My Stepmother's Apples Are Laced With Vengeance

PROLOGUE

Three rapists walked free after what they did to my daughter.

Within a month, all of them were dead.

The police think I had something to do with it.

A joke.

I m actually younger than my daughter.

Where s the maternal love in that for revenge?

I hear your housekeeper has been buying a significant quantity of apples for you lately.

My face remained a placid mask.

My husband s gotten into artisanal hard cider. I wanted to try making it for him. Is that a crime?

01

Yesterday, the last of my daughter s rapists died in his home.

The medical examiner s report cited cyanide poisoning.

He was the last one.

The police, who had been circling with no evidence, suddenly latched onto me.

All because of the apples.

They said cyanide could be extracted from apple seeds.

That with enough of them, you could poison a man.

And it just so happened I d bought enough apples to supply an orchard.

It also just so happened that I was the mother of the victim.

A stepmother who, to the outside world, appeared to dote on her broken child.

02

Poison in apple seeds? I let a look of polite disbelief cross my features.

Detective, I may not have a college degree, but I m not an idiot.

I ve been tasting and testing batches for my husband s cider for weeks now.

I ve swallowed a few seeds by accident, I m sure.

Why am I still sitting here?

My current identity, in the eyes of the world, was that of a simple woman from a dying timber town who d won the lottery by marrying into a fortune.

The idea of extracting poison from fruit sounded like something from a fantasy novel.

A small amount won t kill you, of course, Detective Miles countered, his eyes boring into me, searching for a crack in my facade. But a sufficient dose is lethal to a grown man.

He was convinced I was hiding something.

A conviction that was about to run into a wall of disappointment.

And what, exactly, is a sufficient dose ? I asked, leaning forward slightly.

Around two grams of pure amygdalin, he said, the technical term rolling off his tongue.

A sharp, barking laugh escaped me.

Even Miles seemed to realize how absurd that sounded in the context of a home kitchen.

The sheer volume of apples required was staggering.

03

Detective, I began, my tone shifting from amused to serious. You were at the trial.

You heard the verdict. The court ruled that there was no rape. Just a party that got out of hand.

If there was no crime, why would you suspect a revenge killing?

My question made him flinch, just for a second.

He recovered quickly.

The court did indeed rule that there was insufficient evidence to prove sexual assault.

But your family s reaction at the time was& not one of acceptance. It was extreme.

He wasn t wrong.

When the judge declared Gideon Pryor, Kellan Holt, and Royce Parrish not guilty, a wave of smug satisfaction had washed over their faces.

Their lawyers had successfully argued that Blair, my stepdaughter, had a history of group activities with them.

That this was a consensual encounter that had simply gone too far.

The verdict was an acquittal.

Outside the courtroom, flush with victory, they hadn t been able to resist a final taunt.

Hey Blair, Gideon had sneered, looking her up and down. We ll let the slander slide this time. Call us when you want to play again.

That s when the carefully constructed composure of my husband, Warren Connelly, had shattered.

He lunged, a blur of tailored wool and fury, fists flying.

And I, the loyal wife whose universe revolved around her husband and his daughter, had joined the fray without a second thought.

We had put on a masterful performance of parental rage.

Detective, I reminded him gently, pulling myself back to the present. Blair is my stepdaughter.

It was a simple statement of fact.

A woman who d been a stepmother for less than a year.

What kind of bond could be strong enough to drive her to commit not one, but three meticulous murders?

The police couldn t find a single crack in my story.

Eventually, they had no choice but to leave.

04

The night it all began was three months ago.

The night of Madrone University s 60th Anniversary Gala.

A major event, with prominent alumni flying in from all over the country.

Blair had dressed for the occasion.

Beautifully, and with a flagrant disregard for modesty.

Gideon, Kellan, and Royce had arrived to escort her, a trio of handsome, predatory sharks.

I walked them to the door, playing my part as usual.

If it gets too late, just call the driver to pick you up, I said with practiced warmth.

Blair had rolled her eyes in front of her friends.

Spoken like a true stepmother. Not even offering to pick up her own daughter.

I simply smiled, my voice soft.

If you d prefer me to come, darling, all you have to do is call.

Our little performance was cut short by her father s stern voice.

Don t just focus on having fun, Warren had said, his eyes fixed on both Blair and the boys.

I caught the look that passed between them.

A shared, predatory gleam.

They were all hunting for something that night.

I never received a call from Blair.

Warren told me not to worry. She was an adult, he d said. She wouldn t get lost.

It wasn t until the next day, when the boys had all returned home but Blair was still missing, her phone going straight to voicemail, that a different kind of anxiety began to set in.

I checked with the driver. He hadn't heard from her.

At first, I assumed she d just taken off for a few days. It was her style. An unannounced departure was her signature move since I d married into the family.

But after three days of silence, I went to find Warren.

He was already frantic, but not for the reasons I expected.

His eyes were glued to his computer screen, his jaw tight with fury.

I followed his gaze.

It was a press release.

Orion Thatcher, the prodigy CEO of Thatcher Corp., had attended the Madrone Gala on July 16th before flying directly overseas to close a major international deal.

And Blair, who had been tasked by her father with a very specific mission involving Mr. Thatcher, had vanished.

For a variety of reasons, we decided to call the police.

Warren immediately launched a heart-wrenching public appeal for his missing daughter, earning a tidal wave of sympathy and support from the public.

05

When they found Blair, she was unconscious in a drainage ditch behind an abandoned cannery on the outskirts of the city.

She was naked, her body a canvas of bruises and cuts.

Her face was swollen beyond recognition, and patches of her scalp were raw and bloody.

Even I, her stepmother, felt a flicker of pity.

She was lucky. The doctors said a few more hours out there, and she would have been dead.

When she finally woke up, her voice hoarse and broken, she told the police one thing.

That Orion Thatcher had drugged and raped her.

I knew the name, of course.

A Madrone alumnus, two years graduated.

He d taken over his family s company and turned it into an unstoppable titan of industry.

A true golden boy in Port Sterling.

The university had heavily promoted his appearance at the gala.

While the police were verifying her story, I offered Blair some gentle advice.

Orion Thatcher flew to Europe the night of the gala, I said softly. It s all over the news. He just closed the biggest merger of his career.

My words were met with a venomous glare.

She insisted. It was him.

But the police investigation quickly hit a wall.

Thatcher had taken an international call midway through the event and left immediately for the airport with his entire team.

As fate would have it, a famous influencer was live-streaming at the airport and had captured Thatcher s entire departure on camera.

His alibi was broadcasted, indisputable, and global.

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