A Secret Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

hide?” she stage-whispered.
    “It’s probably Anthony,” Joan whispered back.
    “Would he knock?”
    Joan put down her glass. “Of course he would knock. I told you, we meet maybe once or twice a year.” She headed for the door.
    “I think you should be careful.” Heather pattered behind her. “You’ve got enough problems without a news crew sticking a camera in your face.”
    Joan flashed her sister a look of disbelief. “News crew? You’re starting to sound like Anthony.” Still, she peeked through the beveled window before opening the door.
    Not Anthony.
    And not a news crew.
    It was Samuel Kane, and Joan’s stomach did a slow-motion slide to her toes. Samuel should have been the first person she thought of when her name went public.
    In the past, she’d always been careful not to base her stories on real people or on real events. They all took place in Cajun country. And yes, the small town was similar to Indigo. But the stories themselves were pure fiction.
    Until this one.
    The murder-suicide of Samuel Kane’s parents had formed the germ of her idea for Bayou Betrayal.
    “Who is it?” Heather hissed from behind her.
    Joan took a bracing breath and opened the door.
    “Ms. Bateman?” Samuel Kane nodded, his tone low and melodious. He was a big, burly man with cropped black hair, deep-set eyes and a wide nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. His skin was the color of burnished copper both from his hours in the sun as a carpenter and from his mixed heritage.
    Joan sometimes saw him at church, and they’d certainly met around town, but they’d never engaged one another in conversation. There was only one reason for him to show up at her door today—he’d already read Bayou Betrayal, and she hadn’t been nearly as vague as she’d hoped.
    “Mr. Kane,” she acknowledged, swallowing against a tight, dry throat.
    “Who is it?” Heather demanded.
    “I think you know why I’m here,” he said.
    Heather shouldered her way between Joan and the doorjamb. “Well, I don’t know why you’re here.”
    “Heather,” Joan warned, stepping back, opening the door wider. “Please come in.”
    “You’re letting him in?” Heather squeaked, glancing from one to the other.
    “She’s letting me in,” said Samuel.
    Heather looked him up and down. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
    Samuel perused Heather from head to toe. “You afraid I’ll steal the silver?”
    Heather crossed her arms over her chest and tipped up her chin. “I’m afraid you’re a stringer for a tabloid.”
    Samuel’s lip curled, and he gave Heather an insolent look few men would have dared. When she didn’t flinch, he turned his attention to Joan. “I need to know if it’s true.”
    “Please come in,” Joan repeated.
    “Joanie.”
    “Back off, Heather.”
    Heather’s delicate nostrils flared for a second, but she stepped out of the way.
    Samuel ambled through the doorway, ducking reflexively to accommodate his height.
    Joan closed the door behind him.
    “It’s true,” she admitted, bracing herself for his anger.
    For a split second, his expression went blank. Then he blinked and drew back. “You have proof?”
    “Proof?” What an odd question.
    “Of my father’s innocence.”
    Joan instantly understood, and her mouth formed a silent oh.
    In her novel, Samuel’s father didn’t murder his wife and then commit suicide. In her novel, his father was framed by criminals who were after hundreds of thousands of dollars concealed in the walls of his house.
    Samuel thought the entire book was true. And she’d unthinkingly given him false hope.
    She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m afraid the story is fictional.”
    Samuel’s meaty hands slowly curled into fists.
    “I made it up,” she clarified, taking a step backward. Maybe Heather had been right about letting Samuel in.
    Just then the front door opened, and Anthony strode into the hall. He stopped short, his eyes darting from one