The Drowning Woman

PRAISE FOR THE DROWNING WOMAN‘Pulse-pounding and deliciously unpredictable… Robyn Harding can twist a plot like a corkscrew.’Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, bestselling author of The Girls Are All So Nice Here‘The magnetism of Harding’s writing and her jaw-dropping twists make The Drowning Woman one of those rare stories that’s both compulsively readable and full of gravitas.’Ashley Winstead, author of The Last Housewife‘An astonishing, expertly crafted story… With one killer twist after another and a masterful plot, I gasped out loud…’Samantha M. Bailey, author of Woman on the Edge‘A compelling, intriguing, masterfully crafted thriller… With twist after ingenious twist, this one is stylish and utterly riveting.’Christina McDonald, author of Do No Harm‘Deceitful characters who are not what they seem, a myriad of unexpected twists and turns, and a story that moves along at high speed… Robyn Harding keeps readers hooked until the end.’Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of Local Woman Missing‘This edge-of-your-seat thriller combines wildly intricate plot twists and turns with complex, carefully developed characters – and reading it made me wonder if there’s anything Robyn Harding can’t pull off!’Marissa Stapley, New York Times bestselling author of Lucky‘A dark and wild ride of redemption, betrayal and friendship between two complex women caught in a tangle of secrets.’Ashley Audrain, New York Times bestselling author of The Push‘Every time I thought I knew where this story was going, it swerved in a wholly unexpected direction… [A] masterpiece of misdirection, double meaning, and carefully placed clues.’Stacy Willingham, New York Times bestselling author of A Flicker in the Dark‘A story of an unlikely friendship takes the darkest of turns… [Robyn Harding] is one of the very best storytellers and with each book, she exceeds my expectations.’Liz Nugent, author of Lying in Wait Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.Join our mailing list to get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster.CLICK HERE TO SIGN UPAlready a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox. For my agent, Joe VeltreRide or die since 2003 PART ONE LEE 1IN SOCIOLOGICAL TERMS, THEY CALL it the fundamental attribution error. Basically, it means that when people see someone in a bad situation, they tend to believe that individual brought it on themselves. Of course, there are always external, situational forces at play, but it’s human nature to think it could never happen to you. You’d fight back differently if attacked; crawl your way out of the burning building; wouldn’t fall for that online scam. And, of course, you’d never end up sleeping on the streets. Those people have drug problems, mental health issues, no work ethic.What did I think of the homeless before I became one of them? Not much, is the short answer. Each year, I donated to a local shelter that served Thanksgiving dinners. I occasionally tossed coins into hats or empty coffee cups, but I didn’t meet their eyes, I didn’t ask their names. Sometimes I’d even cross the street to avoid them. I was not without compassion for the displaced, but they were just so separate, so other. There was no way I’d ever become one of them.I pull the sleeping bag up to my chin and stretch my legs out under the steering column. The back seat would be more comfortable, but I’m too on edge to sleep there. Instead, I doze in the reclined driver’s seat, with the doors locked and the keys in the ignition. If anyone comes—the police, thieves, or worse—I can be on my way in a second. My Toyota sedan is just one in a row of bedrooms on wheels, parked on this quiet street, under a dank underpass. Our vehicles form an unsightly border along the edge of a big box hardware store’s parking lot. Will I ever relax enough to sleep soundly, horizontally? Hopefully I won’t be here long enough to find out.In these quiet moments, it still baffles me that I ended up like this. I’m bright, educated; I owned a successful business. I’m not hooked on any substances… although I drink more now. In the console beside me sits a bottle of whisky. It’s for warmth, to dull the edges and settle my nerves enough to allow me to doze off. Picking it up, I take a sip and for a moment, I feel nothing but this… the warmth traveling down my throat, burning in my belly. It’s tempting to take another drink. And another. But I can’t overdo it. I need to keep my wits about me, and I mustn’t develop a dependency. I replace the cap and set it back in the console.The light goes out in the motor home in front of me. It’s a kerosene lantern; the occupants can’t afford to drain their battery using the vehicle lights. Margaux and Doug are in their sixties. Margaux has health issues—cancer, though I’m not sure what kind. Doug worked at a hotel but was laid off, another victim of the pandemic, the economy, life in general. They have a large dog, Luna, a pit bull cross that makes it hard to rent a room. I try to park behind them when I can. Their run-down Winnebago never moves, sporting an intricate addition of tarps that keeps out the rain and creates an awning they can sit under. We’re not friends, exactly, but we chat sometimes, and their proximity—and Luna’s—makes me feel safer, less alone. They look out for me, too. It was Doug who gave me the knife.I finger the wooden handle pressing against my right hip. The blade is between the seat and the console, a sort of holster. If I need to, I can pull it out in a second, brandish it at my attacker. “Women aren’t safe here.” Doug stated the obvious. “Be prepared to use this.” I had assured him I was, but could I really stab someone?