Contents ( 85)
- Contents
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Part II
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
I look down at the apron on the ground.
Tuli’s Gourmet Grocer
Bury, NH
Est. 2008
Next to the words is a cartoonish rendering of the actual Tuli, the owner’s dog. Just the animal’s big, dopey face, wide-eyed, mouth open. I always thought that dog looked so happy in the company’s logo, but now I think it looks dead. Those eyes have no life in them, the mouth only open because the muscles to close it no longer function. I picture that dog with a slit throat. Or worse, headless.
The nausea is back, and this time, it wins. I double over and retch onto the apron. The little that comes up lands on the poor dog’s face.
I stand, wipe my mouth, and walk to my car. As I glance up and spy the menacing snow clouds closing in, my world has suddenly never felt so suffocating.
Forty-One
The snow begins an hour later as I wait in the school car line for Max. Heavy, wet flakes, melting as they hit my windshield. But if this pace keeps up, the roads will soon be a mess. It would be a perfect night to be cozy at home, maybe play a few board games with Max by the fire, do a little writing after he’s in bed, then go to sleep early. Those are all things a person not riddled with stress might do. Mine will be a different evening altogether, because I need to talk to Cora.
Two minutes until the school bell. A red blur to my right, and I look over and see Tasha Collins walking up along the car line sidewalk. She’s ensconced in a cardinal-red winter coat that extends to her knees, and thousands of snowflakes swirl about her, jostling as if they’re trying to avoid her path.
She never has a smile on her face, but her expression now is even more severe than usual. Eyes focused straight ahead, hands in pockets, head tilted forward.
I see her and shrink into my seat, thinking of her dog. What that must have looked like. The horror of finding such a thing. Of having to tell your child what happened to the family pet. I wonder if she—
Tasha suddenly stops just as she reaches the front of my car. She tilts her head, and that deathly gaze bores right into me. All awareness of the cold and snow has surely left her consciousness; the only thing that registers with her is my presence.
The way she looks at me.
She thinks I did it.
Of course she does. She spread rumors about me and thinks I killed her dog as some kind of retaliation. She killed her husband, Tasha is thinking, so it must be nothing to kill a dog.
This, of course, is what Cora wants.
Tasha finally breaks her glare and continues walking, leaving me with a chill that doesn’t warm. If she does think I did it, she must have shared that with the police. Is it just a matter of time before I get another knock on my front door?