I Will Find You

Sally Rigby, Amanda Ashby

Description

Three sisters…One terrible secret

Ashleigh: A creative, free spirit and loyal. But Ash is tormented by her demons and a past that refuses to be laid to rest.

Jessica: Perfect wife and loving mother. But although Jessica might seem to have it all, she lives a secret life built on lies.

Grace: An outsider, always looking in, Grace has never known the love of her sisters and her resentment can make her do bad things.

When Ashleigh goes missing, Jessica and Grace do all they can to find their eldest sister. But the longer Ashleigh is missing, the more secrets and lies these women are hiding threaten to tear this family apart.

Can they find Ashleigh before it’s too late or is it sometimes safer to stay hidden?

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Vie de famille
• Soutien psychologique et conseils familiaux
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Hard-Boiled
• Amateur Sleuth
• Thrillers
• Adventure (Guyana)
• Suspenso
• Psychological thriller
• Domestic
• General officer
• Psychology
• Organized crime
• Horror
• City Life
• General
• Hurlements 2
• Adventure
• Crime
• Family Life
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 15 mars 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781802804331
• Langue: English

Extrait

I WILL FIND YOU


SALLY RIGBY
AMANDA ASHBY
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36


Acknowledgments

More from Sally Rigby and Amanda Ashby

About the Author

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
1
JESSICA



Sunday, 19 June

Jessica Burton-Cartwright did that thing so many working mothers did when they found themselves with a tiny pocket of time. She turned her attention away from her four-year-old twins as they stirred a bowl of cake batter in the kitchen of their leafy London semi-detached house and focused on the overgrown hydrangea bush that the landscape gardener had convinced them to keep. It was definitely a mistake.
Sitting outside the glass doors that led from the kitchen to the manicured garden beyond, it was like a flaw in her otherwise perfect life. Its flowers never went the same vibrant blue as the one at her childhood home, but rather a muddy red colour that made them look half-dead, even in the height of summer. Apparently it was because of the soil, but whatever the case, Jessica still didn’t like it. She made a mental note to call the gardener and have it removed.
Besides, Henry had been talking about getting a pizza oven, and that would be the ideal spot.
Eleanor’s whiny voice forced Jessica to step away from her stolen moment of time. ‘It’s my turn – I want to help bake the cake.’
‘But you’re making a mess,’ Florence objected, sounding more like a pensioner than a child. She was the leader of the two, having been born five minutes earlier. Eleanor tended to follow her around and was happy to do what her sister wanted. Most of the time, they were the best of friends.
‘No, I won’t,’ Eleanor retorted, her lower lip beginning to tremble. ‘Tell her, Mummy.’
‘Why don’t we let Florence finish stirring while we line the cake tin? Plus, we still have to make the icing.’ Jessica pressed a kiss into her daughter’s glossy, brown hair. Even though they shared the same long lashes and dark brown eyes, they weren’t identical. Florence’s complexion was almost alabaster, while Eleanor took after Henry’s family with darker skin and a wide mouth.
‘Can we make it green?’ Florence said, losing interest in the batter as she turned to where the icing sugar was sitting on the kitchen island.
Jessica swallowed. The plan had been to make a cake to celebrate what would have been her father’s sixtieth birthday, but the girls had seen the bowls and insisted on helping. Besides, it had been a difficult enough day; upsetting them would only make it worse.
‘Green it is.’ She nodded. ‘Now, we’d better get moving if we want to get it finished before tea time.’
The twins immediately looked at each other, eyes solemn as they did that slightly disconcerting thing when they appeared to talk to each other in their silent language.
An hour later, the spilt flour and sugar had been cleaned up, and the freshly iced cake sat centre stage on the expensive marble kitchen island, while Jessica had also managed to prepare the rest of the meal. She was just taking the leg of lamb out of the oven to rest when Henry stepped through the door, golf bag still slung across his shoulder.
‘This can’t be the right house. It’s far too quiet,’ he said, the way he always did when he arrived home. He leaned the clubs against the wall and stretched out his arms. The twins knew the cue, and they both rushed towards him, enveloping his legs in a tangled hug. Henry pretended to cry out in pain as he swooped them both up in his arms. The girls giggled, and Jessica’s heart swelled.
Henry hadn’t been traditionally handsome when they’d first met. His legs were short and his torso a bit too long but his nutmeg eyes were kind and his full mouth was quick to smile. But ageing suited him and at thirty-six, his dark hair was becoming streaked with grey, giving him a distinguished air. She’d noticed a few of the school mothers giving him a second look.
But it was Jessica who’d discovered him first.
It was almost eight years ago, at the wedding of a mutual friend, when they’d found themselves sitting at an outlying table. She’d been dating someone else, so had no interest in him, other than as an amusing table companion. After that, their paths continued to cross, and when her current boyfriend had moved to Japan three months later, Henry had asked her out. They’d married the following year.
Her life had changed dramatically since then. Even though her income had continued to increase, she hadn’t known how to spend it. But Henry had been born into a wealthy family and had excellent taste. So, little by little, she’d learnt which boutiques to shop in, what art to hang on the walls, and why one should never let guests help wash up after a supper party.
But, most importantly, he loved their daughters with a ferocity that Jessica wouldn’t have thought possible from his mild demeanour. It was definitely his most attractive quality.
Jessica smoothed down her Rodarte skirt and patted her hair as Henry deposited the twins onto the pair of stools near the island and then he leant over and kissed her. His breath was warm and smelt of mint.
‘How was your grandfather?’
‘Let’s see, he flirted outrageously with the waitress, drank two G and Ts and then stole the salt mill, which we didn’t discover until we’d returned him to the rest home. But overall, he was good. He remembered us all.’ His voice was light, but there was no hiding the worry lines that hovered around his mouth.
‘I’m so pleased,’ Jessica said, knowing how helpless Henry felt about his grandfather’s declining health. It was why he liked to play a game of golf after each visit, to help him unwind and process.
‘That makes two of us,’ he agreed before inspecting the cake on the bench. The green icing had been covered in bright pink sprinkles and tiny plastic dinosaurs. ‘And what do we have here?’
‘It’s for supper.’ Florence leant forwards on the bench, brown hair brushing across her cheeks.
‘We made it,’ Eleanor clarified, in case there was any confusion over the provenance. ‘And it’s green.’
‘That was my idea.’ Florence turned her attention to Jessica. ‘We let Mummy help a little bit.’
Henry’s lips twitched, and he turned to inspect the carefully set table and then over to the simmering pots on the Aga and the leftover sprigs of rosemary still sitting on the worktop. ‘I can see that. It all looks delicious. Shall we go and play some games until it’s ready?’ he said before turning to her. ‘Unless you need a hand.’
‘Everything’s under control. It should be ready in about forty minutes.’
‘Come on, Daddy. You can play dressing-up with us.’ Florence climbed down from the stool and tugged at his arms.
‘Can I be the princess again?’ he asked, voice serious. The girls dragged him away, giggling in delight. He turned to Jessica and blew her a kiss.
She waited until they’d headed upstairs to the dressing-up box in the girls’ playroom before turning to her laptop. The potatoes needed at least another half hour, so she could start reviewing the contracts for work that had been sitting on her hard drive. She’d missed a couple of days last week because Florence had a cold. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop the work from piling up. She was an in-house lawyer for Zelco, a large international company that worked in oil, minerals and banking. The role crossed a number of different time zones, making it anything but nine to five. She didn’t mind the irregular hours though. It was fulfilling and also let her have enough time with the girls.
But before she could bring herself to open the files, tiny needles of anxiety stabbed at her, leaving her unsettled. It was no surprise. She’d spent all day trying to ignore the mounting dread that was building in her stomach, but she knew from experience that she couldn’t hold it at bay forever.
Her father’s birthday always did that to her. A reminder that he was no longer there.
She swallowed, pleased that the girls weren’t around to see her. It had been twenty years since he’d died, but it was still a raw, gaping wound that left her dizzy.
She’d been twelve when the police had turned up at their house. Her mother had immediately sent her upstairs, but Jessica only went as far as the lounge, so that she could listen as they’d spoken in hushed voices.
‘So sorry.’
‘Car accident.’
‘Died instantly.’
She didn’t cry at first, because it had been like a dream. Like she was listening to her teachers reading a story from a book. But the next day, her mother had made her wear a black dress, and they’d gone to the hospital to visit her older sister, Ashleigh, who’d been a passenger in the car. Jessica had kept looking around for her father, somehow believing he would be in one of the beds. But he wasn’t. That’s when she’d begun to sob uncontrollably.
Even now, she still expected him to walk through the door, soothing away her worries by his mere presence. He’d been her champion. Her friend. The person who’d wiped away her tears. Not only had his death taken him away from her, but six months later, her supposedly God-fearing mother had started dating someone else.
Like Jessica’s dad had never even existed.
It was disgusting. Disrespectful.
Wayne Driscoll was everything her father wasn’t. A boring accountant who went bird watching and made model trains. Ashleigh called him ‘Saint Wayne’, because he didn’t drink or smoke, but Jessica refused to join in on the joke.
At first, she’d been unable to understand how her mother could go from someone