The Widow's Husband's Secret Lie

by Freida McFadden

There is no possible way you could know the truth. There’s no way you could ever guess that the killer is actually Steve. Wait. Oh, crap. Ugh. Well, nobody reads the prologue anyway.

“The Boyfriend… Is this any good?” “Oh, yes—I love it. But I’m on page two, and I’m pretty sure I already know what the twist is going to be.” I take another tentative sip of tea. “Have you ever heard of the author, Freida McFadden?” “Nope.” “She writes psychological thrillers. The kind with short chapters and lots of twists that are shocking but also kind of completely out of nowhere.” “Still nope.” She hesitates. “Oh, wait. Did she write Fifty Shades of Grey?” “Uh, no.” “Harry Potter?” “No.” “Then no, never heard of her. What else did she write?” “She wrote this one thriller novella that was supposed to be satirical.” “Satirical? What does that mean?” “Like, it makes fun of other thrillers in a way that’s supposed to be over the top and funny.” Poppy frowns thoughtfully. “Was it actually funny?” “Eh. If you like that sort of thing.” I shrug. “Oh! She also wrote The Housemaid.” “Housemaid? Is she British?” Poppy asks. “Oh, I’m not sure. Yes, probably.”

The director of the psychiatric ward is my father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former college roommate. He’ll do whatever I want him to do—trust me.”

cereal. I put a banana peel on the top step of our steep staircase. But in the end, it was the cut brake line that did him in.

“I’ve never met anyone who had over thirty overdue library books before.” I grab a tissue from the box on the table and dab at my eyes. “I mean, two or three, yes, I can see how that could happen. Over ten would be bad enough. But over thirty?”

I gasp. Grant killed his first wife too? I am stunned. When he told me about how they sailed out to the middle of the sea on his private yacht on the night of their third wedding anniversary and she slipped and fell off the deck with no witnesses, leaving him her vast fortune, it sounded so innocent.