Election day looms, with a heated mayoral race that reflects the pervasive Insider versus Outsider mentality. Most residents of The Heights visibly support the incumbent John Elsworth Ransom, whose roots extend to the first settlers of Mundy’s Landing. Support for his opponent, a real estate developer named Dean Cochran, is stronger on the other side of town, particularly in Mundy Estates, the upscale townhouse complex he built and now calls home.
A Ransom for Mayor poster isn’t all that’s conspicuously missing from the leaf-blanketed yard. There’s no For Sale sign, either.
Noting its absence, Trib asks Lynda—not entirely tongue-in-cheek—if she’s sure it’s on the market.
“Oh, it is. But Lester prefers to avoid actively soliciting the ‘ghouls’—not the Halloween kind, if you know what I mean.”
They do. Plenty of locals use that word to describe the tourists who descend upon the town every summer in an effort to solve the cold case.
Trib turns to Annabelle. “That’s something we’d have to deal with if we bought this place.”
“You’re right. We’d be inundated with curiosity seekers. I don’t think I want to—”
“Just in the summer, though,” Lynda cuts in quickly, “and even then, it’s not a big deal.”
Trib raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say that Mundypalooza isn’t a ‘big deal.’ Especially this coming year.”
Mundypalooza is the colloquial name for Ora’s annual Historical Society Fundraiser, which has taken place ever since 1991. That’s when, in conjunction with the seventy-fifth anniversary of the cold case, Ora extended a public invitation: Can You Solve the Sleeping Beauty Murders?
She hoped the event would draw enough attendees to put a dent in the nonprofit’s efforts to move from their unceremonious digs in the library basement. It exceeded her wildest dreams: before the decade was over, the Society purchased the elegant Conroy-Fitch mansion on Prospect Street.
These days, the nonprofit organization turns a hefty profit, even offering an as-yet unclaimed reward to anyone who can unmask the killer. The dollar amount has substantially increased with every passing year, along with the size of the crowd and media attention.
With next summer marking the twenty-fifth annual Historical Society fundraiser and the hundredth anniversary of the murders, there’s bound to be more hype than ever. People and press will be poking around the Murder Houses, invading their residents’ privacy.
“Let’s just walk through the house before you rule anything out,” Lynda tells them. “A comparable house at any other address in this neighborhood would sell for at least six figures more. I’d hate to have someone snatch this out from under you.”
The odds of that happening are slim to none. Lester, who insists on pre-approving every showing, requests that prospective buyers already live locally. Not many people fit the bill, or are willing to sign the required restrictive covenant to the sales contract stating that they’ll use the house solely as their private residence.
Annabelle and Trib passed muster and they’re here, so they might as well look.
As she steps through the massive double doors into the dim, chilly entrance hall, Annabelle realizes she’s not going to be able to get past what happened here during the summer of 1916.
Then Lynda presses an antique mother-of-pearl button on the wall. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she asks as they find themselves bathed in the glow of an elegant fixture suspended from a plaster medallion high overhead.
Surprisingly, it is better.
“Just look at that mosaic tile floor!” Lynda exclaims. “And the moldings on those archways! And the woodwork on the grand staircase! We haven’t seen anything like this in any of the houses we’ve looked at, have we?”
Annabelle and Trib agree that they haven’t.
As she runs her fingertips over the smooth cherry wood of the carved newel post, she envisions twelve-year-old Oliver sliding down the banister that curves above.
She can see him walking through those big doors after school, dropping his backpack on the built-in seat above the cast-iron radiator with a “Mom? I’m home.”
One by one, doors creak open. Spaces beyond brighten courtesy of wall switches that aren’t dime-a-dozen rectangular plastic levers. No, these are period contraptions with buttons or brass toggles or pull-pendants dangling from thirteen-foot ceilings. Lynda presses, turns, pulls them all, chasing shadows from the rooms even as Annabelle’s imagination strips away layers of faded velvet and brocade shrouding the tall windows. Her mind’s eye replaces Augusta’s dark, dusty furnishings with comfortable upholstery and modern electronics.
Instead of mustiness and cat pee, she smells furniture polish, clean linens, savory supper on the stove. Instead of the ticking grandfather clock, dripping faucets and Lynda’s tapping footsteps, she hears the voices she loves best, echoing through the rooms in ordinary conversation: Mom, I’m home! What’s for dinner? I’m home! How was your day? I’m home . . .
Yes, Annabelle realizes. This is it.
This, at last, is home.
USA Today and New York Times bestseller WENDY CORSI STAUB is the award-winning author of more than seventy novels and has twice been nominated for the Mary Higgins Clark Award. She lives in the New York City suburbs with her husband and their two children.
Learn more about Wendy at
www.wendycorsistaub.com
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By Wendy Corsi Staub
BLOOD RED
THE BLACK WIDOW
THE PERFECT STRANGER
THE GOOD SISTER
SHADOWKILLER
SLEEPWALKER
NIGHTWATCHER
HELL TO PAY
SCARED TO DEATH
LIVE TO TELL
Praise for the work of Wendy Corsi Staub
Two-time finalist for the
MARY HIGGINS CLARK Award
Live to Tell
“Once Staub’s brilliant characterizations and top-notch narrative skills grab hold, they don’t let go.”
Publishers Weekly (★Starred Review★)
“I couldn’t put it down!”
#1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson
“(Four Stars) Staub is a master of making the everyday somehow terrifying and giving a seemingly innocuous action life-altering implications.”
RT BOOKreviews Magazine
The Good Sister
Alison Gaylin, USA Today bestselling author
“Taut, tense, and incredibly suspenseful. This chillingly creepy psychological thriller is the perfect page-turner. Staub’s powerful and timely story-telling is captivating!”
Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha, Anthony and Macavity-winning author
“Intense! Wendy Corsi Staub once again delivers a masterful psychological mystery that is both chilling and thrilling. You will not be able to put The Good Sister down until the very last page.”
Allison Brennan
“I haven’t been this frightened for the citizens of Buffalo, New York, since I was born there! Wendy Corsi Staub weaves a tale of good sisters and fallen angels as terrifyingly chilling as the winter winds off Lake Erie!”
Chris Grabenstein, multiple award-winning mystery author
“Fans of Gillian Flynn will love this one. The Good Sister shows again why Staub is one of the best suspense writers today.”
Jamie Freveletti, internationally bestselling author of Dead Asleep
“If you like Mary Higgins Clark, you’ll love Wendy Corsi Staub.”
Lisa Jackson, #1 N
ew York Times bestselling author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Map courtesy of Brody Staub
Excerpt from Blue Moon copyright © 2016 by Wendy Corsi Staub
BLOOD RED. Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Corsi Staub. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition OCTOBER 2015 ISBN: 9780062349743
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-234973-6
FIRST EDITION
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