flakes crusted along the rim, and a plate with melted cheese and salsa stuck to it. Candace and her midnight snacks. I was instantly filled with irritation. Lane grabbed two mugs – mine in a shape of an owl, his the shape of a panda – and poured us each a cup.

‘What’s up with the kiddy mugs?’ I asked as I rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher – again.

‘Candace thought they were cute. What, you don’t agree?’

I never used to worry about how I worded things with my brother. But when it came to his wife, I was forced to tiptoe around each syllable, lest it get back to her and I ignite her wrath. Right now, however, I was too tired to curb my words.

‘Sometimes she just seems more like a child than an adult. I mean, look at the state of your home. She’s an utter slob, Lane, while you’re a neat-freak. And her clothes! Her boobs are hanging out of every top, which I don’t exactly want Jackson exposed to, and she’s always running around in a bikini. It’s not even summer yet. Who does that in front of children? Elise is so impressionable, and seeing the slut-wear that Candace struts around in … I’m afraid Elise is going to think it’s acceptable to look like that. She should wear age-appropriate clothing, Lane.’

‘Whoa, girl. Slow down.’ Lane held up a hand to stop me.

Maybe I had gotten a teensy bit overdramatic. ‘Sorry, but I don’t know … I just don’t see what you see in her.’

Of course I saw what any hot-blooded male saw in Candace. Youth. Carefree. Slutty. The strappy tank tops – always worn braless – and the tiny shorts that showed her ass cheeks. Skimpy maxi dresses that revealed more skin than they hid. Prancing around in nothing but a bathing suit and silk kimono, her breasts hard and fake, just like her. And that hair, an oil-spill down her back. The blue highlights just screamed for attention, as if her breasts weren’t getting enough already. Candace was what happened to little girls who wear makeup and don’t have a curfew.

Did she even own any proper foot attire other than flip-flops? And the tasteless jewelry, all bangles and dangles and charms and feathers. If Candace was indeed to become a mother, she needed to start dressing like one. A proper one.

Lane rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you don’t understand it, but everything you don’t understand is exactly what I love about her. She’s so beautifully different from everyone else. She is fluid and restless and passionate and adventurous. She’s unconventional, sure, but that’s what drew me to her. I wish you’d give her a chance.’

‘I’m trying.’

Okay, maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. The problem was that I understood how girls like Candace worked the world, bringing it to their feet. They knew how to make men smile, but they also knew how to make men weep.

By this point, sunrise was approaching. I stood at the bay window, watching the sun poke its fingers through the trees. After adding peppermint creamer to Lane’s coffee and daring a splash in my own, I picked up both our mugs and joined Lane at the kitchen table, wondering if I should say something about my morning discovery. This was Lane, the brother I told everything to. Well, almost everything.

‘Did you know Candace is pregnant?’ I blurted.

His startled expression was a mixture of shock and curiosity. I couldn’t read him. Was that a yes or a no?

After a breath, he nodded. ‘Of course I know we’re expecting.’

I had assumed as much. ‘Do you know if it’s yours?’

He glared at me as if it was a crazy question, but it was no more crazy than his whirlwind wife having a honeymoon pregnancy. ‘Yes, it’s mine.’

‘Is that why you married her – because of the baby?’

‘No,’ he scoffed. ‘We love each other, Harp. I’m thrilled