Page 6 of Bitter House

I’m not an idiot, of course. I waited until Cole had eaten a whole piece before I tried it, just in case. But once I was sure it was safe, I had to give in to my hunger and eat it.

I don’t know why I’m so bothered by the neighbors. I’m sure Cole’s right—they were just trying to do something nice—but I don’t like the fact that they all seem to be aware of something I’m not. That they’re making me feel unwelcome or not part of this. Like they all know more than me about this situation. And I guess they do.

For the past twelve years, I have no idea what has gone on in Vera’s life. I don’t know who she was when she died, but they do. The fact that they know more than me burns like sandpaper against skin.

I make my way downstairs and to the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of sparkling water with lemon, thankful the house is still quiet. If the Cole upstairs is anything like the Cole I once knew, he’ll be asleep until somewhere around three this afternoon. What does he even do with his life anymore?

After dinner, he disappeared, and I haven’t heard from him since. Does he work? Shouldn’t he be leaving to go somewhere? I could ask Edna, I suppose, but I’ve always made it a point not to mention her son unless I have no other choice, to prevent her from considering it an olive branch when she knows we’ve always hated each other. Besides that, I’m still mad at her for not preparing me for this.

I cross the kitchen and make my way down the hall and toward the door, planning to check and see if his car is still in the driveway. If he made the mistake of leaving, I’m changing the locks. I’ll let the lawyers do what they will—I’ll say I was concerned for my safety if I have to, but there’s no way he’s getting back into this house if he so much as takes a single step outside of it.

In the driveway, his black SUV still sits next to my Camry. I suck in a disappointed breath. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have hope.

I’m nothing if not foolishly stubborn and occasionally optimistic.

As I step back to shut the door, something resting on the mat catches my eyes.

I look down to find a brown envelope with a red ribbon tied around it, dropped just over the letters E and L in ‘Welcome.’

I look up and around, searching for the person who must’ve delivered this letter directly to my doorstep, then cautiously bend down and pick it up.

It’s heavier than I expected, the envelope made from a thick, textured paper that feels old, though I suspect it’s not since there’s no visible wear on it. No one has labeled it—there’s no name or even address—which means someone brought it here and left it for me to find.

Or…someone to find, anyway.

Perhaps Cole is the intended recipient.

I glance behind me in the house, worried he’s woken up and is somewhere watching me, but with the reassurance he’s not, I check over my shoulder to the driveway once more and then step inside the house.

In the kitchen, I untie the ribbon and use my fingernail to pry the envelope open carefully. Inside, there’s a folded paper the same khaki color as the envelope. I pull it out slowly and unfold it, dropping the envelope on the island. The letter is typed, further confirming it’s not nearly as old as it looks.

It’s also addressed to me.

Bridget,

Vera was not who you thought she was. There are things you should know, things I wish I didn’t have to tell you. But someone must, so you can do what is right.

Vera Bitter had secrets. Secrets so dangerous they nearly ruined her life. She was careless with them, chose them over her family. Over you.

I want to tell you everything, Bridget, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but I hope in time you will.

I will write six additional letters. Each of those letters will contain a secret.

By the end, I hope you will make the right choice. Please don’t do anything or make any decisions until you’ve received each of the six remaining letters. You’ll want to hear all I have to say.

Signed,

A friend

P.S. Keep your doors locked.

I read through the letter twice, turning it over in case there’s some hint on the back that I may have missed about who sent it, but there’s nothing. It feels like a sick joke.

I knew Vera as well as anyone did, though I’m not delusional enough to think anyone truly knew her. She preferred it that way. I read the last line again: Keep your doors locked.

What is that supposed to mean?

Is it a threat?