Someone came to their house—right up to their home—and hand-delivered this into their box.
First her car. Now her home.
She shoots her gaze to the stairs, where Jon disappeared.
She’s terrified. She should tell him. Report it to the police.
But then they will all know what she did.
JON
October 18, 2019. Friday.
Thirteen days before the murder.
Jon sets his wineglass on his desk and locks his office door. A thrill rushes through him. Mia Reiter has found his mobile number. She must have gone to some effort to hunt him down. Shewantshim. This rubs Jon in all the right places.
He seats himself, takes a big sip of wine, and opens the text message, which he did not delete, contrary to what he told Daisy.
Was so great to meet you last night, Jon. Can’t stop thinking about you.
Jon swallows, aroused. He brings images of Mia to mind. Those bloodred lips. Those clear green eyes. The way she looked at him as though he were the only person in the universe at that very moment. That smile—how he felt the power of it right inside his chest. The matching red nails. The feel of her slender, cool hand in his. Her seductive accent. The way she carried herself on those high heels—hips sashaying as she walked along the pavement, the city lights glinting on her hair.
This is what it is to feel alive. To thrive. His marriage, this little family growing, this “cottage”—it’s stifling something in him.
He opens the second message sent from the same number.
Would love to meet again. Hope we bump into each other. Soon. Here’s to serendipity. Mia. Xoxo
Jon opens a drawer and takes out his special whisky and a glass. He pours himself a few fingers. He takes a sip. It’s better than the wine. He begins to type a reply.
Let’s meet. Same pub? Or we can go somewhere quieter. When are you back in town? JR
Jon hesitates with his thumb over the SEND button. He thinks of Daisy downstairs in the kitchen. Guilt expands in his chest. Conflict torques through him. A kind of resentment, too—because he can’t lose Daisy. If he gives Daisy grounds for divorce, he loses everything.
But if something “happened” to Daisy?
Jon curses. It’s the wine. The whisky. It’s the promise of this woman, Mia Reiter from Switzerland, who skis and is sexy as hell and also a brainy banker. She looks and smells like money, too. Maybe she’s even wealthier than Daisy and her trust fund. He closes his eyes, heart thudding. He’s got a devil on one shoulder, sayingdo it. An angel on the other who is truly trying to protect him from himself. But then the devil whispers into the secret part of his soul...The world doesn’t end at Daisy. What harm will a little fling bring if you keep it quiet? No foul if no one finds out, right? A man like you, Jon, you need an outlet. You need to release some of that pent-up alpha energy.
Jon hits SEND.
MAL
November 1, 2019. Friday.
With their flashlights, Mal and Benoit pan the exterior of the Audi S6 sedan parked in the Rose Cottage driveway. Rain drips from the bill of Mal’s cap. Rivulets run down their jackets. The air is cold. The foghorn sounds mournfully in the Burrard.
“No dents,” Benoit says. “But it could have been off-road, given the mud.”
Mal shines her beam in through the car windows. She can’t see anything unusual inside.
A slash of yellow light upstairs in Rose Cottage catches Mal’s eye. She glances up at the second story. A drape falls back into place, cutting the light.
“He’s up there. Watching us,” Benoit says. “The guy is lying through his teeth, and I don’t like those wounds.”
“You can smell the fear on him,” she says. “Never mind the alcohol.”
“We need to get inside that house, and we need to impound and search this Audi,” he says.
