Verwandte Artikel zu This Lie Will Kill You

This Lie Will Kill You - Softcover

Pitcher, Chelsea

 
9781534443259: This Lie Will Kill You
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1534443258 ISBN 13: 9781534443259
Verlag: Margaret K. McElderry Books, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

“Will keep readers on edge from start to finish.” —Kirkus Reviews

Tell the truth. Or face the consequences.

Clue meets Riverdale in this page-turning thriller that exposes the lies five teens tell about a deadly night one year ago.

One year ago, there was a party.
At the party, someone died.
Five teens each played a part and up until now, no one has told the truth.

But tonight, the five survivors arrive at an isolated mansion in the hills, expecting to compete in a contest with a $50,000 grand prize. Of course…some things are too good to be true.

Now, they realize they’ve been lured together by a person bent on revenge, a person who will stop at nothing to uncover what actually happened on that deadly night, one year ago.

Five arrived, but not all can leave. Will the truth set them free?
Or will their lies destroy them all?

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Chelsea Pitcher is a karaoke-singing, ocean-worshipping Oregonian with a penchant for twisty mysteries. She began gobbling up stories as soon as she could read, and especially enjoys delving into the darker places to see if she can draw out some light. Chelsea is the author of The S-Word, This Lie Will Kill You, The Last Changeling, The Last Faerie Queen, and Lies Like Poison. You can visit her at ChelseaPitcher.com and follow her on Twitter at @Chelsea_Pitcher.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

This Lie Will Kill You 1. CLASS ACT
Juniper Torres woke with a smile. Today was the day. She knew it, though there was no particular reason to think today would be different. The sun wasn’t shining. The sun was barely even up, but it didn’t matter much. The universe was speaking to Juniper directly, lighting a fire in her veins and making her heartbeat thrum. It whispered to her in a soft, lilting voice:

Today is the day your life is going to change.

She sat up in bed. Kicking away her tangled sheets (and running a hand through her equally tangled hair), she crawled to the window, looking down. And there she was. The blond, bedraggled mailwoman was leaning over the mailbox, stuffing a host of envelopes inside. Juniper couldn’t tell for certain, but she had a sneaking suspicion the envelope was among them.

She raced from her room. Down the hallway she went, past her baby sister’s nursery, and the bedroom where her parents slept, their limbs entwined like the branches of neighboring trees. Soon the family would wake, and she wouldn’t be able to scour the mailbox in secret. But if she was very quiet (avoiding this floorboard, and that creaky step), she could slip outside without anyone noticing.

So she did. Out of the olive Victorian she went, into the white, winter world. Overnight, the yard had been transformed. Icicles dangled from the oaks, threatening to impale Juniper as she passed beneath them. And at the end of the yard, the snow-frosted mailbox stood out like a sore thumb.

Juniper yanked it open. Her fingers danced over advertisements, brushing the edges of a coupon packet, and then she was pulling the envelope out of the darkness. She knew it was the envelope she’d been waiting for, even before she saw it. It was big, and it was fat, and the writing was . . .

Blood red? The envelope leapt from her hand. It fluttered slowly, like the snowflakes falling around her, and by the time it hit the ground, she’d registered two things: This was not the letter she’d been waiting for. It was an invitation.

She scooped it out of the snow. Someone had written, You are cordially invited to a night of murder and mayhem! on the back of the ebony envelope, and Juniper turned it over, confirming that it was addressed to her. It was. Thanks but no thanks, she thought, ripping it in half. She had zero interest in getting wasted with her classmates, and even less interest in pretending death was hilarious. The only reason she was stalking her mailbox was because she was expecting an acceptance letter from Columbia University. Their online system was down, which meant she’d be getting her news the old-fashioned way.

And so it went. Juniper raced to the mailbox on Monday morning, then Tuesday. By Wednesday, her confidence had started to ebb. Why was she so convinced she’d be getting an acceptance letter? Yes, her grades were mostly stellar, but last winter, after that party up in the hills . . .

Juniper shook herself. She’d only fallen off track for a month, and most of her teachers had let her make up the work. Even if she didn’t get into the college of her choice, she had a couple of safety schools that would take her far away from this town. She’d still go to med school. Cure people. Save lives. Everything would go according to plan.

She was about to return to the house when a black envelope caught her eye, way back in the corner of the mailbox. A shiver skittered up her spine. She already knew what the envelope was. An invitation to “a night of murder and mayhem!”

They’d probably mailed two by mistake, she thought, rolling her eyes. But as she drew the envelope from the darkness, an undertow of guilt started tugging at her limbs. This was how it always happened. She’d be going about her day, not even thinking about Dahlia Kane’s Christmas party, and out of nowhere, her limbs would get heavy. She’d feel herself sinking, the way a body sinks to the bottom of a swimming pool, while people stand by, laughing—

“Junebug!” Mrs. Torres appeared in the doorway, her face flushed from standing over the stove. “Breakfast, mi amor. What is that?”

Crap. Juniper’s reflexes were dulled this early in the morning. Two hours (and three cups of coffee) from now, she’d never have let her mother see this envelope. But now she was trapped, and she couldn’t very well shred the thing in front of her mom. She’d have to play this just right.

Forcing a smile, she jogged up to the doorway. “Just some dork’s idea of a good time,” she said, holding up the invitation. She wasn’t offering it to her mother; she had a very good grip on the envelope. But Mrs. Torres must’ve seen a night of murder and mayhem! scrawled across the back, because she snatched it out of her daughter’s hand.

“Ooh, a party. You should go.”

“What? No.” Juniper scrunched up her face. “It’s probably on Saturday. I’m watching Rudolph with Olive.” Olive was her baby sister, and now that the kid could walk, Juniper was pretty much on permanent call. She chose to think of it as practice for when she was actually on call at the hospital of her choice. Better get used to functioning on two hours of sleep, right?

“Junebug, she’s my kid.” Her mother disappeared into the hallway, and Juniper followed close behind, plotting to retrieve the invitation. “Believe it or not, I like spending time with my kids.”

“And yet, you’re forcing me out of the house.”

“I’m just making a suggestion.” Her mother pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. Olive was in her high chair, giggling and dancing in that I-can-see-invisible-fairies way that babies had. “Don’t you want to have fun with your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends. They probably sent one to every senior at school.”

“All the more reason to go,” her mother said, swooping in with the old, chipped coffeepot. “Just think about it, okay? It wouldn’t kill you to go to a party.”

It might, Juniper thought, her hands starting to shake. She took a gulp of coffee, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice her jumpiness. Luckily, Mrs. Torres was busy fussing with the tostadas on the stove. But somebody did notice, and when coffee sloshed over Juniper’s fingers, her baby sister frowned, reaching for their mother’s purse. Two years old, and she’d already decided makeup was the cure for sadness. Juniper wasn’t sure where she’d learned it. This wasn’t exactly a beauty pageant house. But wherever the lesson had come from, Juniper didn’t mind being her sister’s living dolly. Olive’s eyes got so bright and her mouth got so smiley.

“Tip-sick!” the baby announced, pulling out a vibrant burgundy gloss that would make Juniper look like she’d been eating berries. Or drinking wine. It was kind of pretty, and Juniper was okay with looking kind of pretty, as long as it didn’t eclipse her other accomplishments. She felt a pang as Olive dabbed the gloss on her lips, wishing she could stay in town and teach her sister about making people better, rather than beautiful. But she couldn’t stay after everything that had happened—she couldn’t—and besides, nothing she could say to Olive would be as influential as becoming the doctor she’d always wanted to be. She’d do everything she’d set out to do, and one day, she’d whisk her family out of this creepy little town, away from all of its secrets.

Its ghosts.

After the lip...

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Verlag
Margaret K. McElderry Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2019
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1534443258
ISBN 13 
9781534443259
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
320
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Libri GmbH
gpsr@libri.de

Europaallee 1
Bad Hersfeld
Hessen
Deutschland