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

‘Jess is with your friend today, isn’t she?’ I need to check – as much as I need Camilla out of the way, I don’t want a two-year-old put in danger through my actions.

‘Yes, I’ve got a bit of time to myself today, thanks to Constance. Thought I’d do some reading. I have to catch up on the book, seeing as it was my choice for book club. Wouldn’t look good if I couldn’t discuss it at my own club, would it? Are you still good with me holding it here next week?’

‘Sure. I’ll be here on hand as always, to wait on you all.’ There’s a hint of bitterness in my voice, which I quickly rectify by adding how much I enjoy listening to them talk books.

‘You should join us,’ she says, brightly. ‘Properly, I mean. I don’t know why I haven’t asked you before. The next book after this one is To Kill A Mockingbird. So many of us read it for school, but never since.’

I gulp the growing lump a bit further down my throat. The book title gives me a chill. Nerves and my guilty conscience mix. All this time I’d been trying to infiltrate her group, and now she invites me in, on the day I’m trying to kill her. Maybe I should back out; try another time. It’s not working, anyway.

‘And with that in mind, I’d best be going.’ Camilla jumps up, and I see her gaze move fleetingly over the table.

Shit. She’s looking for her bag.

‘Might pop to the loo before I head off,’ she says, and heads towards the back of the café.

Oh. My. God. This is my moment.

I’m strangely reluctant, now it’s come to it.

You’re doing this for Poppy. For her future, I remind myself.

There are two customers – one is attentively painting a plate, the other is gazing out the front window, watching the street.

Must do it now.

I take the bag, unzip it, and pull out the EpiPen. I quickly get up and walk behind the counter to hide it. A noise to my left makes me jump, and I fumble and drop it on the ground at my feet.

Fuck. She’s back.

With the side of my foot, I scoot it forwards, underneath the counter.

‘I’ll take a chocolate chip cookie too, please, Beth,’ Camilla says.

My legs feel shaky; I’m light-headed – that was so close. What on earth would I have said to get out of that if she’d caught me?

‘Sure,’ I say, my voice sounding as though I’m being strangled.

‘You okay?’

‘Frog in my throat,’ I say, putting my fingers up to my neck. ‘Right – one choc-chip and one special butterscotch and oatmeal coming up.’ I watch as she moves to the table to attach her bumbag around her waist, and then slip the cookie from the plate beneath the counter. I put it in a separate bag to the chocolate one.

‘Thanks so much, Beth. I’m looking forward to this.’ She flashes me a perfect grin before turning away.

My stomach twists as I watch her walk out.

What happens now is out of my hands. But that might well be the last time I see Camilla Knight.

When I’m closing up, I duck down to retrieve the EpiPen. I’m not sure what to do with it. Bin it? Leave it somewhere obvious and say she left it behind? I walk to the table we were at and get on my hands and knees. If Camilla had dropped the pen when sitting here, it could conceivably have rolled under the counter-front – there’s a small gap running along the bottom. The counter is built-in – it doesn’t get moved, just cleaned around – so no one would find it. But if they did, it would look like she’d accidentally dropped it.

Perfect.

Just an accident.

With Camilla out of the picture, I knew I’d have a little time to wait before I could put the rest of my plan into play. I had to ensure Tom was out of my life so that Adam and I were free to make a life together.

A new family unit.

Loving, safe and secure.

As I had told Maxwell, I did what I had to do. Just like any good mother would.

Epilogue

I’ve made my peace with God. I’m in here for the long haul, so no point licking my wounds like an injured bird forever – I must get on with prison life. There’s no outlet for my fantasies in here, mind. Unless I fancy sexual encounters with one of the lads. I guess I can’t rule that out. Life is an awfully long time.

The visiting order came as a shock. I was amazed when I saw the name on the paper. Curiosity has led me to the visits hall today. It’s humid, the air thick as I walk towards the table, eyes narrowed.

‘This is a surprise,’ I say, as I take a seat opposite her.

‘I can imagine.’ She sips from a bottle of water, her full, luscious lips curled around it. I close my eyes a second to picture those lips elsewhere.

I snap them open – now isn’t the time. I’ll save those images for later. ‘What do you want?’

She shifts awkwardly in the plastic chair. Her hot, bare legs against it cause a squeaking sound. Her hair is shiny; silky smooth. I have an urge to reach out and run my fingertips through it.

She lets out a shuddering sigh. ‘I’m … not sure I should be here, really.’ She casts a wary glance around at the other visitors.

‘Don’t be nervous. You’ve obviously got something important to say.’

‘I think there’s something you should know,’ she says, her voice no more than a husky whisper. She lays her hands flat on the table, her perfectly manicured, red nails splaying out in front of me. For a moment, I’m mesmerised by them. I imagine them clawing at my own hands, trying to fend me off; trying to stop me from strangling the life