The Necklace
180 pages
English

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180 pages
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Description

Susan Lentigo’s daughter was murdered twenty years ago – now, at long last, she will witness the killer’s execution.

But on her journey she discovers shocking new evidence that suggests the condemned man is innocent – and the real killer is still out there. Even worse, her new suspect has a young daughter who’s at terrible risk.

The FBI refuses to reopen the case. They – and Susan’s own mother – believe she’s having an emotional breakdown. With no money or time to waste, but with the help of two unlikely allies – a cynical teenage girl and the retired cop who made the original arrest – Susan sets out to win justice for the condemned man and her daughter.

‘One small-town woman’s quest for the most poignant kind of justice you could imagine.’ Lee Child

‘[A] unique and powerful thriller following one mother’s cross-country journey to find the truth.’ Lisa Gardner, New York Times best-selling author

‘Fast-paced, riveting’ Alice Hunter, best-selling author of The Serial Killer’s Wife

‘Surprising, propulsive, and poignant. I inhaled this novel’ Meg Gardiner

‘I devoured The Necklace in a single evening’ Hollie Overton


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Publié par
Date de parution 01 mars 2022
Nombre de lectures 0
EAN13 9781915054678
Langue English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Legend Press Ltd, 51 Gower Street, London, WC1E 6HJ info@legendpress.co.uk | www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents Matt Witten 2021
The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
First published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing, Sarasota, Florida | www.oceanviewpub.com
Print ISBN 978-1-91505-4-661
Ebook ISBN 978-1-91505-4-678
Set in Times. Printed by CPI Print
Cover design by Christian Storm, Oceanview Publishing
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Matt Witten is a TV writer, novelist, playwright and screenwriter. His television writing includes such shows as House, Pretty Little Liars , and Law Order . His TV scripts have been nominated for an Emmy and two Edgars, and he has written four mystery novels, winning a Malice Domestic award for best debut novel. He has also written stage plays and for national magazines.
For Nancy
CHAPTER ONE
S UNDAY , A PRIL 7, T WENTY Y EARS A GO
Which do you like better? Amy asked. The purple dolphin or the pink duck?
Here s the fun part, said Susan, ruffling her daughter s silky hair. We can get both.
They were at the Soave Faire Craft Store in Glens Falls, picking out beads so Amy could make a necklace like her friend Kate s. These long, leisurely Sunday afternoons together after church were Susan s favorite part of the week.
Are they expensive? Amy asked, her big brown eyes open wide.
Susan hated that her seven-year-old went straight to expensive. Nope a dope, she said. Get as many as you want.
So they bought a hundred beads, and as they left the store Amy jumped up and down with excitement. We got eleven animals and eleven and a half different colors! she crowed. Susan had been a quiet, shy girl herself, and she thought, Where did this little bundle of energy come from? Not that she was complaining.
They went next door to Baskin-Robbins for jamoca almond fudge. Is it expensive? Amy asked.
Good grief . No worries, Susan said. Let s get double scoops.
Danny hadn t sold a house in two months, and clearly Amy was feeling the tension. But his luck would turn around-it always did.
Hopefully today s open house was going well.
After they had every last lick of their gigantic ice cream cones-the teenage girl at the counter, charmed by Amy, had given them extra big scoops-they got into Susan s Dodge Dart and drove back home through the Adirondack foothills. It was early April and the trees were starting to bud.
Mommy, why do frogs croak? Amy asked.
That s how they find girlfriends.
Amy giggled. No, really.
I m serious. That s their way of saying, I m looking for looooove. She drew out the word really long, and Amy thought that was hilarious. For the rest of the trip, they tried to outdo each other with how long they could make looooove last.
I looooooooove you, Amy said.
I loooooooooooove you more than the moon looooooooooooves the stars, Susan replied.
CHAPTER TWO
S ATURDAY , N OVEMBER 27, P RESENT D AY
Beer in hand, Susan watched the crowd two-stepping on the dance floor and thought how strange it was, everybody drinking and partying on a night that was all about a brutal murder. Pink and purple balloons and silver tinsel decorated the old wooden walls and the Stony Creek Boys were playing for free. This was the Crow Bar s biggest night since summer season.
Terri, Susan s best friend and fellow waitress at the diner, touched her shoulder. Wanna dance?
Susan started to say no without even thinking, but Terri leaned in closer and said, Amy would want you to. She loved to dance.
It was true. Amy started dancing to country music when she was a toddler, and she would have loved this party. So finally Susan said, Okay, and got up out of their booth.
People noticed within seconds. Three young women standing nearby-Amy s old childhood friends-smiled encouragement, and everybody made way for her. Susan honestly couldn t remember the last time she d been out on a dance floor, and her bones felt stiff. But she told herself nobody would be judging her tonight.
Terri put her arms around Susan as the band turned it up a notch. Susan s feet began searching for the rhythm. She looked around the bar and saw the crowd facing toward her, clapping. Everyone she knew in the whole town was here, and it felt like they were all dancing with her.
She closed her eyes for a moment and swayed, listening to the twanging of the guitar. I should be grateful for this party , she thought. After all, the whole thing was for her benefit.
She looked up at the wall behind the bar. There was a huge photo of Amy from twenty years ago, when she was seven. It was blown up from a faded Polaroid, so it was a little fuzzy. But Amy s wide, gap-toothed smile and joyful spirit came through loud and clear. Her light brown hair fell to her shoulders and she wore a multicolored beaded necklace. If you got close you could see the individual beads: the purple dolphin, the pink duck...
This was Susan s favorite picture of her daughter. She d taken it the week Amy was killed.
Terri whispered in her ear, Here comes Evan.
Susan saw Evan Mullens dancing closer to her. Evan was fifty-seven, two years older than she was, and freshly divorced. He d moved back to town last year to run the Adirondack Folk School and seemed to like her. He came by the diner at least once a week and flirted with her, and Terri always said if Susan encouraged him just a little bit, he d ask her out.
He wasn t bad looking, either. But Susan was as out of practice with that as she was with dancing. So now she looked at Evan s big smile and red checkered shirt and gave him the briefest of smiles in return, then looked away.
She found herself facing her mother, sitting in a nearby booth drinking beer and bobbing her head to the music. Lenora waved to her, then leaned past her oxygen tank and shouted over the music, Nice party, huh?
Right, nice party . Despite herself, Susan felt a sodden mass of buried rage rise back to life in her chest. What happened to Amy was her mom s fault-
No. Don t go there .
The song ended with a bang of drums and smash of guitars, and everybody cheered. Johnny, the long-haired, craggy-faced lead singer, acknowledged the applause by taking off his purple cowboy hat and giving a sweeping bow. He wasn t the world s greatest singer but made up for it with what Lenora called vim.
He called out, How s everybody doing this evening?
The crowd whooped and hollered, and Johnny gave a big grin. But then he put up his hands. Now, as y all know, he said, these festivities ain t just about fun.
The crowd wasn t quite ready to get serious, so they gave Johnny some good-natured boos. Shut up and sing! one drunk guy on the dance floor shouted.
Johnny persisted. We got a higher purpose tonight.
Now everybody turned quiet. The drunk guy started to shout his displeasure, but somebody elbowed him in the side and he stopped in mid-yell.
In honor of which, Johnny continued, taking the microphone off the stand, I would like to call Susan Lentigo, Amy s mom, to the stage. Susan hated speaking in public, but she d had enough experience since her daughter s murder that she d gotten okay at it. So now she smoothed her dark brown hair, adjusted her glasses, and took a deep breath to steady herself as she walked up to the small raised bandstand. She wasn t into clothes as she had been years ago, but she was glad she d let her mom talk her into wearing her nice yellow shirt and putting on some makeup. The crowd clapped respectfully as she climbed the two steps and took the microphone from Johnny s hand.
Hi, everybody, she said, but her mouth was too close to the mic and there was screeching feedback. She saw her mom wince.
Johnny stepped toward her to help out, but she knew what to do. She held the mic a few inches farther away and started over. Hi, everybody. This time it worked.
She looked out at the crowd. Some of these people had known her all her life. They d been here during her childhood, during her marriage, during her tragedy. Many of them had helped her search the woods for Amy.
Now they were helping her again. Every beer the bar sold tonight would help pay her way to the penitentiary in North Dakota next weekend.
I want to thank each and every one of you for coming tonight, she said. She looked over at Parson Mary Parsons, sitting in a booth with a couple of women, in their sixties now, who had brought Susan casseroles every week for about a year after it happened. I want to thank everybody from the church...
Parson Parsons nodded solemnly, and one of the women dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. Susan looked away. The last thing she wanted right now was to break down herself. She had to finish her speech.
She said, Also all the beautiful ladies who work with me over at the diner...
Terri, on the dance floor, called out, We love you, Susan! Terri had been a teenager when Amy was killed, had babysat for her.
Susan smiled briefly a

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