Read Online The Inheritance (Volume Three) by Zelda Reed - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Zelda Reed
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she says, voice cheery as she pushes the door open and steps inside.
She smells like peppermint and Chanel No. 5, a perfume she first bought when we were fifteen and obsessed with silver-aged starlets. She throws me a look over her shoulder, balancing her purse between the curve of her elbow, her wrist flicked back.
“Don’t just stand there,” she says. “Close the door.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Suzanne gingerly bends at the knees, setting her purse on the floor before she extends her arms out. Her grin drops from her lips and is replaced with a calculated frown.
“I heard what happened to Neal,” she says, pouting.
She wraps her arms around me without warning, our chests pressing together, her chunky necklace cool against my skin. She buries her nose in my neck, nuzzles it there like my mother.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Maybe because we haven’t been friends for years. “I don’t know,” I say, pulling away from her.
Her hands curl around my shoulders, her pout extending from the top of my head to my shoes.
“You look terrible,” she says. “You poor thing.”
Against my better judgment I catch another glance of myself in the mirror. I look fine.
“Justin sends his condolences,” she says, pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, shamelessly flashing her ring. “He wanted to come along but there was an emergency at one of the breweries and he had to drive all the way to Wisconsin.” Suzanne turns on her spiked black heels, venturing into the living room. “I was thinking we could spend the day together. The way we used to before you decided to go to college .”
“I actually --”
She holds up a finger. “We could go shopping, buy you a new,” her smile spreads thin across her lips, “dress. Then we can get lunch, grab a pitcher of mimosas, take a walk in the park, clear your head of all this tragedy.”
Suzanne leans against the arm of the couch and turns down the corners of her eyes, trying her best to emote sympathy but there’s a manipulative flame that grows inside of her. I, like a moth, recognize it. She’s a leech, desperate to sink her teeth into me and feed off my sadness to build herself up. I’m sorry your boyfriend is probably dead but my husband and I are thinking about having kids, isn’t that great? She’s carried this trait since we were teenagers, though she’s gotten better at hiding it.
“I can’t,” I say, forcing a smile. “I have plans.”
Her shoulders straighten. “Plans to do what?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Suzanne cocks her head to the side. “You don’t have to be rude,” she says, spitting out a laugh. “I was just asking a question.”
She steps forward, her heels sliding across the wooden floor.
“I haven’t seen you in so long —”
“You saw me last week.”
Another laugh flies from Suzanne’s throat. “You were always so funny,” she says, her words cutting against her teeth. “That’s what Justin liked about you.” The corners of her mouth pinches into a smirk.
The front door knob rattles before there’s a rapt at the door. Suzanne raises her eyebrow.
Alanis is on the other side, one hand curved around the outline of her gun, poking out of her dress. This one’s navy blue and flows past her knees, thick like the black leather boots on her feet.
She glances over my shoulder and spots Suzanne. “You ready to go?” she asks.
“Hi,” Suzanne says, marching towards the door. Her extended hand reaches to the side of me. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Alanis plasters on a tight smile. “You must be Ashleigh,” she says, ignoring her hand.
Suzanne’s fingers curl into her palm. “No. I’m not.”
“Oh,” Alanis says. She looks to me. “Who the hell is she?”
Suzanne spits an indignant noise from the back of her throat. “I’m her best friend,” she says.
Alanis rolls her eyes and taps the gun at her thigh. I imagined her pulling the gun on
She smells like peppermint and Chanel No. 5, a perfume she first bought when we were fifteen and obsessed with silver-aged starlets. She throws me a look over her shoulder, balancing her purse between the curve of her elbow, her wrist flicked back.
“Don’t just stand there,” she says. “Close the door.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Suzanne gingerly bends at the knees, setting her purse on the floor before she extends her arms out. Her grin drops from her lips and is replaced with a calculated frown.
“I heard what happened to Neal,” she says, pouting.
She wraps her arms around me without warning, our chests pressing together, her chunky necklace cool against my skin. She buries her nose in my neck, nuzzles it there like my mother.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Maybe because we haven’t been friends for years. “I don’t know,” I say, pulling away from her.
Her hands curl around my shoulders, her pout extending from the top of my head to my shoes.
“You look terrible,” she says. “You poor thing.”
Against my better judgment I catch another glance of myself in the mirror. I look fine.
“Justin sends his condolences,” she says, pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, shamelessly flashing her ring. “He wanted to come along but there was an emergency at one of the breweries and he had to drive all the way to Wisconsin.” Suzanne turns on her spiked black heels, venturing into the living room. “I was thinking we could spend the day together. The way we used to before you decided to go to college .”
“I actually --”
She holds up a finger. “We could go shopping, buy you a new,” her smile spreads thin across her lips, “dress. Then we can get lunch, grab a pitcher of mimosas, take a walk in the park, clear your head of all this tragedy.”
Suzanne leans against the arm of the couch and turns down the corners of her eyes, trying her best to emote sympathy but there’s a manipulative flame that grows inside of her. I, like a moth, recognize it. She’s a leech, desperate to sink her teeth into me and feed off my sadness to build herself up. I’m sorry your boyfriend is probably dead but my husband and I are thinking about having kids, isn’t that great? She’s carried this trait since we were teenagers, though she’s gotten better at hiding it.
“I can’t,” I say, forcing a smile. “I have plans.”
Her shoulders straighten. “Plans to do what?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Suzanne cocks her head to the side. “You don’t have to be rude,” she says, spitting out a laugh. “I was just asking a question.”
She steps forward, her heels sliding across the wooden floor.
“I haven’t seen you in so long —”
“You saw me last week.”
Another laugh flies from Suzanne’s throat. “You were always so funny,” she says, her words cutting against her teeth. “That’s what Justin liked about you.” The corners of her mouth pinches into a smirk.
The front door knob rattles before there’s a rapt at the door. Suzanne raises her eyebrow.
Alanis is on the other side, one hand curved around the outline of her gun, poking out of her dress. This one’s navy blue and flows past her knees, thick like the black leather boots on her feet.
She glances over my shoulder and spots Suzanne. “You ready to go?” she asks.
“Hi,” Suzanne says, marching towards the door. Her extended hand reaches to the side of me. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Alanis plasters on a tight smile. “You must be Ashleigh,” she says, ignoring her hand.
Suzanne’s fingers curl into her palm. “No. I’m not.”
“Oh,” Alanis says. She looks to me. “Who the hell is she?”
Suzanne spits an indignant noise from the back of her throat. “I’m her best friend,” she says.
Alanis rolls her eyes and taps the gun at her thigh. I imagined her pulling the gun on
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