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

and settle back on the sofa again. ‘You calling me weird?’

He doesn’t give a comeback. Instead, without uttering a word, he takes my glass from my hand and puts it, together with his, on the table. Then, with no hesitation, he leans in and kisses me. Tiny electric shocks fire through me. I’m surprised at his swift move. Maybe it’s the certainty that Tom will be going to prison that’s allowed him to let go. Enabled him to let us take our friendship that one step further. All I know is it feels right.

We don’t break away from each other until Poppy and Jess run into the room. I’m not sure if Poppy caught us in the act, but she gives me a cautious look.

‘When is it picnic time?’ Jess asks.

Adam checks his watch. ‘Ooh, right about … now!’ And he leaps up and away from me and pretends to chase them. As I listen to their excited squeals, I realise I might have got away with the kiss, but I will still have to tell Poppy soon. There’s no getting away from it.

Her father is not going to be part of her future, and I need to let her know in a way that she’ll understand. She can’t think he’s abandoned her.

Chapter 84

BETH

Now

The smell of freshly baked muffins fills my cottage and I breathe it in greedily. I’ve missed this. While it’s been wonderful to spend three days at Adam’s – with Adam – I am happy back here in my kitchen doing what I do best.

Lucy has managed the café well in my absence. She even thought to increase the order from my usual suppliers so that my lack of baking didn’t impact the business. She’s been a great asset, and reading between the lines of her texts, she’s actually quite enjoyed me not being there. This is unsurprising, given the drama surrounding me.

There’s a heavy knock on the front door. I instantly feel fear; I’ve become conditioned, like Pavlov’s dogs. I rinse my hands and cautiously check who it is.

It’s Imogen. My heart falters.

‘Hi, Imogen. Is everything okay?’

‘Morning, Beth. I wanted to update you.’ She walks in, and as usual, walks right through to the kitchen.

‘Been baking?’ she asks as she sits down.

‘Yes, I needed to get some done for the café.’

I suck in a lungful of air and hold it, waiting for what I hope is good news. I’m not prepared for anything bad.

‘You know the trial is set for August?’

‘Yes, Maxwell informed me.’

‘You’ll inevitably be called to testify for the prosecution. Are you okay with that?’

‘I’ll have to be.’

‘Good. Right, anyway – the evidence is strong, thanks to your information.’

Oh, shit. Is this visit to finally tell me I’m going to be charged with perverting the course of justice or something like that? Panic swells inside me. Please, not now. My hands tremble – I keep them occupied by transferring cooled muffins to boxes as I wait for her to continue.

‘Has everything been all right since you’ve been back here? Any trouble with the mob?’ Imogen says, gesturing towards the front of the house.

‘I only got back this morning, but no one was outside when I arrived. Strange, actually, not having to bow my head and push through. I wonder how long the peace will last?’

‘Until the trial, probably,’ Imogen says, flippantly.

‘I’ll look forward to that then.’ I attempt humour, but it falls flat. Imogen looks at me, holding my gaze with her intense steel-grey eyes. I suspect this chit-chat is a precursor to her real reason for being here. I wish she’d come right out and say it – tell me I’m being charged. I’m waiting for the inevitable line: ‘Bethany Hardcastle, I’m arresting you for failure to provide evidence of which you were in possession … You do not have to say anything …’ I faff about with the used baking trays, filling the sink with hot water to soak them.

‘You seem a bit nervous, Beth,’ she says.

‘My nerves are constantly shredded. Have been for weeks. Hardly surprising, really, is it? I was scared of coming home this morning to find I’d been left further “gifts”. Thank God there weren’t any,’ I say.

‘Good. One of my updates was about that, actually.’

‘Oh? I thought local police were dealing with it?’

‘They were, but as it turns out, it’s linked to our investigation.’

I sit down opposite Imogen ready to hear what’s coming. ‘So not just some random who wanted to scare me?’

‘We searched CCTV footage. A Jeep with a trailer was picked up close to here and it fitted with the timeframe of you hearing a commotion in your garden. The officers were able to see the trailer had something in it covered in tarp on the way here, but it was empty on the way back, so it seemed a good bet that whoever was in the Jeep was the culprit.’

‘And it links to the investigation how?’

‘The registered owner of the vehicle was interviewed. It transpired that he was not alone in carrying out this act – his sister had asked him to help her.’

My brow knits together; this is so confusing. I’m about to say so, but Imogen continues.

‘The sister was a good friend of Natalia’s, the woman found murdered in her London flat.’

I let this sink in for a moment. ‘How on earth would she have known it was Tom who’d killed her? Or where I lived?’

‘She told us she’d made plans with Natalia but she’d had a last-minute text cancelling. She didn’t think too much of it, but she went around early Wednesday to check on her as she was aware of her line of work. She was the one who found her.’

‘That still doesn’t explain—’

‘Natalia had told the friend about one of her clients. Mentioned details about his visits and apparently, in the days prior to her murder, Natalia had confided that she was becoming afraid of him and his taste for strangling her.’

My heart feels as though someone