The Guilty Sister: An absolutely nail-biting psychological thriller with a shocking twist by Arianne Richmonde

Author:Arianne Richmonde [Richmonde, Arianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Speculative
ISBN: 9781800198623
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2021-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

31

Sara

I had been avoiding asking Bradley about his ex-girlfriend, Cassandra, the one who mysteriously died young. It was for him to open up to me about it, not for me to push him into something he wasn’t able to share, or ready to share. Yet we had been together for enough time now that his not mentioning it was beginning to perturb me a little.

There were lots of things about Bradley I didn’t know, mainly because I hadn’t asked. His work, for instance. I had never visited his workplace or even had lunch with him on Wall Street, partly because of my own laziness, and partly because of Poppy and work. It was a bit of a schlep all the way downtown when I knew how busy he was anyway. And whenever I asked him about his work, he was reluctant to talk, said it was “dull” and would change the conversation around to what I was doing. That was the thing about Bradley: he was interested in other people, didn’t talk about himself so much, unlike most men who used the word “I” too frequently in conversation. Bradley was always curious to know about others: their likes and dislikes, their work, what made their minds tick.

We had gone to a private cocktail reception for a Friends of the Met do, and mingling with the other members, he was so animated chatting to everyone, asking each and every guest enough personal questions so they lit up and talked voraciously, all evening. Bradley had enough intellectual curiosity that he drew out the best in people, without putting anybody on edge or sounding nosey. He really was a charmer.

Too bad my aunt and Jack were both so negative about him.

And now here we were having a picnic in Central Park, all prepared by Bradley. He kept looking at me in a strange way, as if to gauge what was going through my mind. Something had changed, but I couldn’t figure out what.

He had totally surprised me with an old-fashioned picnic hamper, replete with lovely plates, not plastic, beautiful silverware and glasses, not plastic either. Bradley was a very traditional but vogueish kind of guy. He had bought a bottle of Pol Roger champagne, had even spread out a gorgeous Scottish tartan blanket on which we sat, Poppy’s leash hooked around my ankle, so she didn’t zoom off with her wheels somewhere, because once she started, there was no stopping her. Bradley had even packed special treats for Poppy, too. It was a beautiful sunny day and not too crowded. We had commandeered a spot at Cherry Hill, overlooking the lake, beneath a Japanese cherry tree. Couples in rowboats were gliding about on the water. A light breeze had picked up, perfect for this warm July day.

I unhooked Poppy from her wheelchair and settled her on the blanket, got out her collapsible water bowl and filled it up.

As I watched my dog drink, I turned the subject of Cassandra over in my head; something I had so wanted to talk about but hadn’t yet dared bring up.

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