The Truth About Mallory Bain by Clare Hexom Read Free Book Online Page A

ascended the last of the stone steps, she stopped and said, “Never leave your boy unattended out here. Your child rouses the spirit’s curiosity.”
    My blood flowed cold. I rubbed away the goosebumps raising on my arms.
    The French doors closed with a sharp click. Her gray form disappeared into the house.
    I scanned the yard. Caleb stood on the tire swing, spinning round and round without a care.
    I saw no spirit with him.
    I needed to keep her away from my son.
    I never should have let her push him on the swing.
    I needed a job to afford our own place.
    â€œCaleb! Come on. Time to play inside.”
    He slid off the tire and ran toward me.
    When we walked into the kitchen, Judith was already lingering over a china teacup at the breakfast counter. Mom started speaking to me the instant I walked in as if I’d been there all along and engaged in their conversation.
    â€œWe were talking about the Kings next door. You remember their son Brent.”
    I laid the dirty dishes I’d carried in on the island counter. “I need to shower.”
    â€œIn a second, honey. Before you run off.” Mom held up her hand for me to wait. “They have a grandson Caleb’s age, and I’ll bet he’s in his class. You have him ask about a boy named Gavin King.”
    â€œDoes he live close?”
    â€œYes. Brent and his wife bought that blue-and-white Victorian around the corner.”
    â€œHaving a friend around the corner would be convenient whether they go to school together or not,” I said.
    â€œGavin is a friendly boy.” Judith lifted her head. “His mother is a judge, you know.” She sized me up and down. “Brent became an attorney.”
    â€œI knew that, Aunt Judith. You make it seem as if their careers are important for Caleb and Gavin to be friends.”
    â€œNo. But perhaps an attorney might come in handy.”
    She couldn’t have known I needed an attorney to change Caleb’s surname.
    Mom picked at the ribbon wound around her straw hat, which lay on the island. She glanced back and forth between her sister and me. I know she sensed an argument brewing, but let it carry on.
    Judith squinted at me. “No need for sass.” She pressed her lips against her cup for a drawn out sip.
    Mom lifted her own cup. “I invited Ronnie for supper Saturday. I hope that was all right.”
    I ignored Judith. “Yes. I imagine she is the same.”
    Mom tipped her head. “More reserved.”
    â€œThe library is a scholarly place,” said Judith. “Appeals to one’s intellect.”
    Mom moved over to Judith and looped her arm around her sister’s arm, appearing ready to leave me standing alone in the kitchen.
    Sounding as mysterious as Judith, Mom added, “That may very well be, or more to the point, perhaps Ronnie knows something not yet said.”

C HAPTER
F OUR
    P unctuality never was one of Dana’s attributes. Waiting fifteen minutes or longer for her was nothing for those of us who had ever known her. I barely recognized my friend when she sashayed into the coffee café looking like a runway model and as beautiful as when I’d seen her last. I expected the years to show as those years were starting to show on me—hints of tiny crow’s feet defacing the corner of each eye. Her skin oozed vitality, her gait well-balanced and brisk.
    That dress—definitely too pricey for my budget. Her heels and leather handbag were no haute couture but seemed disproportionate to what I figured her salary to be, even combined with however much Erik presumably earned. Perhaps herbal and natural remedies were a more lucrative trend than I had imagined, or the Fowlers carried tremendous debt.
    I’d never fill her dress as well. She carried her three inches of height over mine with style. I touched my collar, feeling flatchested and plain. My blouse hung loosely. My brown slacks were too casual—bought on sale last