The third wife A novel

Adrian Wolfe, 48, prides himself on how well his two ex-wives, five children, and new, much younger wife, Maya, have blended. Then Maya gets very, very drunk and is hit by a bus. Adrian accepts the fact that the death of his third wife was an accident; that is, until beautiful Jane comes to adopt Maya's cat and leaves a strangely blank cell phone behind. His youngest daughter tells him that she saw Jane watching her at skating practice, while his oldest daughter, Cat, discovers that Jane is not Jane at all. But who is she? And what does she know about Maya's death? As Adrian tries his best to avoid facing the fact that his marriage was troubled, his blended family face their own roles in Maya's death. As in The House We Grew Up In (2014), Jewell excels at juggling multiple perspectives to slowly peel back the layers of supposed domestic bliss. Like Liane Moriarty, she manages the perfect blend of women's fiction and nail-biting suspense, throwing enough red herrings in the reader's path to keep the pages turning.--Maguire, Susan Copyright 2010 Booklist

Jewell (The Making of Us; The House We Grew Up In) introduces us to Adrian Wolfe, who has left a trail of ex-wives and children in his quest for love. His third wife, Maya, stepped in front of a bus and was killed; she had not conceived before her mysterious death. Maya also had received a steady stream of hateful emails. These vitriolic correspondences contain information only an insider from one of Adrian's families could know.or someone talking to an insider. Grief-stricken Adrian wants to place Maya's cat Billie in a loving home when Jane appears. Adrian is transfixed by Jane, but as he sees more of her, questions arise. Who is Jane really? And what does she want from Adrian? -Jewell tells the story from multiple viewpoints, giving it much greater depth than if it had been told from only Adrian's perspective. The characters are quite distinctly drawn, and the author effectively switches between past and present to keep readers engaged. VERDICT A great choice for readers seeking a mystery with a blended family twist. [See Prepub Alert, 11/25/14.]-Jennifer M. Schlau, Elgin -Community Coll., IL © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

The Third Wife 1 April 2011 They might have been fireworks, the splashes, bursts, storms of color that exploded in front of her eyes. They might have been the northern lights, her own personal aurora borealis. But they weren't, they were just neon lights and streetlights rendered blurred and prismatic by vodka. Maya blinked, trying to dislodge the colors from her field of vision. But they were stuck, as though someone had been scribbling on her eyeballs. She closed her eyes for a moment, but without vision, her balance went and she could feel herself begin to sway. She grabbed something. She did not realize until the sharp bark and shrug that accompanied her action that it was a human being. "Shit," Maya said, "I'm really sorry." The person tutted and backed away from her. "Don't worry about it." Maya took exaggerated offense to the person's lack of kindness. "Jesus," she said to the outline of the person, whose gender she had failed to ascertain. "What's your problem?" "Er," said the person, looking Maya up and down, "I think you'll find you're the one with the problem." Then the person, a woman, yes, in red shoes, tutted again and walked away, her heels issuing a mocking clack-clack against the pavement as she went. Maya watched her blurred figure recede. She found a lamppost and leaned against it, looking into the oncoming traffic. The headlights turned into more fireworks. Or one of those toys she'd had as a child: tube, full of colored beads, you shook it, looked through the hole, lovely patterns--what was it called? She couldn't remember. Whatever. She didn't know anymore. She didn't know what time it was. She didn't know where she was. Adrian had called. She'd spoken to him. Tried to sound sober. He'd asked her if she needed him to come and get her. She couldn't remember what she'd said. Or how long ago that had been. Lovely Adrian. So lovely. She couldn't go home. Go home and do what she needed to do. He was too nice. She remembered the pub. She'd talked to that woman. Promised her she was going home. That was hours ago. Where had she been since then? Walking. Sitting somewhere, on a bench, with a bottle of vodka, talking to strangers. Hahaha! That bit had been fun. Those people had been fun. They'd said she could come back with them, to their flat, have a party. She'd been tempted, but she was glad now, glad she'd said no. She closed her eyes, gripped the lamppost tighter as she felt her balance slip away from her. She smiled to herself. This was nice. This was nice. All this color and darkness and noise and all these fascinating people. She should do this more often, she really should. Get out of it. Live a little. Go a bit nuts. A group of women were walking towards her. She stared at them greedily. She could see each woman in triplicate. They were all so young, so pretty. She closed her eyes again as they passed by, her senses unable to contain their images any longer. Once they'd passed she opened her eyes. She saw a bus bearing down, bouncy and keen. She squinted into the white light on the front, looking for a number. It slowed as it neared her and she turned and saw that there was a bus stop to her left, with people standing at it. Dear Bitch. Why can't you just disappear? The words passed through her mind, clear and concise in their meaning, like a sober person leading her home. And then those other words, the words from earlier. I hate her too. She took a step forward. Excerpted from The Third Wife: A Novel by Lisa Jewell All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.