What Lies Beneath: Romantic Suspense

What Lies Beneath: Romantic Suspense by Lila Moore Read Free Book Online

Book: What Lies Beneath: Romantic Suspense by Lila Moore Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lila Moore
had no memory of sleepwalking, or being present the night my husband died. The woman had to be mistaken. I was at home the night of his death.
    “You’re about to tell me, ‘You must be mistaken,’” she said. “You always say that.”
    She stretched out her arms high above her head and yawned. I had the impression I was boring her.
    “Did you see my husband that night?” I asked.
    “Around midnight, I was having a cigarette on the back porch. I saw him talking to a woman on the bridge. I assumed it was you.”
    My chest felt tight. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. What this woman was saying was impossible. The last time I spoke to Tom was before I went to bed. He was up late working on a project in his art room. I kissed him goodnight, told him I loved him and went to bed. That last image is etched in my mind. I can still see Tom bent over his canvas, nearly oblivious to my presence. When he worked the rest of the world disappeared. He became obsessed.
    “You still don’t believe me,” she said with a tilt of her head. “That’s okay. You never do.”
    She grabbed a blanket off the back of her couch and wrapped it around me.
    “Let’s get you home.”
    I didn’t have to tell the woman where I lived she drove me straight there. This fact disturbed me. It added credibility to her story. What if everything she said was true? It couldn’t be. I refused to believe it.
    She pulled to a stop in front of my house. It was still pouring outside, but I hadn’t really dried off in front of the fire. It wouldn’t matter if I got soaked again.
    I opened the car door and stuck out my foot. The woman grabbed my arm, stopping me.
    “I know it’s useless to say this, but I’m going to anyway, so listen.”
    I looked down at the hand that held my arm. Her fingers were long and bony; her skin had the look of an elderly woman, but she had the strength of a young man. Even if I had wanted to break free from her grasp, I don’t think I could have. I didn’t fight her, though; I wanted to hear what she had to say.
    “What happened on that bridge is not your fault- even if it is your fault. Do you understand?”
    I shook my head, no. I had no idea what she was trying to say. She sighed.
    “These things happen to good women. Sometimes, men force us into uncomfortable positions. The law doesn’t understand. Life has a way of forcing you to take matters into your own hands.”
    I started to protest, but the woman held up a hand silencing me.
    “I don’t judge you for what you’ve done,” she said.
    “But I haven’t done anything.”
    The woman stared deeply into my eyes as if she could see something invisible inside me. Coming to an unspoken conclusion, she nodded and released my arm. I felt like I needed to say something more, but I wasn’t sure what.
    “Thank you for taking care of me,” I whispered.
    I couldn’t look the woman in the eye. I kept my gaze trained on the puddles of rain on my lawn.
    “No problem.”
    “Goodnight,” I said as I stepped out of the car.
    “Till next time.”
    I closed the car door and promised myself there would never be a next time.

9
     
     
     
     
    I spent an hour in the shower letting the hot water wash over me. I went over the events of that night again and again in my head. No matter how I tried to piece it all together, it made no sense.
    I was not on the bridge the night of my husband’s death and I certainly was not responsible for what happened to him. I had doubts about my memories, but I knew with every fiber of my being that I had not killed my husband.
    I stepped out of the shower feeling a little better. I glanced at the clock. It was three AM. I had to get up in a couple hours to get Aiden ready for school. I figured that I probably wouldn’t sleep, but I laid down on my bed anyway. I pulled Tom’s old pillow over to me and wrapped my arms around it. I hadn’t washed it since his death. It still faintly smelled of him.
    I closed my eyes and tried to

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