The In-Laws

THE IN-LAWS A COMPLETELY GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER WITH A BREATHTAKING TWIST LAURA WOLFE BOOKS BY LAURA WOLFE The In-Laws The Girl Before Me We Live Next Door Her Best Friend's Lie She Lies Alone Two Widows AVAILABLE IN AUDIO The Girl Before Me (Available in the UK and the US) We Live Next Door (Available in the UK and the US) Her Best Friend's Lie (Available in the UK and the US) She Lies Alone (Available in the UK and the US) Two Widows (Available in the UK and the US) CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Epilogue We Live Next Door One Hear More from Laura Books by Laura Wolfe A Letter from Laura The Girl Before Me Her Best Friend's Lie She Lies Alone Two Widows Acknowledgments * For the usual suspects: JP, Brian, Kate & Milo Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake—its everything except what it is! William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet PROLOGUE They were afraid to look. Six figures stood near the edge of the bluff, toes inching as far forward as anyone dared. Reluctantly, their eyes pulled downward in the morning light. Someone gasped and turned away. Two people whimpered, hugging their arms around themselves. Another let out a guttural squeal. No one could produce a recognizable word. The sight was too gruesome, too unbelievable to be real. Two hundred feet below, beyond the steep drop-off and among the rocky crags, a body lay motionless, torso twisted one way, the head facing the other direction. A leg splayed sideways at an unnatural angle. A streak of blood stained the skin’s grayish hue like something from a horror movie. Even from so high up, it was obvious they were too late, that all signs of life had vanished. Several hours had already passed since one of them first realized something terrible had happened, that one of their group had not returned. Now, someone doubled over, heaving for breath. Another person limped toward a spindly pine tree. Two more sets of eyes found each other, a furtive look passing between them. The air was thick with fear as a question seemed to circle through the group, buzzing like flies around rancid meat. No one wanted to say it out loud, but it hovered nearby just the same. What if this wasn’t an accident? ONE ABIGAIL The forest waited for us, somewhere on the horizon. I wasn’t used to sitting in the back seat, and I strained against my seat belt, feeling a little sick watching the bridge’s steel slats flitting past the window, and water stretching below us. The breakfast I’d treated us to at The Grand Hotel sat like a rock in my stomach. But neither the rich food nor Dad’s driving was the reason I felt queasy. “Wow. Now that’s a nice view.” Dad glanced over his shoulder as touristy Mackinac Island shrunk in the distance. “This is quite an adventure you’re taking us on, Abigail.” Mom rode shotgun, nodding her head along to the nineties music playing from the speakers. I mumbled in agreement. The vibrant blue water outside looked endless. The scenery was so much more expansive than the manicured houses and fenced-in lawns of the Detroit suburb we’d left behind the day before. Mom and Dad still lived in the same spacious brick colonial on the rolling acre lot where I’d grown up. And now Pete and I lived in a modest townhome only ten minutes away from them, a little bit closer to the restaurants and shops on Main Street. Dad’s foot found the brake, then the accelerator again, as we continued north across the bridge toward Michigan’s upper peninsula. We would meet the others at the Hiawana National Forest in two hours. I slid my hand forward on my knee. The diamond on my finger glinted in the wandering light, a steadfast reminder that Pete and I were getting married in September, just three months from now. We’d been engaged for seven exciting and hectic months, much of which I’d spent basking in the attention showered upon me, the bride-to-be. It amazed me how the words “I’m getting married in September” could make my friends swoon, the faces of complete strangers light up, and middle-aged men and women clasp their hands together and offer heartfelt advice on lasting love. I braced myself as Dad punched the accelerator to pass a flatbed truck. Last night’s stay at The Grand Hotel had been a bribe because I knew neither Mom nor Dad wanted to go camping, especially for three nights with Pete’s parents. But they were desperate to please Pete and me, to appear accommodating. Any tension between the families would not be their fault. Dad smiled at me in the rearview mirror, his cheeks pink with razor burn. “I can’t remember the last time I went camping. Maybe with the Boy Scouts about forty years ago.” “It’s good to try new things.” I projected my voice from the back seat. “And it’s only for three nights.” Mom’s eyebrows lifted as she looked back at me. “You’re absolutely right, honey. They say you stop living when you stop trying new things.” Mom was a psychiatrist who had the uncanny ability to pluck inspirational quotes from her back pocket at a moment’s notice, and I imagined her treasure chest of sage advice came in handy with her patients. At last, the loud vibration quieted beneath the tires as our car reached the other side of the bridge. I released a breath, grateful to be back on a solid