Play Dead by Harlan Coben Page A

out now.'
    Stan pulled away, said his goodbyes, and left. As he headed for the door, he wiped away a tear, curious as to why it was so easy for him to get into the role of grieving for a brother he had so hated.
    That night, Judy Simmons went back to the hotel by herself. She felt drained, exhausted from the events of the day. She sat on the bed and took her wallet out of her pocketbook. Her fingers reached behind her license and plucked out a thirty-year-old photograph.
    Judy lifted the picture into view, her eyes entranced by the black and white images from 1960. She lay back and held the wrinkled photograph in the air above her head. She stared at the picture of the pretty, hopeful college co-ed and the handsome older man.
    Why torture yourself?
    But the truth was that her past did torture her. It had tortured them all, still tortured them, would continue to torture.
    Not necessarily. I could tell the truth.
    But what good would it do? Would it stop the torment? Release her guilt? Not really. Better to keep it a secret. Better to hope that all would be okay. Besides, she wasn't sure what had really happened in Australia. It may have been just like they said. It may have been just an accident. A sad, tragic accident.
    But it wasn't.
    She sat up and put the picture on the night-table. And what if it wasn't an accident? What if . . . ? She pushed the thought away. David was dead. Judy's beautiful wonderful niece was crushed. Nothing could change that. It was in the past. The truth could not work as a time machine, allowing her to go back and make everything work out okay. The truth could not bring David back to life.
    She glanced at the clock and picked up her suitcase. The truth. The only thing the truth could do now . . .
    . . . was kill.

    Chapter 5
    Laura finally managed to get out of the bed again.
    Three weeks had achingly passed, three torturous weeks where Laura had done little but sulk away the day in Serita's spare bedroom. And God, how she hated to sulk, how she hated lying in bed and feeling sorry for herself.
    She pulled back the covers. Her hair was disheveled, her usually dark skin turning gray, her eyes swollen and black. Yes, three weeks had passed but as far as the pain was concerned, it felt like one agonizing second. The pain, the anguish of knowing her David was dead had not lessened, had not loosened its grip for even the briefest of moments.
    She had visitors. Gloria was always with her and in many ways, she was the best comfort; not because her words or company were particularly comforting, but because Laura's worrying about her sister was an effective means of escaping from her own torment. The way Gloria's body shook and quaked reminded Laura of the painful days of withdrawal when she first found Gloria's naked body with the needle tracks in her arms.
    Stan was also a true support and a sad example of lost opportunity. He visited every day, often at the same time as Gloria. Laura noticed that Gloria had something of a crush on Stan. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, but so far Stan had not done more than be kind to her. That was probably good. At this stage, a bad relationship with a member of the opposite sex would be catastrophic for Gloria.
    There were others. Earl was here a lot. So was Clip Arnstein and Timmy Daniels, the backcourt player who had always thought of David as an older brother.
    Laura put on a fabulous act when these visitors came to the door. She pretended to be strong and told them all she was doing just fine, that she was taking walks outside every day, that there was no reason to worry. In other words, she lied. She was not sure it was working, but anything was better than allowing people to stare at you with eyes filled with pity. That was something Laura could not handle.
    'Whoa, will miracles never cease?'
    Laura turned toward Serita. 'Excuse me?'
    'The fans are on their feet! Laura is finally out of bed! And oh my, would you look at that? She's actually putting on