Whatever Momma wanted, Momma got.

Today, Momma wanted fresh blackberries to go with supper. Since they were one of the only things we didn’t grow in our own garden, she sent me over the hill to the wild bushes that grew on Old Man Lester’s property. I swung a metal pail at my side as I climbed the hill, my heavy skirts twisting around my legs in the June afternoon breeze, the sunshine toasting winter’s pall off my skin.

Singing “Over the Rainbow” under my breath, I crested the hill and stopped when I spotted them. A young woman, her hair swept back into a messy ponytail, stood near the bush with a pail of her own, the most beautiful baby boy I’d ever set eyes on held snug against her hip.

I froze, startled. Mr. Lester had been dead a year now, no kin to speak of, and this land and his house had sat vacant all this time. Who was this and why was she trespassing? There was no chance she’d seen the blackberries from the road, it was too far off. My hands went clammy in the summer sun, the pail’s handle slipping—but I didn’t drop it.

I’m really good at holding onto things. Comes with being the eldest of six kids, I figured.

She didn’t see me, so I backed a little ways down our side of the hill and watched for a minute. She was way more interested in that baby boy than she was in the blackberries, cooing at him and kissing his head before she threw a curious glance from the pail in her hand to the thick, wild bush in front of her. It was warm here for June and the spindly branches were heavy with fat berries already.

Another thing that being the eldest daughter taught me: how to spot danger. Sometimes it’s almost like I can sense it. That day on the hill, the hairs on my arms stood straight up, a chill streaking through my guts as the other woman started to reach for a berry. I knew better than to ignore the feeling, scanning the hillside for trouble.

A copperhead. he was coiled in the thickest leaves of the bottom of the blackberry bush, waiting.

I couldn’t stay quiet over here, just lurking and watching her, when there was a poisonous snake a foot away from her and her baby. Which meant I was about to speak to somebody I wasn’t blood kin to for the first time in actual years. I took a few running steps over the hill, waving my arms.

“Snake!” I screamed. She jumped backwards, turning her head my way.

Some days, I wonder if everything would’ve turned out different if Momma hadn’t wanted blackberries that afternoon.

THE HOUSEWIFE NEXT DOOR
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Release: January 2026
Format: Print, Digital
Amazon | Barnes & Noble

I thought she was perfect. Until her daughter told me about the little girl in the garden…

I was jealous of my perfect new neighbor SarahBeth. Six tow-headed children, blackberry pies bubbling in the oven, married to and still holding hands with her high-school sweetheart Burt. She was the perfect housewife, the best mom.

Until I found out the truth. When tragedy strikes and SarahBeth’s dying daughter tells me about the little girl buried in their garden my heart freezes. Now I understand why SarahBeth has been so unfriendly to me. Why her kids have been kept out of school. Why nobody has seen the family in town for two years.

I must learn the truth, to keep her children safe. But I’ve met people like SarahBeth in my own dark past. I’ve told lies, kept secrets, buried bodies. And I know SarahBeth will do whatever it takes to keep her secret hidden…

About the author
LynDee Walker writes about strong women who can’t seem to stay out of trouble. Her books have appeared on finalist lists for the Agatha and Thriller awards—and once, on a major national bestsellers list smack in between two of her writing heroes. An award winning journalist, LynDee has covered everything from ribbon cuttings and high school football to capital murder trials and high level police corruption. She’s the author of 21 novels in three series, as well as the psychological thrillers The Pastor’s Wife and The Housewife Next Door, so she’s usually writing when she’s not juggling laundry and children’s sports schedules. Find her online at www.lyndeewalker.com, or on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Threads.