Read Online The Last to Know by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page B

thinks. But Fletch knows more about what his wife’s been up to lately than he does about their son. He knows Sharon’s only biding her time with him, waiting for the right moment to leave him for her lover. Actually, for months he’d been expecting her to do it in August when Randi left for college, which would liberate Sharon from two decades of motherhood obligations. Then Melissa got killed and their nieces and nephew had moved in just as Randi moved out. How could Sharon walk out on Fletch at a time like that?
    There’s no doubt in his mind that she will, sooner or later. But far be it from him to force her hand.
    Fletch pulls the banana out of the blender and takes a bite. A banana wasn’t what he had in mind. He wanted a health shake, damn it.
    He hears footsteps on the stairs.
    Moments later, Sharon breezes into the kitchen. She has on one of those skimpy leotard things she wears to her kick-boxing class, and is jangling her car keys in her hand.
    He glances over her toned body—small hips and high breasts—and at her thick blond hair pulled into a ponytail. The remnants of her summer tan, helped along, no doubt, by regular visits to the tanning salon, cast a healthy glow over her face.
    Two decades of marriage have all but obliterated not just Fletch’s appreciation for his wife’s beauty, but his desire for her.
    “Where are you going?” he asks, though it should be obvious. But some part of him wants to hear her say it.
    “The gym.” She unwraps a stick of gum and goes over to toss it into the garbage. “What’s this?”
    He shrugs.
    She’s staring down at the full container of yogurt he just threw in.
    “Why’d you throw this away?” She pulls it out and inspects the date stamped on the cover, then turns accusing green eyes on him. “It still has two weeks left before it expires.”
    “Yeah, and it’s strawberry. You know I don’t like strawberry yogurt. I told you not to buy it.”
    “Well, somebody else will eat it.”
    “Who? You?”
    “You know I’m lactose-intolerant.”
    Or so you say , he thinks but says nothing. As far as he’s concerned, Sharon is a hypochondriac. Always has been. If she wants to believe she’s lactose-intolerant, fine with him, as long as he doesn’t have to listen to her go on and on about it.
    “Maybe one of the kids will eat it,” she says, putting it back into the fridge.
    “I thought they only eat Little Debbies. And McDonald’s. And Derek’s—”
    “I know. A vegan. Well, maybe someone’ll eat it,” she says again.
    She takes a can of Diet Pepsi from the shelf in the door, closes the fridge, and pops the top.
    He watches her as she takes a sip.
    “You’re going to drink that before you work out?” he asks.
    For a moment their eyes meet. A look passes between them.
    She says simply, “I’m thirsty,” and heads toward the back door. She pauses halfway there to ask, “You didn’t hear, did you?”
    “Hear what?”
    She seems to be studying his face, probing for something. Then she says, “Jane Kendall.”
    He tenses. “What about Jane Kendall?”
    “She’s missing.”
    “Missing?” he echoes, not meeting Sharon’s eyes. “What do you mean, missing?”
    She shrugs. “That’s all I know. She disappeared from High Ridge Park.”
    “When?”
    “Last night I think.”
    “Huh.” His hand trembles as he raises the banana to his mouth again, taking a bite and chewing mechanically. “Do they . . . do they think something happened to her?”
    “Obviously.” Sharon grabs her raincoat from a hook just inside the mudroom and pulls it on. “I’ve got to get to the gym. See you later.”
    “See you later.”
    Lies , he thinks, abruptly tossing the banana into the garbage can and heading upstairs to take a shower.
    They both know she’s not going to the gym, just as they both know they won’t see each other later.
    Fletch turns on the hot water tap full force. It runs into the tub, sending tendrils of steam skyward. Lost in