Tell No Lies Read Online Free PDF

face her writing demons and pen a new book. No doubt, Flo was hoping Savannah would immortalize her in ink. And Augusta, well, she got to restore the house they’d grown up in—this Civil War–era monstrosity she had come to hate. And the kicker . . . they had to do it all while living together under the same roof, without killing each other.
    Whatever that was supposed to accomplish, Augusta didn’t know, but Flo had one helluva sense of humor and the joke was on them.
    So far, Augusta had been living out of a single drawer, reluctant to get too comfortable, but she opened the dresser drawer now and stared at the empty bottom. A glance at the closet floor confirmed that her entire wardrobe was lying there waiting to be laundered, and a wry smile curved her lips. Apparently, a limited wardrobe only worked if you were willing to do laundry often.
    Retrieving a pair of shorts from the dirty pile and plucking up the cleanest of the T-shirts, she decided another trip to New York was in order. Augusta had kept her apartment there, fully intending to return after their year’s sentence was over. She had brought only the most basic necessities. Caroline was going to flip out over her leaving again, she knew, but it couldn’t be helped. Although at this point, Caroline’s fits were the least of her worries, and even the house lagged far behind the situation with Ian.
    What had she been thinking?
    Whether he was guilty or not, sleeping with him might have been the stupidest thing she had ever done in all her life. Not daring to explore last night’s dreams too closely, she made her way downstairs, passing the loose board that had sent her mother tumbling to her death. For the hundredth time, she stopped to inspect it, examining the warped wood. It looked a little like water damage, but a glance up revealed no telltale stain in the ceiling. Toeing the raised board, she resolved to begin the renovations of this mausoleum—this tribute to Southern aristocracy—as soon as possible. Christ, but if her mother thought she was going to leave the place as it was, she was dead wrong. If she was going to be forced to handle the restoration of this relic of the Old South, it was going to end up as something Augusta could look at and not feel shame over.
    It was no secret to anyone that Augusta hated this house. For that matter, she hated Charleston and its genteel façade that hid a putrid soul—melodramatic perhaps, but the description suited her feelings just the same. Nope, give her New York and honest, straightforward people any day of the week.
    At the bottom of the stairs, she checked the massive old mirror that had been hanging in the hall for literally a century and frowned at the dark circles forming under her eyes. The mirror had at one point belonged to Charles Pinckney, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. But that distinction hadn’t saved Pinckney’s plantation and he’d sold the estate—and the mirror—due to mismanagement. His loss was apparently the Aldridges’ gain, or rather her great-great-grandmother’s gain.
    When they were younger, Sadie had had them all convinced the mirror bore the souls of the dead, and dead was exactly what she looked like this morning. The original silvered glass was hardly flattering, but her mother had gladly sacrificed her reflection for the cachet of owning a gilded glass that had once hung at Snee Farm.
    All of it was straight-up bung as far as Augusta was concerned. She didn’t much care to stare at herself in any mirror, but if you were going to do it, it was better to actually be able to see yourself clearly.
    Voices came from the direction of the kitchen. “Lordy, Caroline! You didn’t have to do this, eah!”
    Augusta walked in as Sadie was inspecting a gift, apparently from Caroline, pulling the little dipper out and twirling the wand in her hand. Painted yellow, the small bowl was seated atop a base shaped like a miniature sunflower. Augusta walked over