Barclay, Linwood Novel 08 - Never saw it coming

wants to ignore it, but Courtney will just keep trying her, so she reaches over to the table, grabs the phone, and puts it to her ear.
    “Yeah,” she says.
    “It’s been a week,” Courtney says. “Did the money come from your mother?”
    “Not yet. I mean, I haven’t gone down to check the mail, but I don’t think it’s going to be here.”
    “Why would that be, Allison?”
    “Okay, look, I haven’t called her yet. I was trying to think of a good story for her, and I’ve finally got one, so I’m going to call her today. So, like, in three or four days, the money should be here.”
    “Honest to God, you are
such
a piece of work.”
    “I really mean it,” she says. “I’m going to pay you everything I owe you.”
    “I don’t care whether you’re on the lease. If you don’t pay your share you’re going to come home and find all your shit in the hall. I swear to God. I’m already looking around for another roommate.”
    “Jesus, what the hell kind of friend
are
you?”
    “What kind of friend am
I
? What would you do if you were me?”
    “Okay, look, if I haven’t paid you by this time next week, you won’t have to kick me out. I’ll leave, and you can bring someone else in here.”
    “A week,” Courtney says skeptically.
    “I swear. Cross my heart and all that shit.”
    “I’m an idiot, a total fucking idiot,” Courtney says and hangs up.
    There’s no sense trying to go back to sleep now. Allison sits up in bed, reaches for the remote on the coffee table, and clicks on the television. As NY1 comes on with the latest news roundup, she grabs her phone again to see whether she has any emails or Facebook messages.
    She’ll definitely call her mother this afternoon. First, though, she’ll go online and read up on bedbugs so she has plenty of convincing details to work into her story. She thinks, in a way, her mother may even know she’s being taken advantage of, but it’s not nearly as unsettling as those times in the past when Allison disappeared. Just took off for a few months. At least, when Allison hits her up for money, her mother knows where she is.
    Allison glances from the phone to the TV and back again. Hears something about showers in the afternoon, clearing by evening.
    She opens Safari on her phone and does a search for “bedbugs.” Holy shit, only about a million stories. She narrows the search by adding the words “New York” and just about as many results come back.
    Glances back at the TV. Someone has jumped onto the subway tracks on the 6th Avenue line. Back to her phone. Thinks, maybe get the name of an actual bug-killing company that the landlord’s hiring, give the story that extra ring of authenticity.
    Looks back up at the TV. Is about to look away when she thinks she catches a glimpse of a face she recognizes.
    WTF?
    Her mouth drops open in stunned silence as a reporter standing on the sidewalk outside some downtown office building says, “Expected to be a formidable challenger to the incumbent governor, Morris Sawchuck, seen here with his wife, Bridget, is perceived as being much stronger on law and order issues, and has made no secret that he would like to see a return to more traditional values—it’s a major plank in his campaign platform—although he has not said exactly how he could go about restoring them if he’s elected governor. He’s said to have some very powerful people working behind the scenes for him, including the former vice president of the United States. Back to you—”
    She turns off the set and stares into space for a moment, trying to take it all in. She still has the image in her head, of the couple getting out of the back of a town car, waving to supporters, going into a building to give a speech or something.
    “Sawchuck?” Allison whispers. “The guy’s a goddamn politician?”
    She puts both hands on her head, runs her fingers out through her shoulder-length black hair, and lets out a very long breath.
    “Fuck me,” she says to herself.
    Allison is glad she hasn’t already called her mother, because there may be another solution to her cash flow problem.

Praise for
    Trust Your Eyes
    “
Trust Your Eyes
is the best Barclay so far, a tale Hitchcock would have loved. . . . The book is riveting, frequently scary, occasionally funny, and surprisingly, wonderfully tender. . . . Great entertainment from a suspense master.”

    —Stephen King
    “No one can thrill you and chill you better than Linwood Barclay. Trust me