Dr. Raeya Patel had it all. The two kids. The house. The career. Everything but the white picket fence. Then her husband died in a hit-and-run. Now Raeya seems to be the only one in her Massachusetts town who cares what happened. She launches her own investigation, but finds her family stalked by a sinister patient when she links her husband’s death to a conspiracy involving a string of brutal homicides. Harlan Coben’s Tell No One meets The Good Widow by Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke.
On a cold February night, while my husband lay dying on a desolate country road, I was at home catching up on patient notes. I helped Kiara and Sammy with their homework, lost a game of Jenga, and then settled down at the kitchen table with a mug of masala chai. Chaos, our black Lab, sprawled under the table and kept my feet warm.
Looking back I should’ve been more worried. I should’ve gone out looking for him. I should’ve called 911 when he didn’t answer my calls. There were so many “I should’ves” but they didn’t make up for what I actually did.
Now, months later, I stood in Dhruv’s closet, staring into a box of his belongings. A week ago, the ME confirmed his hit-and-run was an accident. As part-time coroner of our town, I pulled some strings and got Forensics to release his things directly to me.
Chaos pushed his way in to smell a clear bag with a zipper that was on top. It had Dhruv’s tattered and blood-stained clothing.
And there, on his shirt, were the flecks of paint the forensics team had identified as Cosmos Blue. I had looked it up. It only came on one car. A customized Jeep Wrangler.
I hated that color.