The Imposter by Marin Montgomery

Author:Marin Montgomery [Montgomery, Marin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2021-03-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

Deborah

“Who?” Sibley jumps up in response, her eyes darting toward the kitchen window. After crossing the room in a few strides, she peeks out the smudged glass, holding the curtain to the side. Without turning to face Deborah, she murmurs, “Which direction did they go? I don’t see anyone out here.”

Deborah’s face flames red, and she’s suddenly embarrassed, worried her daughter is convinced she’s lost her mind. Strained from her session with Dr. Alacoy and the unexpected visit from Sibley, she lets out a long exhale, trying to slow down her breathing and subdue her rapid heart rate.

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“Looked like the build of a man.” Deborah thinks out loud: “I hope it’s not the man from before.”

“Did you catch how they were dressed?”

Deborah musters a shrug but says nothing, a weary look crossing her face.

“Are there any suspects in the robberies?”

“No.” She sighs. “Another reason Miles Fletcher is useless. Doubt he knows how to dust for fingerprints. I swear he could learn a lot from watching Law and Order. The actors have more experience with a crime scene than that idiot.”

A pout tugs at Sibley’s mouth. “Look, Mother, if it makes you feel better, I doubt someone’s going to try anything when there are clearly people at home and it’s not even dark yet.”

“Then how do you explain what happened in January?” Deborah says, bristling. “One of the coldest days of the year didn’t stop them.”

“At least my car is in the drive,” Sibley muses. “I’d hope a visitor would scare away someone with bad intentions.”

“Doubtful,” Deborah counters. “The Clancy family was tied up and left in their shed in broad daylight.”

Sibley recoils as if she’s been slapped with the serving spoon from earlier. “How about I make us more tea?” she offers gently. “I know you said you liked it at night.” Sibley pulls out chamomile and busies herself with boiling the water.

Without a word, Deborah barrels into the living room, her limp more pronounced as she tries to scurry toward the double picture windows that face the highway.

Sibley asks, “Could it be the delivery guy? Or maybe the mailman?”

“You know the mailman only stops at the end of the drive.”

“What about packages, though? Are you expecting anything?”

“No.” Deborah wrings her hands. “Not until I hear from my lawyer.”

She didn’t mean to let that slip, and glancing over her shoulder, she’s relieved Sibley is removing two mugs from the cupboard. If she heard, she doesn’t say anything.

Gingerly, Deborah tugs aside the faded curtains, careful not to pull them too far away from the glass lest she meet someone’s prying eyes. She intently scans the overrun yard as the sun fades behind the clouds. The burnt orange fades in and out of sight as if playing a game of peekaboo. She’s uncertain whether to be relieved or annoyed when her eyes don’t spot anything out of the ordinary.

In the background, the microwave beeps, signaling the water is ready for their tea.

Sighing loudly, Deborah tucks the blanket from her mother around her shivering frame.

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