My Husband's Secret: An absolutely gripping page-turner with a heart-stopping twist Read online

  MY HUSBAND’S SECRET

  AN ABSOLUTELY GRIPPING PAGE-TURNER WITH A HEART-STOPPING TWIST

  L.G. DAVIS

  BOOKS BY L.G. DAVIS

  The Missing Widow

  My Husband’s Secret

  Perfect Parents

  Liar Liar

  The Stolen Breath

  Don’t Blink

  The Midnight Wife

  The Janitor’s Wife

  Available in audio

  Perfect Parents (Available in the UK and the US)

  Liar Liar (Available in the UK and the US)

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Liar Liar

  Prologue

  Hear More from L.G. Davis

  Books by L.G. Davis

  A Letter from L.G. Davis

  The Missing Widow

  Perfect Parents

  Acknowledgements

  Rhianna, my heart tells me this book is for you. Who am I to disagree?

  CHAPTER 1

  AVERY

  After pulling off the white sheet from the massage table, I wipe my hands on it, removing every trace of oil from my palms. Almond, coconut, and lemongrass combine in the air to give it a calming scent. Although the massage session was only a few minutes long, I can still smell the musky perfume from my client’s skin.

  Celeste pokes her head through the door, her long-lashed, nut-brown eyes squinting. “That was a short one,” she says with a wry smile on her face, as her tight brown curls bounce. “Didn’t she like the massage?”

  “Apparently she doesn’t like being touched by strangers.” I stifle a smile as I line the massage oils up next to each other in the glass cabinet.

  Celeste crosses her arms, amused. “I don’t get it. Why did she book a massage if she doesn’t like to be touched?”

  “She didn’t.” I sweep the white sheet to the side. “It was a birthday gift from her husband, and she didn’t want to tell him how she felt.”

  “Well, I hope she at least enjoyed the calm ambience. You’re so skilled at setting up this place. One step inside and people instantly relax.” She tips her head back and sniffs the air. “This is how I imagine paradise smells, and it’s so nice and cool in here. It’s scorching outside.”

  “That’s late June in Minnesota for you. But I don’t care how hot it gets, I’ll always choose summer over winter.”

  I smile as I take in my surroundings. The hanging plants, the potted flowers, and all of the other space-filling flora make the room feel like a tropical forest, far away from city life. Candles in glass jars scattered over the tables and shelves provide a sense of coziness and luxury amid the shadows. Sometimes when I’m stressed, I come to the parlor and sit in one of the rooms with my eyes closed. Little do I know that later, when I look back on this time, I’ll see it as a brief moment of quiet before a storm hits. A storm that is already coming for me; one that will change everything forever.

  “I cannot believe it’s been a year already,” I say. “Time sure flies.”

  “A year of being the best massage parlor in Willow Gate. We’re still celebrating tonight, right?” Celeste’s eyes twinkle. “Dinner at the Lobster Roll?”

  “Absolutely. I look forward to it.”

  After a year of working our tails off to get Opal Touch on its feet, we do deserve a night out.

  Celeste and I have been best friends since high school. We had an instant connection, because we both had parents who were largely absent from our lives.

  While my parents have their own issues that prevented them from being fully present, Celeste’s mother is a wealthy, narcissistic woman who was more concerned with her social standing than spending time with her daughter, and she bought expensive gifts to make up for her absence, particularly after Celeste’s father died when she was ten. I had Ruth, my parents’ neighbor and close friend, to help take care of me, but Celeste was raised by nannies.

  So it’s understandable that, other than the occasional text and email, Celeste does not have a close relationship with her mother, who lives in New York. But the huge checks continue to come every month, and Celeste gives most of the money to an orphanage and to charities geared toward helping children. She’s vowed to be a better mother than her own, and seeing how loving and caring she is with my daughter, I have no doubt she will be.

  As kids, we were so close, and we only separated when I left town to study marketing at the University of Minnesota while also taking a massage therapy course on the side. At the same time, Celeste left the country to study in France, where her late father originally came from.

  My decision to study massage therapy was an easy one. A week before I turned fifteen, my parents and I had a huge argument that left me angry and frustrated. Ruth overheard it, and she gifted me a full body massage as an early birthday gift to help relieve me of some of the stress I was carrying. Lying on a massage table for the first time, listening to soft music and inhaling the soothing scents while the masseuse massaged away the tension in my shoulders and back, I felt almost like a weight had been lifted off me. And by the end of the session, I knew this was what I wanted to do for a living: help people break free of their stress and pain, even if just for an hour.

  To our mutual delight, Celeste and I reconnected when we moved back to Willow Gate, four years later.

  After offering French language classes to the locals and finding there was not enough demand, Celeste tried a few odd jobs before I infected her with my passion for massage and she signed up for an eight-month therapy course.

  Meanwhile, I worked as a massage therapist at a local hotel while dreaming of having the money to start my own business.

  By the time Celeste was done, she not only loaned me the money to start my business, she also offered to be my first employee. I asked her to be a partner, but she declined, saying that she wanted to be able to go off chasing other dreams if she chose to do so.

  Celeste grins at me. “I can’t wait. We haven’t gone out in a while. So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  I glance at my watch. “I have two more massages to give today, and then I have some interviews scheduled for the new masseuses.”

  “It’s finally happening.” Celeste holds up her hands and wriggles her fingers. “These babies are finally getting a much-needed break.”

  With on
ly two massage tables and a lot of hope, Celeste and I started Opal as the only employees. Over the course of six months, we gave massages, manned the reception desk, and cleaned the rooms ourselves. Our receptionist Justine, who was once employed by the Sandbar Hotel across the street, joined our team four months ago. She often came in for lunchtime massages and was one of our most loyal clients.

  Then, during one of her appointments on her days off, she asked if we needed a receptionist. Although we were not hiring, she made her offer on our busiest day and jumped right in, demonstrating what she was capable of. She was hired that day, and the following morning, she handed in her notice at the Sandbar. It was such a relief to have someone handle the phone and schedule appointments while Celeste and I focused on what we both loved most.

  Justine enters the room now with her hair up in a loose bun, and in a hot pink blazer over a black dress; she looks lovely.

  “Avery, I’m sorry for bothering you, but Mia’s school is on the phone. It sounds urgent. They tried calling your cell, but they couldn’t get through.”

  When she hands me the phone, I rush out of the room and into another massage room, closing the door behind me. My husband, Keith, should have already picked up Mia. Could he have been late? He works from home on Fridays, so he can’t be at the office.

  “Hello?” I say into the mouthpiece.

  “Mrs. Watkins?”

  “Yes, this is Avery.”

  “This is Principal Jordan. Sorry to bother you, but Mia still hasn’t been picked up and we were unable to reach you or your husband on your cell phones.”

  “I’m so sorry. My husband was supposed to pick her up today. I don’t understand.”

  There’s one thing I know for sure about Keith, that he hates being late for anything. I was fifteen minutes late on our wedding day, nine years ago, and by the time I got there, he was a mess, as he had convinced himself that I had gotten cold feet and wouldn’t attend.

  “I’m afraid your husband didn’t show up. We thought he might be running late, but it’s been forty minutes.”

  A heavy feeling of anxiety begins to churn through me. “All right, I’ll… I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I hang up and run back to the reception, and Celeste interrupts her conversation with a client. “Avery? Is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure. Mia’s school called. Keith didn’t pick her up.” I grab my purse from the office and head for the door. “I have to go, I’ll call you.” I turn to Justine. “Please cancel my appointments for the day.”

  Minutes later, I drive out of the parlor’s back parking lot and merge with the other cars on Willow Gate Boulevard.

  Despite having a population of only fifteen thousand, the place can get quite busy, and when I reach a red traffic light, I pick up my phone, which was on silent. I missed two calls from Keith, two from my mother, and three from Mia’s school. On speakerphone, I listen to the last message Keith left.

  “Hey babe, please call me back. I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

  My phone rings before I can call him, and it’s my mother.

  “Hey, Mom, I can’t talk right now. I’m—”

  “Is Mia with you?” she asks. Her voice sounds nervous, as if she’s been crying, but that’s not unusual. “Her school called to say she hadn’t been picked up.”

  “I know. I’m on my way there now. Keith was supposed to pick her up. I’m not sure what happened.” The light turns green, and I accelerate. “Mom, I need to go. I want to try calling Keith.”

  “You must be so busy with work. Are you sure I shouldn’t ask Ruth to go instead?”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m closer to the school and can get there before her.”

  Ruth is Mia’s godmother and very much like my second mother, always ready to drop everything to be there for me. I know she wouldn’t hesitate to jump in to help, but then Mia would have to wait too long as Ruth and my parents live forty minutes away from the school. My parents were very often late picking me up from school, so I always try to be there on time for my daughter.

  I’m thirty-five now, but not much has changed with my parents. My father, Harry, still drinks as if someone pays him to do it, and my mother, Jodie, is still too terrified of having a panic attack behind the wheel. It made it quite difficult for them to hold down jobs in the past.

  When her head is clear, my mother makes quilts and sells them in her spare time, and when my father is sober, he helps her with the accounting. They had a small amount of family inheritance that kept them going all these years, and they keep their costs low. But I know they’ve been struggling often, and Keith and I have had to help them out on more than one occasion.

  I hang up and dial Keith’s number, but he doesn’t pick up. When I arrive at the school, he still hasn’t returned my call, but I don’t have time to wonder about where he is. Exiting my car, I rush into Willow Gate Elementary School, a white-washed building that has been there since the town was established. Besides an old oak tree in the middle of the school yard, it has a small playground with a swing set, a jungle gym, and a metal slide. Most kids have already been picked up, and my daughter is sitting on the school doorstep next to her class teacher, Miss Simmons.

  I run up to the two of them, kneeling in front of Mia. “I’m sorry you waited so long, sweetheart. Are you okay?” I brush fine flyaway strands of her black hair from her face and gaze into her wide hazel eyes. Now seven years old, she’s starting to look more and more like her father.

  Nodding, she replies, “Miss Simmons was keeping me company.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I look up at my daughter’s teacher. “I thought my husband was going to be here. Something must have come up.”

  “That’s all right.” The petite woman with ringlets of golden hair and doe-like eyes gets to her feet and smiles at me. “It’s never happened before.”

  I turn to Mia and put my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go. We’ll stop by the store and get you some caramel cheesecake. How does that sound?”

  “Yay! That sounds too good.” She jumps off the step and runs toward my parked car as I thank Miss Simmons again.

  With Mia clutching a white box full of cheesecake, we turn into our street. And then all at once, I know everything has changed.

  I don’t know how—I don’t want to think about how—but as soon as I see the squad car parked up front, I know deep in my soul that the very earth I’m standing on has changed, forever.

  A heavy-set policeman with dark shades and a baseball cap opens the cruiser’s door. “Mrs. Watkins?”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice high and strange. “Avery Watkins.”

  He nods and looks down at Mia, who’s gazing up at him with her big eyes. “Do you mind if I have a quick chat with your mother?”

  “About what?” Mia asks, and I shake my head at her discreetly.

  “Officer, please come in,” I say, my voice shaking.

  As I try to open the door, my hands tremble so much that the officer takes the keys from me and unlocks the door himself. While Mia runs to her room to change out of her school clothes, the man asks me to take a seat in my own sitting room.

  “Mrs. Watkins, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your husband was involved in a terrible accident.”

  As the man’s words ricochet around my mind, nausea rises in my stomach and I stare into his eyes, waiting for him to say it’s all a joke. A sick, twisted joke. Anything but what he just said. But he does not.

  “I’m sorry,” he says instead.

  My stomach clenches and I hear myself taking a deep breath in. The air feels thick and my ears are ringing. The officer continues to speak to me, but I can’t make out the words. It’s as if he’s speaking another language, one I can’t translate.

  “What happened to my husband?” I manage to ask finally, the words like sandpaper in my throat.

  He leans back and exhales loudly. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but he was hit by a car.
”

  CHAPTER 2

  I cannot take Mia to the hospital until I know the extent of Keith’s injuries, so I drop her off at the parlor on the way there, where Celeste takes her away from me.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I say, choking over my words. “In case it takes too long, you can drop her off at my parents’ or at Ruth’s.”

  “You don’t need to worry, Avery. Do what you have to do.” She pulls Mia close to her body as my little girl looks up at me with questions pooling in her eyes. “If she needs to spend the night, so be it. We’ll have a fun pajama party together, won’t we, Mia?”

  Mia doesn’t respond; she knows something is wrong. Just a few minutes ago she asked why I was crying, and I tried to explain but couldn’t get the words out. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  “I’ll see you later, baby.” I kiss her on the forehead and get back into the car.

  At Willow Gate Memorial Hospital, a doctor takes me aside and tells me that Keith is in surgery and his condition is critical. He may not survive his injuries. The very words I dreaded most.

  Catching my breath in the waiting room, I see another police officer seated in one of the chairs. He has dark hair with dirt-colored curls that fall softly on his forehead, and his nose has a faint scar running down its middle. Often filled with humor, his deep brown eyes now glisten with emotion.