I went home for car papers—and overheard my husband laughing on the phone: “I messed with her brakes.” 666

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Chapter 1

THEME:
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I went home for car papers—and overheard my husband laughing on the phone: “I messed with her brakes.” 666
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For several seconds, I stared at the email, unable to understand what I was seeing.

The subject line read:

Funeral Home Confirmation—Service Scheduled for S. Pierce.

Below it was a confirmation from a funeral home in Westchester County. The message acknowledged receipt of a deposit for a private memorial service and listed a tentative date three weeks away.

The contact name was Logan Pierce.

The deceased person's name had not been entered. Instead, the form contained only an initial.

S. Pierce.

My name was Claire Pierce.

My sister's name was Megan Sullivan.

Neither of us had an S as our first initial.

Then I noticed the address attached to the booking.

It was the house Logan and I had shared for eight years.

The name on the payment card was his.

And in the notes field, someone had written:

Family requests discretion. Final arrangements to be confirmed following an anticipated death.

My hands went numb.

The email had been forwarded to me from Logan's account, apparently because he had selected the wrong address while sending a copy to someone else.

I didn't know who S. Pierce was supposed to be.

I didn't know whether the funeral booking was part of his plan or another attempt to frighten me.

But I knew I had just overheard my husband admit to interfering with my car's brakes and speak about my sister's funeral.

I could no longer afford to guess.

I needed the police.

And I needed them immediately.

My name is Claire Pierce. I was thirty-four years old when I discovered that the man I'd loved for almost a decade might be planning to kill me.

Until that afternoon, I'd believed the worst part of our marriage was already behind me.

Logan and I had separated six weeks earlier.

We hadn't filed for divorce yet, but we'd agreed that I would stay with my younger sister, Megan, while we worked out the practical arrangements.

At least, that was what I'd told everyone.

The truth was considerably more complicated.

Logan had spent the final two years of our marriage making me feel as though every disagreement was evidence that something was wrong with me.

If I questioned an expense, I was controlling.

If I asked where he'd been, I was paranoid.

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