Not His Wife novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Rule Three

I locked the door behind her and stood with my forehead against it.

The garage door opened.

"I heard," Anson said.

"Then tell me."

"It was my father's estate."

He took out his phone, thumbed it open, and held it out.

"A cashier's check for sixty-one thousand dollars, made out to her. I signed it myself. She said it was to start a bakery."

I scrolled.

The check was there, with the bank's stamp.

Under it was a receipt from a Cleveland branch, showing the money cashed in a single day.

"I'm not asking you to believe me," he said. "I'm giving you what I have. Look through anything you want."

I held the phone a long moment without scrolling any further.

I did not know why that made my throat tight.

We sat at the kitchen table until midnight with a pot of coffee going cold.

We made a list on the back of an old envelope, Alyssa's story on one side and Alyssa's lies on the other.

By the end of it I trusted him more than I trusted anybody alive.

That scared me worse than the lie.

On Thursday afternoon Bernice had a table at the Saint Brigid's bake sale, and I brought Anson to buy a cake.

Three church ladies stood behind a folding table with price tags and a cash box.

I picked up a pound cake and set it down in front of him.

"This is eleven dollars," I told him. "You'll pay it."

"Gladly."

"And you'll come to my house tonight at eight."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Mr. Boylston, it is," I said, loud enough for the whole table.

"Reed's in Marlow County, so I'm going to take you into my kitchen and take my clothes off."

"And I'm not going to be quiet about it."

The woman with the cash box dropped it.

Bernice, behind the rolls, put on her church hat very slowly.

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