The Third Lie's the Charm Read Online Free PDF Page B

was a terrible idea. Porter was Alistair’s cheeseball younger brother, and the Reynolds family was one of the oldest and the richest at Pemberly Brown. They were also one of the most private. It was hard to get into the Reynolds family compound on a good day. A few days after they’d lost their eldest son, it was damn near impossible. Even for Bradley.
    But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t try. We’d rung the doorbell an hour earlier only to be shooed away by some well-meaning relative, so now we were stuck stalking the Reynolds house from behind a bush in a bed beside the house.
    â€œWhat if he never comes out?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes at Porter’s front door. We’d watched lines of puffy-eyed people trail in, ill-behaved children bringing up the rear, stooped grandparents being helped out of cars and up the front steps. It didn’t look like the kind of house you could slip away from.
    â€œWe wait.” A bit of Bradley’s rich color had returned to his skin, and his eyes had the smallest hint of gold back in their muddy depths. Never underestimate the value of a good plan.
    So we settled in for the long haul. We saw fourteen squirrels, one random cat, way too many ants to count, got pooped on once by a bird, and shared a granola bar. And Bradley was right. Porter wandered out sometime after lunch.
    â€œPsst.” Under different circumstances, I would have made fun of Bradley for the “psst” but I let it slide.
    Porter turned stone-faced toward the sound.
    â€œPorter. It’s Bradley.” He still whispered, but this time he pushed up on his knees, emerging from the shrub and brushing leaves from his blazer. “And Kate.” He pulled me up too, and I offered a hesitant wave. I had no idea what to say to Porter. I could lose a friend every day to tragic circumstances, and I still wouldn’t have any idea what to say to a kid who’d lost his brother.
    To say Porter looked pissed would be an understatement. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Porter looked back at his house, through the windows at the groups of people in black smudged together like ink blots. “My family…Alistair. It’s not a good time.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Bradley’s voice cracked over the word, and he clenched his fingers around the now crumpled card stock. Lines of red ink showed through between his fingers.
    â€œYeah…I know.” Porter looked back at his house again, a silent excuse, and I knew he wanted us to leave.
    â€œIt’s just that…” Bradley unfurled his fingers and raised his hand out to Porter. “I have this. You need to see it.”
    Porter smoothed the card and read the words, the wrinkles on his forehead deeper than ever. He handed the card back, his eyes filled with sadness, and asked us to wait. Only a minute after he disappeared into the house, Porter burst back through the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him.
    He held an envelope of the same material as the paper. There was no return address or stamp, just one word in red. Frater . Brother. Bradley took the envelope and placed the card on top of it. The two were a perfect fit.
    â€œSomeone dropped it off Friday just as we got home from school. It was a black car, dark windows. Totally sketchy. I’ve seen it before. Parked at the end of the street or driving by slowly without lights.”
    â€œDid Alistair say anything about it?” Bradley asked, tucking the envelope and letter into his blazer pocket. “Did you even ask him?”
    I’m sure he hadn’t meant for his question to sound accusatory, but I could tell Porter was offended. His jaw tightened.
    â€œNot sure if you remember, Farrow ,” he spat Bradley’s last name, “but my brother and I weren’t exactly friends. I asked him a lot of questions. None of them were ever answered.”
    â€œI’m…” Bradley