Read Online The Sinner by Amanda Stevens - Free Book Online

between her parents.”
    â€œWhat became of her?”
    â€œShe was in a psychiatric hospital for a long time. Then one day she came out of her trance and decided to carry on with her life as though nothing had happened. She claimed to have no memory of that night.”
    â€œI suppose that’s possible. Trauma-induced amnesia isn’t all that rare.”
    â€œAnything’s possible,” he said in a strange tone. “She married and moved away when she was still very young, but after her husband died a few years ago, she came back here. As a matter of fact, you know her. Annalee Nash.”
    I stared up at him in shock. “Annalee? But she seems so...”
    â€œNormal?” he supplied with a sardonic lift of one brow. “That’s a relative term.”
    Didn’t I know it?
    â€œIt’s just that, on the few occasions we’ve spoken, I would never have guessed she’d gone through something so harrowing,” I tried to explain.
    â€œIt’s been my experience that people only let you see what they want you to see.” He shot me another knowing look and I returned his shrewd appraisal.
    â€œYes, I’m sure that’s true,” I said slowly, meaningfully.
    He glanced away. “It’s also been my experience that the people you would least expect of guile and subterfuge are the most adept at hiding their true nature—at least for a while. But it almost always surfaces sooner or later, sometimes violently.”
    â€œI’ve never sensed anything remotely violent in Annalee Nash. She seems quite gentle.”
    â€œI wasn’t talking about her specifically. We’re all capable of violence under the right circumstances.” Kendrick’s voice hardened ever so slightly. “Even you, I would imagine.”
    â€œPerhaps so.” But I didn’t like to think about my capabilities in that regard. “They never found Mary’s body?”
    â€œNot a trace.”
    â€œWhere was her husband buried?”
    â€œHere in this cemetery. They put him over by the back gate, facing north.”
    Kendrick’s specificity in the location seemed to suggest that he knew the significance of such an arrangement. Most bodies were laid to rest from east to west, facing sunrise and the Second Coming. But not those who were compromised.
    â€œAt least they allowed him to be buried in the churchyard. There was a time when suicides were treated as outcasts,” I told him.
    â€œAs you can see, the church has been in ruins for decades and the cemetery has been closed to the public for at least twenty years. So I guess, in a way, George Willoughby was cast out. People tend to hold a lot of superstitions when it comes to old graveyards, but you would know that better than me.”
    He seemed to know plenty, and at that, he was only letting me see what he wanted me to see. “Thank you for telling me about the house,” I said. “It’s a fascinating if gruesome story.”
    â€œYou aren’t afraid to stay there now that you know?”
    â€œNo, why would I be?”
    â€œSome people would turn tail and run after what I just told you.”
    â€œIf ghost stories frightened me, would I have chosen my current profession?”
    â€œA good point,” he allowed.
    â€œBesides, it all happened a long time ago and the house seems perfectly at peace.” Which made me wonder if the key I wore around my neck had chased away the spirits, evil and otherwise. It seemed strange that for all my supposed powers and heightened senses, I hadn’t picked up a single discordant vibe from that house. “Anyway, I appreciate your taking the time to tell me about it. But now,” I said briskly, eager to leave behind the disturbing plight of George and Mary Willoughby, “we should probably get back to the business at hand. Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
    â€œA couple of things,”