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

his cologne instead of the stench of fire embedded in the strands of my hair.

“Sibley! Oh my God! Oh my God, Sibley,” he keeps murmuring into my ear.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going,” I moan. “I never thought my own mother would try to . . .”

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” He presses his cheek to my face, both wet with tears. “I just need you safe with me. That’s all that matters.”

CHAPTER 50

Deborah

Sibley walks by, nose in the air, chin up, and Deborah’s compelled to get her attention.

The glare she shoots her is worrisome, and for a moment they lock eyes, and then . . . nothing. She turns on her heel and goes back to the house and her waiting husband.

Deborah’s not quite sure what she did wrong.

When she came to, she was lying outside near the barn, her clothes covered in soot and gasoline. She stared at her blackened fingertips, which looked as if she’d tried to char them on a grill.

Distraught, she realized the smell of smoke and burning rubble was coming from directly inside the barn.

Gasping for air, she crawled on her hands and knees toward the house. She felt like she was in some type of war zone. Not only was the barn on fire, but so was the toolshed.

The detached garage was nothing more than scorched earth. The fire was spreading quickly toward the root cellar.

A wave of dizziness hit her, and Deborah was slow to stand. She’d been on the couch, underneath her quilt, and that was the last thing she remembered.

Suddenly, she was outside, drenched in mud, with no recollection of coming out there.

And what about Sibley?

Her confusion only increased as her dazed eyes searched the yard. There were no other cars in the drive.

Had she imagined Sibley was there?

Or was it Soren?

Deborah shook her head, blinking rapidly.

Soren’s dead, she gently reminded herself.

When Deborah stumbled toward the house, she barreled into a tall, gangly man. Pushing his chest away from her, she backed up. “Who are you? What did you do to my property? Where’s Sibley?” she screamed. “Where’s Soren?”

The man stepped toward her. “There you are, Deborah.”

She looked over his shoulder. Robert Fletcher was behind him, sadly bobbing his head.

The strange man, dressed in jeans and a tee, scratched his beard. He glared at the root cellar as if he’d lost something in there.

What was Robert doing standing outside with an ax?

Oh no, had Esmeralda gotten stuck down there?

She fumbled in her pockets and clutched the small key to the padlock. As Deborah walked toward Robert, she held it in the air, but for whatever reason, he didn’t acknowledge her.

Each step ignited a stab in her chest and was increasingly painful. Her hand flew to her bosom, and the key dropped to the ground, already forgotten.

Before she could steady herself, Miles Fletcher appeared, grinning like it was the best day of his life, and placed handcuffs on her. “I finally get the pleasure of snapping these on, Mrs. Sawyer.”

CHAPTER 51

Deborah

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Deborah protests weakly to the detective. “This is all a huge misunderstanding. I would never harm my daughter.”

“How many daughters do you have?”

“Two.” Deborah shakes her head. “I mean, one. I lost one.”

“How did you lose one?”

Deborah doesn’t like his flippant tone. “Childbirth. Identical twins.”

“And your name? Ah, yes, I recognize it. Sawyer.” His clipped mustache catches spittle when he talks. “Your husband died under suspicious circumstances years ago, didn’t he?”

“He was drunk and fell from the loft above. Out in the barn.”

“Where were you?”

“In the house.”

“That’s not what the record shows, ma’am.”

“It was a long time ago,” Deborah says bitterly. “I want to sleep. I have a pounding headache. I’m exhausted.”

His eyes peer at her with disgust.

“In fact, can I get some water?”

“Just admit you did it, and I’ll get you an entire watercooler you can drink.”

Deborah runs a tired hand through her hair. “Admit to what?”

“That you were after insurance money, for starters.”

“I did not set the barn on fire.”

“Thanks for providing details on where the fire started.”

“I’m not sharing anything. I want to go home. Where’s Robert Fletcher?” she mumbles. “He’s my boyfriend. He can tell you what happened.”

The detective’s whole body shakes in laughter. “Oh, really? He’s engaged to another woman.”

“It’s true,” Deborah insists. “We’re moving to Florida when he retires.”

He thumps his hand on his thigh. “That’s funny. You’re a real firecracker, Debbie, no pun intended.”

“What’re you talking about?” Deborah lowers her head into her hands. “Can I go home, please? I need to sleep.”

“You just tried to murder your daughter, and you want to go home and get some sleep?” He mimics her voice. “Pull someone else’s leg, lady. Mine are long enough.”

“I killed my daughter?”

“You tried.”

“Uh-huh,” she groggily moans into her hands.

“So you admit you did attempt to murder your daughter?”

“Uh-huh.” Lethargic, Deborah can no longer keep her eyes open. They slam shut, just as her case does in the detective’s eyes, and she’s once more taken away in cuffs.

CHAPTER 52

Sibley

A few days later, Robert Fletcher, chief of police, sits across from Holden and me at the scarred kitchen table. Deborah claims she has no recollection of what happened, and I believe her, but I know she’s sick. Very, very sick. My eyes are red from crying, and a tissue is stuffed into my fist.

“I wanted to update you on the gun you brought in, Sib.” The chief speaks softly, without his usual aplomb. “I put a rush into forensics on the gun, not expecting any miracles, since they are one of the most difficult objects to retrieve prints from. Frankly, they’re a pain in the ass because of the texture and ridges, and oils from cleaning tend to break down prints.” The chief keeps his eyeballs glued to mine, and my palm instantly sweats into the tissue. “Sib, the only prints on the gun are from Deborah.”

Nothing in the room moves, not even