Her Perfect Murder

Her Perfect MurderA Mystery Thriller AJ Faris Contents Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Did you enjoy reading this book?Do you like FREEBIE Mystery and Suspense books? Copyright © 2022 by AJ Faris - All rights reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. Chapter One I jerked out of my troubled sleep with a loud gasp as the alarm on my phone cut through my subconscious. It took a second for my racing pulse to settle down. When it did, I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. It’s just a nightmare, I reminded myself, lifting a hand to the back of my neck to massage the tense muscles. Just the same nightmare. A familiar ache pinched my heart. I slid out of bed in one motion, walked out of my room, and went to the front porch to sit on the rocking chair. It was a windy night and sitting here helped me admire the serene environment of the street. I looked around, admiring the scattered array of pine trees on both sides of the tarred road, the scruffy brush of stunted trees mixed among them. I could collect my thoughts and think straight each time I sat out here. I considered this spot my haven—a place where I could hear myself think. My skin was still clammy with sweat, and I blew air forcefully from my lips to release the tightness in my lungs. The images from my nightmare remained stuck in my mind, and I could still hear the voices replay in my head, vividly. Like I was still dreaming. “I’m so sorry. . . . This isn’t what I wanted,” Alexa had cried out that night. The shrill sound of her voice still sent shivers down my spine. Even in my dream, her wild eyes and tear-stained cheeks were the same. She had pleaded and begged, like she was sorry for what she had done. Then she had snapped in front of me, turning violent. I couldn’t remember what she had talked about that night when I went to that cabin. All I knew was that there was so much blood, and it had been hard to focus on anything but that. I dreamt of the blood; the tangy smell still lingered in my nostrils as I sat on the porch. I started to hum a slow song to myself, so I could drown the voices in my head. I hated being sober, especially on days like this. I had a clear view of the sky from where I sat. The grayish blue had darkened slowly over the past few hours and was now a stark shade of grey. The only source of light in the foggy night was the full moon. If I wasn’t sober, then I wouldn’t have minded the sounds of the howling wind, or the songs of the crickets. It would have been easier to take my mind off the thoughts swirling around in my head. Earlier that afternoon, it had rained heavily. I could still smell the crispness in the air and feel its moisture on my skin. The air smelled like pine and musk combined. It was my second day back in Garrison, and it already felt like I had never been gone. Like the past ten years hadn’t happened. The town was the same as I remembered it: serene, but full of life. I lived in the heart of town, Arden Way. At this time of day, it was usually still bustling, with workers using the route as a shortcut to get away from the main thoroughfare traffic and residents choosing this time for a stroll. I preferred walking anytime I was going to the grocery store or anywhere else, because I loved the sight of nature all around me. My neighbor had just returned. I had watched him drive in a few minutes earlier without a glance in my direction, and now he was out of his house again. I focused on his movements as he locked his door and started down his porch stairs. When he got to the curb, he crossed the road and headed in my direction. He lifted a hand and waved before he even reached my house, but I didn’t stand from where I sat until he drew close enough for me to inspect him. He was a few inches off six feet tall, with slicked back, matte-black, wavy hair. I noticed that he walked with long strides, but there was a slight limp. His broad shoulders fit snugly into his black coat. “Hey,” he began as soon as he got to me. His voice was a deep, smooth baritone, and it sent an instant shudder through me. He extended a hand and said, “I’m Zac Booth, and you must be Lexi Bichett. . . .” He paused, and his eyes drifted down my face. “I just moved in across the street from you yesterday.” How does he know who I am? This fleeting thought passed through my mind, but I maintained a blank, disinterested exterior. He seemed nice, his smile pleasant and eyes piercing. Dark eyes that met mine, briefly. “You already know who I am,” I replied without taking my eyes off of his or accepting his extended gesture. “I’m guessing you want something, and you aren’t just being friendly, so let’s get to it.” Zac withdrew his hand and pushed it into his pocket as I scrutinized him with what I was pretty sure was a glare. I hated