My Ex-Best Friend

My Ex-Best Friend

A Novel of Suburbia

Journalist, wife, and mother of three, Claire Newman juggles work, soccer games, birthday parties, and errands. A successful writer at Nationweek, America's second largest newsweekly, she makes her living by being, as she says, "a relentless snoop," but she never was able to figure out why her best friend of twenty-three years, Lydia Finelli, dropped out of her life with no explanation. Claire hasn't seen Lydia in five years, and her unresolved hurt and anger still linger, brought to the surface by a chance encounter at the local bakery. When Lydia calls Claire and asks for her help, urging her to come discuss the situation in person, Claire figures it is one of "life's rare opportunities to tie up a loose end."

But when Claire arrives at Lydia's house, she finds her ex-best friend dead. While all the obvious signs point to suicide, Claire can't shake the feeling there's something very wrong. The irrepressible, feisty Claire starts investigating, and soon the list of suspects includes Lydia's neurologist husband, her psychiatrist neighbor, and even her son's handsome soccer coach. As Claire uncovers the secrets of her friend's past, and their relationship, the puzzle becomes even more complicated, and she finds that she really didn't know Lydia very well at all.

But knowledge comes with a price, and as Claire unravels the mystery of Lydia's death, she puts herself -- and the people she loves -- in harm's way.

Smart and funny, with razor-sharp storytelling, My Ex-Best Friend is the debut of a fresh new voice in contemporary fiction.
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  • Simon & Schuster | 
  • 256 pages | 
  • ISBN 9781416577911 | 
  • September 2007
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

It begins like any other ordinary workday. I'm in my cubicle of an office at Nationweek, too busy to notice my view, a narrow slice of downtown K Street. In clear weather, from a certain angle, you can see the White House, but on a gray, rainy spring day, like today, I'm not missing much, mostly backed-up traffic and people in trench coats hurrying to their next appointments.

Inside, I'm drowning in paper: overflowing files on my floor and desk, a stack of the day's half-read newspapers at my feet, an in box stacked precariously and ready to tip at the slightest movement. I'm trying not to spill my black coffee on... see more

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