Mary Higgins Clark
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A killer turns a young family's dream holiday into an unfathomable nightmare....Menley Nichols and her husband, Adam, a criminal attorney, rent a house on Cape Cod, in the hope of restoring their faltering marriage. The birth of their daughter, Hannah, has revitalized their relationship, but Menley has never stopped blaming herself for the accidental death of her two-year-old son. The serenity of the Cape promises a new start.
In Remember House, an eighteenth-century landmark with a sinister past, strange incidents force Menley to relive the accident that killed her son, and she begins to fear for Hannah's safety. Then Adam takes on a client suspected of murder when his wealthy young bride of only three months drowns in a storm -- and the family is drawn into a rising tide of terror. A confrontation on a dark, rain-swept beach leads to a harrowing climax that only Mary Higgins Clark could have created.
married, and now Scott would inherit all the money from her trust fund, along with her house in Chatham. And they had been married twelve week. Twelve weeks. “Graham.” Anne’s voice was soft. He reached for her hand. “I’m awake.” “Graham, I know Vivy’s body was in very bad shape. What about her right hand?” “I don’t know, dear. Why?” “Because, nobody has said anything about her emerald ring. Maybe her hand was gone. But if it wasn’t, Scott may have the ring, and I’d like to have it back. It’s
Henry and Jan of stealing them. Henry reasoned it might be a good idea if she saw them where they were now while he explained again why Menley had them. And he wanted to tell Adam about talking to Scott. He accepted the invitation, and they followed the Nicholses up from the beach to the house. As they crossed the lawn, he explained to Menley what he wanted to do. Menley listened, her heart sinking, praying that Phoebe would not insist on taking her data back. But in the keeping room, Phoebe
twelve-thirty, saying he’d be back late in the afternoon. He talked privately to Amy because he doesn’t even trust me to keep my word, Menley thought. Then she forced those thoughts from her mind and determinedly settled down to work. Before lunch she’d been trying to make sense of the Mooncusser file, preparing her own notes, which she’d culled from the data Phoebe Sprague had put together. She reread those notes: The fifteen miles of treacherous currents and blind channels and shifting
wrong?” Jan asked Menley as they drove over the bridge from Morris Island to the road that led to the lighthouse and Route 28. “What’s wrong is that my husband and my psychiatrist seem to agree that I belong in a padded cell.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Yes, it is. And I’m not going to let it happen. Let’s leave it at that. But, Jan, I have the feeling that Phoebe is trying to communicate something to me. The other day when she was at the house and saw her files, she looked at them, and I think she
something to us and can’t find the words.” “Maybe if I just talk about the house to her, it will come out,” Jan suggested. * * * Amy arrived at Remember House at eight o’clock. It was the first time she had seen Mr. Nichols in a business suit, and she looked at him admiringly. He has a kind of elegance about him, she thought. He makes you feel that anything he does will be done well. He seemed preoccupied, checking the papers in his briefcase, but he glanced up at her and smiled. “Hi, Amy.