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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charlie was shoving the bolt cutters back into his backpack, muttering to himself. Marco was speaking to Bailey, low and comforting. She swung the flashlight around the entrance of the shop, searching for the bottle of white spirit, the incriminating rag. With the toe of her shoe, she kicked them toward Charlie and he picked them up. She wasn’t going to get blamed for this.

Her flashlight swept across the surface of the tin bath, still rippling, deep and wine-dark. She picked out splashes on the tiled floor, spattered walls. A bloody-looking footprint. She must remember to wipe her own feet on the grass outside.

She backed away, her flashlight swinging in wider circles, making sure she had missed nothing. Eyes watched her. Porcelain dolls sat in rows, an army of the lifeless who might blink and twist their heads at any moment. Boxes of marbles. A handful of old batteries. A rusted jack-in-the-box. Against one wall of the shop was a long, narrow table. The light landed on a box of dominoes. An old wig. A can of WD-40.

A black wallet.

Aster paused and swung back the torch, seeking it out. There it was again. A piece of leather decorated with an insignia that she couldn’t read but looked like a coat of arms. The light wavered as she took a step closer, reached for it and flipped it open, loose threads at one end.

A name and a face.

Her eyes darted across the identification.

Detective Inspector Adam Stanton. The dead police officer.

74

74

Now

I have been observing the lives around me fall apart. I do not wish to gloat; I despise self-aggrandizement, but there is a pleasure in watching others falter, don’t you think?

If one is honest, most of us take joy in the stumbling footsteps of our enemies and, occasionally, our friends. Especially those who glitter with confidence, strutting through life. As for rudeness, I cannot abide it, or the arrogance of those who talk over me or look through me. I will them to trip and fall. I want them to skin their knees and bloody their noses.

The shop was closed for a month and it never recovered. Neither did I. Because the past has a way of catching up to us. Of eating us from the inside.

I had to bury the secret in the dirt with their bodies.

Like we buried you.

75

75

Wednesday 1st August 2018; 2:07 A.M.

26 The Avenue

Dessie was in bed, but she was not asleep. She switched on her lamp at the rattle of Fletcher’s key in the front door.

She waited.

First, the sound of the handle being worked up and down, then the thump of his shoulder against the door, trying to force it. She wondered how long it would take him to realize that she had left her own key in the lock, deliberately shutting him out.