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Back Lying Next to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. START READING
  6. CHAPTER ONE
  7. CHAPTER TWO
  8. CHAPTER THREE
  9. CHAPTER FOUR
  10. CHAPTER FIVE
  11. CHAPTER SIX
  12. CHAPTER SEVEN
  13. CHAPTER EIGHT
  14. CHAPTER NINE
  15. CHAPTER TEN
  16. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  17. CHAPTER TWELVE
  18. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  23. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  24. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  45. CHAPTER FORTY
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  54. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  71. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  72. CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
  74. CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
  75. CHAPTER SEVENTY
  76. CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
  77. CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
  78. CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
  79. CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
  80. CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
  81. CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
  82. CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
  83. CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
  84. CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
  85. CHAPTER EIGHTY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sophie didn’t eat dinner the night before her murder, even though she purchased groceries in Hoodsport.

Adam said they had wine and dinner and watched a movie.

The next morning, only Adam and Aubrey ate strawberry waffles.

I rack my brain to think of a plausible explanation—maybe Sophie was ill and too sick to eat that night and that morning?—and I don’t know why I’m doing it.

I’m a detective. A detective would pose these questions to the only person who could answer them. And she’d do it as quickly as she could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ADAM

The funeral director at Western Hills Memorial Park seems confused. Befuddled even. He’s a short, pudgy little man, and I imagine that baffled is his go-to expression. His coffee breath comes at me like the puff of a geyser.

“Your wife’s parents called and wanted to come in to see about caskets,” he says. “You know, to assist with the sudden expense.”

“You don’t need a casket for a cremation,” I tell him. “Do you?”

I know the answer. I know exactly what that piece-of-shit ex-father-in-law of mine is up to. I also recognize that James Deacon of Western Hills is trying to get me to cough up as much money as possible for Sophie’s funeral.

I’m not opposed to caskets for burials. I’m not a pro-cremation hard-liner, either. Lots of people in my office have preached the benefit of cremation over burying their folks. They say it’s because it’s better for the environment, which seriously is so Seattle. Really, it’s because it’s cheaper. That’s Seattle too, though none of my friends out of state would believe it. They think we swim in money and live in million-dollar homes. And we do. The homes, that is. They are pricey. If they were anywhere else in the country, they’d go for a sliver of their grotesquely inflated value.

“Look,” I tell the man, “my wife had strict opinions about her last wishes. I’m honoring those.”

“Did she leave it written down somewhere?”

Coffee Breath fiddles with a brochure. This guy is annoying. His palms are sweaty, and his shirt is a size too big. I bet he has just the one blazer, because I can see two different stains on it. Egg and tomato. I’d say breakfast and lunch.

“No,” I say, holding my ground and actually enjoying a little jousting with this dweeb. “She’s my wife,” I explain with exaggerated emphasis. “She told me. She didn’t tell her parents because she thought they were busybody idiots, okay? Do you really want to get into the ugly of my wife’s family? Because if you do, I’ll tell you right now, you don’t have enough time in the day to listen to me and plant all the stiffs in back.”