Killer Summer, Lynda Curnyn [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

“Wait!” Tom demanded, holding up a hand. “Back up a second. Zoe thinks my wife was murdered?”

I blew out a breath. Now I’d really done it. “Like I said, it was just a theory. And I want you to know, I never thought for a minute—not one minute—that you did it—”

“Me? What the hell are you talking about?”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Now my phone began to ring, vibrating in the pocket of my shorts. “Urn, do you mind?” I said, whipping it out and snapping it open before Tom could stop me.

“Hello?”

“Nick!” came Zoe’s breathless voice over the line. “Where’s Tom? I need to talk to him.”

I looked at Tom.

“Hang up that phone this instant!” he barked.

“He’s, uh, busy at the moment.” I turned away slightly.“Maybe you should come home.”

“Nick, I haven’t got time for that. Now give me Tom!”

“Zoe, I think he’s going to kill me,” I whispered, glancing back at Tom.

“What? Nick, please just put him on the damn phone!”

I turned back toward Tom, holding out the phone. “It’s for you.”

He looked about ready to smack the phone out of my hand.

“It’s Zoe,” I said, hoping maybe she’d explain this whole mess to him better than I possibly could.

He snatched the phone out of my hand.

“Zoe, what’s this business about—” He paused. “What’s that? Slow down, I can’t understand you.” He frowned.“Vince? He lives over on Seabay. Sixth house from the beach. Why? What’s that? Yes, his wife’s family owns the house. I already told you that.” He shook his head. “Yes, the dock slip, too. Now what’s this about?” He paused. “The police? Why should I call—”

He froze, his eyes narrowing as he listened. “Why would he hurt Sage?”

He listened for a few more moments. Then realization dawned in his eyes. “How do you know that?” He shook his head again, his face turning redder.“Son of a bitch!” He paused to listen again. “I’ll meet you there.”

Then, he disconnected and quickly dialed again, a coolness coming over his face. “I need a police officer right away,” he began, then rattled off an address on Seabay. “It’s an emergency. A woman’s life is in danger.”

My eyes widened as he explained that he had strong reason to believe that Sage—my Sage—was in the hands of a criminal.

“I’m coming with you,” I said, once he hung up the phone.

“Please, stay here with my daughter,” he said. Then, before I could answer, he raced down the hall to his bedroom.

And when he returned, he had a gun in his hand.

Chapter Forty-eight

Maggie

Dying is easy. It’s living that’s hard.

Vince once told me that he had waited his whole life to meet a woman like me. Naturally I believed him. Hadn’t I waited my whole life for a man like him?

The night I died I went to Vince’s house wanting desperately to believe that man still existed. That the deception I had uncovered the day before was just some meaningless human error rather than the act of a man desperate for revenge.

I wouldn’t even have discovered Vince’s treachery if 1 hadn’t been so bent on being the loving, supportive woman to him that I had previously been to Tom. When Yaz called me that Friday to say she had our production manager from China on the line, I took the call, knowing Vince was in transit. I had, after all, been anticipating his arrival all week, feeling keenly all the months I’d lived without him.

Henry’s English wasn’t great, but I managed to make out that he needed to verify the number of units he was to produce on a style in Italian lamb. According to the payment order for the skin, which he’d looked up in Vince’s absence, he was expecting twice the amount of skin he had anticipated and was frantic that he wouldn’t be able to fulfill the order in time. Of course I looked into things at my end and discovered that the payment order was wrong, and the number of units Henry was to produce hadn’t changed. Which relieved his mind and inflamed my own curiosity.

Thinking back on that day, I almost wished I hadn’t asked Henry to fax me the payment orders on future shipments. But once I had them in my hand, I couldn’t deny the truth. I wanted to, oh God, I wanted to. Even shoved those invoices in a folder in the back of the drawer when I couldn’t get hold of Vince. I guess I still hoped he might have some explanation for the discrepancies I’d found. Something that might help me to believe I was not some pawn in his plot against my husband, but the woman he loved too much to betray.

I went to the beach as planned, though not even my sanctuary at the shore could ease my state of mind. No one knew the dread I was living in while I waited to hear back from Vince. I had already learned to hide behind the facade of the perfect wife, and that weekend I was in rare form. Maybe I was trying to hold on to my sanity, some piece of myself I still recognized, but suddenly I was like a mad housewife, scrubbing down the kitchen as soon as I arrived, fussing over my plants. On Saturday, when I still hadn’t heard from Vince, I even began hatching plans for a big dinner party, believing I might somehow block out all my uneasiness by submerging myself in my familiar role as the consummate hostess.

By the time Vince did call, I had even managed to convince myself that my life was the same. That everything would be okay. Which was probably why I accepted his hurried excuses. He said he would explain everything when he saw me. And maybe it was because of the way he huskily suggested we take a suite together at the Palace Hotel the following week that I didn’t argue. Didn’t even feel miffed