Page 87 of Noble Neighbor
Except Savannah wished her husband were just a regular adulterer because the truth was worse.
So much worse.
Taking her position once more behind her laptop, Savannah printed the spreadsheet and corroborating proof.
Time to call the FBI.
Before slipping the condemning paper spewed out by the printer into an envelope, she recited the names of her husband’s victims, burning them into her brain.
She would never forget them.
Denise Miller.
Maya Truesdale.
Sue-Ellen Vance.
Mary Connelly.
Erin Anderson.
Toni Martin.
Bethany Knox.
And …
24
Falling apart
Present day …
“Agatha Newton,” Sunny whispered the last victim’s name in the quiet of Oliver’s office.
“Was my wife,” Oliver said in a hushed tone from the doorway.
Her world tilted at those three words. Vision blurring, she gripped the armrests of Oliver’s chair.
“Sunny?” He stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Wait!” She held up a hand, stilling his movement, rubbing the other over her mouth. “Agatha. Christie being a nickname,” she murmured.
Oliver chuckled. “She hated Agatha. An old woman’s name, she always said.”
Sunny’s newfound happiness, and the life she had painstakingly built over the last years, shattered into a million pieces. She’d heard enough to understand her future with Oliver was gone.
Obliterated by one irrefutable fact.
The Silk Rope Strangler had murdered Agatha “Christie” Newton.
“Sunny? Talk to me.”
Her eyes snapped open and watched him close the distance between them.
No!
She couldn’t be around him.
