In the early 1990s, I published a suspense novel called Eyes under the name Chris Hunter. Now I’m thrilled that it’s going to be available again, this time under my own name and with a striking new cover!
A mild-mannered car salesman . . . a womanizing bartender . . . a beloved minister with a devoted family. Except for the fact that each of the murder victims is male, Minnesota police can’t find a connection between the crimes. But that’s because what links them can’t be seen with the naked eye . . .
Losing everything can make a person do crazy things. No one knows that better than Connie Wilson. The shock of suddenly losing her fiancé, Alan, in a car accident, is almost too much bear . . . Until Connie comes up with a plan to stay close to Alan forever. And she’s finally found just the man to help her. There’s only one thing standing in her way: his wife. She’s smart, beautiful, and has exactly what Connie desperately needs. Connie will just have to be smarter, more seductive—and stay one step ahead of a detective who’s as determined to save her as Connie is to destroy her . . .
If you’ve enjoyed my earlier novels like Final Appeal and Fatal Identity then I believe you’re going to love reading Eyes!
Joanne Fluke
Prologue
Alan Stanford’s smile disappeared with his last bite of turkey. It had been a pleasant Thanksgiving meal with his parents and his younger sister, but Alan’s time was about up. He’d promised his girlfriend, Connie Wilson, he’d make the big announcement when dinner was over, and the traditional dessert was about to be served.
Alan’s hands started to shake as the maid carried in the pumpkin pie. It was lightly browned on top and still warm from the oven, the way his father, the senior Mr. Stanford, preferred. When the maid presented it to his mother to slice, just as if she’d baked it herself, a wry smile flickered across Alan’s face. It was doubtful that Mrs. Stanford had ever ventured as far as the kitchen, and the thought that his impeccably groomed, silver-haired mother might put on an apron and roll out a pie crust was patently ridiculous.
Rather than think about the words he’d soon have to utter, Alan considered the hypocrisy of etiquette. One praised the hostess for a delicious dinner, even if it had been catered. And one always called the daughter of a colleague a lady, whether she was one or not. The term “gentleman” referred to any man with enough money to make him socially desirable, and an estate was simply a home with enough land to house a condo complex. All the same, etiquette might save him some embarrassment tonight. There would be no scenes, no tears, no recriminations. After Alan had informed the family of his decision, his father would suggest he and Alan retire to the library where they’d discuss the matter in private.
“This is lovely, Mother.” Beth, Alan’s younger sister, was dutifully complimentary. “And I really do think it’s much better warm, with chilled crème fraiche.”
Alan’s mother smiled. “Yes, dear. Your father prefers it this way. Another piece, Ralph?”
“Just a small one.” Alan’s father held out his plate. “You know I’m watching my cholesterol.”
Alan waited while his mother cut another piece of pie. Nothing ever changed at the Stanford mansion. His father always said he was watching his cholesterol, and he always had a second serving of pie. Every Thanksgiving was exactly the same, but Alan was about to change the order of their lives. By this next Thanksgiving, there would be two more guests at the oval table. The rules of etiquette were clear. They’d be obligated to invite his wife and his son.
There were three bites remaining on his father’s plate, perhaps four if he ate all the crust. Alan knew how a condemned man felt as his father’s fork cut and carried each bite, one by one, to his mouth. The white linen napkin came up, to dab at the corners of his father’s lips, and Alan took a deep breath. He’d promised Connie. He couldn’t delay any longer.
“I have an announcement to make.” Alan’s voice was a little too loud because of his effort not to sound tentative. “Connie and I are getting married.”
There was complete silence around the table. It lasted for several seconds, and then Beth gave a hesitant smile. “That’s wonderful, Alan. Isn’t that wonderful, Mother?”
“Oh . . . yes.” His mother’s voice was strained, and Alan noticed that all the color had left her face. He could see the lines of her makeup, the exact spot where the edge of the blush met the foundation. “Yes, indeed. That’s wonderful, dear.”