Page 1 of Dead Bled Ringer

Chapter One

ANGELISE

I was curled up on the couch watching true crime documentaries when I heard a motorcycle rev in the distance.

Why was I so obsessed with these? Was it because even though my husband was a chronic cheater and workaholic, at least he wasn’t, like, a psychopath?

My husband provides a good life for me, I reminded myself gloomily.

Henry Santerre was the CEO of a very successful family business and had given meeverything.

This massively chic and modern house in the best neighborhood in town. Numerous expensive overseas trips every year. An unlimited spending account for jewelry or clothing. Any luxury I could ever imagine.

I was 32 years old and I’d been a pampered housewife for seven years. I’d never had to lift afingersince my wedding day. Never worked a day since marrying this man.

But.

I wasn’t the only woman my husband had eyes for.

The lacy panties that weren’t mine in the glove compartment.

The earring that wasn’t mine behind our headboard.

The bitten lips when I went to the company Christmas party. The eyes that shone as they lusted for my tall, dark-haired, handsome husband.

Their eyes saidfuck me again.

Then there were all the pitying glances from my friends.

Because everyone knew Henry was a serial cheater. Whenever I caught him, he’d stop. For a while. Then there would be a new secretary in the building. A hot bartender at a work event. A married woman in his spin class.

And it would begin again, me trying to ignore the signs, deep in denial, hoping against hope that he would change, until I couldn’t ignore it and I’d be forced to confront the shameful, humiliating evidence.

These aren’t my panties, Henry.

Whose are they?

And so it went.

Over and over.

And over.

I put my glass of wine down on the side table as the noisy motorcycle drew closer, breaking through my brooding thoughts.

Whoever was on that bike wasbig, a dark body wreathed in shadow.

Motorcycles didn’t ever come down this street, and a shiver of fear went through me.

After all, I was home alone and it was almost midnight.

Henry was working late again. A merger. Something that was going to mean a lot of money for Santerre, Inc. That’s what he was doing instead of working on our marriage like the therapist had told us to do.

The motorcycle passed by, and my ears strained to hear it leave. It had passed by the house and gone down the next street. Hadn’t it? My fingers with the pretty pink fingernails tightenedon the sofa cushion as the grandfather clock ticked the seconds out slowly.

Tick

Tick