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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

If he actually pulled it off – if I were actually, god, convicted – Davis would always, always know where I was.

I would be preserved, a precious collectible beneath a bell jar.

Trapped where no one could ever have me but him.

Penguin walking logo

THIRTY-TWO

What do you do when you can’t run anymore?

That’s what I thought about, all day, at home in my cottage like a sitting duck. What was I supposed to do: Go out, buy myself a gun? Booby-trap the place like Kevin Fucking McCallister? Simply wait?

I googled lawyers, wondering how in the world I’d be able to pay one. I checked the locks multiple times. I checked my email, too – and Davis’s social accounts – but there was nothing. Not surprising, since every cog and gear had already been put into place. The knife stolen, used to kill John. I wasn’t sure of his next strategic move, but it wouldn’t come in the form of threats. It would come in person. Him, at my door. I was as sure of this as I had ever been of anything.

Maggie came at four o’clock, T-minus four hours until I’d be once again in the safety of Vera’s company. She chanced a smile as I opened the door, Pepper heeling easily by her side. ‘I think you could use a walk,’ she said.

‘Oh, I don’t –’

She held up a thickly veined hand. ‘Fresh air is good for you in a time like this. Otherwise you’ll go crazy. Come on,’ she said, when I didn’t move. ‘We’ll make it a long one.’

We walked up Shadow Creek Road, past Vera’s, past the house on the corner that had once been a church and was now someone’s beautifully renovated home, the stained-glass windows a reminder of what once was.

Maggie was surprisingly agile for a woman her age, her feet shuffling quicker than mine did. Dusty sniffed eagerly along the edge of the road, every pinecone a new point of interest.

As we walked, I imagined Davis on this street, watching me, making plans. I wondered, again, how he’d found John’s studio. Could he really have tracked John four miles through the woods? I couldn’t imagine it – not Davis. There had to be another way. Perhaps he’d followed Vera, after she’d come back that afternoon with the car. Or – more likely – John had gone there after he left my cottage, and Davis had followed him, discovered his studio, made his plan.