By Lisa Unger
Instant New York Times Bestseller, USA TODAY Bestseller, overseas mystery Writers most sensible Novel Finalist, Bookspan International publication of the Month, and Amazon most sensible Ten mystery of the Year.
What in the event that your relations used to be a lie? What in the event that your identify was once a lie? What in the event that your complete existence used to be only a pack of lovely Lies?
If Ridley Jones had slept ten mins later or had taken the subway rather than expecting a cab, she may nonetheless be dwelling the lie she used to name her ideal lifestyles. in its place, she's within the improper position on the correct time to unharness a sequence of occasions that starts off with a mysterious package deal on her doorstep. A package deal that informs her that her whole international is simply an phantasm. pressured to query every thing she understands approximately herself, Ridley wanders into darkish territory, the place everyone seems to be hiding something.
Sexy and fast moving, attractive Lies is a real literary mystery. Lisa Unger takes us on a panoramic journey during which each selection Ridley makes creates a whirlwind of outcomes which are most unlikely to visualize.
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Additional info for Beautiful Lies
She moved with the grace of a dancer and carried those faded aspirations in her impeccably held posture and jutted chin. She looked ten years younger than the other mothers I knew, though she was actually older than most of them. ” said my father, getting up. ” He was moving into what we would later call his Ernest Hemingway stage, without the drinking. He had a full graying beard and a slight (getting less slight) belly. He stood just over six feet tall and had powerful arms and big hands. He had a way of hugging me that made every childish worry disappear.
They were like a key that unlocked a box containing myriad other questions that had hovered in the periphery of my consciousness over the years, but to which I had never actually entertained answers. They were little things that might have been easily explained…unless they couldn’t be. Things like: Why were there no pictures of my mother pregnant? Why were there no photographs of me before the age of two? Why did I resemble no one in my family even a little? These little questions now tapped on my consciousness like moths at a light.
But she was sweating a little. The heat in her apartment always ran too hot. In the night the baby (though she really wasn’t a baby anymore at almost two years old) would kick off her covers. She was listening for that, for the sudden shift the child made in her sleep when she pushed the blankets away. But she was listening, too, for other noises. Her heart had finally stopped racing and the baby had finally stopped screaming, but she knew he would come back. She lay fully clothed in a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, the phone in her hand.