Dark Truth by Mariah Stewart Read Free Book Online

Once there, she opened the trunk and dropped the box in. The soft thud it made when it landed gave no indication of its contents.
    “Thank you, Father Whelan,” she said as she closed the trunk lid. “Thanks for being so loyal to Olivia. I’m sure she appreciated your friendship.”
    “As I appreciated hers.” The priest leaned in to kiss Nina’s cheek lightly. “I’ll say to you what I said to Kyle. Anytime you feel you’d like to talk, please, call me. I’ll always be available to you.”
    “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” She walked him to his car, and stood on the sidewalk while he walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and got behind the wheel.
    “Father,” she called to him as he was about to pull away from the curb.
    He stopped and lowered the passenger-side window.
    “Yes, Nina?”
    “If Olivia was so convinced of my father’s innocence, why didn’t she visit him in prison? And why didn’t she open the letter he’d sent her? The one you said was in the box?”
    “Olivia believed he was innocent of murder, but he’d openly, and very publicly, admitted to his infidelity. And that, she could not—would not—forgive.”
    He smiled sadly. “Your father apparently was unfaithful to her within months of their marriage. To Olivia, that was the ultimate betrayal. She stood by him when he was arrested, she stood by him through the preliminary hearings. But I’m afraid once he’d admitted to his affairs, she closed the door on Stephen Madden, and she never looked back. Whatever his last words to her might have been, she never read them as far as I know.” He paused before rolling up the window. “Perhaps you will . . .”

F ive
    Nina paused in the lobby of the stone building that housed her apartment, and turned on the switch that controlled the overhead light on the second-floor landing. The building consisted of three floors, three apartments on each. She couldn’t believe that neither of her second-floor neighbors had arrived home yet. It was well after seven-thirty on a cold, rainy night. Who would want to stay out if they didn’t have to?
    She unlocked her mailbox and removed the assortment of catalogs and the few business envelopes and dropped the mail into the brown leather tote that hung over her shoulder. She climbed the steps to the second floor, grateful—not for the first time—that she’d wisely chosen the smaller apartment on floor number two over the larger one on floor number three. There were some nights when she just didn’t think she’d make it.
    Tonight was one of those nights. She stopped in front of her door, unlocked the locks, and pushed it open with her foot. Once inside, she reset the locks and dropped the tote on the hardwood floor of the small entry. Kicking off her shoes, she removed her jacket and hung it in the closet just inside the door. She grabbed the tote and took it into the room that served as living room and dining room. She removed the manuscript she’d brought home to work on and dropped it on the coffee table on her way into the bedroom, where she changed from her favorite black wool suit into a pair of soft knit yoga-style pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. In bare feet, she went into the tiny kitchen and opened the refrigerator to forage for dinner. She’d meant to do some on-line grocery shopping today, but knew she wouldn’t be home in time to take delivery by six, the cut-off time imposed by her favorite store. Perhaps it was time to find another favorite market, she was thinking as she decided upon reheated Chinese takeout.
    She’d planned on a quick trip to the gym tonight, but that was before she’d gotten stuck on the phone with a needy author just before six. Some writers were more high maintenance than others, she’d been warned early on in her career. Jess Witherspoon was one of those who needed her hand held pretty much on a weekly basis when she was writing. Jess had been working on her new book nonstop for