My wife Alice has a home office on one end of the farmhouse where we live. There, she spends the day advising clients on their finances and earning most of the money our family survives on. Today, after I see our son off to school, I tap on Alice’s door and bring her a cup of coffee. She’s in the middle of a video call with a client, but she hits mute and keeps nodding as I say, “I’ll be downstairs. I’m onto something big.”

She draws a heart on a pad of paper and holds it outside the view of the camera. “Love you, too,” I say, closing the door behind me.

I believe Alice loves me, but if she knew the depths of my lies, I wonder how far that love would extend.

We moved here to Monreith in Massachusetts because of a lie – I told her I had a deal with one of the streaming services to produce a new true-crime documentary. I’ve produced them before, but after my last few projects have bombed there are no more deals and lately I’ve spent my days pretending to work or biking in the countryside. There’s also the affair with a local restaurateur, Laurel Thibodeau. I saw Laurel last night, sneaking out of this house after Alice fell asleep and slipping into Laurel’s bed. Alice was awake when I came home and got in the shower, though she pretended not to be. I wonder how much she may have guessed.

Now, here in my office, I try to make something from nothing. If I can find a subject for a new story, maybe I can convince someone at one of the studios to give me another chance.

Recently, two deaths have occurred in this small region, both accidental, both suspicious. The first victim was a local physician who shot himself. The second was a woman who left her car running in her garage The photos of the victims are taped to the whiteboard. In both cases, the spouses were the first suspects, though they eventually provided solid alibis and the deaths were both ruled suicides. Maybe I wouldn’t have paid them any attention except for the mysterious text I received telling me to dig into them, to look for what didn’t belong. Part of me, the desperate part, hopes that a serial killer has come to the southern coast of Massachusetts. If I can make that case, I can cover my lies.

“Damian?”

I turn to see Alice standing in the office doorway, her face ashen. She stares at the screen on her phone.

“Have you been online?” she asks.

“Not yet,” I say, “But I have research to do.”

“It’s Laurel Thibodeau,” Alice says.

She’s confronting me about the affair. I step forward, ready with excuses, but she takes my hands in hers. “Laurel’s dead,” Alice says. “Someone strangled her last night. In her own bed.”

The same bed I was in not twelve hours ago.

Alice meets my eyes, something unspoken passing between us. She’s lying, too. And I wonder who’s covering for whom.

Who To Believe
Genre: Psychological Thrillers
Release: January 2024
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Purchase Link

In a twisty, claustrophobic suburban suspense novel for fans of Ruth Ware and Liane Moriarty, the aftermath of a murder in a quiet coastal New England town reveals a web of dark secrets among friends . . .

Monreith, Massachusetts, was once a small community of whalers and farmers. These days it’s a well-to-do town filled with commuters drawn to its rugged coastline and country roads. A peaceful, predictable place—until popular restaurateur Laurel Thibodeau is found brutally murdered in her own home. Suspicion naturally falls on Laurel’s husband, Simon, who had gambling debts that only her life insurance policy could fix. But there are other rumors too . . .

Among the group of six friends gathered for Alice Stone’s fortieth birthday, theories abound concerning Laurel’s death. Max Barbosa, police chief, has heard plenty of them, as has his longtime friend, Unitarian minister Georgia Fitzhugh. Local psychiatrist Farley Drake is privy to even more, gleaning snippets of gossip and information from his patients while closely guarding his own past.

But maybe everyone in Monreith has something to hide. Because before this late-summer evening has come to a close, one of these six will be dead. And as jealousy, revenge, adultery, and greed converge, the question becomes not who among these friends might be capable of such a thing, but—who isn’t?

About the author
Edwin Hill’s critically-acclaimed crime novels include the standalone thrillers The Secrets We Share and Who to Believe, a twisty Rashomon-style novel about a birthday party with at least one serial killer in attendance. He has been nominated for Edgar and Agatha Awards, featured in Us Magazine, received starred reviews in Publishers Weekly, Booklist, Kirkus Reviews, and Library Journal, and was recognized as one of “Six Crime Writers to Watch” in Mystery Scene magazine. He lives in Roslindale, Massachusetts with his partner Michael and his favorite reviewer, their lab Edith Ann, who likes his first drafts enough to eat them.