The Perfect Lie | Margaret Montague Mysteries #3 | Paperback

 

Readers are Saying:

"Excellent book mystery fans will want to read." - L. Smith, Amazon Top Contributor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"Great, unexpected surprise ending." ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"Revelations come to light that have you dropping your jaw." ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"Bradshaw's ability to bring characters to life within a gripping, fast-paced story make her one of the best thriller writers today." ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"Another 5-star winner from Cheryl Bradshaw!" ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"I read 3 books a week, and this is the best book I've read in the last 3 years." ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

 

CHAPTER ONE

Alex Weston fiddled with the cap of her black Sharpie pen, popping it off and on as she stared out the window at the patchy drops of rain bleeding from a bleak, overcast sky. It was December, and it was cold. Not frigid cold, but cold enough.

One hour and forty-two minutes had passed since her book signing began at Bienville Street Bookstore. She was aware of the exact time because the shop had a square metal clock the size of a card table hanging from the center of the wall on the second floor. And because she was in the home stretch, the last eighteen minutes of the final stop of her book tour.

The thought of being home drew a crooked smile to her face.

Home.

The word wrapped around her like the warmth of a wool blanket.

It was Alex’s first night back in New Orleans, and she knew just how she would spend it—at home with a full plate of Louisiana crab cakes and a celebratory bottle of wine. After weeks spent in three-inch heels, tight dresses, and strained smiles as she answered the same tedious fan questions, she deserved an evening of indulgence. She deserved a good night’s sleep too, but rest had become elusive for Alex, ever since the nightmares began.

Life as Alex knew it was about to change forever, and soon the world would know the truth, a fact she welcomed and feared at the same time. But for now, she had a few more copies of her book to sign.

Alex’s original true-crime story, The Devil Died at Midnight, based on the life of serial killer Elias Pratt, was an instant hit when it had first released twenty-five years earlier. The book climbed to the top of the New York Times Best Seller List, where it remained for twelve consecutive weeks. Alex wasn’t surprised. People had insatiable appetites for dissecting the minds of notorious killers, especially when it came to the dashing, debonair Elias, whose conviction was surrounded by controversy. Most who knew his story believed he deserved to go to prison, but not everyone thought he deserved the death penalty.

A year earlier, Alex’s book agent, Barbara Berry, had pitched her the idea of reviving Elias’s story after a publisher expressed interest in releasing a special twenty-five-year edition of Elias Pratt’s case, a “where are they now” look at his victims and their families.

“It will be simple,” Barbara had said. “All you have to do is conduct a handful of interviews, tack a few brief chapters onto the original book, add some photos, go on a short book tour, and then sit back and collect royalties. Easy peasy.”

To Alex, there was nothing easy about it. And the timing was bad. She had other ideas. So, she declined. Not once but twice.

The second time she turned the idea down, Barbara offered an ultimatum. Either Alex agreed to what the publisher wanted or the publishing house would release the special edition with the help of another writer, up-and-coming true-crime author and television host Joss Jax.

The idea of using Joss, who didn’t know Elias’s story the way she did, felt offensive, to say the least. Even with Joss’s recent success, she was young, a child in comparison, and Alex wasn’t about to allow Joss the satisfaction of poaching a story she wrote. With some reluctance, she agreed to the special edition, titled The Devil Wakes.

Returning to the present moment, Alex shifted her focus to the last couple people in line, a man and a woman. The woman, dressed in a black zip-up hoodie, Converse shoes, and a beanie on her head, looked familiar. The majority of her hair was tucked beneath the beanie, but a few violet wisps slipped free, just enough to give her away.

The man looked to be nearing fifty, his hairline receding, clothes hanging loose on his narrow frame. Alex motioned him over. He shuffled toward the table with the wary gait of someone expecting to be sent away, then offered a crooked grin that exposed a snaggletooth jutting from the upper left side of his mouth.

Alex glanced away, masking her reaction as though she hadn’t noticed the imperfection. “Hello.”

She reached for the copy of her book in his hand, but instead of handing it over, he tossed the book onto the table.

Alex sighed and flipped the book open to the title page, watching as he rubbed his hands together, quick and eager, like a child on his birthday.

“Is it true?” he asked, eyes wide.  

She knew what was coming next, of course.

The same question that always came next.

Still, she indulged him.

“Is what true?”

“You were present when Elias fried in the electric chair. Did you see it? Did you watch?”

“I did.”

The man began to salivate. “And he looked you in the eye before he died?”

Again, she answered, “Yes.” 

Sitting there now, she could still picture Elias’s death as if it had happened just yesterday.

“What was it like to be there?” the man pressed. “Watching him die must have been wicked cool.” 

Wicked? Yes.

Cool? Not so much. 

“What’s your name?” she asked. 

“Lester.”

She signed the paperback and handed it back to him. “Well, Lester, the answers to all your questions are in this book.”

He clutched the autographed copy in both hands and stood there, hovering over her like a cat ready to pounce. “It’s just so great to meet you in person, to meet the woman who spent so many years of her life getting close to Elias Pratt.”

Over the past several weeks, Alex had encountered far too many of Lester’s kind, people drawn to her because they assumed she’d shared some intimate bond with Elias, a small tidbit of information that wasn’t in either of the books. Most fans were ordinary, driven by a mild, harmless curiosity. Then there were the others. Cultish. Those in awe of serial killers. People like Lester. They were a breed unto themselves, placing Elias on a pedestal that even death couldn’t tear down.

“You were close to Elias, weren’t you?” Lester asked.

 “Getting to know him was for the sake of research for the book. Nothing more.”

 He squinted, curving his lips into a twisted grin. “I bet that’s what you tell everyone, huh? Does anyone believe that garbage?”

Alex’s heart pulsed inside her chest, fast and heavy. “Excuse me?”

He licked his lips and leaned in closer, his fevered breath moistening her cheek. “How ’bout I buy you a drink tonight, maybe get to know you a little better? We could talk some more about this book of yours. You like that?”  

Alex stroked her chin, a rehearsed signal for Louis, the security guard stationed several feet away, a signal that meant: We have a live one. A fanatic. And not the good kind. But before the guard could shift his considerable girth in her direction, the woman who’d been standing behind Lester in line stepped forward, tapping him on the shoulder.

“How about you back the hell off Mrs. Weston?” the woman said.

Lester didn’t move, his eyes fixed on Alex.

“I said back off,” the woman continued. “Now.”

Without turning, he grunted, “Wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

“Your book is signed, and the store is about to close,” the woman continued. “It’s time for you to leave.”

The man grunted something under his breath, then arced his body around. “This conversation don’t concern you, ma’am. Mind your business.”

The woman crossed her arms, tipping her head to one side. “Let me put this in terms you’ll understand, m’kay? You have five seconds to step away from Mrs. Weston’s table and leave the store, or I’ll show you just how concerned I can be.”

Alex glanced at the store’s security guard once more, who, up to now, exhibited no bite in his bark.

Lester turned toward the woman, shoving her as he said, “I don’t have to go anywhere.”

Alex threw her hands in the air and glared at the security guard. “Don’t just stand there, you idiot. Do something!”

Confused, Louis reached for Lester, but before he could intervene, Lester punched him in the face. The woman moved in a single motion, wrenching Lester’s arm behind his back and driving him face-first into the wall.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t move,” the woman said.

A young, angel-faced employee who’d been observing the commotion from across the room leapt to the scene. He looked at the woman who’d subdued Lester and squeaked, “Excuse me, what’s going on here? You need to let the man go or I’ll call the cops.”

“Call them. Right now.” The woman tipped a head toward Louis. “We need an actual cop, not amateur security. No offense.”

The employee’s jaw gaped open.

“You heard the lady,” Alex chimed in. “The man she’s restraining verbally assaulted me and then physically attacked her and your employee. Make the call.”

The employee muttered an apology, offering a comment about having not seen what had happened, then he scurried away.

Minutes later, two police officers arrived. They asked a series of questions and then placed zip-ties on Lester’s wrists, carting him out of the bookstore.

Conflict over, the woman stepped up to the table.

Alex accepted the book from her hands, set it on the table, and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Miss Jax.”

Joss pulled the beanie off her head, her violet locks falling around her shoulders as she reached up, combing her fingers through her hair. “Are you sure about that?”

Alex laughed. “Of course, though I wasn’t thrilled to hear you expressed interest in writing the special edition of Elias’s story when I tried to pass on it.”

“It was offered to me, but I wasn’t interested.”

“Why not?”

“They only asked so you’d change your mind. And hey, it worked.”

Joss was witty and sharp, far more personable than Alex expected. “I’ve seen Murderous Minds. It’s not bad. I’d watch true crime investigation shows all day if I could.”

“To be honest, I was surprised they hired me to host it.”

“Why?”

“I’m a writer. I had no background in television when I got the job. The producers heard I was a fan of the show, and they were in a time crunch to replace the original host. They were looking for a public figure with a general knowledge of forensics. I threw my hat in, surprised when they showed interest.”  

“It was no surprise to me. You look the part. You’re smart and relatable, and you appeal to their demographic.”

“Coming from someone I’ve admired for years, I appreciate the compliment.”

Alex signed the book, handed it to Joss, grabbed the few remaining books off the table, and shoved them inside a box sitting next to her handbag on the floor. “Thank you for coming to my aid tonight.”

“I hope this kind of thing isn’t common, being harassed.”

“I had a young stick of a thing follow me back to my hotel room once after a signing. She was harmless. Just an overzealous fan obsessed with the man I was writing about at the time. I don’t get people like Lester often, but when I do … well, it’s never easy.”

Joss nodded. “I … uhh, I heard you’re retiring soon.”

“It’s true. I don’t have the passion for writing like I once did.”

“Is this your last book then?”

Alex’s eyes lingered on Joss for a few seconds.

Was Joss making general conversation, or was she fishing for something else?

“What brings you to New Orleans?” Alex asked.

“The show is on hiatus, and I thought I’d get away for a while.”

“How long are you here?”

“A few more days.”

Alex reached into her handbag, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s my home address. If you have some time tomorrow, why don’t you stop by? My daughter Chelsea would love to meet you. She’s seen every episode of Murderous Minds.”

Joss blinked at Alex, then shifted her attention to Alex’s hands. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re shaking.”

Alex stared down at her hands. Joss was right. They were trembling. She lowered them to her lap, tucking them out of view. “I’m a little on edge. I’m sure it’s because of all the cups of coffee I’ve had today.”

“Or what Lester just put you through.”

Both excuses were believable, except for one thing. Numbness had started to spread across Alex’s face, and she didn’t know why or what had triggered it. All she knew was this: something was wrong, though she couldn’t yet say what.