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

with that? Hell no. I’ll just tell your new cuddle-buddy that his wife isn’t legally his because you’re still married … to me. See if he still wants you then. You’ll be out on the street with nothing.’

‘Oh, I don’t have anything left to lose. But it sounds like you do. A rich fiancée is your path to a perfect life. What’s a perfect life worth to you? Because I’ll need at least one hundred thousand dollars to get myself settled.’

He considered. He pouted. He shook his head. Finally he caved.

‘Fine, a hundred grand.’

‘When you have the money, I’ll have the signed divorce papers.’ I lifted the envelope, flapped it in his face, and headed toward the front door.

‘I got your money.’ He pulled out a checkbook, with a pen tucked in the fold. Sure enough, his name, along with his fiancée’s, was printed across the top, and below it a new address in a town I didn’t recognize. He scribbled hastily in the blanks, then handed me the pen. ‘Now give me my divorce.’

It seemed awfully convenient that he had that much money accessible from his pocket. ‘How do I know this is a real check for real money?’

‘Cash it and find out. When have you ever known me to own a checkbook? Like I said, life is good. And I can make yours good too if you trust me.’

I had no other choice but to trust him. He turned around and leaned over, and I placed the papers on his back, signing where each sticky note told me to.

‘Looks like we’ll both have it all – the perfect house in suburbia, a nice car, and a fat bank account. Oh—’ He glanced down at my belly. ‘And a kid on the way. Congratulations on the rug rat.’

He had to go there, didn’t he? After all the miscarriages that he had caused, the rage wrapped itself around my body, curling my fingers into fists. The violence of my thoughts shook me, and it took every ounce of self-control not to slap him right then and there. To hurt him like he hurt all my babies before this one. But instead, I stood stoically, burying the anger inside, because I knew if it came out, it would never stop.

‘Oh, and by the way, now that we’re square, stop following me. You think you’re so clandestine in your black car and aviators. You’re such a cliché, Noah.’

He squinted in confusion. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t have a black car.’ He pointed to the monstrous gas-guzzling blue truck parked on the street with wheels so big it could have crushed my tiny four-door. The truck looked to be more expensive than the single-wide trailer we had lived in for most of our marriage. ‘And I certainly don’t wear aviator sunglasses.’

If Noah hadn’t been following me, who had? And why?

Folding and pocketing the check, I wondered if my bruises and scars were worth a hundred thousand dollars. No, there was no price high enough, but at least this afforded Lane and I a new beginning. As I headed to the door and Noah headed down the walkway, we both turned back one more time. The last time we’d share a glance. A final goodbye, forever.

‘Hey—’ Noah said, the word catching me at the stoop. ‘Nice hair. I like you better with it dark.’

Dark, just like my soul.

Chapter 34

Harper

‘Nice hair. I like you better with it dark.’

I lingered by the open bathroom window a little longer than I should have. I wasn’t eavesdropping, because eavesdropping was intentional. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time to have it confirmed: Candace was still married to someone other than my brother. My gaze followed the man she called Noah back to his tacky-blue monster truck. I recognized him as the same guy from the Facebook profile, with a little more wear and tear.

It wasn’t a surprise that he had tracked Candace down, just like I tracked Medea Kent down. That’s what desperate people who want answers do. Except Noah apparently got what he came for, while I still had no idea who the blonde skank home-wrecking whore was. One of Ben’s clients? Or his secretary – Jenny, Jan, something with a J – who flirted with him in front of my friggin’ face at last year’s Christmas party? She was about the right age, with the same taste in whore clothes, and blond. Maybe I needed to let it go; Ben was dead, after all. What did I have to gain from torturing myself over this? I had to accept that I would probably never find out. It wasn’t like I could ask the police to investigate for me, since adding infidelity to my list of motives to kill my husband wasn’t exactly my goal.

After washing my hands, I checked the clock. Almost time to start dinner. Lane would be home soon, hopefully with good news about my mother, and we’d need to have a sit-down with Candace. It was exhausting keeping up with all the lies.

I wondered how much more Candace had neglected to tell Lane about. Lies on top of lies. So Candace was in fact still married, like Noah had told me; this was a good thing. It would be a lot easier to get rid of her with no legal contract binding them for better or for worse. But it begged the question: Why hadn’t she mentioned the baby was Noah’s? If anything, it was a free pass to a lifetime of child support, especially now that he was some rich girl’s boy toy. I would have thought she’d jump at the chance.

A compulsion to protect my brother kicked in as I realized Candace would likely go after Lane’s assets once he kicked her to the curb. I imagined her fumbling for an excuse for what she had done. What was the tally of lies up to now? A fake name. A baby that