This Changes Everything

by Lisa Scottoline

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

In this twisty and emotionally resonant thriller from #1 bestselling author Lisa Scottoline, a woman risks her life for justice and realizes she has more power than she ever knew.

Julia Pritzker loves her new life as a wife and mother in beautiful Tuscany – except that she misses her best friend Courtney, back in the States. One night, Julia calls Courtney and reaches her as she’s arriving at her grandmother’s farm in Pennsylvania.

Then the unthinkable happens.

A dreadful premonition overwhelms Julia as Courtney is entering the house, but it’s too late to stop Courtney, who makes a heartbreaking discovery. Her beloved grandmother has been murdered, and the killer is escaping out the back door. A distraught Courtney chases him, but he jumps into a pickup truck and gets away. 

Julia flies home the next morning to support Courtney in her grief. The local police believe the murder was a botched burglary, but the women suspect something much more sinister. They dig to unearth the truth in a town filled with explosive secrets, and Julia’s uncanny intuition points her to the missing pieces of a dark puzzle.

The women call in hotshot Philly lawyer Bennie Rosato, but events take a deadly turn, and Julia becomes the target of a murderous conspiracy. She ends up fighting for her life, with no one to save her…but herself.

Only a blockbuster talent like Lisa Scottoline can tell this riveting and layered of a story, combining a woman’s search for truth with the revelation of her own empowerment, as well as the enduring strength and joys of female friendship.

Release date: July 14, 2026

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 400

Reader says this book is...: emotionally riveting (1) suspenseful (1) unexpected twists (1) unputdownable (1)

Sample

It was magic hour in Tuscany, a place more magical than most, and Julia was in the kitchen chopping a sprig of fresh basil, which released the herb’s piquant scent. She was preparing her family’s favorite appetizer, bruschetta with roasted red peppers in garlicky olive oil, and eggplant rollatini baked in the oven, warming the air with the aroma of bubbling mozzarella.

A breeze wafted through the window, which offered a beautiful view of their vineyard. A late-day sun poured like honey over its hilly rows of grapevines, glazing the vista in luminous gold. Julia had inherited the property in ruins, but she and her husband, Gianluca, had renovated the villa and planted their first crop of Sangiovese grapes, which they hoped to sell for Chianti Classico, authentic only if it came from this region.

She heard her daughter, Leni, giggling outside, which meant that everyone would be coming up to the patio soon. Her in-laws and her birth mother, Fiamma, were here, and they were having dinner outside on the patio tonight, since the evening was oddly temperate. The locals called March weather pazzarello, meaning weird or crazy, but Julia didn’t agree. She loved living here except that she missed her best friend, Courtney, back in the States.

On impulse, Julia pressed Courtney’s number on FaceTime, propped the phone on a pepper grinder, and resumed chopping the basil. It was just after six o’clock in the evening, so it would be around lunchtime in Philly. Julia knew Courtney would be at work, but noonish was usually a good time for her to talk.

The call connected after a single ring, and Courtney popped onto the screen with a grin, her round green eyes striking against her dark skin. Her pretty face was shaped like a perfect heart, her nose was smallish, and her black hair was in a ponytail. She had on an oversize gray sweater, unusually casual for her job.

Julia perked up. “Girl, I miss you!”

“Jules, me, too! It’s been a minute!”

“Have time to catch up?”

“Totally, I ditched work today.”

“What? Sales Queen slacks off? Why?”

“Grandma Kay asked me to come visit, and I just got to her farm.”

“Aw, tell her I said hi.” Julia had met Courtney’s grandmother Kay Patterson many times, and she was like a second mother to Courtney, still active in her early eighties.

“Look at this place. Cute, huh?” Courtney flipped her phone around to show a charming Victorian farmhouse of white clapboard with a wide porch, green gingerbread trim, and a mansard roof. Verdant arborvitae grew in a semi-circle around the house, providing a natural shelter from the wind off a surrounding field, and the sight made Julia homesick.

“Ah, Pennsylvania.”

“Right? It’s Tuscany, only with bowling leagues.”

Julia chuckled. “Where’s Paul?”

“At a conference in Myrtle, which means he’s on the eighth hole.” Courtney started walking with the phone, and the screen jostled. “How’s Gianluca? Studly as ever?”

Julia smiled. “Great.”

“And the adorable Leni?”

“Yakking up a storm.”

“At three? She’s a genius.”

“No, she’s Italian,” Julia shot back, but suddenly her mouth went dry. Her heart began to pound. She felt stricken, almost woozy. She shuddered, breaking out in a sweat. She set down the knife, overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of dread.

Julia remembered this happened before, only once. She flashed on that awful night back in Philly. She’d been walking home with her husband when she’d had a premonition that something terrible was about to happen. Then it had, before her horrified eyes. Her husband had been stabbed to death in front of her. She shuddered with the memory, like aftershocks.

Meanwhile, Courtney was smiling as she crossed the lawn. “You know, my grandmother cuts this whole big lawn herself with a push mower. Is she crunchy or what?”

Julia only half-listened, second-guessing herself. Maybe she was imagining the premonition. She hadn’t had one in five years. Everything was in order in the kitchen, and she looked around her, taking in the white marble countertop with jagged gold veins. The unvarnished pine cabinets. The deep porcelain farmer’s sink salvaged from the old kitchen.

“Damn,” Courtney was saying, climbing the steps to her grandmother’s front door. “These stairs need to be fixed.”

Julia realized with horrifying certainty that something terrible was about to happen—but not to her, to Courtney. “Courtney, stop!” she blurted out, picking up the phone. “Don’t go in!”

“What, why?” Courtney entered her grandmother’s house, flipping the FaceTime screen around so Julia could see what was happening. “Here, say hi to Grandma—”

Suddenly Courtney screamed. Julia gasped. The phone screen showed a gruesome sight:

Courtney’s grandmother was lying face-up on the rug. Blood drenched her blue shirtdress and spattered her dark skin. Her small, slight body was motionless. Her jaw hung open, slack. Her cloudy brown eyes were fixed upward. Her bifocals lay beside her on the rug.

“Grandma Kay!” Courtney rushed to her grandmother, phone in hand. “No, no, she’s dead! Somebody shot her!”

“Oh my God!” Julia said, horrified. The phone screen tilted sideways, showing a nightmarish living room, an end table knocked over and a broken ceramic lamp, its shade askew.

“Oh God, no, no! There’s so much blood! Jesus, no, she’s warm!” Courtney wailed, and just then a door slammed somewhere in the house. “That’s the back door! Somebody’s in the kitchen!” Courtney must’ve scrambled to her feet because the phone screen jolted crazily, blurring the room. “I’m going after him!”

“No, don’t! Go back to your car!”

“Hell, no!” Courtney hollered, the phone screen lurching.

“Courtney, don’t chase him!” Julia’s heart leapt to her throat. She heard Courtney’s ragged breathing and racing footsteps. The phone screen showed a blurred streak of darkened hallway, then daisy-covered wallpaper.

“Stop, you!” Courtney blew through a back door. Julia heard the slam. The phone screen adjusted to bright sun. Flashes of waist-high grass. Overgrown pasture in jagged motion. “Jules, he’s running to a pickup truck, it’s black, and—”

“Courtney, no, don’t!”

“—he’s white, average height, maybe forty? Dark T-shirt, jeans, black ballcap!”

“No, stop, let him go! He’ll hurt you—”

“I can’t see the license plate! The brush is too tall!”

“Courtney, please!” Julia said, helplessly. The phone showed a jittery swipe of bushes and trees.

“Oof!” Courtney grunted in pain. There was a horrible shuffling sound. The screen went abruptly still and dark.

“Courtney!” Julia shouted, terrified.

“I fell, but I’m okay! Jules, he got to the truck! He’s getting away!”

“Let him go!” Julia heard an engine ignite. It had to be the killer driving away.

“I had him, I almost had him!” Courtney picked up the phone. Her agonized face filled the screen, her lovely features distorted by anguish. She heaved a deep sob. “Jules, he shot… Grandma Kay! He…killed her!”

“Go inside. Lock the door. Call 911.”

“Okay… okay.” Courtney struggled to her feet, crying. The phone screen jostled as she ran back to the house.

“Hurry, go now.”

“I will… I am.” Courtney locked the door, making the phone screen go awry, then hurried down the hall. “Grandma Kay, Grandma Kay!” she called futilely, which tore at Julia’s heart. The phone screen flickered dark and light until Courtney reached the living room. “Jesus, no, no, no! She’s dead… she’s really dead! He…killed her!” Courtney collapsed into sobs. “Why, why, why? Why would anybody… kill her?”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Julia flashed on her late husband’s murder, on holding Mike as he bled in her arms. She knew in her bones the agony Courtney was feeling this very moment. There was nothing worse than experiencing the violent death of someone you loved. Only survivors knew that unique horror, and once known, it never left.

“You told me… not to go in the house… you warned me.” Sobs choked Courtney’s words. “Did you know… like before… with Mike?”

“Yes, I think so.” Julia hated to admit it. She didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want to have premonitions, much less everything that came afterward, like last time. Courtney had gone through it with her.

“Did you know… she was dead?”

“No, no, I just knew something was wrong. I’m so sorry, Courtney.” Julia glimpsed her reflection in a wall mirror. She’d gone pale, and her teary eyes looked strange, the blue of her irises oddly dilute. Her dark blonde hair framed a haunted expression, her thin lips parted with unspoken words.

“Jules, can you… come home? Please, come home?”

Julia packed her sweater in her roller suitcase, which lay open on the bed. She’d canceled dinner after the terrible news of Kay’s murder, and her in-laws and Fiamma had gone home with the food. She was booked on the next available flight to Philadelphia, which left tomorrow morning.

The cool night air drifted through the open window, carrying the earthy smells of the vineyard and the flutter of nightbirds in flight. The bedroom was softly lit, one of the larger rooms in the villa, which was centuries old. The place was a ruin when she’d inherited it five years ago, but its restoration was finally finished. They’d repainted the bedroom a light blue, refinished the original hardwood floors, and restored the frieze on the ceiling, which depicted Duchess Caterina Sforza, an ancestor of Julia’s and the only female ruler during the Italian Renaissance.

“Okay, Leni’s asleep.” Gianluca entered the bedroom with a weary smile. “I got away with only two books.”

“Way to go.” Julia looked over, and on any other night, his looks would’ve taken her breath away. She’d fallen in love with him at the Marucelliana Library in Florence, where he was director. Gianluca Moretti was handsome in the intellectual, refined, and artsy way of Florentine men, with large brown eyes, a strong nose, full lips, and thick, wavy hair the color of espresso, which he kept longish. He was lean in a fitted black V-neck T-shirt, slim jeans, and Chelsea boots. Julia had finally gotten used to the fact that her husband dressed better than she did.

“How are you?” Gianluca came over and kissed her on the cheek, and Julia caught a fading whiff of his spicy cologne.

“Okay. How’s Leni?”

“Fine.”

“Is she upset I’m going?”

“She didn’t say anything. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.” Julia had told their daughter that she was going away for a few days, during bathtime earlier. Leni had absorbed the news without a fuss, but Julia knew that the concept of time was lost on three-year-olds. Mother and daughter had never spent a night apart, but Julia hoped for a minimum of separation anxiety, on both their parts.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Until the funeral at least. I’m not sure, okay?”

“Of course, and my parents will help.”

“Great,” Julia said, relieved. She was lucky because her in-laws were retired and they loved to babysit. They’d been incredibly helpful during the renovation, too, staying in a cottage on the property from time to time, rather than driving home to Florence, about forty kilometers away.

Gianluca’s expression darkened. “Julia, I have to say, I’m worried about you going, after the premonition. You remember last time, that’s how it began.”

“With Mike’s murder, I know.”

“Yes, and this time it’s around another murder.”

“I know that, too.” Julia flashed on what had happened after her premonition last time. She’d begun to experience nightmares and visions, flashes of things that had yet to happen or of things that had already happened, like the truth of a buried secret. She’d felt like she was going crazy and wondered if she had psychic abilities. She’d even gone to a renowned medium, Helen Davenport, who’d confirmed that Julia had some psychic ability, but Julia had been so shaken by the possibility that she hadn’t followed up. That was five years ago, and she’d had no other visions, or premonitions. Until today.

Gianluca looked concerned. “So what will you do if the visions come back? It could be happening again.”

“I don’t know, maybe they won’t. Maybe it was just this premonition, one and done.”

“But last time, it was more.”

“I guess, but maybe it’s not the same.” Julia didn’t know if she was bullshitting him, herself, or both of them. “Nothing weird has happened all this time.”

Gianluca frowned slightly. “But it did, today. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not, but lots of people have premonitions. It doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to have visions.”

“It did before,” Gianluca said, gently.

“I know, but we don’t know if it will definitely happen again. I don’t know any of it. I mean, I don’t know if I’m really a medium. I haven’t felt anything since before Leni was born.” Julia heard her words quicken their cadence. “I’ve been happy. I’ve been normal. I’m normal now.”

“I’m not saying you’re not normal—”

“If I’m psychic, I’m not normal.” Julia shot back, and Gianluca placed a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve discussed this, sweetheart. It didn’t mean you weren’t normal because you had premonitions, or visions.”

“Of course it does.” Julia felt her chest tighten. “Do you have premonitions? Visions?”

“No, but—”

“Well, then it’s not normal.” Julia could see that he was just trying to help, so she dialed it back. “The thing is, I don’t like getting premonitions, and I certainly don’t want to have visions. Not once every five years, not even every ten years. They make me feel different and not in a good way. Weird. They are weird.”

“We can’t possibly know what will happen, you’re right.” Gianluca blinked, his hand still on her shoulder. “But we can talk about how you would deal with it if it does happen, don’t you think? Wouldn’t that help you?”

“Yes, I guess so.” Julia reflected that her emotional Italian husband could be a calming force when she wanted one, which she loved about him. Every marriage needed a Voice of Reason. “So what will you do, if the visions return?”

“I don’t know,” Julia had to answer, honestly. The prospect shook her to her foundations.

“You remember how they affected you last time, how destabilizing? You lost your way.”

Julia felt her face flush. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I couldn’t control today that I got the premonition. If it happens, it happens.”

Gianluca frowned more deeply, his dark eyebrows slanted down. “Then is going to Philadelphia a good idea?”

“Are you saying you don’t think I should go?” Julia asked, surprised.

“No, I’m not, I know you love Courtney.” Gianluca met her gaze with frankness. “But consider this. You told me that today in the kitchen, the thought popped into your head to call her. What if your premonition didn’t start when you were on the phone with Courtney? What if it was why you called her? Maybe you knew that her grandmother was about to be murdered.”

Julia swallowed hard, wondering if he was right. Her thoughts after the call had been so confused that the notion hadn’t occurred to her, but it made sense. She rarely called Courtney, who had a busy schedule. It was usually Courtney who called her.

“When you called Courtney, you could’ve delayed her going in. If you hadn’t called, she could be dead now, too.”

Julia inhaled, horrified. The thought of losing Courtney chilled her to the bone. She didn’t want to believe that she had the power to prevent a murder. Or, if she got it wrong, failed to prevent a murder. Maybe humans weren’t meant to know everything, at least she wasn’t. Julia reached for Gianluca, wrapping her arms around him and feeling the muscles in his back under his thin T-shirt.

“Here’s my fear, cara,” Gianluca said softly, hugging her close. “What will happen if you get mixed up in helping Courtney—”

“I want to help her.” Julia released him, torn. “Her grandmother was murdered. I know how that feels, and I can’t let her go through it alone.”

“But murder is something for the police. It could be dangerous.”

“I’m not going to Pennsylvania to solve a murder.”

“Aren’t you?” Gianluca narrowed his dark eyes. “Last time, you helped figure out who killed Mike. You helped the police.”

“That’s true, but that wasn’t my goal. You remember how it was. I was just trying to understand what was going on in my own brain. I thought I was losing my mind.” Julia hated the way she sounded, like a freak, all over again. She turned away and zipped the suitcase closed, hoping to end the conversation.

“Look at me.”

“What?” Julia looked up at him, pained. Oddly, ashamed.

“I’m on your side, cara.” Gianluca moved his hand to her arm.

Aw. Julia’s throat caught.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Julia rallied, straightening. “But I have to go. I’ve made my choice. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Okay, but promise me you’ll be very, very careful, and if you start to have visions about the murder, you’ll go to the police. You’ll tell them, and you’ll let them handle it. Promise?” Gianluca looked down at her, his expression grave and his tone turning vaguely professorial, which was a librarian thing she loved about him.

“Of course, I promise,” Julia answered, meaning it.

“Thank you.”

“I love you. Did I say that already?”

“All the time, but I get it.” Gianluca smiled warmly, and Julia felt the urge to kiss him, but he looked like he wanted to say something more. “Well, I need to ask you something. I was going to wait to bring it up, but since you’re going away, I have to put the thought in your mind.” Gianluca hesitated. “My parents would like to move into the cottage, and I think it’s a good idea. They’re here so often, and it doesn’t make sense for them to keep their house in town. They could sell it, put the money away, and live in the cottage.”

Wait, what? Julia hadn’t seen this coming. She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Gianluca loved his family, and so did she, but living with them was another matter. “Really?”

“Yes.” Gianluca searched her face to gauge her feelings, but Julia didn’t know them yet. Mostly, surprise.

“When did this happen?”

“They mentioned it the other day.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I’d discuss it with you.” Gianluca blinked, his gaze earnest. “My father insists they pay rent. It’s your villa.”

“It’s our villa,” Julia corrected him, meaning it. She’d inherited the property and a windfall of three million euros, which she put into their joint account. Gianluca earned a good living, and she didn’t mind the disparity in their finances, though it bothered him from time to time.

“Your name’s on the deed.”

“Still, that’s a technicality.”

“Not to my father.”

“Do you want me to put you on the deed? I’d be happy to, you know that.” Julia knew there were potholes in their relationship, which they avoided without saying so. She didn’t know if that was called love, marriage, or denial.

“No, I don’t need to be on the deed, I’m just explaining.” Gianluca shrugged. “In any event, I thought it might be nice for us if they lived in the cottage, and easier for them, too. They’re getting older.” A flicker of sadness crossed his face. “My uncle’s death got them thinking, and I don’t want to look back with regret. Leni would love it, too, don’t you think?”

“She would.” Julia knew her daughter loved her grandparents, who were great with her.

“So? What do you think?”

Julia braced herself. “Honestly, I don’t know. Leni’s easier than she used to be, and the renovation is finished. We can go it alone more, don’t you think?”

Gianluca frowned, disappointed. “We’re a family, Julia. I don’t want to see them less because I need them less. You love them, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“So then what?” Gianluca raked his fingers through his hair, and Julia saw the conversation was going south.

“Look, it’s hard to decide something this important right now. Can it wait?”

“Of course. We’ll sort it when you get back.” Gianluca pursed his lips. “Let’s get to bed. Your flight is early.”

The bedroom was dark, and the night air felt cool, but Julia was wide awake. She flashed on Courtney’s grandmother lying dead on the floor, then Mike’s murder that awful night. She reexperienced the same horror now, feeling unsafe, unmoored, and unraveled all over again. She knew it was PTSD, but a diagnosis didn’t help her sleep. She didn’t think journaling would do the trick, either.

She shifted onto her right side, her thoughts roiling. She could still hear Courtney’s scream echoing in her mind. She checked the clock on her phone, irrationally worried she’d miss her flight. Gianluca snored softly, having fallen asleep after they’d made love, tenderly reaffirming their bond, both sensing without saying so that their marriage was about to be tested, not only by her trip but by his wish to move his parents in.

Julia gave up on sleep, getting a better idea. She slipped out of bed, unplugged her phone, and padded downstairs in her oversize Notre Dame T-shirt, then left the villa and went out back. The Tuscan night caressed her as softly as black velvet, and the moon glowed, a shadowed orb in a starry sky. She turned on her phone flashlight to light her way across their patio and down the stepping stones to the vineyard, which lay nestled in a valley encircled by hills, protected from the wind and the elements.

The air felt warmer at the lower elevation, and she breathed in the scents of verdant young vines and tilled earth, natural fragrances as layered as the notes of a perfume. Birds flitted above her, and insects buzzed around her. She felt herself relax as she walked through the vineyard to a secret spot in the middle, around a beautiful well that was original to the property. The well was hewn of alberese stone native to the region, its gold and brown hues muted by the dark. The well was where Julia always came when she needed peace of mind.

She switched off her flashlight, put her phone on the well, and closed her eyes in the moonlight. For her, the well was a so-called “thin” place, a term the medium Helen Davenport had taught her, which meant a place where the line between the physical and the spiritual world thinned to a veil. Last time, she’d been surprised that it helped her find her biological grandmother and solve the mystery of her own identity.

Julia exhaled slowly, quieting her mind, and felt herself bathing in a moonbeam. A sweetly organic dampness emanated from the depth of the well, and she placed her hand on its wide rim. Its stones felt gritty, cool, and solid under her palm, and she focused on the rock, centuries old, unearthed from this very land. She imagined it connecting her to time itself, unspooling backward to the Renaissance and earlier. She visualized the water filling the well from the spring flowing under her feet, nurturing the rich, fertile earth in these hills from the beginning of time.

Suddenly Julia’s reverie was broken by her phone screen brightening. She worried it was a text from Courtney, so she picked it up, but it was a notification of her horoscope for the day ahead:

Buckle up, Cancer! There’s a rocky road ahead! You’re entering eclipse season, the period between the lunar eclipse on March 14 and the solar eclipse on March 21. Major challenges are on the way. You’re ready, but only if you believe you are.

Julia swallowed hard, troubled. She didn’t check her horoscope as much as she used to, but she never lost sight of the stars and their hold on her. She knew there was more to this world than met the eye. Her premonition was proof.

Julia pocketed her phone and headed back to the villa, more troubled than before. She couldn’t deny that tomorrow morning, she was embarking into the unknown.

I’m not going there to solve a murder, she’d told Gianluca.

Julia knew now that hadn’t been true.

But no matter what, she was going.

Julia deplaned at a packed terminal in Philadelphia International, experiencing the culture shock of an expat. She’d forgotten how dense crowds could be in a major American airport, but for once, she was dressed like everybody else, in a loose cotton sweater and relaxed jeans rather than the Euro-cool look of her husband and in-laws, who lived in patterned Etro shirts, skinny jeans, and rimless Swiss glasses.

She joined a long line at Immigration, noticing that mostly everybody around her spoke English with a Philly accent, like hers. She smiled to think she missed the sound of its notoriously tortured o’s, and it was new to be surrounded by anything but Italian. It struck her that not only had it been a long time since she’d been in the U.S.; it had been a long time since she’d been out of the house, encased in her new-mom cocoon.

Julia reached the front of the line and showed the officer her American and her Italian passports, since she had dual citizenship. The officer checked only her U.S. one, then she went through Baggage Claim and Customs with a throng of Americans, feeling a surge of familiarity that surprised her. The corporate brands at the terminal welcomed her with their trademarked signs and smells, the Tony Luke’s cheesesteaks set her stomach growling. She beelined for a Dunkin’ Donuts realizing she’d never gotten used to Italian espresso, which tasted like distilled caffeine. She ordered a coffee and glazed doughnuts, hoping the sugar would help her jet lag, since she hadn’t been able to sleep on the plane.

She went down the hallway and entered the International Arrivals Hall, where a cheering crowd of teenagers waved American flags and an oversize flag hung from a soaring glass ceiling. On the wall was t. . .