The Imposter

by Marin Montgomery

  After that, I became more than a booze queen. I became a cheater.

  CHAPTER 47

  Deborah

  After Holden leaves, Deborah is exhausted but restless. Her footsteps pace the worn carpet in the bedroom. She misses the carefree times as a child when she would catch water on the tip of her tongue, so she goes outside to stand in the rain. Even though she gets absolutely soaked, it’s utterly freeing at the moment.

  Shaking off inside like a wet dog, Deborah wipes her feet on the floor mat, not wanting to track mud through the house. She rubs her face with a hand towel in the kitchen, carefully drying around her eyes.

  As she locks the front door behind her, chills run down her spine.

  The house is deathly quiet except for the steady thump of the rain hitting the siding. It reminds her of patting someone on the back for doing a good job, except it’s uninterrupted.

  Suddenly Deborah doesn’t like the noise. It’s annoying and constant.

  She flicks on the television, but the chatter doesn’t help. She mutes the sound.

  Music. That’s what she needs—some good old-fashioned music.

  An old radio sits on the counter, and ancient and dusty as it is, it never fails to work. Moving the dial through static, she finds a station that fits her mood. As she hums along to an old tune, a jazz medley by Nat King Cole, she hears the unmistakable roar of an engine.

  Tilting her head to listen, she turns down the volume.

  There’s another clap of thunder, and guessing she’s wrong, Deborah cranks the music back up, louder this time, her hips jiving to the instruments.

  Moving seductively through the kitchen to the living room, she looks out the window as another sliver of lightning splits open the clouds.

  Mesmerized, she intently watches the storm. Deborah’s glad she’s safe and warm, tucked away inside, as her mother used to say during the bad weather. Her eyes seek out the barely visible barn in the distance.

  Her daughter hasn’t returned. Eyes darting to the clock, she wonders if she should be worried. Even though the television is muted, she catches the red scrolling bar at the bottom of the screen, warning of possible flooding and a severe thunderstorm watch for the entire county.

  The light flickers in the antique lamp, and her eyes move to the ceiling bulb, which taunts her by giving a final burst of energy before fading.

  Out like a light, she thinks, giggling to herself.

  She’s going to need candles, she suspects. The flashing screen announces power outages across the neighboring towns.

  Combing through the disorganized junk drawer, Deborah is searching for matches when a pounding interrupts her concentration.

  She ignores it, thinking it’s the rain.

  As she sighs, she hears another thud.

  Deborah spins around and, terrified of the noise, claps her hands over her ears. Why won’t it just stop?

  The ding-dong of the doorbell slices through the downstairs. Licking her lips apprehensively, she tiptoes back to the kitchen.

  A muffled voice outside commands her to open the door. “Deborah, open up; it’s me.” She’s relieved it’s a male voice and not a female one and obeys. Surprised to see Miles Fletcher dripping water, she hesitates before letting him in.

  Faking a smile, Deborah makes room for him to come inside, but only because it’s pouring out. “What’re you doing out and about?”

  “I came to check on you two,” he says. “You weren’t making sense last night. I figured you ladies were having a fight when you said Sibby was trying to hurt you.” He shrugs. “She’s not picking up her phone, so I wanted to stop by.”

  “How sweet but unnecessary.” Deborah smiles at him like he’s a leper. “You shouldn’t be concerned. She left. It’s going to be okay now.”

  “Sibley left?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyebrow arches. “Her car’s outside.”

  Deborah shrugs. “Her husband came to get her.”

  “I shouldn’t have called him.” Fletcher sighs. “That was wrong of me.”

  “You called him?”

  “I told him she was here.” He runs a hand through his thinning hair. “I let my emotions get the best of me. She told me you cosigned on a piece of property in another state. It was total BS.”

  “Another state?” Deborah rubs a hand over her face. “Oh dear, I know your father talked about moving away. I don’t remember finalizing anything.”

  “See, that’s what I mean!” Fletcher looks pained. “This has got to stop, Deborah. My father is engaged to another woman. This isn’t healthy.”

  Deborah’s jaw drops, and she stands in uncomfortable silence.

  “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” He shifts his weight to the other leg. “I know he’s not going to man up and confront you, but I will.”

  “Is that right? He’s engaged?” Deborah clutches at her chest. “I wonder why he never mentioned it.”

  “Deborah,” he says gently, “maybe we could chat for a minute?”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “I’d really like a cup of tea.”

  Miles settles himself in a chair, and seeing as she doesn’t have a choice, Deborah busies herself with the teakettle, waiting for him to talk. He’s crossing and uncrossing his legs, and Deborah can tell he’s riddled with anxiety. She recognizes it because she sometimes does the same thing.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t your father come with you?”

  “Because he doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Deborah says softly, “I didn’t know he was dating anyone else. And he asked me to move with him . . . I just don’t understand.” Her jaw quivers. “Why didn’t he break up with me himself? He hasn’t returned any of my calls lately, and I could sense something was wrong.” The kettle whistles, and Deborah pours the hot water into three mugs, just in case she has another visitor.

  Dropping the tea bags in to steep, she realizes Miles is waiting for her to continue.

  “How long has he been . . .”

  “Engaged?” Miles wrinkles his nose. “A few months. But he’s been seriously involved with her for a long time, over a year.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me,” she whispers. “I feel so stupid. And like what we had was a sham.”

  “Did you think you were in a committed relationship?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But a relationship means you hang out and talk and see each other, Deborah.”

  “I realize this.” Handing him a mug, she fixes him with a bewildered stare. “But we did those things.”

  Miles seems puzzled by this admission. “When did you hang out and talk? You mean, when you would call for help with your security system or a break-in?”

  “No.” Deborah ticks examples off on her fingers, naming a couple of their dates and what they did. Now that she’s reflecting on their time together, she realizes it was never in public, minus the one time he stopped at the grocery store to meet her . . . in a different town.

  Shakily, Deborah sinks down into a chair, not caring it’s Jonathan’s old one. “Look, Miles, I know we’ve had some issues because of the past. With Kristin—”

  “Don’t bring her up to me,” Miles says in warning. “I don’t want to talk about Kristin.”

  “Okay, then, about your mom . . .”

  “Can we please”—Miles’s hand goes to his collared shirt, as if he’s choking—“stop talking about that night and what happened sixteen years ago. Can we please move on? It can’t keep defining our small community and our lives.”

  Deborah slumps in her chair.

  “I forgive you, Deborah. Dad admitted the affair, and we’ve all moved on.”

  Fidgeting with her pendant, she murmurs, “What affair?”

  Miles clenches his hands around the mug. “The one that cost my mother her life.”

  Deborah stares at him glumly. “You never did talk to your father, did you?”


  He rewards her with a death glare. “What’re you insinuating?”

  “That if you had an honest talk with your father, you wouldn’t be accusing me of sleeping with him when he was married to your mother.” She sighs. “Maybe it’s you that needs to move on from old rumors and lies.”

  Blood rushes to his face. “I’m tired of your bullshit, Deborah. You were trying to get my dad to leave my mom for you. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, so you got jealous.”

  “Listen to me.” She peers at him closely. “I didn’t want this to come from my mouth—I hoped your father would fill you in—but here it is. You remember Edward, one of your father’s best friends?”

  “Of course.” He scowls. “I was at the funeral, but I didn’t see you there.”

  “Edward was my first boyfriend, my first love. We started dating when we were in high school. Edward was Sibley’s father.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Miles grips his throat again, as if her words are strangling him. “I know Edward had a wife—or ex-wife, because my dad . . . well . . . never mind.” He asks, “When was this?”

  “Well, Miles, I don’t need to break down conception for you. It happened thirty-four years ago. We dated and got pregnant. He left for the military, and I married Jonathan. We both moved on with our lives.”

  “But he never said anything . . .”

  Deborah swallows hard. “I know.”

  “So my mother died for nothing, all based on pointless rumors . . . when you were really sleeping with Edward?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping with Edward then.” Deborah shakes her head sadly. “I was trying to leave Jonathan. Your father was helping me.”

  Miles pounds his fist on the table.

  Using a soft voice, Deborah tries to diffuse the situation. “Miles, I had no idea your mother was going to follow Robert to our house that evening. He was the mastermind helping me to leave Jonathan.” Her hands tremble. “After Cindy told Jonathan at church that Sibley wasn’t his, it was a ticking time bomb.”

  Deborah doesn’t want to dive deep into more old history with Miles, because she doesn’t care for him, and it’s none of his business. His presence is annoying to her. He has no right to sit down and demand her time.

  “My mother told Jonathan no such thing!” Miles clenches his fists at his sides. “You’re lying, Deborah. It’s pathetic. After all this time, you’re still trying to pin the blame on my poor, innocent mother. You’re going to hell for—”

  He’s interrupted by a thud and then the pitter-patter of footsteps. Miles and Deborah look at each other in shock.

  CHAPTER 48

  Deborah

  “No, Miles.” A soft, gravelly voice speaks from the hallway. “Deborah’s right. Well, partially right.”

  The footsteps arrive in the kitchen, belonging to a woman wearing black combat boots. Her blonde hair is tightly wound into a chignon, and she’s wearing glasses with thick black frames.

  “Alice!” Miles screeches. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Oh, Dr. Alacoy, you scared me!” Deborah half rises out of her chair in surprise. “That’s quite the entrance. You could’ve knocked at the front.” She murmurs to Miles, “Did we not hear someone knocking?” To Alice, she says, “We were caught up in a deep discussion. Sorry about that.”

  Holding up a key, Alice smiles. “Not to worry, I let myself in.”

  The corners of Deborah’s face crease in confusion, and Alice shrugs. “I got the key from your purse during our sessions. When you passed out, I was able to make a copy.” Nodding at Miles, she giggles. “Hello, future stepson.” The woman reintroduces herself to Deborah. “You know me as Dr. Alacoy. But before Edward divorced me, I was formerly known as Mrs. Alicia Pearson, or Alice. Alacoy is my maiden name. But soon”—she beams—“I’ll be a Fletcher. Robert and I are engaged. Woo-hoo! And I’d show you the ring if I weren’t wearing gloves. Maybe later?”

  Deborah’s eyes flicker between Alice and Miles in stunned silence.

  “And hello, Debbie.” She greets her with a wicked grin. “My current patient—and soon-to-be committed patient.”

  After first patting Deborah’s knee, Alice settles against the kitchen counter. “Go on with your chat, you two. That was rude of me to interrupt in the middle of an intense conversation. Please forgive my impatience. I just want to make sure the story is accurate.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m so sick of hearing it told wrong. As much as I wish I could correct everyone, it’d be a dead giveaway I was hiding in the loft the night that Jonathan went splat”—she smacks her hands together—“and Cindy bled to death.”

  “So you’re the woman Sibley saw sneak onto the property . . . ,” Deborah murmurs. “I thought she got it wrong. Or she lied.”

  “Shame on you, Deb. You should’ve believed your own flesh and blood.” Alice lets out a maniacal laugh. “Sibley did come to see me this morning, and we had a nice little chat. She’s very, very worried about you. Says you’ve become unstable . . .” Alice throws her gloved hands up. “But don’t worry; we talked it through. I didn’t tell her the reason you’ve been experiencing all the brain fog and confusion and mental anguish is a result of your medication. Before I started treating you, I made sure I had the right diagnosis. Some people wait for the patient to come to them before they treat it, which is so reactive, don’t you think?”

  She brushes a strand of hair off Deborah’s cheek. “But with you, I wanted to be proactive. I owe you that. Especially because you are harmful to society, a real crazy person who belongs in a mental institution. Cuckoo. I gave Sibley your records to show her exactly how batshit you are.” Alice grins. “But don’t worry—they were in her room, and I got them all back. Plus her laptop and phone. A word of advice: she might want to think of a stronger password in the future.”

  “Leave her out of this.” Deborah’s lip trembles.

  “She looks just like Edward.” Alice sneers. “I wanted to smack the freckles off her face.” She leans down so she’s level with Deborah, her eyes boring into her skull. “Cindy told me back then she thought you were having an affair with Robert, back in early September. It brought all these suppressed memories back, how Edward was obsessed with you. He never wanted me; he only wanted you.” Jabbing her finger at Deborah’s throat, she cries, “I figured if he was so obsessed with you, I should be too.

  “I told poor Cindy you were a shrew, a terrible human being, a whore, a home-wrecker, every word I could think of.” Alice lets out a loud sigh. “And she ate it up. I mean, you gave her all the proof she needed.” Alice stares at Miles. “Both you and your dumb, dead girlfriend—I mean wife. Kristin.” She looks at the ceiling. “Rest in peace, Kristin.”

  “So it is true.” Miles leans back in his chair, deflated. “Kristin never did see you and my father doing anything at the Halloween party.”

  “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for!” Alice pats his shoulder. “I had been following Deborah and knew it was totally believable. She’d been meeting up with Robert to plan her escape from her deadbeat husband. You know how small towns are—everybody knows everybody. Kristin coached a sports team my little girl was on at the time, and I gave her five hundred bucks to lie. She had a real mean streak, the perfect mean girl to spread that rumor. Another instance of a poor kid needing a dad in her life.”

  “But why?” Deborah runs a tired hand over her face. “Why would you do that to my family?”

  “Because you ruined mine,” Alice hisses. “After Eddie divorced me, my poor kids went the same route. Their father abandoned them. Fucking Edward just relinquished his parental rights. Gave up his two children so he could be with you and your shithead kid. We went from having a decent life to being practically homeless. We had to move back to the East Coast so we could live with my parents.”

  Deborah wrings her hands in her lap. “But Edward didn’t leave you for me and Sibley.”

  “Yes, he did. He moved back into town and started attending all of Sibley’s eve
nts, watching her grow up, instead of his precious kids that weren’t part of some short-lived, puppy love relationship, born out of wedlock and passed off as another man’s. And the nail in the coffin”—Alice points a crooked finger at Deborah—“he left everything to your daughter. Everything!” she shrieks. “All in a blind trust when Sibley turns thirty-five.”

  Miles pops out of his chair, shaking his fist. “I’ve heard enough! How could my father let this happen?”

  “Sit down, you pathetic man-child. You’re the weakest link of the Fletcher family.” Alice pats his shoulder. “Besides your mom. Cindy was so easy to manipulate.” Alice fixes Miles with an icy gaze. “You want to know why your mother died? You got your mother killed. You’ve blamed the poor Sawyer family for everything, and it’s your fault she’s dead.”

  “How do you figure?” he whispers.

  “Because you convinced her Robert was screwing Deborah. You got her all riled up about it. You wanted Cindy to go over there and confront the Sawyers and your dad that evening.

  “I called your mother that Sunday afternoon, right after church, in fact. I’d already put the bug in Cindy’s ear, but I told her if and when Robert left, she should follow him. I knew it was go time for Deborah—her fate was sealed as soon as Jonathan found out he’d been playing daddy to a kid that wasn’t his for almost eighteen years.”

  Alice rubs her hands in glee. “Powerful stuff, these rumors. But it wasn’t a rumor, was it, since it was true. Edward was the father of Sibley, not Jonathan. And lucky for me, I found an old letter you wrote in that old chest in your barn and gave that to Cindy to show Jonathan.”

  Alice says in a singsong voice, “I have a confession . . .”

  Both pairs of eyes are glued to her face.

  “I was the one who pushed Jonathan, but it wasn’t intentional. I mean, I intended to push someone, but it wasn’t him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was waiting for you, Deborah.”

  She puckers her lips. “I snuck into the barn when Jonathan was dragging you by your hair. Frankly, I was hoping he would put you out of your misery so I wouldn’t have to. I was hoping he would kill you and then just rot in prison. He was worthless too.”