BooksBarbecue
Back The Widow
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

Reaching up, Jo pushed her fingers into her hair and pulled gently, the wig sliding over the scarred skin of her scalp with a soft whisper. She dropped the poor creature into the basin and rubbed her hands over her head. Sometimes, especially when the temperature rose into the high twenties and London became hot and sticky, her scalp became unbearably itchy. Sometimes, in desperation, she’d go into toilets of department stores, take the wig off and scratch until her skin was torn. Jagged scratches that would bleed and itch as they healed. A cycle of dismal discomfort.

If she could wear her hair shorter… her fingers went up to trace the scars at the curve of her jaw. They used to be on her cheek. Plastic surgery had successfully moved them to a less prominent position, leaving Jo with what she’d seen described by sneering critics as a wind-tunnel effect. If she wore shorter hair, the scars would be visible. She wasn’t ready for that.

Maybe someday. Maybe after she’d exacted her revenge on Allison.

Reaching out, she pulled the cord to switch on the light over the basin. A bright halogen light, it was unforgiving.

Perhaps this would be her revenge.

Perhaps it would be enough to stand in front of Allison. Take off the wig. Show her the consequences of what she’d done all those years before.

41

Allison didn’t bother to wait till Jo left the garden before shutting the door with forced restraint. She’d wanted to slam it, to have the aggressive sound chase Jo up the street, to make it absolutely clear Allison didn’t want her to return. She wanted to bang her head against the door for being so stupid as to have become embroiled with someone she’d met on Facebook.

How many lies had Jo told her… had anything she’d said been true?

Allison pushed away from the door. It was tempting to have more wine, but she’d hardly eaten, and her thoughts were scrambled enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

She remembered her suspicions about Stuart the previous evening. Perhaps this was something the same. Stress making her suspicious of everyone. Truth was, she’d known from the first meeting that she and Jo weren’t going to be friends, that the meeting had been a bad idea. But it seemed as if Jo felt differently. Perhaps that was all it was. Not a scam at all. She wanted a friend and had latched on to Allison because of their similarities.