The Lie Maker by Linwood Barclay EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Linwood Barclay
- Language: English
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“He could have someone out there,” the man said, pulling back the front
window curtains a tentative inch. “Watching the house right now.”
He was careful not to step directly in front of the glass as he peeked
outside. It was raining. Streetlights reflected in the puddles. He ran his
fingers nervously through his thick, dark hair. His handsome features were
undercut by the fear in his eyes.
He wasn’t used to being afraid. He was unaccustomed to the role of prey.
“He’ll have found someone else to do his dirty work,” he said. “Jesus,
when are they going to get here?” He looked at his watch. “They’re ten
minutes late. What the hell’s keeping them?”
He’d been directing his comments to his wife, a reedy, auburn-haired
twig of a woman who looked ready to break into several pieces. She’d
made several trips back and forth to the kitchen, trying to keep busy.
“Do you think they’ll want coffee?” she asked.
“They’re not going to want any goddamn coffee,” he snapped.
She took a seat on the flowered couch, crossed her right leg over her left,
then her left over her right. Some movement on the stairs caught her eye,
and she spotted the nine-year-old boy sitting on one of the upper steps,
watching from between the railings. A tear running down his cheek.
“Go upstairs,” she told the boy.
“I want to say good—”
“Go to your room and close the door,” she said, flinging her arm,
pointing up. As she brought her arm back, she wiped a tear from her cheek.
The boy sniffed and retreated from view, waited until his mother was no
longer looking his way, then resumed his position. From where he sat, he
could see the front door, the three suitcases sitting there, his father still
watching the street. His mother was up again, walking around the couch,
going into the kitchen. He could hear the rattling of cups, silverware.
When she reappeared, her husband was still standing near the window.
“Get away from there,” she said.
He let the curtain fall and stepped away.
“It’s not too late, Rose,” he said. “The two of you can still come. They’ve
prepared the documents, in case you change your mind.”
She stood behind the couch, her hands resting atop the cushions, as
though using it as a barrier. Her jaw hardened and her eyes moistened.
“If you’re desperate for company, why don’t you take your father?” she
said. “Maybe he’d like to start all over again with you. He’s all alone.”
“I can live without ever seeing him again. It’s been years. But the three of
us, we belong together. Once I walk out that door, once they put me in the
car, that’s it. It’s not safe, staying behind. If he can’t get to me, he’ll come
after you.”
“And what would be the point of that?” she asked. “To get back at you?
You’ve already washed your hands of us. And we certainly won’t be able to
tell him anything. You could be in Timbuktu for all we know.
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