Ann Troup - My Mother, The Liar - A chilling crime thriller to read with the lights on

Every family has its secrets…

Two dead bodies. A lifetime of secrets.

When Rachel Porter’s estranged mother dies, she returns to her family home filled with dread about having to face her past, and the people who populated it.

Little does she know that there are dead bodies waiting to be discovered, and a lifetime of secrets are about to unravel.

Secrets kept by her mother, the liar.

Also by Ann Troup Contents Cover Blurb Also By Title Page Author Bio Acknowledgements Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Endpages Copyright

The Lost Child

The Silent Girls

The Forgotten Room

My Mother, The Liar

Ann Troup

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Contents

Cover

Blurb Every family has its secrets… Two dead bodies. A lifetime of secrets. When Rachel Porter’s estranged mother dies, she returns to her family home filled with dread about having to face her past, and the people who populated it. Little does she know that there are dead bodies waiting to be discovered, and a lifetime of secrets are about to unravel. Secrets kept by her mother, the liar.

Also By Also by Ann Troup Contents Cover Blurb Also By Title Page Author Bio Acknowledgements Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Endpages Copyright The Lost Child The Silent Girls The Forgotten Room

Title Page My Mother, The Liar Ann Troup ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Author Bio ANN TROUP Lives by the sea in Devon with her husband and dog. Two children have been known to remember the house, which they call home, but mainly when they are in need of a decent roast dinner, it’s Christmas or when only Mum will do. In a former incarnation she was a psychiatric nurse, an experience that frequently informs her writing and which supplies a never-ending source of inspiration. You can contact Ann on Facebook or at anntroup.wordpress.com

Acknowledgements Acknowledgements As always it’s the readers and reviewers who make it all worthwhile so my thanks go to them first. I won’t name names, the list would be longer than the book and you know who you are. Gratitude to Charlotte Mursell and Nia Beynon at HQ for some awesome author wrangling and telling me I’m a pleasure to work with and (almost) making me believe it. Last but not least, to the usual suspects for all the virtual gin and hugs!

Dedication Dedication To Julia, Lesley and Sue — sisters of the less psychotic kind…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Endpages

Copyright

ANN TROUP

Lives by the sea in Devon with her husband and dog. Two children have been known to remember the house, which they call home, but mainly when they are in need of a decent roast dinner, it’s Christmas or when only Mum will do. In a former incarnation she was a psychiatric nurse, an experience that frequently informs her writing and which supplies a never-ending source of inspiration. You can contact Ann on Facebook or at anntroup.wordpress.com

Acknowledgements

As always it’s the readers and reviewers who make it all worthwhile so my thanks go to them first. I won’t name names, the list would be longer than the book and you know who you are.

Gratitude to Charlotte Mursell and Nia Beynon at HQ for some awesome author wrangling and telling me I’m a pleasure to work with and (almost) making me believe it.

Last but not least, to the usual suspects for all the virtual gin and hugs!

Dedication

To Julia, Lesley and Sue — sisters of the less psychotic kind…

Chapter 1

Rachel’s mother had been fond of blanket statements that set others indelibly in their places. Proud of her insights into the characters of others, she had set out her children’s traits like a script. As if they were pickles in jars, all three of her daughters had been permanently labelled and preserved by her assertions. Frances was the clever one, Stella was useless, and Rachel was just downright difficult.

Did all parents like to define their offspring, leaving their children floundering and typecast? Rachel felt imperfectly moulded by her family, an inconvenient, bit-part player in the sometimes drama that had been her life. It had made her bitter.

Now her mother was dead. Valerie was no more and Rachel wasn’t feeling much of anything except antipathy.

She would have known about Valerie’s death weeks before, but she’d quietly ignored the first letter from Frances, knowing that it couldn’t contain good news. The Porters didn’t trade in good news. The slanting, deeply etched handwriting on the envelope had said enough: Frances could ooze anger even when writing a simple address. She’d used green ink, which Rachel was inclined to think had been distilled from her sister’s bile.

It had taken a second letter containing the expected diatribe of accusations and sour grapes to make Rachel finally take notice. She had already missed the funeral. Frances had been brutal and unforgiving about that. Rightly so in Rachel’s mind – missing your own mother’s funeral was pretty shabby in anyone’s book. Even if your mother was Valerie Porter.

She might not have gone back at all if she hadn’t been required to assist with the application for probate. Without that she’d have carried on burying her head in the sand and ignored them all for ever. It was Valerie Porter’s final revenge to force her to go back.

When she was sitting on the train, when it was too late to turn back and take refuge again, she allowed herself to think about the consequences of going back. Of what she’d have to face.

Who she’d have to face.

There were people more dreadful than Frances who populated the past.

While the train took her relentlessly towards ‘home’, she pulled out the second letter and reread Frances’s words.

‘I am patently aware that you still harbour resentment about the past; however, the house is a joint responsibility and whatever grudges you still bear, I feel you should put them aside for once and show a little loyalty,’ Frances’s letter baldly stated. ‘Stella is nowhere to be found and I’ve been left to deal with this alone. You have a legal obligation to carry out Mother’s last wishes at least. I will expect to see you at the soonest opportunity. I shan’t say at your convenience because that would mean waiting for ever