The Sister-in-Law by Pamela Crane (great books for teens txt) 📗

‘Harper, listen to me carefully.’ Lane broke through my hysteria. ‘Do not call 9-1-1. The police cannot know about this. And don’t touch anything. I’ll be right over. Stay there – I’m on my way.’

As the line went dead, I knew what would happen next. Knew what Lane would tell me to do. And I’d do it all, down to every last detail. That was when I realized what all of this made me. The pain and suffering I had left in my wake was enough to make my husband kill himself.

I was a monster.

Chapter 2

Lane Flynn

‘It’s going to be okay,’ I told Harper.

It was anything but okay.

It was worse than I imagined, seeing my brother-in-law like that; stiff and ashen and tinted with blood. The knife sticking out of Ben’s chest looked more like a prop, and the scene was comparable to any number of zombie shows I’d binge-watched, his face waxy and fake. But the smell … there was nothing fake about the stench of an hours-dead corpse.

I knew the smell because I experienced it almost daily at the hospital where I worked. Most people were terrified of the dead, but gore and blood and death were my everyday life. I just never expected it to be my brother-in-law. And not like this.

I stood over the body formerly known as Ben Paris, transfixed by the awful display while Harper broke down in my arms, her sorrow soaking into my shirtsleeve. I doubted she could survive a second round of pain so soon. It wasn’t fair how life discriminated against her. Kissing her head and rubbing circles on her back, I tried to comfort her.

‘It’s going to be okay.’ I had recited this same line a year ago, not knowing if it was true. It felt like just as much of a lie today.

‘We’ll get through this together.’ It was the best I could offer and – this time – the truth.

‘Lane, can’t you do something for him?’ she asked.

‘Harp, I’m a nurse, not Jesus. I can’t bring him back from the dead. I wish I could, but I can’t.’

She pulled away and looked up at me, cool air rushing into the gap of space between us. Her watery eyes searched mine. It was familiar territory to me, the pleading eyes of those left behind seeking answers about their departed loved ones. Did he die peacefully? Was there anything else you could have done for her? Why, why, why? As a nurse, I watched countless sick people arrive on their feet but depart on gurneys. Questions always followed. Answers rarely offered solace. For my sister, I had only one answer. One she would hate, but one she would accept because Harper accepted everything I fed her.

‘What I can do, is try to protect your family,’ I said.

‘How, Lane? He’s gone. The kids have no father. I don’t work. I would be lucky to find a minimum wage job. Without the life insurance money we’ll lose everything. I don’t … I don’t know what to do.’

I placed my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to see me, hear me. ‘You’re strong, Harp. You’ll get through this. I know this is horribly difficult, especially so soon after …’ I didn’t finish my thought, because she already knew. She didn’t need the reminder. ‘But I promise to take care of you. I have a plan, okay?’

She nodded wordlessly.

‘First of all, get rid of that suicide letter. That can never be spoken of again. Understand?’

Another nod.

‘I’m going to stage the house to make it look like it was a robbery. It’s very important that you tell the police you came home to this and have no idea what happened. Ben never killed himself, got it? He was murdered during the robbery.’

She covered her mouth as a gasp slipped out. She was unraveling, and I could barely keep my own emotions spooled right now.

‘Please listen, Harp. I need to know you understand me.’

‘Why murdered? Isn’t suicide better?’

Murder, suicide, both ugly words. There was no easy out, and Harper needed to accept that if she was going to get through this without losing everything … or facing jail time.

‘Not if you want to get your life insurance payout. They don’t pay out on suicides, Harp, which means you’ll lose everything, just like you said. Considering what you’ve been through in the past year, I don’t think you’d be able to handle that big of an adjustment right now.’

Her gaze drifted as she considered my words. ‘What if the police think I killed him?’

‘You didn’t kill him, so there won’t be anything that points to you, right?’

She glanced at the floorboards, her eyes shifty. Stepping out of my grasp, she ambled across the room and sunk into Ben’s lambskin armchair, the one she had bought him for their fifth anniversary and made me pick up and deliver as a surprise. Everything in this room screamed Ben, from the oversized leather sofa with gaudy nailhead accents, to the hideous abstract artwork on the walls.

Folding her legs up, she cried into her knees. She was beaten, crumbling apart. I could always tell when she was defeated, but this was something else altogether.

‘Right, Harper? Nothing should tie you to this. You weren’t home … were you? You have an alibi.’ This was my sister. It had to be true. But then again … I knew what she had done a year ago.

‘Yes, Lane, it’s just … what if something goes wrong? They always suspect the spouse, don’t they? Maybe it’d be better to hide his body or something. No body, no crime.’

I laughed mirthlessly. ‘This isn’t CSI. We can’t just hide a body. A missing husband will look more like you did it than anything else. Just follow my directions, okay? A break-in is your best bet. This house is a realistic target for a thief wanting a big payday.’

‘How are you going to fake that? The cops will find