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Back One White Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

She pulled back, looking at me. ‘And I can see why you’d have those fears, about Davis and everything, but they’re just that – fears. You didn’t cause this, Lucy. And neither did I. It isn’t your fault or mine – it’s Sam’s. Remember that, okay? I still love you just as much as I loved you before.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, choking back a sob. ‘I love you, too.’

Vera was, as always, my rock.

I followed her back to her place and huddled beside her in bed, Dusty at our feet.

But after she was asleep, I kept getting up, pulling the drapes back every other second to check for Davis.

I was still on high alert, sensitive as Dusty to every tiny sound – cracking twigs, shuffling critters, and hooting owls.

It was after midnight, 12:05, and I’d just looked out the window for what felt like the millionth time, when I heard the ding of a text message.

The sender read as an email address, not a phone number: [email protected].

My throat tightened as I stared at the message, just one sentence:

i know you didn’t do it

Penguin walking logo

THIRTY-ONE

‘Can I speak to McKnight?’

It was just after nine a.m. I’d gone straight from Vera’s to the station, taking Dusty with me, too scared to leave him in my cottage alone. The receptionist, the same lady from before, looked at me with narrowed eyes, eyeliner drawn on not quite straight. She glanced at Dusty but didn’t say I couldn’t bring him in. ‘Detective McKnight’s not in yet.’

‘I’ll wait.’

‘Go right ahead,’ she said, nodding to the chairs.

The wait seemed interminable, but after twenty minutes, he appeared, wearing a faded nylon puffer, a bulging briefcase in one hand and a large Dunkin’ Donuts cup in the other, the smell instantly cueing memories of crowded hallways and sweating bodies, of Penn Station. ‘Can I help you, Miss King?’ He nodded at Dusty. ‘Hey, little buddy.’

‘I got a text last night,’ I said. I let Dusty down and gripped the leash tightly so he wouldn’t jump on McKnight’s legs, then held out my phone with my free hand.

McKnight shrugged, his hands full. ‘You want to go to my office?’

I nodded and followed him down the hall. I still didn’t trust him, but from the masses of papers on his desk and coffee cups littered about, it was clear he was logging hours and working diligently, if nothing else. He tossed some of the detritus into the trash, then gestured toward my phone. ‘Can I see it?’