The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist!. Liv Constantine

and I would talk to her while she had her vest on.”

      “Yes, the vibrating contraption.” Amber remembered reading about the vest that helped dislodge mucus from the lungs.

      “It became routine—the vest, the nebulizer, the inhaler. She spent more than two hours a day trying to stave off the effects of the disease. She truly believed she would go to college, marry, have children. She said she worked so hard at all her therapies and exercised because that’s what would give her a future. She believed to the very end,” Daphne said, as a single tear ran down her cheek. “I would give anything to have her back.”

      “I know,” Amber whispered. “Maybe our sisters’ spirits have somehow brought us together. It sort of makes it like they’re here with us.”

      Daphne blinked back more tears. “I like that idea.”

      Daphne’s memories and Amber’s stories continued through the lunch, and as the waiter took their plates away, Amber felt a flash of brilliance and turned to him. “We’re celebrating two birthdays today. Would you bring us a piece of chocolate cake to share?”

      The smile that Daphne bestowed on Amber was filled with warmth and gratitude.

      He brought them the cake with two lighted candles, and with a flourish said, “A very happy birthday to you.”

      Their lunch lasted a little over an hour, but Amber didn’t have to hurry back since Mark wasn’t due back in the office until at least three o’clock, and she had told Jenna she might be a little late.

      “Well,” Daphne said when they’d finished their coffee. “I suppose I should get you back to the office. Don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

      Amber looked around for their waiter. “Shouldn’t we wait for the check?”

      “Oh, don’t worry,” Daphne said, waving her hand. “They’ll just put it on our account.”

      But of course, Amber thought. It seemed the more money you had, the less you had to actually come into contact with the filthy stuff.

      When they pulled up to the realty office, Daphne put the car in park and looked at Amber. “I really enjoyed today. I’ve forgotten how good it is to talk to someone who really understands.”

      “I enjoyed it too, Daphne. It helped a lot.”

      “I was wondering if you might be free on Friday night to have dinner with us. What do you say?”

      “Gosh, I’d love to.” She was thrilled at how quickly Daphne was opening up to her.

      “Good,” Daphne said. “See you on Friday. Around six o’clock?”

      “Perfect. See you then. And thank you.” As Amber watched her drive away, she felt like she had just won the lottery.

       EIGHT

      The day after her lunch with Daphne, Amber stood behind Bunny in the Zumba class at the gym. She laughed to herself, watching Bunny trip over her feet trying to keep up with the instructor. What a klutz, she thought. After class, Amber took her time dressing behind the row of lockers next to Bunny’s in the locker room, listening to the trophy wife and her sycophants discuss her plans.

      “When are you meeting him?” one asked.

      “Happy hour at the Blue Pheasant. But remember, I’m with you girls tonight, if your husbands ask.”

      “The Blue Pheasant? Everyone goes there. What if someone sees you?”

      “I’ll say he’s a client. I do have my real estate license, after all.”

      Amber heard snickering.

      “What, Lydia?” Bunny snapped.

      “Well, it’s not exactly like you’ve been doing much with it since you married March.”

      March Nichols’s net worth of $100 million stuck in Amber’s head—that and the fact that he resembled Methuselah. Amber could understand why Bunny looked elsewhere for sex.

      “We won’t be there long, anyway. I reserved a room at the Piedmont across the street.”

      “Naughty, naughty. Did you book it under Mrs. Robinson?”

      They were all laughing now.

      Old husband, young lover—there was a certain poetry to it. Amber had what she needed, so she jumped into the shower, then rushed back to the office, excuse at the ready to explain her long absence.

      Later that day, she got to the bar early and sat with her book and a glass of wine at a table near the back. As it began to fill up, she tried to guess which one he was. She’d settled on the cute blond in jeans when McDreamy walked in. With jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, he was a dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. His camel-colored cashmere jacket and black silk scarf were meticulously sloppy. He ordered a beer and took a swig from the bottle. Bunny came in, eyes laser-focused on him, and, rushing to the bar, she flung her arms around him. Standing so close a matchbook wouldn’t have fit between them, they were obviously besotted with each other. They finished their drinks and ordered another round. McDreamy put his arm around Bunny’s waist, pulling her even closer. Bunny turned up that adorable little face to him and locked her lips against his. At that precise moment, Amber turned her iPhone to silent, raised it, and snapped several photos of their enraptured display. They finally pulled apart long enough to gulp down the second drink they’d ordered and then leave the bar arm in arm. No doubt they were not going to waste any more time at the bar when the hotel across the street beckoned.

      Amber finished her drink and scrolled through the pictures. She was still laughing as she walked to her car. Poor old March would be getting some very enlightening photographs tomorrow. And Bunny—well, Bunny would be too distraught to continue with her duties as Daphne’s cochair.

       NINE

      Amber had been counting the days until Friday. She would finally get to meet Jackson at dinner, and she was giddy with anticipation. By the time she rang the doorbell, she felt ready to burst.

      Daphne greeted her with a dazzling smile, taking her by the hand. “Welcome, Amber. So good to see you. Please, come in.”

      “Thanks, Daphne. I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Amber said as she entered the large hallway.

      “I thought we might have a drink in the conservatory before dinner,” Daphne said, and Amber followed her into the room. “What will you have?”

      “Um, I think I’d like a glass of red wine,” Amber said. She looked around the room, but Jackson was nowhere in sight.

      “Pinot noir okay?”

      “Perfect,” Amber said, wondering where the hell Jackson was.

      Daphne handed her the glass and, as if reading her mind, said, “Jackson had to work late, so it’ll just be us girls tonight—you, me, Tallulah, and Bella.”

      Amber’s exhilaration evaporated. Now she’d have to sit and listen to the mind-numbing chatter of those kids all evening.

      Just then Bella came tearing into the room.

      “Mommy, Mommy,” she wailed, thrusting herself forward onto Daphne’s lap. “Tallulah won’t read to me from my Angelina Ballerina book.”

      Tallulah was right behind her. “Mom, I’m trying to help her read it by herself, but she won’t listen,” she said, sounding like a miniature adult. “I was reading way harder books at her age.”

      “Girls. No quarreling tonight,” Daphne said, ruffling Bella’s curls. “Tallulah was just trying to help you, Bella.”

      “But