Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

“My wife has been ill for the past sixteen years. Her illness, as I’m sure you’re aware, is made worse by stress and hardship. Telling her Alyssa had lost her battle with meningitis would’ve killed her. She still doesn’t know.”

As if scalded, Carole let go of Bill’s arm and stepped away. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, William Earnest Caldwell! Was your concern for that paltry little weakling who can’t die fast enough the reason why you saw fit to have me raise a housekeeper’s daughter as my heiress?” The venom spilled from her words, washing away her self-control but hitting the mark with Bill, whose rage was bubbling, about to explode. “I don’t believe it!” she bellowed. “It was about the money, wasn’t it? You wanted it all for yourself.” She drew one step closer, then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It would’ve killed you if the estate went to Blanche’s son, wouldn’t it, my darling boy?” Her nostrils flared as she locked eyes with Bill. “Well, guess what? It will.”

Rage dilated Bill’s pupils. He clenched his fists and took a step closer. Intervening, Kay grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Carole. The two were bound to kill each other if she didn’t keep them apart.

But Carole wouldn’t be silent either, seemingly satisfied to hurt her son as much as she could, when only moments earlier, she’d promised him support. “Having an heir was your only shot to cut Dylan off,” she carried on. “You thought you had no other choice than to bring a housekeeper’s child to this home.” She paused, looking around as if trying to find something to throw at Bill, but the vast lobby was empty, except for the paintings on the walls and a small console table devoid of any objects. Frustrated, she stomped her foot against the marble floor, the clacking of her heel resounding like a gunshot in the electrified silence. “To you, even a housekeeper’s child was better than Dylan. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he blurted. “I could’ve had armies of children. I was only forty at the time. What are you talking about?”

“Well, we all know you couldn’t have,” Carole whispered, “now, don’t we, dear?” She breathed, a long sigh leaving her withered, perfectly rouged lips. Then she straightened her spine and pushed her chin forward. When she spoke, her voice was cold and factual, devoid of all emotion, as if she’d managed to unload all her baggage somehow. “I don’t want this scandal to tarnish the family name, and for that, I’ll make sure you have the best legal defense money can buy. But it ends here. I’ll make the necessary changes to my dispositions, and you will be entirely cut off from the business, effective immediately.”

Bill didn’t lower his gaze, and didn’t react as Kay would’ve expected. Only that undefined grief washed over his face, through his eyes. He’d been expecting that; his mother’s reaction wasn’t news to him. When Rose had been killed, probably his entire plan had fallen apart.

And that meant only one thing, but Kay thought she’d ask anyway. “Mr. Caldwell, if that’s true, why did you kill Rose?” she asked, watching carefully for microexpressions on his face, although psychopaths displayed significantly fewer than the average person.

He didn’t blink, his pupils didn’t dilate, his hands were still; the same grief bathed his eyes for another beat, then cleared away.

“I didn’t kill my daughter,” he said calmly, just as Blanche entered the living room, walking quickly toward them, followed by Dylan. “I swear I didn’t.”

“And I believe him,” Blanche said, stopping by his side and taking hold of his arm with both her hands. “I can vouch for that. Bill didn’t kill his daughter.”

50Crazy

The wind had picked up, rolling in frozen gusts off the Mount Chester versants and rushing along the edge of the ravine. Some were powerful enough to whistle through the cypress needles, moving the branch that still withstood Kirsten’s weight. Terrified of each movement, she hung on to the branch as tight as she could, her muscles aching from effort, her heart thumping in her chest.

Every now and then, when she dared inhale a lungful of air and shouted, she called for help. Her quivering voice echoed against the walls of the ravine, silencing beasts and birds alike. No one answered, and, after a few moments, nature resumed its concert of sounds. The coyotes below gnawed at the remains scattered all over the bottom of that abyss, occasionally sparring over a meaty bone.

Whimpering, she cringed when a stronger gust shifted the branch, threatening to shake her off like an unwanted burden. Eventually, the branch settled, now almost horizontal, the tree giving in beneath her gradually, as if eroded by her weight, slowly defeated. Soon it would tilt downward, and she would slip, unable to hold on against gravity.

Shadows were starting to elongate. She’d held on since sunrise, and the soreness in her muscles told her she couldn’t hold on for much longer. She knew there would come a moment when she’d let go, either overcome by exhaustion or thrown off by a wind gust. She’d almost dozed off a couple of times but had forced herself to snap out of it and wake up, renewing her grip on the branch even if the bark cut into her skin.

She’d wrapped her thighs around the branch and had pushed herself closer to the trunk, where it was thicker, one painstaking inch at a time, afraid to let go, yet desperate to move away from the vacillating tip. Then she’d settled, weary, panting and whimpering at the same time, dizzy from looking down and scared out of her mind.

“Anybody?” she called, but her voice came out weak, tiredness taking its toll despite the adrenaline that raged through her body. “Help!”

She listened, but no one answered. “Somebody, please help me,” she cried again, as loud as she could, but her call ended in