Death Row (Alibis Collection, #1)

by Freida McFadden

It’s been a week, and every single time he goes to “work,” he comes back stinking of eau de slut.

There’s also, of course, his constant absences. And the lack of interest in sex. The first couple of years we were married, we were hot and heavy. And even after tha...

It’s only in the last six months or so, right when his “work schedule” has ramped up, that he has com...

determined to follow him, the same way I did with Franklin when I suspected he was cheating on me all those years ago. I had been so furious with Franklin—I was planning to go postal on his beloved car with a Louisville Slugger. But the cute boy with the infectious grin who taught me how to hawk phlegm into a Diet Coke kept me from doing anything rash.

No, I strongly suspect the recipient of this intended gift has already received it. Maybe she’s wearing it right now. How dare he? Noel never buys me jewelry, and certainly never anything this expensive. Apparently, I’m not worth it. But she is.

This isn’t really happening. It can’t be. Noel wouldn’t cheat on you—this must all be a terrible dream.

Except, as it turns out, the message is from Kinsey: Feel like grabbing dinner out tonight? I’m so sick of home cooking.

Noel swore he would never cheat on me. He promised on his life. He knows it’s something I’m sensitive about, and the fact that he would betray me this way feels unforgivable.

I fill a pot with water and put it on the stove. I turn the dial on, but the flame doesn’t catch right away. Our stove is a piece of shit and really needs to be replaced,

I wait for the burner to ignite. The odor of gas hits my nostrils, which twitch in response. This seems to happen too much with this stove, but Noel is never bothered by it because he can’t smell the gas.