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Chapter 1 - Friday

“Miss True, I have some very troubling news.” The lawyer, Tyson Lockett, pushed a tri-folded piece of paper across the desk toward me.
The corner hung off the side of the desk.
Wishing I could avoid the paper altogether, I flicked it back toward him using the nail of my index finger. After which, I rubbed the finger down the length of my skirt, wiping it clean.
His expression solemn, he said, “I have more troubling information.”
“More troubling news than my husband’s been killed?” I swallowed hard; those had been difficult words to say.
What could trump learning of your loved one’s unexpected death? My mind couldn’t conceive of one thing.
Lockett wiped a hand down his face and mumbled something that sounded like he was cursing the dead man in question.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and said without looking at me, “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Miss True. If you look at the death certificate, you’ll see that the name and date of birth align with the man you knew as Carson Holmes. But if you look closer, you’ll notice the cause of death, nature of death, and date of death are wrong.” Then he fixed his gaze on me. His stare unwavering.
I shook my head. “I don’t think I understand.” My mouth was insanely dry and rough, like sunbaked earth. Nothing about this moment added up. I locked onto the easiest of oddities coming at me. Lockett knew to call me and tell me about Carson, though I’d never heard the lawyer’s name before today. Lockett also knew I had kept my maiden name. “How did you know I hadn’t taken Carson’s last name?”
He blew out a heavy sigh then nodded to the paper. “Please take a look at this.” Lockett leaned across his steel and glass desk and nudged the folded piece of paper, perfect for a letter-sized envelope, back to me.
With trepidation, I reached for the document. My hand trembled slightly as I picked it up by pinching the corner with my thumb and forefinger.
The sheet had weight, the sort of paper used for official documents or homemade cards declaring love or good news.
Lockett gave me an encouraging half smile and nod, silently pushing me to keep going.
I clutched the heavy paper, one hand on each side, and lifted the top with my thumbs. The inside print declared the sheet to be an official death certificate from Washington State.
“I know this isn’t easy and I’m very sorry,” he murmured calmly.
Something about his downturned gaze gave me the impression that he was saddened by the news, too. Or maybe he was sad because he was charged with delivering it.
He cleared his throat. “Two nights ago, the man you knew as Carson Holmes was killed in a motor vehicle accident. He was driving through Snoqualmie Pass, crashed, and a tree fell onto his car.”
My mind played its own version of the scene just painted for me. “Impossible,” I whispered. I directed my focus on the lawyer as I expelled a deep breath. “Carson was in California at a home security convention, not northern Washington, and certainly not anywhere near the pass.”
How did I know this guy was even telling me the truth? Yesterday, I had no idea he existed, and today he was lowering this boom.
“Why aren’t the police telling me this if Carson is really dead?” I closed my eyes, seeking equilibrium, and rewound the last few moments. “Why did you keep saying the man I knew as Carson Holmes?”
“Look at the certificate,” Lockett said. “Look at the date and cause of death.”
With steely resolve, I opened my eyes and further unfolded the paper. I scanned the page for the important words like “nature of death” and skipped the rest. Lockett was correct; the date of death was not today or yesterday or the day before. The date was from ten years ago and on New Year’s day. Today was not New Year’s or anywhere close to it. The cause of death confused me more. “This says Carson Holmes died from cancer.”
“That’s correct,” Lockett said.
“So this isn’t my husband?” A tiny spark of hope pulsed inside, even if I couldn’t figure out this riddle.
“No. Your husband used that death certificate to establish a new identity. The man you knew as Carson Holmes was not really Carson Holmes.”
“Come again?” I wasn’t usually this dense, but nothing this lawyer had said made a lick of sense, starting with his anxious phone call this morning.
“The man you believed you were married to had a different name, a different birthday, and was actually married to another woman. Well, they were in the final stages of divorce, but that doesn’t matter. What does is that it wasn’t official yet.”
And there it was, the other bad news. Yes, death was still the worse of the two, but learning my husband was actually married to someone else ranked up there really close to learning he’d died.
The words came to me as if Tyson Lockett was standing at the far end of the tunnel, his voice metallic and fading. His words tasted bitter on my tongue even though I hadn’t spoken them.
I had one of two options. I could toss my cookies onto his gray shag carpet or I could pass out.
Neither sounded appealing, but I chose the latter. And considering how my luck was going, I took preemptive measures and stuck my head between my legs. Didn’t want to faint, slide out of the smooth leather chair, and end up in some weird position where I showed Lawyer Guy my tiger-striped undies.
But no sooner had I bent over than darkness claimed me.

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