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The guy who’d dumped her.
And he’d also perished in a fire.
Sophie shoved the computer aside and tried to shut off the blender in her stomach that was cranked up to puree.
All of these fiery deaths couldn’t be a coincidence.
She rose and began to pace, trying to call up an image of Adam.
Failed.
Who knew why his name had even popped into her mind? She’d met him ... what? Twice? Hard to remember a guy who hadn’t made much of an impression. Nor had he appeared to be that interested in Alison, even though her sister had hung all over him like he was the center of her world and been devastated when he moved on to someone else.
Why, oh why, had she googled him?
That was a huge mistake.
Because now she had a ... what did lawyers call it? ...a preponderance of evidence to suggest there was a link between all these deaths and her sister.
But why would Alison target these people? Yes, she was all about loyalty. Yes, they’d all done her wrong. But while Larry’s behavior was criminal, the other breakups were just how life worked. Sometimes friendships—or marriages—fell apart.
You didn’t kill people for that.
Sophie stopped at the window in the living room, wrapping her arms tight around herself as a hawk circled in the sky above, searching for prey.
At least normal people didn’t.
And Alison was normal.
Wasn’t she?
Yes, of course she was—other than being a tad paranoid, perhaps. But who wouldn’t be, after what she’d gone through with Larry? Was it so wrong to want people she cared about to reciprocate and treat her with kindness?
No.
Not unless you decided to punish those who didn’t.
Had Alison done that?
Sophie resumed her pacing.
Maybe she ought to call her. Somehow introduce one of these people’s names into the conversation. Michelle, perhaps. Why not find a way to work her into the conversation, see how Alison reacted? If her sister had anything to hide, she’d pick it up. The two of them had been super close back in their younger days.
Yes. Calling was a smart idea.
Besides, she’d promised to touch base before the weekend ended.
Wiping her palms down the oversized sweatshirt that hit her leggings mid-thigh, she altered her course and hurried to the kitchen. Pulled the charging cord from her phone. Placed the call.
After three rings, as Sophie prepared to leave a voicemail, her sister answered.
“Sophie! I’ve been thinking about you. How did the organ gig go this morning?”
She crossed back to her computer, where the story about Adam Long dominated the screen. “I was a little rusty, but I got through the service and no one complained.”
“I’m sure it was fine. You’ve always been too critical of yourself. Did you get caught up on your lesson plans?”
Sophie surveyed the material spread over the kitchen table.
