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

Uncomfortably, I tighten my hold on the blanket, feeling naked as her eyes examine every square inch of me.

Moving to a seated position, I cross my arms over my chest.

I feel feverish, and my skin’s flushed from alcohol, sunshine, or trepidation. Maybe all three. My throat is parched, and breaking the torturous eye contact, I ask if I can have something to drink.

“Of course,” she says, but she doesn’t stand, so I heave myself up. It feels good to stretch my sore limbs. I follow her into the kitchen, where the unpleasant smell again forces me to pinch my nose. “You get an indoor cat?”

“No, but Esmeralda’s about to give birth in the barn.”

“Why does the house smell like an outhouse?”

“Hmm . . .” She sniffs the air. “I didn’t notice.”

If she doesn’t detect the noxious odor, she must be used to living in these putrid conditions, which is an unsettling thought.

“You want any breakfast?” My mother shuffles over to the refrigerator, and I notice she’s limping on her left side. I’m about to ask what happened when I stop to gawk at the fridge’s contents. Usually, it’s overflowing with more food than a family, let alone one person, could eat. Now, nothing is inside save for a carton of milk, a pitcher of water, and a few expired-looking yogurts, as if someone has cleaned it out.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I ask casually.

“I am.”

“Then why does it look like the end of a pandemic?”

“If I keep the fridge stocked, all I do is eat.”

I’m confused. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“When you get to my age, you’ll see how your body rebels and the calories go straight to your waistline.”

“Believe me, I already know,” I groan. “But why’s everything removed from the cabinets? I can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“I’ve had some run-ins with mice. It took me a minute to find the little devils.”

“When was this?”

“Week or so ago. My favorite kitty, Esmeralda, and her chums were happy to help.”

Rolling my eyes at her fondness for nomadic cats, I offer to help reorganize her cupboards.

Before she can respond, the phone rings in my mother’s hand, alarming us both. She doesn’t answer, instead setting it on the counter. With the kitchen a mess, I have no choice but to search for the least inhabited chair and scoot aside some old magazines and newspapers, dog eared and worn.

A muffled voice interrupts the quiet, and I assume it’s a radio announcer until the voice repeatedly shrieks her name. My mother gives a guilty look at her phone.

“Crap,” she murmurs. “I must have hit answer instead of decline.”

“Who is it?”

“Give me a second.” She holds up a finger, picking her phone up from the counter.

I swallow a sip of my water as my mother chatters into her phone. Tilting my head, I recognize the familiar voice. From her one-sided conversation, realization dawns on me. “Shit, did you call the police on me?”

She doesn’t respond, but I see the local police department contact on her phone. Horrified, I clap a hand to my mouth. The rock. Her window. Breaking and entering.

Dammit. This staying under the radar isn’t working out for me. How does an unexpected road trip turn into two run-ins with the police?

Ignoring me, she says, “I wasn’t wrong. She’s here; can you believe it?” I watch her grin into the phone. “Yep, all the way from Florida.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. Florida? Did she forget I live in the desert?

I pout. She wouldn’t forget what state I live in had she bothered to write a letter back to me or return a call.

I jump up, grabbing the phone out of her hand midsentence. “Hi, Chief, this is Sibley. Sorry to give both of you a scare. I surprised her out of the blue.”

My mother gapes at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.

I cradle the phone, mouthing, What’s wrong?

The voice on the other end falters a greeting. “Ah, hi, Sibley. How are you, stranger?”

“Good,” I say. “Great.” I don’t bother to add that while being home for less than two hours, I’ve learned my mother’s a fraud and my dead father isn’t my real one.

“It’s pleasant to hear your voice.” He sounds relieved. “Your mother scared the living daylights out of me when she called 911 and the station received an alert from her security system. Not to mention a woman named Nora said she was almost run off the road by a woman speeding like a bat out of hell. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

In my stupor, I didn’t consider Deborah might have alarms on the doors and windows. I’m relieved he doesn’t mention the broken window or my drunken shape entering the small space. Again, I lie to the authorities. “I used the spare to get inside, Chief. Didn’t mean to spook her. In fact, I already ran into Miles Fletcher.” I smirk. “He gave me a warm reception when he pulled me over.”

“Then it definitely wouldn’t have been you speeding.” I can hear his deep belly laugh through the phone. I forgot how much I missed the police chief’s discernible guffaw. “I’ll bet Officer Fletcher gave you an earful.”

“Oh, he did. Said he’s vying for your job.”

“I’m sure he did. Problem is, I doubt I’ll ever get to quit the force.” He grunts. “Well, I order you to enjoy your time with your mama. How long are you in town?”

“I don’t know,” I stammer. “A couple of weeks, maybe?”

“Sounds good.” I hear the background noise of the station, and he speaks louder over the din. “Please stop in and see me before you leave. We sure do miss you around here.”

My face feels heated. I know he’s not referencing when my squad in high school went TPing and included the police station in our harmless prank. It was good fun until someone got a bright idea to use spray paint on one of the vehicles in