Raven Lane Read online

  PRAISE FOR AMBER COWIE

  “Rapid Falls is an ingenious thriller cleverly disguised as a straightforward story about two sisters coping with the aftermath of a tragedy. Just when I’d thought I’d figured it out, the novel twisted into something entirely different, leading to an ending worthy of Alfred Hitchcock. You aren’t going to want to miss this remarkable novel.”

  —Karen McQuestion, bestselling author of Hello Love

  “Rapid Falls flips the script of the family saga of tough love and simmering resentments so hard and fast I think I got vertigo. Dark, delicious, and utterly subversive . . . I leave you with a warning: this one packs a wallop.”

  —Emily Carpenter, author of Every Single Secret

  “Blood is thicker than water, but in Rapid Falls, both are fraught with danger. Sibling rivalry, obsessive first love, and a tragedy that haunts a family: the suspense had me hooked, desperate to see what secrets would surface. But that’s the trouble with sisters—how can you hide a dark heart from the person who knows you best?”

  —Jo Furniss, bestselling author of All the Little Children and The Trailing Spouse

  “In this smart, riveting thriller reminiscent of Patricia Highsmith’s works, a dark alchemy of family secrets and sibling rivalry spins ever more wildly toward a shocking, diabolical ending. I couldn’t put it down!”

  —A. J. Banner, USA Today bestselling author of The Twilight Wife

  “In Rapid Falls, two sisters are haunted by a prom night tragedy. One’s life is spiraling out of control and one seems intact. But appearances can be deceiving. Cowie brings her readers to the edge of a cliff and then dares them to dive off—right into the rough and tumble that is Rapid Falls. Twisty and gripping.”

  —Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of Fractured and The Good Liar

  “In Rapid Falls, everyone is the good guy in their own story. Like a spider spinning a web, Ms. Cowie skillfully takes this notion and elevates it to a fantastically dark and dizzying place. Say goodbye to any preconceived ideas about sisterhood, the power of grudges, or happily ever after, because this book will sweep them away and leave you gasping for more.”

  —Eliza Maxwell, bestselling author of The Unremembered Girl

  “Hypnotic and darkly twisted, Rapid Falls is the true definition of a page-turner. It’s so compelling that you will not want to put it down. Cowie’s smart storytelling and mesmerizing prose paints a stunning debut, making it one of my favorite psychological thrillers of the year.”

  —Kerry Lonsdale, Amazon Charts and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of Everything We Keep

  “Rapid Falls is a deeply seductive psychological thriller about two sisters and the secrets they struggle to keep as their lives—and their lies—begin to unravel.”

  —Sheena Kamal, bestselling author of The Lost Ones

  “Amber Cowie conjures up the pressures of living in a small town where everyone thinks they know your business so evocatively that I kept turning round to see who was watching me. A great read.”

  —Imogen Clark, author of Postcards From a Stranger

  “Years after a tragic car accident, a young woman’s ‘perfect’ life unravels one stunning revelation at a time as the events of that fateful night come back to haunt her. Amber Cowie’s gut-wrenching thriller sends you reeling through drunken bonfires, small-town intrigues, and family secrets as a single betrayal alters the course for everyone involved. A page-turner from start to finish; you can’t look away until the jaw-dropping conclusion.”

  —D. M. Pulley, bestselling author of The Buried Book

  OTHER TITLES BY AMBER COWIE

  Rapid Falls

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Amber Cowie

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542003728 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 1542003725 (hardcover)

  ISBN-13: 9781542091206 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1542091209 (paperback)

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  First edition

  To Joan Jacobsen, who has always been my biggest fan.

  Thank you for teaching me that stories are best told under a cozy blanket by someone you love.

  (Sorry for working blue.)

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  READER GROUP QUESTIONS FOR AMBER COWIE’S RAVEN LANE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PART ONE

  When the call came, those who could hear it were changed forever. For some, it was a scream of unbearable agony. For others, it was the song of a siren: an invitation that they could not resist. In fact, they had been waiting for it all their lives.

  —Torn Grace, The Call

  CHAPTER ONE

  She knew she should be happier. It was the second weekend of September, the perfect moment when summer leans lazily into fall, and the evening air was sweet with the scent of her neighbor’s roses. A bird sang softly high in the trees as Esme watched condensation form on the wine bottle. Each bead seemed compelled to gather the weight of the others, causing them all to fall. She blinked when her husband, Benedict, disturbed the progress of the drops by lifting the bottle to pour the last inch of wine into his glass, leaving hers empty.

  “Should we go in?” he asked, gesturing to the sliding glass door of the kitchen behind them. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet,” Esme said. “It’s still early.”

  Benedict smiled, shrugged, and raised his glass. Esme returned the smile, relieved at how natural it felt. She wished suddenly that the glow on their back deck from the slow touch of sunset could last forever, that time would stop now, in this moment. She began to speak, only to find him distracted by a burst of music from another house on Raven Lane. He craned his neck toward the source of the sound: the home of Kitty Dagostino. Esme’s words died on her lips.

  Benedict shifted in his seat as if the beat was making him anxious for more excitement. She knew it was difficult for him to have an audience of only her, especially on a night like this, when he was celebrating his own success. One of his modeling clients had just been asked to walk in a major designer’s show at Paris Fashion Week. Benedict would want to share the news with as many people a
s possible. She knew that soon he would start making plans for an impromptu gathering of their friends on Raven Lane. The best and worst part about their close-knit neighborhood was that there was always someone around to confide in. It often seemed as if nothing could stay private.

  She needed a little more time before she was ready to let this moment end.

  “When does Ranvir leave for Paris?” she asked.

  Benedict turned to her with wide eyes, as if startled that she was still there. As she had guessed, his mind had drifted far away. “I’m not sure. We didn’t get into details. I’ve got a call on Monday to finalize things.”

  “Oh.”

  His glassy eyes made her wonder if the news about his client’s achievements had been entirely welcome. Perhaps he was lost in thoughts of his past failings, not his current success. Eighteen years ago, Benedict’s own modeling career had stalled and then sputtered out completely. Tonight, when he’d arrived home from work bursting with pride, Esme had been happy that her husband was not holding on to the decades-old disappointment. It was the perfect occasion to open a bottle of wine she had been saving. After a couple of glasses, however, her husband’s pride had cycled to a mood that seemed slightly frantic. He tossed back the last of his wine, then let his eyes skim the bare skin of her shoulders and chest.

  “What should we do this evening? Zoe’s away for the weekend. We have the house to ourselves.”

  Esme smiled at the mention of their daughter, who was currently attending a science conference, the first of her senior year extracurricular activities. Zoe had been in school for only a week, and already her calendar was filling up. Benedict leaned toward her and ran his fingers up the inside of her leg to the hem of her light jersey dress. As his hand inched even higher, she fought the urge to leap from her seat. She shifted her knee instead.

  “We could invite people over?” Esme said.

  Benedict stood up, and Esme winced as the metal legs of his chair scraped the cedar deck. She couldn’t tell if he felt rebuffed or if the thought of being social had replaced his desire for sex, but it didn’t matter. Her husband had moved on.

  “Why don’t you see if Sophie and Ray want to stop by? You’re right. This is a night for celebrating my success, after all. We are going to par-tay.”

  He exaggerated his faint German accent on the last word to make Esme laugh, and she responded dutifully. She could tell that inviting their two closest friends over was only the beginning of the raucous evening Benedict was envisioning. Sophie Bernard and Ray Peters had lived next to them for years; it was Sophie’s beautiful roses that kept their backyard perfumed during the short summer season in Fraser City. Benedict rocked his hips from side to side in time to the muted pop music still floating on the breeze.

  “Party, huh?” Esme said.

  “Why not? It’s Friday. I’ve just had a huge breakthrough. Summer’s almost over. Zoe’s out. Let’s enjoy each other, my beautiful wife.”

  “Okay, okay,” Esme agreed before pausing. “Wait, I think Sophie is away this weekend. Should we ask Kitty instead?”

  “Whatever you wish. My darling, Esme, dance with me?”

  He extended his tanned arm toward her, and she tilted her head playfully without reaching to meet it.

  “But I don’t even know this song. It sounds more like something Zoe would be into.”

  “The music is just the backdrop, Ez. The mood is what we make it!”

  She smiled but stayed seated while he gyrated in front of her. His long body blocked the sunset and cast Esme in and out of shadow as he moved in time with the beat. The changing light lifted an old memory from her mind. Seventeen years ago, she used to coax newborn Zoe to sleep by rocking her in and out of the beam of the streetlight that faced her bedroom window. Her daughter’s butterscotch-brown eyes would droop closed in the dark, then open again in the light, filling with wonder each time she caught sight of her mother. No one looked at Esme like that anymore. Zoe was a teenager now, focused on her own pursuits. Just this afternoon, Zoe had raced out the door as soon as her friend arrived, before Esme could so much as say goodbye.

  “Well, then I’ll call Ray and Kitty. Are you going to invite José?”

  Benedict’s eyebrows knit together at the mention of his longtime friend and co-owner of his modeling agency.

  “No. José is . . . busy tonight.”

  “Wasn’t he at the party at the agency?”

  “So many questions, my darling! The time for talking is done! The time for living is now!”

  An infectious smile lit up his green eyes, making the brown flaw in the corner of the left one flicker. Benedict broke into even more enthusiastic, exaggerated movements with both hands raised, weaving them through his thick blond hair. Esme could see the long sinews running up his forearms. With the setting sun behind him, he looked even more handsome than he had the night she’d met him nineteen years ago in a crowded nightclub.

  “Tell them to come over in half an hour. I’ll run out and stock up on supplies.”

  She glanced at her cell phone.

  “Sure. Probably a couple bottles of each, red and white.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  He loped across the deck, through the kitchen, and down the hall to the front foyer, where they kept their shoes and coats. Esme trailed him, noticing the prettiness of her copper pots glinting in the low setting sun that burst through the windows. Even the hallway, which was shadowed for most of the day, gleamed with beams of light. Benedict’s hair shone golden as he stopped just shy of the front door.

  “Drive carefully,” she said.

  Benedict reached for his sneakers and jammed them on his feet. As usual, they were lying haphazardly on the floor mat rather than placed carefully on the shoe rack like hers and Zoe’s. Benedict often acted more like a child than Zoe did. He flung open the front door, and Esme followed him as far as the step, admiring the way the pink sunset painted the space between the Dagostino and Stein houses across the street.

  Raven Lane was a cul-de-sac with five detached homes arranged in a U shape, tucked into an area just two blocks away from one of Fraser City’s busiest commercial areas, where Esme’s restaurant was located. The lane had little traffic beyond the residents coming and going—a series of one-way streets made it difficult to access unintentionally. Though Raven Lane was empty, Esme could hear the murmur of cars and conversation from the patios on Main Street. Out of habit, she hoped Dix-Neuf was experiencing the usual rush of after-work drinkers and diners.

  Kitty’s pearl-colored SUV was parked in her driveway diagonally across the street, but Miriam and Levi Steins’ electric car was nowhere to be seen in the driveway in front of her. Esme was relieved not to have to invite that couple over tonight. The Steins’ reserved nature resulted in them socializing very little with the rest of Raven Lane’s residents, and when they did, Esme found the forced conversation tiring.

  As Benedict walked to the car, she looked to her left to check if Ray was home, straining her eyes to see past the hedge that demarcated the property line between their homes. Depending on how close to the house Ray parked, she could sometimes make out the shape of his vehicle in the driveway through the tiny gaps between the branches twisted around each other in the hedge. She still remembered when the trees had been planted a dozen years ago by the people who had owned the house before Sophie and Ray. Back then, the hedge was an unobtrusive line of foot-high cedars. A natural barrier between the houses, their neighbor had said, and Esme had agreed, telling him that she loved the way the green fingers of the trees brought a bit of nature to their city street. Neither of them had anticipated that the cedars would thrive so well in the Pacific Northwest conditions. The branches had knit together quickly, forming a hedge that had grown higher than their first-story windows. Ray needed a stepladder to trim it, on the few occasions that he did.

  Tonight, the shadows from the setting sun obscured her view through the cedar trees. It was 7:00 p.m., but Ray’s job as a spo
rtswriter often meant late nights, so he might not be home yet. She couldn’t see a car in the drive, though a blur of movement down the street caught her eye. The sharp rattle of the motor of their own compact SUV brought her attention back to her husband. Through the two-inch gap of the unrolled window, Esme could hear the heavy, excited consonants of German broadcasters announcing a European football match. Benedict winked at her through the windshield, tapping his hands on the steering wheel of the BMW before giving her a wolfish grin. In a heady rush of wine, she leaned forward and pulled down the stretchy fabric of her dress, revealing an intricately laced bra. Her unusual daring captured Benedict completely, and he kept his eyes locked on her, even as he reversed quickly down the driveway.

  Esme heard the crunch of impact, the sickening sound of his car hitting something.

  Someone.

  The thick thud of a vehicle striking muscle and bone was both unfathomable and immediately familiar. It had the same obscene thwack as Esme tenderizing meat in her restaurant kitchen.

  In an instant, Benedict’s expression changed from lust to terror. Esme sprinted down the slight slope of the driveway, past her stunned husband, who had already opened the SUV door and exited. She rounded the vehicle and saw the lean body of Torn Grace, their neighbor from two doors down, sprawled out with the back of his head against the pavement. As her feet rushed to close the distance to his body, her mind made sense of the accident in staccato bursts, like a camera freezing still shots of the scene so she could process it one tiny piece at a time. Torn’s bicycle was twisted beneath Benedict’s back tire. He must have been thrown from it by the impact of the crash.

  When she reached Torn’s body, she saw his blue eyes staring up at the deep-pink and purple sky. A day’s worth of black stubble dotted his jawline. Her stomach heaved as her hearing amplified. Benedict’s breath was heavy and uneven behind her. She turned to look at her husband, who was still standing by the driver’s side, as if frozen in place. Her gaze darted away from him and back to the bike lodged underneath the car, its wheel spinning. The catch of the rough edges of the tire’s rim against the bent fender ticked like a cicada in the quiet summer air.