The Imposter Marin Montgomery (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

to your daughter. Everything!” she shrieks. “All in a blind trust when Sibley turns thirty-five.”

Miles pops out of his chair, shaking his fist. “I’ve heard enough! How could my father let this happen?”

“Sit down, you pathetic man-child. You’re the weakest link of the Fletcher family.” Alice pats his shoulder. “Besides your mom. Cindy was so easy to manipulate.” Alice fixes Miles with an icy gaze. “You want to know why your mother died? You got your mother killed. You’ve blamed the poor Sawyer family for everything, and it’s your fault she’s dead.”

“How do you figure?” he whispers.

“Because you convinced her Robert was screwing Deborah. You got her all riled up about it. You wanted Cindy to go over there and confront the Sawyers and your dad that evening.

“I called your mother that Sunday afternoon, right after church, in fact. I’d already put the bug in Cindy’s ear, but I told her if and when Robert left, she should follow him. I knew it was go time for Deborah—her fate was sealed as soon as Jonathan found out he’d been playing daddy to a kid that wasn’t his for almost eighteen years.”

Alice rubs her hands in glee. “Powerful stuff, these rumors. But it wasn’t a rumor, was it, since it was true. Edward was the father of Sibley, not Jonathan. And lucky for me, I found an old letter you wrote in that old chest in your barn and gave that to Cindy to show Jonathan.”

Alice says in a singsong voice, “I have a confession . . .”

Both pairs of eyes are glued to her face.

“I was the one who pushed Jonathan, but it wasn’t intentional. I mean, I intended to push someone, but it wasn’t him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was waiting for you, Deborah.”

She puckers her lips. “I snuck into the barn when Jonathan was dragging you by your hair. Frankly, I was hoping he would put you out of your misery so I wouldn’t have to. I was hoping he would kill you and then just rot in prison. He was worthless too.”

Alice puts her hands emphatically on her hips. “But you were like a feral farm cat, the way you struggled to break free of him. I hid in the loft, staring over the broken railing at the two of you on the barn floor, rolling and caterwauling. It was like a feature film. So, so good. Unfortunately”—Alice feigns sadness—“you got away from him, and you ran like hell. He chased you, but he was wasted, bobbing and weaving all over the place. I could tell it was not going to end well . . . for him. And that made me hella mad. I kicked my foot out and accidentally kicked a metal tin. Unfortunately for him, it clunked over the ladder and down below.

“When he saw the rattling tin spinning like a top, he must’ve thought you’d climbed up into the loft instead of running back to the house. When he got up the ladder, he didn’t realize until it was too late it wasn’t you, when he attacked me.” Alice murmurs, “In his defense, it was dark, and why else would anyone be up there? He had me pinned down and was walloping me with his fist, bless his heart, before he took a good look at me. In self-defense, I had no choice but to reach for a glass bottle I found and break it over his head. When he stumbled forward, I took the opportunity to push his rancid ass out of the loft.” She sighs loudly. “But it was supposed to be you, dearest Debbie. I wasted a solid effort on him instead of you.”

“Unbelievable.” Miles slaps the table hard, causing both women to flinch.

Alice glances at the digital clock, murmuring, “I wonder how long it’ll take Sibley to go mad down there in the root cellar with her crippling anxiety. I wasn’t the best hostess. I should’ve put a couple of bottles down there to quench her alcoholic thirst.”

Miles cocks his head to the side. “Excuse me?”

Alice holds up her gloved hand, exposing a tiny gold stud. “And I’m so glad you found my missing earring. I must’ve dropped it when I was messing with that raggedy dress.”

Looking at her watch, Alice says, “It’s about time for your next dose, Deborah.”

Unexpectedly, Deborah yawns, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I want to commend you,” Alice says as she pushes up her glasses. “You’ve been such a good girl taking your meds. Becoming just the person I knew you could be. And your patience with my mind games. You were so sure you had spirits and ghosts when I pushed you down the stairs. It was brilliant, if I do say so myself, how I could just come and go as I pleased, scaring the shit out of your drug-addled mind. In fact, I bet you feel really tired now. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch?”

Too tired to protest, Deborah slowly obliges, limping to the sofa. Her mind should be on high alert, but she feels like she’s being pulled underwater, and everything is shifting and hazy, as if waves are crashing over her. She’s drowning, yet the pain in her body and mind subsides. There’s a clarity she hasn’t felt in a long while. On the couch, she curls into a fetal position with her mother’s old blanket draped over her. She isn’t scared any longer, and numb, she wiggles her toes, her limbs tingling, as if they are detaching from her body.

Even though Alice and Miles are in the kitchen talking, they sound far away, and Deborah hears the chatter as if it’s coming through speakers and the volume keeps going down another decibel.

Deborah doesn’t have the energy to listen anymore, and drowsy, she presses her eyes shut. The last words are muted, and she yanks the blanket tightly around her tiny frame.

“Are you ready to play nice and help me, Miles?” Alice is saying. “Help me drag