The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (best romantic novels to read .txt) 📗

at me. It was like a cancer, slowly killing me. You’ve changed that.’

‘By replacing your darkest thoughts with my own?’

He laughs. ‘No. By giving me a reason to smile again. I let you in, and at first it frightened me; your intensity, my feelings for you …’

I hear him swallow. He’s letting his words sink in now, before he continues. He wants me to confirm I feel the same way. That won’t be hard.

‘It can be scary letting another person in, can’t it?’ I say.

‘Yes, and the timing is particularly challenging. What do you think will happen now?’

‘To Tom, you mean?’

‘Yeah – will what you’ve given them be enough, do you think?’

‘I really don’t know. I suppose it’ll depend what they can gain forensically from the sweatshirt, but ultimately, they’ll need more. This helps them collect the bigger picture – but really, he could say he found the sweatshirt. It doesn’t exactly prove anything, does it?’

‘But the detective seemed so pleased to have some more evidence.’

‘As I say, it’s building the case, but what she really needs is a body. And maybe DNA evidence that irrefutably links Tom to the killing of one or both women. Then there’s no doubt they’ll get a conviction.’

‘You sound as though you’ve thought this through.’

‘I’ve had lots of lonely nights to think about it.’

‘Ditto,’ Adam says. ‘My mind has actually been in overdrive.’

‘Oh, why?’

‘It’s daft,’ he says. I hear a heavy sigh.

‘No, go on. I’ve shared so much with you – do feel free to share your madness with me.’

Adam gives a nervous titter. ‘Well, it’s just – it struck me, when it first came to light that Tom had been charged with a woman’s murder, that he may have had a hand in—’

‘Oh, God! You’re not about to say you think he had something to do with Camilla’s death, are you?’ I can’t keep the shock from my voice. He said it was daft, but really – why would he make that leap? ‘Tom barely knew her, Adam. And her death was different – an accid—’ I stop speaking, recalling how Tom had called Katie and Phoebe’s deaths accidents too.

‘It was a stupid thought, I know. It was only because I didn’t find her EpiPen near her and she usually carried it everywhere. The spare was still in the bedside cabinet … I guess she couldn’t reach that in time.’

‘I’m not saying it’s stupid,’ I say, bringing the softness back to my tone. ‘But highly doubtful.’

‘Yes, probably. I guess in some way, believing that Tom had killed her would almost be better than knowing she chose not to take her allergy seriously enough. She’d been flippant; she kept buying stuff she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure didn’t contain any traces of nuts. Just because she’d got away with it once or twice, didn’t mean it was no longer a risk. A trace is a trace – they put that as a warning on everything for a reason.’

‘To be fair to Camilla, that might be why she ended up getting a bit complacent. As you say, they label practically everything with may contain traces of nuts. I have to put the sign up for all of my food at the café, too.’

‘Yes, true. But still. She didn’t only have herself to look after. She should’ve been more careful, for Jess’s sake. It was pretty selfish of her.’

I can hear his bitterness – an emotion I’ve not noticed before. I know it’s the grief talking. He doesn’t really think Camilla was selfish – he loved everything about her; that was obvious even to an outsider. I get what he means, though – if she’d been taken from him by someone else, he wouldn’t be able to blame her. Unfortunately, the way it had happened, he couldn’t avoid thinking that Camilla simply hadn’t taken enough responsibility. Her death was avoidable.

‘We’re all guilty of being selfish sometimes, Adam. It makes her human.’

‘Made,’ he says simply, correcting my tense. We both fall silent. I’m worried I’ve upset him by not giving any credence to his thoughts.

‘Anyway,’ I say to break the awkwardness. ‘You have any plans for tomorrow evening?’

‘We usually have a film night – well, late afternoon – every Monday. And we have a picnic in the lounge. Not exactly enthralling, I know, but Jess loves it.’

‘Sounds lovely. Can we join you?’ I ask, hopefully.

‘If you promise me one thing.’

I tut. ‘Oh, I see. Well – I’m not sure about that. If it comes with conditions attached, then one might have to decline,’ I say, in a mock posh voice.

‘Get you, turning down an invitation to be with the youngest widower in Lower Tew! You won’t get a better offer you know.’

‘I think one might be getting ideas above his station.’

‘Ahh, it’s so good to partake in some light-hearted humour, Beth. You’ve no idea. Anyway, the condition is only that you have to bring the snacks – nothing earth-shattering!’ he laughs. Finally, he sounds at ease. Clearly, talking about Camilla puts him on edge. I must steer the conversation away from her in future.

‘I think I can manage that,’ I say. ‘I need to cook up a batch of muffins for the café tomorrow anyway, so I’ll do a few extra.’

‘A few? I was hoping for a dozen at least.’

‘You drive a hard bargain,’ I say.

‘You’d best get used to it – you know, if we’re going to be seeing a bit more of each other.’

The instant warmth his words cause makes me happy and sad at the same time. Life seems to be like that at the moment – filled with contradictions. And I feel as though I’m the biggest contradiction of all.

As I’m drifting into sleep, Adam’s words float back into my consciousness. The fact he’d considered, however briefly, that Tom might have had a hand in Camilla’s death blindsided me. But her death wasn’t like the others, so why did Adam even contemplate it? Visions whir, blurring, mixing as they shoot through my