Death Row (Alibis Collection, #1)

by Freida McFadden

First, I am currently on death row for murdering my husband. Second, my attorney has filed one last appeal, but if that is rejected, I will be executed by lethal injection in two weeks. And last, I am innocent.

I didn’t kill my husband.

Visitors are rare. Usually, it’s just my lawyer, Clarence Bowman.

Noel wouldn’t have minded prison food as much as I do. He lost his sense of smell when he was younger during a game of peewee football.

How could anyone think that I killed Noel? I had no motive—he was the love of my life. And most of all, I have an alibi. Yet here I am, about to be executed for his murder.

And the worst part of it all is how much I miss him.

but then today, the blond who ruined my life just walked into the café where I work and plopped down at one of my tables.

“Spitting barely does anything,” he lectures me. “You’re supposed to hawk up phlegm. That’s the best way to do it.” “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Well, I wasn’t aware of that.” “Let me show you.” The boy seizes the drink from my hand

The dreams seem to be getting more vivid, which is even more frustrating. I still remember the day Noel and I met at that café, and in my dreams, it’s like I am there. I can almost reach out and touch him.

The part I don’t understand, though, is why. Why would they think I killed my husband?

I was having dinner with my friend Kinsey. She vouched for me, as did the waitstaff at the restaurant.

But the prosecutor argued otherwise. It doesn’t matter if she had an alibi. She set the whole thing up. If not for this woman, Noel Kemper would still be alive.

“We don’t have plenty of time.” I let out a tortured sigh. “Noel, I told you that wedding venues book out a year in advance. I told you that you needed to book it right away. And now it’s too late.”

“What?” “Are you . . .” He squints at me. “Are you saying that you’re going to call the Vineyard and pretend to be Marie Machudo to cancel their reservation?” “Uh, yes.” “Seriously?”

“Let me call. I’ll be Albert. I’m a much better liar than you are.”

have an alibi,” I remind him. “I was with Kinsey.” “That’s true,” he concedes, “but the prosecutor convinced the jury that you set up the explosion to happen in advance. And the appeals judge agreed.”

That man. He looks so much like . . . “Rhea,” I gasp. “That man over there, talking to the redhead. Who is that?” Rhea ignores me. “Come on. Time to go.” “But . . . wait! Just one second. Who is—”

“Time to go, Kemper.” I look back one last time at the man in the dark suit. He’s talking to the redheaded inmate, his attention focused on her, but then, just as Rhea is pulling me from the room, he raises his eyes to meet mine. Oh my God.

It’s ...

even when I fall asleep that night on my crappy mattress with Pat the Rat staring at me through the darkness.

After he finished his postdoc, he got a job at a pharmaceutical company, and even though he warned me that the workload would be more than we were used to, it’s been rough.

standing just a little bit too close to a woman I don’t recognize. What the hell is going on here?

“You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I will always be faithful to you.” “You swear?” “On my life.” He takes another step closer to me. “And you know it’s true, because if I ever did cheat on you, you’d probably kill me.”

Noel has lost his sense of smell, but I haven’t, and I am very aware that he reeks of another woman’s perfume.

I want to look that man in the eyes. When I do, I will know exactly who he is.

No, I strongly suspect the recipient of this intended gift has already received it.

If I came into my kitchen and smelled gas the way I do now, I would know not to use the oven and possibly to call the fire department. Noel wouldn’t know, though.

Yes, Officer, I was with my friend Kinsey all evening. It was such a terrible tragedy. If only I had been home, I would have smelled the gas. I could have stopped it. Noel deserves this. I loved him with my entire heart and soul, and what did he do? He betrayed me in the worst possible way. I take out my phone and type a message to Kinsey: Let’s go out!

Slowly, I walk toward the man dressed in black with the white stripe on his collar.

“My name is Lisbeth Sharp. We haven’t met before, but I recently came aboard the project that your husband is working on. I’ve been a chemist for forty years, so I was hoping to lend my expertise.”

And yes, I am 100 percent sure that this man is my husband. He says his name is Father Richard Decker, but now that I am sitting across from him, even with a pane of glass separating us, it is clear to me who he is. He has the same face, the same bump on his nose from when he broke it during an illegal tackle in peewee football, and most of all, he has the same eyes.

“Noel.” I put my hands together in an act of prayer or pleading—maybe a little of both. “Please help me. Please. I love you.”

“I love you so much, Talia,” he says in a voice that now sounds like his own. “I . . .”

“That was my husband!” I tell Rhea as she helps me to my feet. “He admitted it! He’s still alive!” “Uh-huh . . .” “It’s him,” I insist. “I told everyone that I didn’t kill him. He’s still alive! He’s pretending to be a chaplain.”

“My name is Albert,” he says. It’s the same name as the man whose wedding venue I stole all those years ago. “I’m going to insert an IV into your arm.”

“I didn’t do it.” My voice slurs on the words. “I didn’t kill my husband. I’m innocent.” Albert is quiet for a moment, his fingers frozen on the syringe that will paralyze my muscles. He exchanges looks with Rhea and then lets out a deep sigh. “Yes,” he says, “we know.” What?

just got all your messages.” “Don’t turn on the stove!” “I won’t!” He laughs. “Actually, I stopped off to get fast food on the way back. I didn’t feel like spaghetti and meatballs, so there was no reason to turn on the stove. But I called the fire department, and they’re going to check things out.”

I’ll be home soon, a Mack truck going much too fast slams into my car. For a split second, I hear crunching metal and shattering glass, and then everything goes black.

head. Beep, beep, beep, beep . . . “It’s too soon.” It’s Noel’s voice, suddenly in the room with me as well. Why is he here? Chaplains aren’t allowed in the room during executions. “It’s only been a month. She . . . she still might wake up. It’s possible, isn’t it, Dr. Bowman?”

“She hasn’t made any attempts to breathe on her own since the accident.

“I’m sorry.” Bowman—Dr. Bowman—sounds genuinely sad. “Your wife has an advanced directive, though. She didn’t want to be kept alive this way, and we have to honor her wishes. We’ve waited as long as we can. We even had Father Decker come in yesterday to give her last rites.”

“I’m okay,” I say, “but I had this bizarre ‘life flashing before my eyes’ moment. I imagined that . . . that I had been in a terrible accident and I was in a coma. And I kept having these dreams about you, except the dreams would always end before you could kiss me.”