Lie To Me: a gripping thriller with a shocking twist!. J.T. Ellison

      “Okay.”

      He heard the inquiry in her tone. “It’s not just that. Like I said, she left her phone, her keys, her purse, all her clothes. Her laptop is still in her office. She hasn’t used her email—she lives on email. Nothing on her social media accounts. She left the note, and then she disappeared. Yes, she’s left before, but only for a few days, and she goes to stay with friends, or gets a hotel room, and lets me know that’s where she’s going to be. And she always comes back. Always. She’s never disappeared without her things. She’s a writer. She’s working on a book.”

      “A book about what?”

      “Novels. She writes novels. Very good ones.” He paused. “I do, as well. We’re both in the industry. She had a spot of bother recently, with a reviewer. It was embarrassing for her, for me. The publisher was upset, and canceled her contract. Maybe she ran off to lick her wounds, but without her things...” He trailed off. He was babbling and the more he spoke, the more words that came from his mouth, the guiltier he sounded.

      He realized he was genuinely upset for Sutton. Despite how the day had gone, with everyone attacking him, Sutton had been going through hell for a while. He had been concerned about her for many months, concerned about her mental state after what happened to Dashiell, after what happened with the reviewer. Sincerity, Ethan. You need to actually sound concerned.

      He did manage to look H. Graham in the eye then. “Listen, we can keep talking and go over it a thousand times, but none of it will change the fact that no one’s heard from her since she left. Her agent, her mother, her friends. She’s very good at keeping people up-to-date. She’s been in touch with no one, and now we’re all worried.”

      The older cop was more direct. “No sign of anyone breaking into your house? Neighbors didn’t report anything odd? Strangers hanging around?”

      “No. Nothing. Not that I’ve noticed.”

      “What was the—” Graham glanced at her notes “—spot of bother with the reviewer?”

      “It was just a fuss. An online thing. Sutton received a bad review. She’d had a terrible day, she responded, and the whole thing blew up.”

      “Blew up, how?”

      He hesitated.

      “If it’s online, I’ll be able to find it. Why don’t you just tell me now and save us both some time? Was she in danger?”

      “No, she wasn’t in danger, just embarrassed. People can be cruel. She took pride in her work, and when she responded, she was very...blunt. Told the reviewer to shove it. It seems innocuous, ill-mannered, yes, but in the scheme of all that happens online, it wasn’t such a horrible thing to say. But a blogger picked up on it and wouldn’t let it lie. He started hassling her.”

      “You mentioned this in your 9-1-1 call. What sort of blogger, and what sort of hassling?”

      “Have you ever heard of a website named Stellar Reads?” She shook her head.

      “No?” He knew he sounded incredulous. Who couldn’t have heard of Stellar Reads? Apparently Officer H. Graham, who was staring at him with a raised brow.

      “I don’t spend a lot of time online, sir.”

      “Right. Well, it’s a site where people can rate books, leave reviews. When Sutton popped off, the blogger wrote an essay about it, posted a one-star review. Instead of just staying out of it, Sutton responded, tried to justify the choice—something writers aren’t smart to do. It always backfires. And it did here, too. The blogger called out all of his friends and they attacked the hell out of Sutton. Really nasty stuff, tore her work apart, gave her hundreds of one-star reviews even though they hadn’t read her books. Some of her loyal readers got into it and they were attacked, as well. Put Sutton through the wringer, claims of authors behaving badly, all of that.

      “Anyway, there was a reporter from one of the trades who wanted to interview her. Sutton took the call, told the reporter she hadn’t been involved and all of it was a smear designed to make her look bad. Saying my account has been hacked, no one ever believes that. They just think you’re trying to cover your arse.

      “Sutton tried to calm the whole situation by posting on her Facebook fan page explaining that she had never been in touch with the reviewer, hadn’t left the comments, that someone had impersonated her. She explained about losing our son, and you’d be amazed at the things people said. Horrible, appalling stuff. We closed the account and tried to walk away. Thank heavens, someone else came along and did something stupid, became the flavor of the week, and the fervor died down. But after everything that happened... She couldn’t handle it, had a bit of a collapse. It broke something in her.”

      He paused. “It was out of character, actually. Her reaction, I mean. Sutton usually took reviews of her work with a grain of salt. Believe the bad, you have to believe the good, and all that. For some reason, this one upset her tremendously. Hit her at the wrong time, I guess. Most of it’s been taken offline now. Stellar Reads even sent apologies.”

      Enough, you don’t need to tell them everything. This is irrelevant.

      “Has the situation been resolved?”

      He shook his head. “Sutton has at least twenty new hate emails this week alone. So, no, I’d say it hasn’t been.”

      “We’d like to take the computer with us, let our forensic technicians go over it. Are you okay with that?”

      Robinson cleared his throat. “I would think, if you want my client to hand over information related to his wife’s disappearance, a warrant would be in order.”

      Ethan wanted to climb inside the bloody marble and disappear. Now he was Robinson’s client? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

      “Coming, right after we leave here. Unless Mr. Montclair—”

      Ethan had to get this back under control. “You don’t need a warrant. Feel free to look at anything in the house you want. I’ve done nothing wrong. You’re welcome to take the computer with you.”

      He tried to block a vision of his wife, his very private wife, her face drawn in shock, allowing him to let the police walk away with her computer.

      You’ve given me no recourse, wife.

      “Ethan,” Robinson warned, but Ethan held up a hand to stop him.

      “Seriously. Look at the computer. Then you’ll see. I have absolutely nothing to hide.”

       WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON HERE?

      The female cop nodded. “Okay. This is very helpful information. I’m going to need names and dates. But before we do all of that, would you categorize your relationship with your wife as volatile, Mr. Montclair?”

      “Never. We just didn’t always see eye to eye.”

      The cop glanced at the older one, who nodded slightly. “We have a number of domestic calls to this address.”

      Ethan took a deep breath. “I know how that looks. Sutton and I fight. We argue. We’re very passionate people. Sometimes we argue on the porch, or in the backyard, and neighbors take it the wrong way.”

      “So your wife hasn’t called the police? It’s only been the neighbors?”

      “Yes. No one will admit who made the calls, but you’ll see in every incident, no charges are filed. There is no evidence of abuse, no physical altercations. Just some nosy neighbors who don’t like to mind their own business. It’s been hard on us, since the baby...”

      Graham looked around the kitchen. “Where is the baby, sir?”

      Beams of light pouring in the kitchen, the small crystal Sutton had hung in the window above the farmhouse sink catching the sun, suddenly spinning, shooting fractured light through