Lethal Little Lies (Jubilant Falls Series Book 3) by Debra Gaskill Page A

gathered what I’d need in the morning—a toothbrush, a change of clothes. I’d come back for my jacket and my briefcase.
                  I froze as Charlie moaned in her sleep, shifting to her side. For a few moments, I watched her breathe. When I was confident she wasn’t going to wake up, I tiptoed to the door and closed it quietly behind me.
    *****
                  “So you want to tell me who answered your goddamn room phone this morning when I called?”
                  It was Kay on my cell phone that next awful morning. It took me a moment to adjust to my surroundings. The new room was a mirror image of the one I’d abandoned. I cringed as I thought of Charlie’s gravelly voice on the other end of Kay’s phone call.
                  “Answer me, Marcus.”
                  “I’m—I’m sorry. I changed rooms and forgot to call you. The folks in the next room were really loud and really drunk. After I left, they must have rented it to someone else.”
                  She seemed to buy my easy lie and I hated that. As she began to chatter about what was going on back in Jubilant Falls that morning, I tried to sound relaxed. In the background, I heard the sound of our marriage cracking. Maybe I was the only one who heard it—or maybe not.

 
    Chapter 12 Addison
     
                   The jail conference room had no windows, probably to keep the inmate focused on his defense attorney in front of him and providing a decent defense, but it fucking irritated the hell out of me.
                  It was after deadline Tuesday when I sat down in one of the industrial-style chairs with Rick Starrett and Anna Henrickssen. Without speaking, I pointed at the camera in the top corner of the ceiling pointing right on the table.
                  “Don’t worry. This is covered by attorney-client privilege. Everything we say is confidential, and the camera won’t be turned on,” Anna said, reaching over to pat Rick on the hand. He shifted in his chair and the sound of his shackles chained to the wall rattled my nerves. He took a deep breath. I lifted my pen above my reporter’s notebook and as he spoke, prepared to write.
                  “Penny, we’ve known each other since high school. You’ve known me and my brother forever—”
                  “Rowan’s death was such a loss,” I said, putting down my pen.
                  “I’m glad you thought so.” His tone turned sarcastic. “Rowan was as much a chain around my ankles as these are.” He gestured to the shackles.
                  “Oh, c’mon, Rick. Everybody thinks that about their little brother—what was Rowan, a year or two younger than you?”
                  Rick clenched his fists; his knuckles went white. “There’s a lot you don’t know about my dear departed brother.”
                  “Like what?” How many times have we run stories on Rowan Starrett at the Journal-Gazette ?
                  “Rowan was a loser. He’d always been a loser. He was the second twin born, had a few problems and our mother coddled him like you wouldn’t believe.”
                  “Wait, Rowan was your twin?” The air came out of my lungs in one breath. I felt light-headed, like one of the things I counted on—my high school memories—was a lie. “But he wasn’t in our grade at school!”
                  “Of course he wasn’t! My mother didn’t think he was ready for school, so she taught him at home for a little while. She did such a lousy job that when he started school a year behind me, the school demoted him again. Rather than tell the truth when we moved here to Jubilant Falls, she made us tell everyone he was my little brother and not my twin. We lived with that lie all through school.”