The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist!. Liv Constantine

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      “She’s lovely,” Amber said, looking up at Daphne. “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

      “No, not really. Some days it’s even harder.”

      They finished the bottle of wine and opened another while Amber listened to more stories of Daphne’s tragic fairy-tale relationship with her perfect dead sister. Amber threw a full glass down the sink when she went to the bathroom. As she returned to the living room, she added a little wobble to her walk, and said to Daphne, “I should get going.”

      Daphne shook her head. “You shouldn’t drive. You should stay here tonight.”

      “No, no. I don’t want to put you out.”

      “No arguments. Come on. I’ll take you to a guest room.”

      Daphne put an arm around Amber’s waist and led her through the obscenely large house and up the long staircase to the second floor.

      “I think I’m going to need the bathroom.” Amber made the words sound urgent.

      “Of course.” Daphne helped her in, and Amber shut the door and sat down on the toilet. The bathroom was enormous and elaborate, with a Jacuzzi tub and shower big enough to accommodate the entire royal family. Her studio apartment would have practically fit inside it. When she opened the door, Daphne was waiting.

      “Are you feeling any better?” Daphne’s voice was filled with concern.

      “Still a bit dizzy. Would it be all right if I did lie down for a minute?”

      “Of course,” Daphne said, guiding her down the long hallway to a guest room.

      Amber’s keen eye took it all in—the fresh white tulips that looked beautiful against the mint-green walls. Who had fresh flowers in a guest room when they weren’t even expecting guests? The shiny wood floor was partially covered with a thick white flokati rug that added another touch of elegance and luxury. Billowy gauze curtains seemed to float down from the tall windows.

      Daphne helped her to the bed, where Amber sat and ran her hand over the embroidered duvet cover. She could get used to this. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she didn’t need to pretend that she felt the dizzying sensation of impending slumber. She saw movement and opened her eyes to see Daphne standing over her.

      “You’re going to sleep here. I insist,” Daphne said, and, walking to the closet, opened the door and took out a nightgown and robe. “Here, take your things off and put on this nightgown. I’ll wait out in the hallway while you change.”

      Amber peeled off her sweater and threw it on the bed, and stepped out of her jeans. She slipped into the silky white nightgown and crawled under the covers. “All set,” she called out.

      Daphne came back in and put a hand on her forehead. “You poor dear. Rest.”

      Amber felt a cover being tucked around her.

      “I’ll be in my room, just down the hall.”

      Amber opened her eyes and reached out to grab Daphne’s arm. “Please don’t go. Can you stay with me like my sister used to?”

      She saw the briefest hesitation in Daphne’s eyes before she went over to the other side of the bed and lay next to Amber.

      “Sure, sweetie. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Just rest. I’m right here if you need anything.”

      Amber smiled. All she needed from Daphne was everything.

       SIX

      Amber flipped through the pages of Vogue as she sat listening to the whiny client on the other end of the phone continuing to bitch about the $5 million house that had been sold out from under her. She hated Mondays, the day she was asked to sit in for the receptionist at lunchtime. Her boss had promised her she’d be free of it as soon as the new hire began in another month.

      She’d started as a secretary in the residential division of Rollins Realty when she first moved to Bishops Harbor, and she’d hated every minute of it. Almost all of the clients were spoiled women and arrogant men, all with a hugely elevated sense of entitlement. The kind of people who never slowed their expensive cars at a four-way stop because they believed they always had the right-of-way. She’d set appointments, call them with updates, set up appraisal and inspection appointments, and still they barely acknowledged her. She did notice that they were only a little more courteous to the agents, but their lack of manners still infuriated her.

      She used that first year to take evening classes in commercial real estate. She checked books out of the library on the subject and read voraciously on weekends, sometimes forgetting to eat lunch or dinner. When she felt ready, she went to the head of the commercial side of Rollins, Mark Jansen, to discuss her thoughts on a potential opportunity regarding a zoning change vote she’d read about in the paper and what a successful vote could mean for one of their clients. He was blown away by her knowledge and understanding of the market, and started stopping by her desk occasionally to chat about his side of the business. Within a few months she was sitting right outside his office, working closely with him. Between her reading and his tutelage, her knowledge and expertise increased. And to Amber’s good fortune, Mark was a great boss, a devoted family man who treated her with respect and kindness. She was right where she had planned to be from the start. It had just taken time and determination, but determination was one thing Amber had in spades.

      She looked up as Jenna, the receptionist, walked in with a crumpled McDonald’s bag and a soda in her hands. No wonder she was so fat, Amber thought in disgust. How could people have so little self-control?

      “Hey, girlie, thanks so much for covering. Did everything go okay?” Jenna’s smile made her face even more moonlike than normal.

      Amber bristled. Girlie? “Just some moron who’s upset because someone else bought her house.”

      “Oh, that was probably Mrs. Worth. She’s so disappointed. I feel bad for her.”

      “Don’t waste your tears. Now she can cry on her husband’s shoulder and get the eight-million-dollar house instead.”

      “Oh, Amber. You’re so funny.”

      Amber shook her head in puzzlement at Jenna and walked away.

      Later that night, as she sat soaking in the tub, she thought about the last two years. She’d been ready to leave it all far behind—the dry-cleaning chemicals that burned her eyes and nose, the filth from soiled clothing that clung to her hands, and the big plan that had gone awry. Just when she thought she’d finally grabbed the brass ring, everything had come crashing down. There was no question of her hanging around. When she left Missouri, she’d made sure that anyone looking for her wouldn’t find even a trace to follow.

      The water was turning cooler now. Amber rose and wrapped herself in a thin terry-cloth robe as she stepped out of the bath. There’d been no old school friend to invite her to Connecticut. She’d rented the tiny furnished apartment just days after she arrived in Bishops Harbor. The dingy white walls were bare, and the floor was covered with an old-fashioned pea-green shag that had probably been there since the 1980s. The only seating was an upholstered love seat with worn arms and sagging pillows. A plastic table sat at the end СКАЧАТЬ