Two Widows by Laura Wolfe
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 3.0 MB
The body of an unidentified woman has been found on a local beach in a small town. The police have no suspects.
Gloria is used to solitude. Widowed and still grieving her late husband, she spends her days with only her faded photographs for company. But when a young woman is murdered nearby, Gloria grows anxious. Living alone in an old farmhouse, surrounded by empty woods, there’s no one for miles who would hear her scream.
When freelance travel writer Beth arrives with her trailer to live on Gloria’s land, Gloria is relieved not to be alone. The police have no suspects in the murder and fearless Beth makes Gloria feel safe. Then Gloria discovers Beth is a widow too: the women become closer and begin to share their secrets.
But soon Gloria starts to wonder… what does she actually know about Beth? About what brought her to this isolated spot? About how her husband really died? Is it a coincidence that she’s arrived just as this small town has seen its first murder in decades? Gloria thought that Beth had told her all her secrets. She was wrong.
An utterly compelling suspense novel that will have you hooked, Two Widows is a gripping thriller that will keep you up all night. Perfect for fans of Lisa Jewell, The Couple Next Door and The Woman in the Window.
I’d grown desperate for company since the discovery of the dead woman in town. A pit weighed in my stomach every time I thought of the gruesome news flash from a few days earlier, the lifeless young woman lying at the edge of the public beach only a few miles from where I stood. I’d been glued to the local news ever since. It wasn’t a drowning as one might have expected, but strangulation. The poor girl, who they guessed to be all of twenty-five, remained unidentified. No suspects had been named, although I supposed the authorities held that kind of information close to the vest.
My fingers opened and a clump of weeds fell to the dirt. I peeled off my rubber gardening gloves and dropped those too, my weary eyes following the truck. My new tenant drove a candy-apple red pickup truck across my field, a miniature log cabin trailing behind her. I squinted past the branches of the oak tree that wavered above Charlie’s ashes. It was probably foolish to rent her the land. My ad in the Petoskey News had been for the apartment above my garage, not for an overgrown field.
My throat dry, I stepped away from the weed-filled flower bed and made my way toward the field, placing each foot deliberately so as not to twist an ankle.
I smoothed down my jacket and refocused on the truck crawling toward me. A fresh-faced woman leaned forward, clutching the steering wheel with both hands. She concentrated on her task but slowed as she neared to offer a wave through the driver’s window. The truck was the heavy-duty type I’d normally expect to be driven by a burly man or a construction worker. It eased to a stop, the engine cutting.
I trod closer, the ground becoming more rutted and my balance less reliable. My pulse quickened as I approached, the sticker on the truck’s rear window coming into focus. Not all those who wander are lost. I’d seen the same sticker the other day affixed to the back of a beat-up Volkswagen outside the IGA. The words shot a pang of longing through my chest, reminding me of something my son, Ethan, would say.