The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,75

on it, folded it, and handed it to me. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Jonathan Stewart was investigated for murder. He hasn’t been brought up on charges ... yet. They couldn’t find enough evidence. But the case is still open. Here’s the write-up in our local paper.”

Lindsay reached for my hand. “Be careful.”

I was dumbfounded. Speechless. What the hell was this? “Jon said she was depressed,” I stuttered. “She couldn’t get pregnant.”

“Depressed?” Samantha pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, hit some buttons, and handed it to me. “Depressed people isolate themselves from friends, from family. They don’t go to parties. They don’t laugh with friends. This picture was taken the day before Michelle died. At our neighborhood block party. Does she look like she was isolating herself?”

I looked.

First, Michelle could pass for my doppelganger. That was freaky enough. But second, she looked like she was having a great time at the party. And when I say great, that might be a slight understatement.

A shiver swept up my spine.

“There are more pictures,” Samantha said. “Hit the button.”

“I don’t need to see more.” I handed Samantha the phone and glanced down at my plate. My appetite was gone. Had I made the mistake of a lifetime? Had I left my job, my life, to move in with a murderer? “The pictures don’t prove anything.”

“You’re right. They don’t,” Erica said. “But we’re hoping the police will find some solid proof soon. You could help.”

“You want me to dig for clues while I’m living with a man you believe killed his wife?” This was crazy. Insane. Unbelievable.

I needed to find out more. About Jon, yes. But also about these women. I was having some doubts about Jon. Any girl would. After all, I’d learned a long time ago that something—or someone—who seemed too good to be true generally was. But I was also having some suspicions about my three neighbors. What were their stories? Why were they so hell-bent on convincing me Jon killed his wife?

“You don’t trust us. I can appreciate that,” Erica said. “At this point, all you have is what we’ve told you. But once you do a little digging, you’ll realize who has been telling you the truth and who has been lying.” She stood, motioning to the other two. “Ladies, I think we’ve taken up enough of Christine’s time.” She gave me a smile that seemed genuine. “Our offers still stand. If you need anything, from any of us, we’re here for you.” She was the first to head for the door. Samantha was second. Lindsay was the last.

At the door, Lindsay leaned over and whispered, “I really like you already. Please be careful.”

CHAPTER 3

I couldn’t push the freaking button. I was too afraid of what I’d see.

After The Pack cleared out, I returned to my girl-cave and tried to get back to work. As I moved things from one place to another, I kept telling myself they’d been lying to me. Jon’s wife had killed herself just like he told me. When I could no longer believe that, I switched to the theory that they weren’t lying—they really believed Jon might be a killer—but the police were wrong. Jon was innocent.

Eventually, after several hours, I hadn’t completely convinced myself of that explanation, either. So I’d done what any normal girl would do. I powered up my laptop, jumped a few hoops to get it connected to the house’s Wi-Fi, and typed in the URL Erica had written out for me.

It was there now, on my browser’s search line. But I couldn’t hit the button, calling up the page.

Hit the button, dammit. You need to know the truth.

Hand on the mouse. Cursor sitting on top of the SEND button, I closed my eyes. The muscles of my hand tightened. My heart constricted. My lungs slowly deflated.

I clicked.

I swear, my heart stopped completely.

After waiting a handful of seconds, I forced my eyes open.

The newspaper article was open. Oh God. I was about to learn whether I’d just made the mistake of a lifetime.

The first thing I saw was a photograph of a smiling, pretty Michelle Stewart. The sight of that image felt like a sock in the gut. The headline was even worse.

Husband Suspected in Wife’s Mysterious Death.

Shit!

Footsteps pounded overhead. They came closer. Someone was coming down the stairs. I clicked the red X, closing the page.

“Chrissy? Are you down here?” Jon called from the stairs as he stomp, stomp, stomped down