Deep Water Mark Ayre (inspirational books for students txt) 📖

which was hard to pin on me, but my first husband was stabbed, and Morris drowned not far from where we now stand. He was a strong swimmer. Foul play was always going to be suspected. I think he was drunk, possibly high; never good things to be, but especially dangerous at his age. Especially when out at sea on a boat with no railing on its deck. Still, from the outside looking in, I can see why people suspect me."

"But are they right?" asked Abbie.

Alice chuckled again. "Are you this direct with everyone?"

"No," confessed Abbie. "I try to read the room."

"Ah, so this approach is tailored to me."

"Yes," said Abbie. "You've been upfront about your prison time and the mud people throw your way. You seem like a woman who appreciates direct talk and has little time for subtext."

Nodding, Alice gestured to two seats in the centre of the room, facing the window.

"Come, sit."

Abbie did. She finished her water and placed the glass on the table.

"Another?" Alice asked.

"I'm okay."

Alice nodded, lowered her quarter-full glass, and took a breath.

"Would it make a difference to you if I’d killed my husbands?"

This was an intriguing question. Abbie mulled it over. She could not climb on her high horse about murder, considering the number of lives she had ended, but it did matter.

"I came here believing your life to be in danger," said Abbie. "What I don't know, as yet, is if you're worth saving."

"And a murderer wouldn't be? You already know I'm an ex-con."

"I don't believe in black and white," said Abbie. "I have known sick and twisted men and women who would never dream of ending a life, and I have known honourable and honest murderers."

"What about you, Abbie? Are you an honourable and honest murderer?"

"I like to think I'm two of three."

"But let me guess, you won't say which two?"

Abbie smiled but didn't answer. Alice looked pleased.

"You said you were single," said Alice. "And the more I get to know you, the more I think you'd be perfect for my Anthony. He's only a year younger than you."

"You're trying to distract me again."

"Quite right, but I mean it, too."

"I'm not looking to date."

"In my experience, that's when we find the best partners."

"And you'd be happy for your son to date someone who won't say conclusively if they're a murderer?"

Alice leaned forward. "I don't believe in black and white, either."

There was a comfortable silence as Alice looked out at the sea. After some consideration, she finished her water.

"Returning to your question," she said. "I meant it when I said I missed Morris and Tony's father, even after all these years. I didn't murder either of them."

"You didn't murder either of them," repeated Abbie. "But you’ve been married three times."

"Yes," said Alice. "I have.”

Taking the glasses, Alice moved to the kitchen. Abbie watched her open the dishwasher and slot them away before returning to Abbie, reclaiming her seat. For another spell, they sat in silence, captivated by the sea.

At last, Abbie said, "I want you to tell me why you don't think you'll last the night."

"Why should I?" said Alice. "Given you won't tell me why you think my life's in danger."

"I saw your face in a dream," said Abbie.

There it was again, risk and reward, the cost-benefit analysis. Abbie had only mentioned her prophetic dreams to the subjects of them on three previous occasions. Each response had been unique. So far, no response had been favourable.

Abbie was not surprised that Alice continued the former trend while breaking the mould of the latter by laughing and clapping.

"Do you know," she said. "I honestly don't know if you're yanking my chain or if you mean it. If you do mean it, I don't know what to think. What should I think, Abbie?"

Abbie wasn't sure. She was annoyed at herself for taking this road with no idea what to say next. Mainly because she hadn't expected Alice's reaction.

"Seeing as you know you're in danger, I would say it doesn't matter,” said Abbie. “What matters is whether or not you believe my intentions to save you are honest."

"That's very true," said Alice. "And I don't know. I like you—I truly mean that, but maybe we have compatible personalities. That's dangerous. It might make me lower my guard when in truth, you've been sent here by the enemy. By Louis."

"The man who murdered your daughter?"

“Nothing loosens a lonely man’s tongue faster than a pretty face, eh?” said Alice. She wore a wry smile. “I’ll be having words with Anthony.”

Sensing it was the best route forward, Abbie said nothing. Alice’s smile slipped away, and a flash of that earlier grief returned.

“My children are of one mind when it comes to my daughter’s murder,” Alice confessed. “Louis did it.”

“You don’t agree?”

Alice mulled this over before revealing another aspect of herself that was much the same as Abbie: “The evidence is circumstantial but compelling. Still, I like to be sure before I take any actions I will not later be able to take back, should my suspicions prove incorrect."

In Alice’s lap, she kneaded her fingers. For a handful of seconds, she was lost in her own dark thoughts, then she met Abbie's eye and leaned across the table.

"If I discover you accepted my hospitality and made me like you on false pretences, and if it should become apparent you are here at the behest of Louis, or that you know anything of my daughter’s murder, I would..." She trailed off, looked a little lost. Came back strong. "I can't imagine what I'd do to you because what I'd do to you would be unimaginable. And not in a good way."

In Alice's face, as she spoke, Abbie, at last, saw a woman she believed could perform acts worthy of a twelve-year prison sentence and who had murdered her first husband. Abbie said nothing. More often than not responding to accusations, even to deny, only made a person sound guilty, even if they were not. Abbie waited for a direct question.