The Real Mrs. Price

 

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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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To the
spirit
of love, regardless of what it looks like

 

Acknowledgments

It was an extremely demanding writing year for me in 2015. Deadlines came faster than I could mark them down on my calendar, but thankfully, it's over and I'm looking forward to this year and to enjoying the fruits of my labor.

I'd like to reach out and thank some folks who have been graciously supportive and uplifting, which always means so much to me and to all authors. We spend a lot of time working away in our little bubbles, writing like maniacs and wondering why? Why do I continue to do this when I could be outside enjoying this nice, sunny day or at a party with everyone else, or just not sitting behind a desk, hunched over a laptop for what feels like an eternity. We do it because we love it, of course, the good and the bad, and because if we don't do it, we feel weird.

So, thank you, Johnathan Royal (of the YouTube channel Books, Beauty, and Stuff) for your dedication to and hard work on your craft of reviewing our books and sharing them with your audience.

And to you, Orsayor Simmons (of Book Referees), again for your time in giving thoughtful, provoking reviews and supporting authors who spend entirely too much time living in our own heads. We can count on Book Referees to give fair and objective reviews of our work, and in the end, that's all any author really wants from a reviewer.

To the Nubian Circle Book Club in Orlando, I didn't do a lot of traveling last year, but I couldn't wait to take a trip down South when you ladies reached out because I loved our visit together the first time so much. Keep me on your list for future visits, and remember to invite me down to Florida between the months of December and March. That's when it's coldest here in Colorado.

I need to give a special shout-out to Shonell Bacon for gifting me with my all-time favorite coffee cup and for appreciating that the term
cup
is subjective when it comes to coffee addicts (bigger is better).

I'm still fortunate enough to have my fantastic agent, Sara Camilli, and for her, I am forever grateful. Alexandra Sehulster, editorial assistant and all-around great individual, you have been such a pleasure to work with, and even though someday I'm guessing you'll get promoted to some big-time job in publishing, I sure hope that you don't go too far away, and if you do, just know that you are amazing.

Ms. Monique Patterson, my editor at St. Martin's Press, thank you for letting me explore and delve into some new and exciting adventures. You have no idea how much I will always cherish working with you and how blessed I know that I am because of it.

 

Drowning on Dry Land

A
ND JUST LIKE THAT,
the fragile concept of what he believed was his reality snapped like a twig. His wife, Lucy, had destroyed him with three little words. “You killed Chuck.”

The dominoes were falling, one by one, creating a chain effect, and everything he'd held dear was crumbling around him. A nauseating knot twisted in his gut.

“Don't look at me like that, Lucy.”

God! Why did she have to say it? Why did she have to look at him like that—like he was a stranger? Or evil? Like she was mortified by him. Disgusted. It pissed him off because she didn't understand. Not everything. Lucy didn't know what Ed had been going through, how he'd been suffering and had been derailed by the unexpected direction his life had taken because of Chuck.

“You killed him,” she said accusingly. “I know you did it, Ed. Don't lie. Don't try to deny it. You did it. Nothing you can say…”

She stopped. Stared. Her blue eyes widened, and her lower lip quivered. Lucy's body quaked, and it was as if all of a sudden, she realized the magnitude of what it meant to confront him. Ed realized it, too.

Never hit a woman. Never, ever hit a woman. But he couldn't help himself. This time, this one time, Ed's emotions erupted like a volcano, and his fist seemed to be separate from his body as it landed hard against the side of her face. Impulse. He regretted it as soon as he'd done it, but the pressure had been building in him for days, even weeks, and Lucy had brought it to the surface with this accusation of hers.

“No!” he shouted, reaching for her as he watched her fall back onto the floor.

For some reason, Ed's thoughts and his blame circled back to his friend. Chuck had started all of this, putting his gotdamn nose into Ed's business. His noble ass had threatened to turn Ed in.

“It's not too late, Ed,” Chuck had told him. “If we get on top of this thing now, you can turn it around. I can make this go away. Disappear.”

Ed had gotten selfish, sloppy, and cocky. Still, Ed had had this whole thing under control before Chuck's meddlesome ass stepped in and fucked it all up.

Lucy lay flat on her back at his feet, moaning, rolling her head from side to side with blood oozing from one corner of her mouth and staining her teeth. His beautiful Lucy. What had he done? Ed dropped to his knees on the floor beside her, then crawled and hovered over her with tears flooding his eyes. He stretched out on top of her, lowered his body onto hers, sobbed like a helpless, remorseful child, and tenderly stroked her hair.

“I'm sor—sorry, baby. Lucy? I didn't mean to.”

Ed had snapped, the threat looming over him like a storm cloud pressed down on him until he could hardly breathe. In the beginning, he'd been so careful, so diligent, but somewhere along the way, he'd gotten careless.

This was not right. Ed wasn't right. Money had meant everything. The lure of it, the promise of it had made him do things that he'd have never dreamed of doing, jeopardizing his career, his marriage, freedom, and now his life and hers. He loved her so much. Even now, he loved her more than he ever dreamed that it was possible to love another human being.

“Baby? Sweetheart, can you hear me? Lucy?”

Her eyes fluttered desperately, and then she fixed her unsettled gaze on him, grimaced, and struggled to get free of him. His Lucy. His beautiful wife. Ed couldn't believe what he'd done to her, but she shouldn't have said anything. Even if she knew, she should've kept her mouth shut. Ed had crossed a dangerous line. Without realizing it, Lucy had crossed it, too. She thought that this was just about Chuck Harris, but he was just a small piece of a much bigger and more complicated puzzle.

“They're calling Chuck's death a homicide, Ed,” she'd blurted out as soon as he'd walked in the house a few weeks after they'd found the body.

She was so smart, too smart for her own good sometimes. He'd always loved that about her. He'd tease her that she had too much time on her hands and that she needed other hobbies besides him. In the year that the two of them had been married, she'd fixated on Ed, watching his every move, hanging on his every word. It was like living under a microscope, and whenever he mentioned it, she would get defensive.

“You knew that I was an overachiever when you married me, sweetie,” she'd reminded him once. “You're my husband, Ed. I'm supposed to pay attention to you, just like I expect for you to pay attention to me.”

Chuck had been his friend and colleague, and ever since his body was discovered near the cabin he owned in Cripple Creek, she'd been obsessed with finding out what had happened to him. Ed had told her to back off and let the police handle finding Chuck's killer, but Lucy wouldn't let it go. Ed had to let it play out and pretended to be as concerned as she was.

“This is so terrible,” she'd say, watching the story unfold on the local evening news. “Who'd want to kill Chuck? Why?”

Ed would shake his head in dismay. “I have no idea, Lucy. He was a good man.”

“Get—off—me—Ed,” she said, spraying blood in his face. Tears ran down the sides of her face. “Get off!”

“Shhhh,” he said, his lips trembling as he stroked her hair. “You keep your voice down and I'll get up. We can talk about this, Lucy. We have to talk about it.”

Lucy wouldn't stop shaking. She wouldn't stop crying.

“Shut up,” he said, his voice quaking.

She recoiled like she was afraid of him, and she had every reason to be, because Ed's thoughts collided dangerously together in his head. He was afraid of himself and of what he was capable of. He was afraid for her.

It took several moments, but eventually, Lucy managed to calm down.

Ed carefully lifted his body off her and tried to help her up, but Lucy withdrew like he was infected, drew her knees to her chest, and scooted on her bottom across the floor away from him. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand and whimpered at the sight of her own blood.

Ed felt helpless and sick to his stomach over what he'd done to her. “Lucy,” he said hoarsely, desperate to connect with her again on this one thing. He took a step toward her and squatted. “Baby, we can fix this,” he reasoned. The irony was that there was nothing repairable about any of this. “I know you're scared, and I don't blame you. I shouldn't have hit you, but—” Ed reminded himself that he hadn't meant to hurt Lucy. “It won't happen again,” he promised. It felt as empty as it sounded. “There's a lot that you don't know or understand. I've been under a great deal of pressure lately, and—” He had to make her understand the gravity of this situation. “This doesn't have to derail us, Lucy.”

How did she know about Chuck? If Ed was going to try to fix this with her, he needed answers. How could she possibly know?

“Who told you, baby?” he asked as carefully and as tenderly as he could. “How'd you know?”

She shook her head back and forth and pinned her back up against the wall as if she were trying to disappear inside it to get away from him. Lucy suddenly rolled over on all fours and started to crawl away from him. Ed caught her, grabbing her by the hem of her cardigan, but when she slipped out of it, he grabbed a handful of her hair.

Lucy cried out, and to shut her up, he wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled in her ear. “You need to calm the fuck down, Lucy. I'm not going to hurt you. Just calm down and tell me how you know.”