One Last Lie Read Online Free

Philip. I’m just telling you…”
    “I know, Jonny, I know. Yeah, you’re right, it’s been fifteen years. But we’ve all changed. When she called, she really did sound like a different person. I’m hoping she’s now only the good Angela, and left the evil one back in Boston.”
    Just like Philip , Jonathan thought, always searching for the good in people. Even in a psycho-killer. He took another deep breath and entwined his fingers within Philip’s.
    “If she shows one sign of lunacy, I’ll drive a wooden stake through her heart and throw her out on the lawn.” He looked at the pots, pans, utensils and avocado peels strewn about the kitchen. “After I have her help me clean this mess.”
    Philip pulled Jonathan’s wrist toward him and twisted him around, slapping his butt as he walked out of the kitchen and through the foyer toward the front door. The doorbell didn’t even ring before Jonathan heard the door open and a scream, as though from the devil herself, echoed past the foyer, through the kitchen, and straight into Jonathan’s head.

3
    While Philip greeted his guest and her shrieks of excitement settled into murmurs and giggles, Jonathan braced himself against the sink with his back toward the faucet. He pressed both hands flat against the black granite, fingers wrapped around its rounded edges, and waited for the giant creature to fill the doorway and spew fire from her mouth. He glanced around the kitchen, feeling perspiration mist over the back of his neck, embarrassed by the chunks of avocado stuck to the chrome backsplash and the endless array of cooking utensils on every inch of counter space.
    When Philip walked into the kitchen, arm in arm with Angela, Jonathan’s mouth dropped open and he suppressed a groan. The woman was stunning. According to Jonathan’s on-the-spot calculations, she weighed no more than 110 pounds and had the figure of a runway model — too short in stature to walk the platform, but gorgeous enough to have her unblemished face on the cover of Elle . Her black hair was swept back and pulled tight, twisted elegantly into a French braid that reached mid-spine. She wore a hint of eyeliner that accentuated her blue eyes, a sweep of rose blush slightly coloring both cheeks, and subtle pink lipstick that brought out the sensuous curve of her lips. Jonathan was far from a fashion guru, but her understated clothing had to be designer-made. She wore a beige blazer over a white silk and lace teddy. Both blazer and teddy flowed seamlessly over a black linen skirt with a hem just below her knees, accentuating thin, shapely calves. If there was one name Jonathan knew, it was Prada, and he had no doubt her black shiny pumps were screaming the name as she slowly approached him.
    This couldn’t be Angela. This couldn’t be The Square .
    Before Jonathan could back away, she ran to him, flung both arms around his neck and pulled him close. He kept both arms at his sides and searched Philip’s face for some kind of assistance, or at least reassurance this was Angela. Philip shrugged and tightened his lips, also apparently at a loss for words.
    “So you’re the one who finally got Philip,” she said in his ear, loud enough to simulate conversation, yet soft enough remain a whisper. “Congratulations.” She gave him a gentle squeeze, wrapped her hands around his biceps and let his arms slide down through her hands. She grabbed his wrists and stepped back. “My, you are hot!” Her voice was now loud enough for Philip to hear. “You were right, Philip. Those lashes are to die for!”
    Philip shrugged again, not much help to either of them.
    “You look like you were expecting someone else.” She puffed out her cheeks, lifted her arms so they hung way out to her sides, and slowly clomped backwards, side to side toward Philip. “Someone who walks like this maybe?” She was doing a perfect imitation of the person Jonathan expected to trudge through the door.
    He forced a laugh. Was