One of them is Isaac Halpern, Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend who, we learn here, is obsessed with a mysterious woman named Rachel. Of course, there is far more to Isaac’s obsession-and Rachel’s absence-than Lindsay suspects. Isaac will resurface this May in my upcoming suspense novel DON’T SCREAM. Set primarily in a small town in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts, the novel features a group of sorority sisters who swore one another’s silence about the terrible truth behind a shocking tragedy. Now, ten years later, they’re approaching their thirtieth birthdays and have long since gone their separate ways to pursue careers, motherhood, marriage, and money. But three of them are about to come together again…for the funeral of the fourth. And so it begins. Someone knows the sisters’ darkest secret. Someone who will see to it that each in turn gets what she deserves: a private surprise birthday party…drenched in her own blood.
Turn the page to read an excerpt from DON’T SCREAM. And be sure to visit my website at www.wendycorsistaub.com to learn more about my other thrillers, or e-mail me at corsistaub@aol.com. I love to hear from readers!
With warmest regards,
Wendy Corsi Staub
September
Ten years earlier
“…and I do solemnly swear that I will never ever tell another living soul what happened here tonight…”
“And I do solemnly swear that I will never ever tell another living soul what happened here tonight,” the female voices echo dutifully; none without a quaver.
Brynn’s is most tremulous of all, barely audible even to her own ears. She prays Tildy won’t notice and single her out to repeat the pledge solo. If that happens…
What will I do?
What can I do?
She’ll just have to go along with it, the way she’s gone along with all of this, right from the start. Against her better judgment, against her conscience, and, ultimately…
Against the law?
Tildy says no. Adamantly. She insists that they haven’t broken any laws.
“It’s not like we’ve murdered someone,” she hissed when Brynn balked at the proposed plan. “Anyone in our situation would do the exact same thing.”
Brynn highly doubts that, but she can’t bring herself to say it.
There was a time when Brynn Costello-apple of her daddy’s eye, valedictorian of her high school class, dean’s list candidate for her first four semesters at Stonebridge College, Zeta Delta Kappa pledge-would have stood up to all of them. Even Matilda Harrington.
So why didn’t you?
Why are you standing here in the woods in the middle of the night being sworn to secrecy?
This can’t really be happening. If anyone ever found out…
But nobody will find out.
They’re not going to tell.
Anyway, Tildy was right when she pointed out that what happened isn’t their fault.
Still…
I just want to get out of here, go back to the sorority house, and forget this ever happened.
Or, better yet, just go home.
Home.
Swept by a wave of nostalgia, Brynn swallows hard over a lump in her throat. She longs for worn oak floors, oval braided rugs, chintz slipcovers. The savory aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and onions frying in olive oil. The radio in the background, sock-hop standards and sixties anthems of the local oldies station. Clutter, and laundry, and people coming and going…
Home.
But the seaside, blue collar household on Cape Cod is two hundred miles and a world away from the campus nestled in the Berkshires, the mountains of western Massachusetts.
And there’s no going back-not the way Brynn yearns to do.
Before her thoughts can meander down the fateful path that ultimately led to Stonebridge College, she’s dragged back to the present. Tildy, apparently deciding their oath needs something more to make it official, solemnly declares, “So help me God.”
“So help me God,” the others obediently intone.
Not Brynn. She just moves her lips, refusing to invoke God. Not under these circumstances.
“Now we’ll sing the sorority song,” Tildy commands, lifting her hand to push her blond hair back from her face. Her sorority bracelet, a silver rope of clasped rosebuds, glints in the moonlight. They’re all wearing them-including Rachel-and each is personalized with dangling silver initial charms.
Brynn manages to join the others in singing. The in-grained lyrics she secretly always considered embarrassingly hokey now seem bittersweet as she forces them past the lump in her throat.
We’ll always remember
That fateful September.
We’ll never forget
The new sisters we met.
We’ll face tomorrow together
In all kinds of weather.
ZDK girls, now side by side
May travel far and wide.
But wherever we roam
Sweet ZDK will be our home.
The sisters’ voices give way to the hushed nocturnal woodland descant: chirping crickets, a rushing creek, and the September breeze that gently rustles the maple boughs high above the clearing.
Then another sound reaches Brynn’s ears…
The faint, yet resonant crack of a branch splintering underfoot.
She clutches her friend Fiona’s arm, asking in a high-pitched whisper, “Did anyone hear that?”
“Hear what?” Tildy’s tone is sharp.
“Shhh!” Standing absolutely still, afraid to breathe, Brynn listens intently.
They all do.
There is nothing.
Nothing but crickets, the creek, a gust stirring the leaves overhead. Just like before.
After a long, tense moment, Cassie says, “I don’t hear anything, Brynn.”
Brynn doesn’t either. Not now.
But someone is there.
She can feel it.
Someone is lurking in the shadows among the trees, listening.
Perhaps even watching…
And recognizing.
September,
Present day
Cedar Crest, Massachusetts
It happened ten years ago this week, just after Labor Day…and just a few miles from here.
In fact, if one knows where to look one can pinpoint up in the greenish-golden Berkshires backdrop, beyond the row of nineteenth century rooftops, precisely the spot where it happened.
And I know where to look…because I was there. I know exactly what really happened that night, and it’s time that-
“Oh, excuse me!” The elderly woman is apologetic, having just rounded the corner from Second Street. “I didn’t mean to bump into you…I’m so sorry.”
She looks so familiar…
It takes just a split second for the memory to surface. Right, she used to be a cashier at the little deli down the block. The place that always had hazelnut decaf. Yes, and she was always so chatty.
What was her name? Mary? Molly?
What is she doing out at this hour? The sky is still dark in the west, and none of the businesses along Main Street are open yet.
Don’t panic. She probably doesn’t even recognize you. Just smile and say something casual…
“Oh, that’s all right, ma’am.”
Good. Now turn your back. Slowly, so that you don’t draw any more attention to yourself.
Good. Now get the heck out of here, before-
“Excuse me!”
Dammit! The old lady again.
What can she possibly want now?
“You must have dropped this when I bumped you.” With a gnarled, blue-veined hand, she proffers a white envelope.
“Oh…thank you.”
Could she have glanced at the address on the front before she handed it over? If she did, could she have recognized the recipient’s name?
“It’s going to be a nice day today.” She gestures at the glow in the eastern sky, above the mountain peaks. “We needed that rain, though, at this time of year.”
“Mmm hmm.” Just nod. Be polite.
“Well…enjoy the day.”
“I will.” But not as much as I’ll enjoy tomorrow. “You, too.”