The Witness
Page 1
Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas
‘I was gripped from page one … An atmospheric read which I really enjoyed’
‘Wow! … You won’t be disappointed’
‘Gripping and enthralling … Wonderful’
‘Fantastic! … Such an amazing read!’
‘An entertaining and engrossing read, highly recommended’
‘A suspenseful, compelling plot that kept me up late reading’
‘Brilliant book … Brilliant author’
‘Fast-paced and gripping’
About the Author
TERRY LYNN THOMAS is the USA Today bestselling author of six historical mysteries. The Betrayal and The Witness are the first two books in the Olivia Sinclair series, Terry’s foray into the world of domestic suspense. When she’s not writing, Terry likes to spend time outdoors with her husband and her dogs.
Keep up with Terry on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/terrylynnthomasbooks/), Twitter (@TLThomasbooks), Instagram (@terrylynnthomasbooks) or via her website at www.terrylynnthomas.com.
Also by Terry Lynn Thomas
The Cat Carlisle series
The Silent Woman
The Family Secret
House of Lies
The Sarah Bennett series
The Spirit of Grace
The House of Secrets
The Drowned Woman
The Olivia Sinclair series
The Betrayal
The Witness
TERRY LYNN THOMAS
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HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021
Copyright © Terry Lynn Thomas 2021
Terry Lynn Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008364823
E-book Edition © April 2021 ISBN: 9780008364816
Version: 2021-03-17
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas
About the Author
Also by Terry Lynn Thomas
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1: Olivia
Chapter 2: Olivia
Chapter 3: Brian
Chapter 4: Ebby
Chapter 5: Olivia
Chapter 6: Ebby
Chapter 7: Olivia
Chapter 8: Olivia
Chapter 9: Olivia
Chapter 10: Brian
Chapter 11: Ebby
Chapter 12: Olivia
Chapter 13: Olivia
Chapter 14: Olivia
Chapter 15: Ebby
Chapter 16: Olivia
Chapter 17: Brian
Chapter 18: Mark
Chapter 19: Olivia
Chapter 20: Brian
Chapter 21: Ebby
Chapter 22: Brian
Chapter 23: Olivia
Chapter 24: Olivia
Chapter 25: Ebby
Chapter 26: Brian
Chapter 27: Ebby
Chapter 28: Olivia
Chapter 29: Seth Woodson
Chapter 30: Olivia
Chapter 31: Ebby
Chapter 32: Brian
Chapter 33: Olivia
Chapter 34: Olivia
Chapter 35: Ebby
Chapter 36: Ebby
Chapter 37: Brian
Chapter 38: Olivia
Chapter 39: Olivia
Chapter 40: Ebby
Extract
Acknowledgements
Author’s Letter
Dear Reader …
Keep Reading …
About the Publisher
This book is dedicated to all the writers I’ve met along the way. You rock.
Prologue
Thirteen-year-old Ebby Engstrom wanted to die as he rode his bike home in the cold December night, his thighs on fire as he pedaled faster and faster. His lungs burned, but the pain caused by the physical exertion was an instant panacea to his broken heart. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Mary Beth slow dancing with a seventeen-year-old high school student. Granted she was drunk – Ebby had the vomit stains on his new sweatshirt to prove it – but even that knowledge didn’t take away the pain. He let the hot, salty tears run down his cheeks, hoping he’d cry himself out before he got home. His mother could not see him crying, especially over a girl.
Stopping at the bottom of his drive, Ebby looked up at his family house, the lights in the windows a welcoming beacon. His dad had died this past June, six months and three days ago, to be exact. The sight of the home and the lights on in his dad’s study just made Ebby’s heartache worse. How he longed to share the crappy evening and Mary Beth’s betrayal with his dad, who could be counted on to say just the right thing to soothe Ebby’s broken heart. Ebby’s mother wasn’t nearly as understanding. She was strict, uncompromising, and took great pride in running her house like a tight ship. Ebby had to leave his broken heart at the door, or his mother would take one look at him and know something was wrong. If she knew that her youngest son was a mess because of a girl, she’d wave off the emotion as unimportant, and tell him to buck up and be a man.
As Ebby wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve, the rain started. He rushed up the driveway, eager to take a hot shower and wash the events of the past two hours down the drain. Maybe he could get Allegra to make him hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. If not, he’d make his own. Take it to bed. Maybe he could fall asleep and forget today ever happened. Maybe he could sleep like Rip Van Winkle and wake up in a hundred years.
The rain turned torrential as he got close to the house. It pelted on his head and shoulders and quickly soaked through his heavy sweatshirt. Ebby jumped off his bike and let himself into the house, hoping he could sneak upstairs without seeing anyone. If he tiptoed, he could scoot past the office door and his mother wouldn’t see him. Someone was in there with his mother, arguing. Ebby could sense the tension, even though he wasn’t in the room with them.
Creeping down the hallway, careful to avoid the floorboards that creaked, Ebby paused outside the office. Something made him stop when he heard the two voices in the office. No longer worried about his mother noticing him, he tried to peek into the room and see who was with her. He only caught a quick glimpse of his mom and another person who had his back to the door. Ebby tried to catch a better view of the person, who seemed familiar, but he couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman from that angle. The mysterious visitor placed their hands on the desk and leaned close to his mother, hissing words born of fury.
His mother didn’t back down. She leaned even closer and spoke. Thei
r bodies became shimmery as Ebby strained to hear what they were arguing about. He’d never seen his mother so full of indignant anger. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand their words. It seemed as though they were being spoken in slow motion. When his mother turned her back and fiddled with something on the credenza behind her, Ebby watched in horror as the stranger picked up the bejeweled letter opener that had sat on his parents’ desk for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t take his eyes away as his mother turned around, and the stranger raised the letter opener high in the air and plunged it into his mother’s chest. Up and down the arm holding the letter opener went. Ebby registered the sound of labored breathing and red cascading blood that splattered, its metallic tang assaulting Ebby. And even though he was far away, he felt it drench his shirt.
But how could that be? How could he be covered in his mother’s blood? He was tucked safely out of the way in the alcove in the hallway. He wasn’t in the office. Something wasn’t right. Ebby’s chest became tight, as though an elephant were sitting on it. He couldn’t breathe. And then he felt his knees give way as everything went black.
***
When Ebby opened his eyes, it took him a couple of seconds to orient himself. It was 2015. He was forty-three years old. He was sprawled on the heavy rubber mat in the kitchen of his restaurant, The No Name Diner, a pile of Caesar salad scattered all over the floor around him. Lettuce clung to his chef’s coat as he rolled onto his back and met the gazes of his chef, Javier, his sous chef, Alex, and his waitress, Belle. All three of them stood over him, various degrees of concern etched on their faces. He had suffered yet another – Ebby didn’t know what to call the phenomenon – flashback, hallucination, whatever, to that night thirty years ago. The name didn’t matter.
“It’s okay, Ebby. You just fell.” Belle squatted down and put her cool fingers on Ebby’s forehead.
He tried to sit up but immediately felt woozy. Javier, dependable Javier, took charge. “I got this, guys,” he said.
“I’ll make another batch of salad,” Alex said.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Belle asked, her eyes filled with worry.
Ebby managed to sit up on his own. Despite his clothes smelling of garlic and anchovy paste, he didn’t appear to have hurt himself. At least not this time. “I think I’m coming down with something. I’ll just have Javier drive me home, if you two don’t mind being alone for half an hour or so?”
“We’ll be fine,” Belle said, as she and Javier helped Ebby to his feet. “You just take care of yourself, okay?”
Ebby and Javier didn’t speak until they were in Javier’s car riding up the twisty road toward Ebby’s cottage. When the tension between the two men became unbearable, Javier pulled his car off to the shoulder and turned to face Ebby.
“What are you doing?” Ebby asked.
“I’m not driving an inch farther until you tell me what’s going on. What the hell was that, man? That’s the second time that’s happened. I know you aren’t coming down with something. You passed out cold. Face-planted on the kitchen floor and were out for a good three minutes.”
“I don’t know what’s happening—”
“Ebby, I love you like a brother, man. You know that. We’ve been friends for a long time. And I know you’re going to get mad at me for saying this, but you need to go back to the doctor. You need a psychiatrist to help you.”
“Javier—”
“No. Listen to me, you’re slipping. You look like hell. It’s hard for me to stand by and watch you destroy yourself, all because you want to remember some horrific thing that happened thirty years ago. It’s been four months since you stopped taking your meds, right? Have you remembered anything specific? I can tell by the look on your face that you haven’t. This has got to stop, Ebs. Today you were lucky enough to knock over a large bowl of lettuce. Have you thought of what would happen if you were handling a knife or a skillet of hot grease? As your friend and as the manager of your restaurant, I’m telling you that you need help. Find a doc you like, someone you can trust.”
Embarrassed, Ebby felt hot tears prick behind his eyelids. In his heart, Ebby knew Javier was right. How he longed to spill his guts, to tell his friend that he was remembering the night his mother was murdered. What a relief it would be share the burden of his past and his fear of the future with a trusted friend. But he couldn’t tell anyone, not even Javier. Not yet. Not until he knew … But Ebby needed to tell Javier something. For now, his friend would have to be happy with a sanitized version of the truth. “You’re right. I need help. And I’m going to get it.”
Javier let out a long sigh, his relief almost palpable. “I’m sorry, Javier. I’m not ready to say anything else. Not yet.” Javier stared out the window, while Ebby silently prayed he wouldn’t push for more details.
“When you are ready to talk, I hope you’ll come to me.” Javier put the car in drive and they started once again up the wooded road that led to Ebby’s cottage. “You know I’m here if you need me, any time.”
“I do,” Ebby said. “And I appreciate it.”
After Javier left, Ebby didn’t go straight into his cottage. He ducked into the woods and headed to Elodie’s Airstream. The clean air and the walk went a long way toward restoring Ebby’s strength. By the time Elodie’s trailer came into view, he had resolved to confide in his aunt. After all, she was the only person he would trust with this horrible secret. Her Airstream, a giant silver behemoth resembling a spaceship, was nestled among the trees near Ebby’s cottage. Ebby and Elodie had shared this trailer from the time Ebby turned eighteen until his twenty-first birthday, when he and Javier – with the help of Javier’s father who was a builder – had built his cottage.
How happy they’d been in the tiny trailer, which Elodie had remodeled so it was filled with light and warmth. His eyes traveled to the wooden fence they had constructed along the back of the property line. Elodie had drilled holes in the wood and filled them with what appeared to be colored glass. When the light hit, the fence looked like a rustic Tiffany lampshade.
Elodie met Ebby at the door, where she stared at him before letting him in. “You’ve had another one, haven’t you?”
He slid onto the leather booth in the kitchen area while Elodie put on the kettle. Once they were both seated with hot mugs of tea, Ebby explained what had happened at the restaurant. “I saw someone stab my mother. There was so much blood. I was covered in it. I passed out and woke up on the floor.”
“Oh, Ebby, you poor thing,” Elodie said.
“It was really vivid.” He watched his beloved aunt and noticed the flicker of worry in her eyes. “Are you sure you found me in the rain that night, Elodie? Because that’s not what I seem to be remembering.”
“Of course,” Elodie said abruptly. “I found you outside, under the office window, curled up in the rain. You were soaked clear through. I was afraid you would catch pneumonia, so we managed to get you into a warm tub. You aren’t remembering anything, Ebby; these are just … visions, or hallucinations.”
I don’t believe her, Ebby thought. And there lay the proverbial rub. Ebby was sure his aunt wasn’t telling him the entire story. Although he had no doubt her motivations were well intended, she was keeping something from him, something that related to his mother’s murder, and – just maybe – his involvement in it.
Elodie scooted toward Ebby and put her arm around him. “You witnessed something, Ebby, something traumatizing – that’s why you lost your memory. But these flashbacks, or whatever it is that you are experiencing, they aren’t real. Surely you understand that.”
Ebby ran his hands through his hair. He met Elodie’s gaze, looking for any sign of deception as he spoke. “I know I saw something that night. I know what happened is completely different from the story you’ve told me all these years. I’ve been to the police, but they won’t let me look at the files. Not that I blame them. I get it; I’m a civilian. Either that or I was a suspect.”
“You were not�
�”
“Wait, please, Elodie. Just let me finish. What I’m remembering about the night – that night – isn’t in keeping with what you’ve told me over the years. There’s blood – so much blood … I don’t know what to think.” Ebby swallowed the thick lump that had formed in the back of this throat. “Did I kill her?”
“Ebby!” Elodie cried out and once again tried to interrupt.
“I had motive, didn’t I? She wanted to send me away to boarding school. She killed my dog and lied about it. That was the end of the world for me,” Ebby said, remembering all of a sudden the infuriating pain when he’d discovered the truth about Lucy and the murderous rage he felt toward his mother.
She’d lied to him, told him his dog had been hit by a car, that she had to be put to sleep. “The poor thing was suffering. It would have been cruel to let her live.” Later that night, he’d overheard Elodie and Cynthia arguing about the dog.
“The little bitch growled at me when I gave Ebby a spanking,” Cynthia had said. “She was vicious and unsafe.”
“You’re the one who’s vicious and unsafe,” Elodie had responded. Ebby had never heard his aunt raise her voice to anyone. “Do you ever think that you spank your son too frequently?”
“This isn’t any of your concern, Elodie.”
“But it is. Ebby is my nephew. You clearly prefer Mark. Do you think Ebby, the son you so obviously don’t like, doesn’t see that?”
Ebby had peeked around the corner just in time to see his mother focus her attention on one of the papers stacked up on her desk. “Go away, Elodie. You bore me.”
Ebby had stepped back into the alcove near his mother’s study – what he liked to call his hidey hole – as Elodie stormed out of his mother’s office, tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn’t until later that evening, when he was tucked into bed and Elodie – not his mother – came to say goodnight, that he’d realized his mother didn’t love him.
The memories of the past faded as he turned to Elodie and said, “I can remember you and my mom fighting after Lucy died, as clearly as if it were yesterday.”