Title: Once a Liar by A. F. Brady
Publisher: Park Row Books
Genre: Contemporary, Mystery, Suspense
Length: 384 pages
Summary:
In this electrifying psychological thriller, a high-powered sociopath meets his reckoning when he’s accused of the brutal murder of his mistress.
Did he kill Charlie Doyle? And if he didn’t…who did?
Peter Caine, a cutthroat Manhattan defense attorney, worked ruthlessly to become the best at his job. On the surface, he is charming and handsome, but inside he is cold and heartless. He fights without remorse to acquit murderers, pedophiles and rapists.
When Charlie Doyle, the daughter of the Manhattan DA—and Peter’s former lover—is murdered, Peter’s world is quickly sent into a tailspin. He becomes the prime suspect as the DA, a professional enemy of Peter’s, embarks on a witch hunt to avenge his daughter’s death, stopping at nothing to ensure Peter is found guilty of the murder.
In the challenge of his career and his life, Peter races against the clock to prove his innocence. As the evidence mounts against him, he’s forced to begin unraveling his own dark web of lies and confront the sins of his past. But the truth of who killed Charlie Doyle is more twisted and sinister than anyone could have imagined…
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Excerpt
NOW
Claire and I are sitting in the back of a black car, each looking out our separate windows. I see in the window’s reflection that Claire has her hands clasped nervously in her lap, the strap of her handbag wrapped around her wrist. I methodically clench and unclench my fists. Claire reaches over my lap to lay her hand on my thigh, and I feel her looking at me with her sympathetic eyes, hoping I will offer her comfort. I readjust my sunglasses and fluff my pocket square.
As the driver turns onto Madison Avenue, a line of similar black cars appears with curbside doors swung open, and Manhattan’s elite filing out onto the sidewalk. The burgundy awning offers little solace beneath the heavy afternoon sun, and sweaty husbands usher their second and third wives inside the building. I hear Claire whisper, “You ready for this?” as I open the door and hold a steady hand for her to take when she steps out of the car. I can’t respond.
We are walking quickly down the carpeted aisle of the funeral home, nearly hip checking acquaintances out of the way. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I haven’t said a word since we left the house; there’s nothing I know how to say. Claire is much more gracious than I am, and she’s looking back over her shoulder to coo hellos and whisper apologies.
As we get to the first pew, I pull Claire by the wrist to enter the row before me, brusquely guiding her by the lower back as she shimmies down to the middle of the bench. She skids to a seat and I remain standing to her right. I don’t need Claire right now, and I would rather she stay discreetly seated. I tighten my tie and survey my surroundings. I know everyone here, and everyone knows me. I can’t remember most of their names, but they know who I am and they know what I’ve done.
I’m not looking at the coffin because I don’t want to look at it and imagine its contents. Claire seems fixated on it. I glance quickly to see that it’s tiny. It’s tiny and white and lacquered. Juliette must have been five-nine or five-ten when she was alive; it doesn’t look like she could possibly fit in there. On top of the coffin, white roses and orchids flow abundantly in a huge cascade. Just like Juliette to make everything perfect. Even her death is beautiful.
I scan the room, forced to lock eyes with people and nod politely, looking for someone in particular. Harrison Doyle, the New York County district attorney, walks through the door and gives me an inappropriately large wave. Harrison has been trying to get me to join him on his side of the law, but I’ll never be anything other than a criminal defense attorney. He’s afraid of me, and he should be. But right now, Harrison is not who I am looking for.
Even I can feel it when something in the air suddenly changes, and the mourners terminate their hushed conversations and slip into their seats. I watch as everyone around me sits, and finally I lay eyes on the person I’ve been waiting for. Jamie is walking through the doors with his chin to his chest, supported by Juliette’s mother, Katherine.
Jamie looks up expectantly as he clumsily plops down next to me in the front pew. Satisfied that he has decided to sit with me, I take my seat and lay my arm over my son’s shoulder. I think I feel Jamie’s muscles tighten slightly underneath the weight of my arm. I imagine he must be uncomfortable, everyone looking to see how he’s handling his mother’s funeral, and he’s not used to affection from his father. Claire reaches her hand over me to tenderly pat Jamie’s knee. She knows how to do this better than I do.
“You okay, honey?” she whispers. Jamie nods, and a fat tear splashes Claire’s hand. I watch the way they look at each other and make a mental note of what real sympathy looks like.
Some priest or minister or whatever he is begins the service and my mind wanders back to the time when Juliette and I were dating before we got married. She was vibrant then, jubilant. Before I broke her, she had all the life in the world.
I think of the first charity benefit we went to together. She had been planning it for months. I picked her up in a Rolls-Royce and brought her a wrist corsage that matched the rose in my lapel. She laughed her brilliant laugh and wore it proudly for the entire event, gazing at it, and me, while she was onstage, thanking the benefactors for their donations.
I remember the way the light left her eyes when she finally realized I would never change, despite her best efforts.
I’m pulled back into the present as the music stalls and Jamie rises from his seat. He takes a deep breath, sending shudders through his broad shoulders. The priest pats his back as Jamie places his notes down on the lectern in front of him and clears his throat to speak.
“Thank you for coming…my mother would have been so happy to see all of you here, continuing to show your support for her. Although today’s event is not benefitting a war-torn nation, underprivileged children or endangered animals, we are here to honor a woman whose life and legacy are just as deserving of our admiration and protection.”
I’m impressed with Jamie’s words, I hadn’t expected such eloquence from a kid not yet sixteen. But the discomfort is rising in my throat as I worry what he may have in store for his speech.
“I grew up in a single-parent home, but you would never have guessed that because Mom played both the role of father and mother to me for as long as I can remember. After Peter left, she picked up some typical male hobbies and took me to sports games, so I wouldn’t feel deprived of a male influence.”
This is exactly what I was afraid of, bringing up my absence and adding insult to injury by calling me by my first name. All the sympathy I had been getting from the crowd drains as they remember how I abandoned my wife and child. I tune out the rest of his speech and concentrate on appearing remorseful.
As Jamie continues his tribute to his mother, I imagine fond memories creeping into the minds of the mourners around me, and I turn to study the expressions on their faces. I’ve caught the eye of my ex-mother-in-law, Katherine. Katherine hates me, but despite our troubled history, she offers me a sympathetic nod. I mimic the nod back and robotically clasp Claire’s hand.
When Jamie breaks down talking about how quickly his mother turned for the worse, I carefully observe the reactions from the crowd. I file these looks away in my brain for reference in the future. I wouldn’t have to pay such close attention if only I could still conjure these emotions naturally. But I haven’t felt remorse, I haven’t felt sympathy and I haven’t shed a genuine tear in as long as I can remember.
The other two speeches are delivered by two of Juliette’s childhood friends. I listen to the adulation and respect in the stories they tell; I laugh when the crowd laughs and bow my head when the crowd cries, just like I’m supposed to. When the pallbearers lift Juliette’s coffin and Louis Armstrong plays, I pull out of Claire’s grasp and escort my son down the aisle, closely following his mother’s body. Juliette wasn’t the first to die, and she wouldn’t be the last.
Author Bio
A.F. Brady is a New York State Licensed Mental Health Counselor/Psychotherapist. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from Brown University and two Masters degrees in Psychological Counseling from Columbia University. She is a life-long New Yorker, and resides in Manhattan with her husband and their family.
Author Links: Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Instagram
Giveaway
I am giving away ONE PRINT copy of Once a Liar (US Addresses ONLY). To enter today’s contest, fill out the form below. PLEASE NOTE: Contest is open to US mailing address ONLY. Contest ends 5 PM mountain time Tuesday February 19th.
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