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The book alternates perspectives between Claras investigation and Nicks final months.
The thriller authors previous books includeThe Good Girl,Pretty Baby, andDont You Cry.
Credit: Sarah Jastre
Every Last Liedrives into bookstores on June 27.
Excerpt fromEvery Last Lieby Mary Kubica:
CLARA
They say that death comes in threes.
First it was the man who lives across the street from my father and mother.
Mr. Baumgartner, dead from prostate cancer at the age of seventy-four.
And then it was Nick.
Im sitting on the sofa as the phone beside me starts to ring.
But this time its different because this is the last time he will ever call.
Hey, says Nick.
Just fine, I tell him.
Yup, I say.
The way new babies have a tendency to do, up all night, sleep all day.
He lies in my arms, rendering me immobile.
I cant do a single thing but watch him sleep.
Felix is days and three hours old.
In seventeen more minutes he will be four days and four hours old.
The labor was long and intense as they nearly all are.
With Maisie it was quick and easy by comparison; with Felix it was hard.
Maybe you should wake him, Nick suggests.
And how should I do that?
My words arent cross.
He knows that I am tired.
His words are muffled.
I see Maisies feet squirm in his hands, drawing away.
Maisie wants to join the troop of other four-years-olds practicing their clumsy leg extensions and toe touches.
But, Daddy, her tiny voice whines.I dont have to go potty.
And Nicks firm but gentle command:you’re gonna wanna try.
Nick is the better parent.
Maisies voice disappears into the little girls room, and Nick returns to the phone.
Should I pick something up for dinner?
he asks, and I stare down at Felix, sound asleep on my still-distended lap.
My chest leaks through a white cotton blouse.
I sit on an ice pack to soothe the pain of childbirth.
An episiotomy was needed, and so there are stitches; there is blood.
My eyelids grow heavy, threatening to close.
Nicks voice comes at me again through the phone.
Clara, he says, this time deciding for me, Ill pick up something for dinner.
Maisie and I will be home soon.
he asks, and I say Chinese.
These are the last words I ever exchange with my husband.
I cant risk waking Felix to retrieve it.
I dont want to wake Felix.
When will Nick be home?
She hears the car before I do.
One of her ticked ears stands on end, and she rises to her feet.
My stomach growls at Nicks arrival and the promise of food.
I rise from the sofa and fire up the door.
A man stands before me, his words evasive and out of reach.
Are you Mrs. Solberg?
He wears a black woven shirt, a pair of black woven pants.
On his shirt there are patches, a badge.
The car parked in my drive reads Serve & Protect.
asks the man when I dont reply.
Felix lies in my arms like a sack of potatoes.
His body slumps, inert, still sleeping and growing heavier with time.
Harriet sits at my feet, glaring at this strange man.
Though my ears hear the words, my brain cant process them.
Sleep deprivation I blame, or maybe its denial.
I stare at the man before me and wonder: What does he want with me?
What is he trying to sell?
My insides feel heavy; the lining of my legs burns.
I limp, an effect of giving birth.
Hes done this before, many times.
I tell him how he was stopping only to pick up dinner, and then he will be home.
I dont know why I say so much.
I fire up the door wider.
I invite him inside.
Would you like to wait inside?
I say, and I tell him again how Nick will be home soon.
Outside it is nearly eighty-five degrees.
Its the twenty-fifth of June.
Theres a hand on my elbow; his hat is in his hands.
Theres been an accident, maam, he says again.
