The Real Werewives of Vampire County

“I prefer plain,” Samantha said, taking the third stool.

Standing on the opposite side of the bar, I placed a plate in front of each of them.

Meanwhile, Lindsay poured a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to me. I took a whiff. My mouth watered. “What kind of coffee is this?” I sipped. Delicious. But hot. I set down the cup to look for knives.

“My own blend. I may not bake.” Lindsay put a bagel on her plate. “And I’m not much of a cook. But when it comes to coffee, I know a thing or two. Erica, tell me you didn’t forget cream cheese?”

“Of course not.” Erica spread a handful of little packets on the counter.

We all settled in, nibbling on the world’s best muffins and munching on bagels for a few minutes.

It was Lindsay who eventually broke the silence. “We thought we owed you an apology for yesterday,” she explained.

“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of muffin.

“Because we all just met you, and right off the bat we were talking about Michelle,” Erica said. “Talk about insensitive.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I spread some more cream cheese on my bagel. “Jon told me you were close friends.”

“Yes, we were. For ten years. Since the day they moved in.” Lindsay gave me a charming smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends with you, too.”

“I’m glad.” At least, I thought I was glad. A part of me was unsure about this whole thing. These three women, The Pack, seemed a little too eager to be my friends. It was odd.

“Jon told us you were living in New York,” Erica said. “I imagine you think we’re strange.”

“Oh no, of course I don’t.” I felt my face warming.

Erica laughed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a simple, but pretty, diamond earring. “Liar. I lived in New York for two years before I married Adam.” She glanced down at the enormous diamond ring on her finger. “This has got to be a culture shock for you.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little strange,” I admitted.

The three friends exchanged nods.

Samantha, looking as perfect and perky as ever, smiled. “We’re not as desperate for friendship as you probably think.”

“I don’t think you’re desperate—”

“We’re just trying to be friendly.” Samantha leaned closer. “You see, you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to need all the friends you can get.”

Now, that was a weird thing to say.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that man upstairs—the one you’re about to marry—he’s not exactly what he appears to be.”

“We think he killed his wife,” Lindsay whispered.

Holy shit.

“She committed suicide,” I said, wondering why they would think such a thing.

I don’t know these women. They could be lying to make me leave. Maybe they’re all in love with Jon.

“Suicide? That’s what he told you?” Giving me a pitying look, Erica shook her head. “That’s a lie. If you don’t believe us—and really, why would you?—check it out for yourself.” She motioned for a pen with her hand. I found one in a drawer, along with a little spiral notebook. She pulled a sheet out and wrote a website on it, folded it, and handed it to me. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Jonathan Stewart was investigated for murder. He hasn’t been brought up on charges … yet. They couldn’t find enough evidence. But the case is still open. Here’s the write-up in our local paper.”

Lindsay reached for my hand. “Be careful.”

I was dumbfounded. Speechless. What the hell was this? “Jon said she was depressed,” I stuttered. “She couldn’t get pregnant.”

“Depressed?” Samantha pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, hit some buttons, and handed it to me. “Depressed people isolate themselves from friends, from family. They don’t go to parties. They don’t laugh with friends. This picture was taken the day before Michelle died. At our neighborhood block party. Does she look like she was isolating herself?”

I looked.

First, Michelle could pass for my doppelganger. That was freaky enough. But second, she looked like she was having a great time at the party. And when I say great, that might be a slight understatement.

A shiver swept up my spine.

“There are more pictures,” Samantha said. “Hit the button.”

“I don’t need to see more.” I handed Samantha the phone and glanced down at my plate. My appetite was gone. Had I made the mistake of a lifetime? Had I left my job, my life, to move in with a murderer? “The pictures don’t prove anything.”

“You’re right. They don’t,” Erica said. “But we’re hoping the police will find some solid proof soon. You could help.”

“You want me to dig for clues while I’m living with a man you believe killed his wife?” This was crazy. Insane. Unbelievable.

I needed to find out more. About Jon, yes. But also about these women. I was having some doubts about Jon. Any girl would. After all, I’d learned a long time ago that something—or someone—who seemed too good to be true generally was. But I was also having some suspicions about my three neighbors. What were their stories? Why were they so hell-bent on convincing me Jon killed his wife?

“You don’t trust us. I can appreciate that,” Erica said. “At this point, all you have is what we’ve told you. But once you do a little digging, you’ll realize who has been telling you the truth and who has been lying.” She stood, motioning to the other two. “Ladies, I think we’ve taken up enough of Christine’s time.” She gave me a smile that seemed genuine. “Our offers still stand. If you need anything, from any of us, we’re here for you.” She was the first to head for the door. Samantha was second. Lindsay was the last.

At the door, Lindsay leaned over and whispered, “I really like you already. Please be careful.”

CHAPTER 3

I couldn’t push the freaking button. I was too afraid of what I’d see.

After The Pack cleared out, I returned to my girl-cave and tried to get back to work. As I moved things from one place to another, I kept telling myself they’d been lying to me. Jon’s wife had killed herself just like he told me. When I could no longer believe that, I switched to the theory that they weren’t lying—they really believed Jon might be a killer—but the police were wrong. Jon was innocent.