The Passenger
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
"A dead serious thriller with a funny bone" from the author of the New York Times bestselling Spellman Files series, comes the story of a woman who creates and sheds identities as she crisscrosses the US trying to escape her past.
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"A dead serious thriller with a funny bone" from the author of the New York Times bestselling Spellman Files series, comes the story of a woman who creates and sheds identities as she crisscrosses the US trying to escape her past.
Klappentext zu „The Passenger “
"A dead-serious thriller (with a funny bone)" (The New York Times Book Review), from the author of the New York Times bestselling Spellman Files series, comes the story of a woman who creates and sheds new identities as she crisscrosses the country to escape her past.Forty-eight hours after leaving her husband's body at the base of the stairs, Tanya Dubois cashes in her credit cards, dyes her hair brown, demands a new name from a shadowy voice over the phone, and flees town. It's not the first time.
She meets Blue, a female bartender who recognizes the hunted look in a fugitive's eyes and offers her a place to stay. With dwindling choices, Tanya-now-Amelia accepts. An uneasy and dangerous alliance is born.
It's almost impossible to live off the grid in the twenty-first century, but Amelia-now-Debra and Blue have the courage, the ingenuity, and the desperation, to try. Hopscotching from city to city, Debra especially is chased by a very dark secret. From heart-stopping escapes and devious deceptions, we are left to wonder...can she possibly outrun her past?
The Passenger's white-knuckled plot and unforeseeable twists make one thing for certain: the ride will leave you breathless. "When the answers finally come, they are juicy, complex, and unexpected. The satisfying conclusion will leave readers rethinking everything and immediately turning back to the first page to start again. Psychological suspense lovers will tear through this thriller" (Library Journal, starred review).
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The Passenger Chapter 1 WHEN I found my husband at the bottom of the stairs, I tried to resuscitate him before I ever considered disposing of the body. I pumped his barrel chest and blew into his purple lips. It was the first time in years that our lips had touched and I didn't recoil.
I gave up after ten minutes. Frank Dubois was gone. Lying there all peaceful and quiet, he almost looked in slumber, but Frank was noisier asleep than he was awake. Honestly, if I had known what kind of snorer he was going to turn into, I never would have married him. If I could do it all over again, I never would have married him even if he slept like an angel. If I could do it all over again, there are so many things I would do differently. But looking at Frank then, so still and not talking, I didn't mind him so much. It seemed like a good time to say good-bye. I poured a shot of Frank's special bourbon, sat down on Frank's faux-suede La-Z-Boy, and had a drink to honor the dead.
In case you were wondering, I didn't do it. I didn't have anything to do with Frank's death. I don't have an alibi, so you'll have to take my word for it. I was taking a shower when Frank died. As far as I could tell, he fell down the staircase all on his own. He had been suffering from vertigo lately. Convenient, I know. And I doubt he mentioned it to anyone. If I had waited for the police and told them the truth, maybe life could have continued as normal. Minus Frank.
I poured another drink and contemplated my options. My first thought was to dispose of the body. Then I'd tell the authorities that Frank left me for another woman. Or was running from a loan shark. It was well-known that he had a love for cards but no talent for it.
I decided to test my strength to see if it was even possible. I tugged on Frank's bloated and callused feet, feet that I had come to loathe-why do you have to tell a grown man to clip his toenails? I dragged the body about a foot from his landing site before I
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gave up. Frank had put on weight in the past year, but even if he were svelte I couldn't see depositing him anyplace where he'd never be found. And now there was a suspicious trail of blood in the shape of a question mark just above his head. I might be able to explain it away if I called the police and stayed put. But then they'd start looking at me real carefully and I didn't like people looking at me all that much.
I tried to imagine my trial. Me, scrubbed clean, hair pulled back in a schoolmarm bun, wearing an innocent flowered sundress with a Peter Pan collar, trying to look not guilty, with my hard-edged poker face dry as the desert. I couldn't imagine how I'd summon tears or sell that shattered look of loss. I can't show much emotion anymore. That was something Frank always liked about me. There was a time I used to cry, but that was another lifetime ago. My heart was broken just once. But completely.
As I sat in Frank's chair, nursing my drink, I pretended to be weighing my options. But there was only one.
Frank kept his gambling stash in his toolbox. A little over twelve hundred dollars. I packed for a short trip and loaded the suitcase into the back of Frank's Chevy pickup.
I was only leaving two people behind, if you don't count Frank: Carol from the bar and Dr. Mike.
Dr. Mike was the top chiropractor in Waterloo, Wisconsin. There were only two, so it wasn't much of a competition. He'd taken over the practice three years ago, when Dr. Bill retired. Ever since the accident, my back hasn't been right. Dr. Bill used to fix me up once or twice a month. I saw Dr. Mike more frequently. The first time he put his hands on me, I felt an electric jolt, like I had woken up for the first time in years. I came back the next week and it was the exact same thing. I came back the week after that. I missed a week and Dr. Mike dropp
I tried to imagine my trial. Me, scrubbed clean, hair pulled back in a schoolmarm bun, wearing an innocent flowered sundress with a Peter Pan collar, trying to look not guilty, with my hard-edged poker face dry as the desert. I couldn't imagine how I'd summon tears or sell that shattered look of loss. I can't show much emotion anymore. That was something Frank always liked about me. There was a time I used to cry, but that was another lifetime ago. My heart was broken just once. But completely.
As I sat in Frank's chair, nursing my drink, I pretended to be weighing my options. But there was only one.
Frank kept his gambling stash in his toolbox. A little over twelve hundred dollars. I packed for a short trip and loaded the suitcase into the back of Frank's Chevy pickup.
I was only leaving two people behind, if you don't count Frank: Carol from the bar and Dr. Mike.
Dr. Mike was the top chiropractor in Waterloo, Wisconsin. There were only two, so it wasn't much of a competition. He'd taken over the practice three years ago, when Dr. Bill retired. Ever since the accident, my back hasn't been right. Dr. Bill used to fix me up once or twice a month. I saw Dr. Mike more frequently. The first time he put his hands on me, I felt an electric jolt, like I had woken up for the first time in years. I came back the next week and it was the exact same thing. I came back the week after that. I missed a week and Dr. Mike dropp
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Lisa Lutz
Lisa Lutz is the New York Times bestselling, Alex Award-winning author of the Spellman Files series, as well as the novels The Accomplice, Heads You Lose (with David Hayward), How to Start a Fire, The Passenger, and The Swallows. She has also written for film and TV, including HBO's The Deuce. She lives in upstate New York.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Lisa Lutz
- 2016, 336 Seiten, Maße: 13,9 x 21,2 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Simon & Schuster US
- ISBN-10: 1451686641
- ISBN-13: 9781451686647
- Erscheinungsdatum: 21.11.2016
Sprache:
Englisch
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