Tension whips through me. I check my watch. Barely any snooping time left. I should quit. Now. Do this next time. If Daisy arrives a minute or two early, I’ll be toast. But I can’t abandon this.
I leave the bathroom cabinet door open, rush into the bedroom, yank open the underwear drawer, ferret around in her lingerie, and pull out the box.
It’s heavy. A solid metal. My excitement is over the top.
Mouth dry, I sit on the edge of their king-size bed. I insert the key. It slides in perfectly. I turn it and open the top of the box.
Inside are two manila envelopes and a flash drive.
I touch the flash drive. I can’t take it with me to view what’s in it. If she finds it missing and reports it to Holly, I will definitely be fired. I remove one of the manila envelopes, open it.
Inside is a multipage legal document. I begin to read. As the meaning of the legalese becomes clear, I grow dizzy, can’t breathe. My world narrows and time slides into a dead zone as I struggle to process what I’m seeing. My gaze shoots down to the signatures at the bottom. I go numb. With trembling hands, I open the other envelope.
A thudding sounds in my ears, and I try to swallow as I absorb the weight of the text—what it means to me. My timer buzzes. I jerk back. I hear a car in the driveway. Panic licks through my belly.
Shit!
I rush to the window and peer down into the driveway. I almost faint with relief. It’s a UPS van. The driver gets out of his van and comes to the front door with a package.
I hurry back to the bed, ignoring the doorbell—the courier will leave the package or come back tomorrow. I spread the documents out on the bed. I take one photo after another with my phone. My hands shake so hard I pray the images will be in focus.
I stuff the documents back into the envelopes and return them to the safe. I see the flash drive still lying on the bed. Given what’s in these documents, I can’t even begin to imagine what the flash drive contains. I pick it up, clutch it tightly in my hand. My brain whirls. Definitely no time to view the contents on Jon’s computer. If I do take it, examine it at home, then return it next time, it would be a major risk.
I hear Boon’s voice.
If you see a shocking secret . . . you could be in trouble. People—rich people—will do anything to protect themselves and their families . . . even kill.
This is one of those secrets.
It will destroy the Rittenbergs and everyone close to them if I tell.
And if I don’t tell, it will destroy me.
I have no choice. Not anymore.
I pocket the flash drive and rush back into the bathroom to shut the cabinet. I hurriedly pack and load my cleaning supplies and Dyson into my Subaru. I’m sweating, panicked Daisy or Jon will come up the driveway, terrified Daisy will discover the flash drive missing and come hunting for her maid.
I’m also betting on the fact Daisy will not say anything to Jon.
Given the contents of those documents, I’m also counting on the fact she won’t report me to Holly.
Like I said, it’s a black secret. And Daisy will fight to keep it buried.
MAL
November 1, 2019. Friday.
When Mal and Benoit arrive at number 4456, the Wentworth mansion, it is lit up like a mountainside castle in the darkness. Outdoor lights line a paved driveway that curves up toward the house. A small white BMW is parked in front of the four garage doors. Mal and Benoit pull in behind the BMW, exit their vehicle, and make their way up a staircase to the entrance. As Benoit rings the bell, Mal turns to survey the night view over the distant city. The city itself is shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. The lit suspension cables of Lions Gate Bridge peep over the fog like garlands. The tallest buildings in the downtown core also protrude like shining beacons above the clouds. The Wentworth mansion is at a high elevation on the flanks of Hollyburn Mountain. No rain or clouds up here. The air is icy cold, and the night sky is filled with stars, but down in the fog it’s raining.
“It looks magical,” she whispers.
The door opens.
Mal spins around and finds herself staring at a pregnant brunette. Her heart kicks.
“Daisy Rittenberg?” she asks.
“What do you want?” She glances at Mal, then Benoit. She looks like she’s been crying.
Thank God she’s all right. One pregnant woman: safe.
“I’m Sergeant Mallory Van Alst, and this is Corporal Benoit Salumu. Can we come in? We have some questions about—”
A male’s voice booms through the hallway. “What is it, Princess? Who’s there?” A man comes into view. Tall. Lean. Tanned. Silver hair. Chiseled jawline and chiseled attitude. Mal recognizes him from the photos she just saw online.
“Mr. Wentworth,” Mal says. She reintroduces herself and Benoit. “We’re investigating a missing person case, and time is of the essence. We have reason to believe your daughter might have information that can help us. Can we please come in?”
Labden Wentworth hesitates. His gaze shoots to his daughter. “Princess” shakes her head almost imperceptibly.
Wentworth stiffens his shoulders, seemingly growing taller. “What could Daisy possibly contribute—” His features change as a thought appears to strike him. “Does this have to do with Jon?”
Mal feels a quickening in her blood. “Can we come in?”
Reluctantly, Daisy and Labden step back to allow the two detectives into the warmth of the opulent home. Mal and Benoit are led into a cavernous living room. A gas fire flickers. The view from the living room windows over the distant city is even more spectacular. A woman appears—elegant. She moves like a dancer. Hers is as commanding a presence as her husband’s, but with a sharp, feminine edge.
“What is this?” the woman asks, her gaze flicking between Mal and Benoit. “Who are these people?”
“It’s okay, love. It’s just the police. They want to ask Daisy about a missing person.”
She exchanges a hot look with her husband. Mal and Benoit share a brief look of their own. They’re onto something here. Mal can feel it.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth begin seating themselves on the sofa in the living room.
“We’d like to speak with Daisy alone,” Benoit says.
They hesitate. Labden Wentworth regards his daughter. “We’re right outside if you need us, Princess.” He turns to the detectives. “Daisy is tired. She needs her rest. She’s had a bad day, and we’re worried about the baby.”
“Understood,” Mal says.
The Wentworths leave the room and quietly close the glass french doors behind them.
Daisy, puffy eyed and blotchy, lowers herself clumsily into a chair near the fire. She appears both nervous and hostile as well as distressed.
Mal and Benoit sit on the sofa opposite her. Benoit allows Mal to take the lead.
“Mrs. Rittenberg,” Mal says, leaning forward, “we’re investigating an incident that occurred at a home called Northview. It’s also known locally as the Glass House. We understand that you know the owners, Vanessa and Haruto North?” Mal is fishing to see what this woman might offer up first.
Daisy swallows. “What happened—what incident?”
“Have you visited the Norths’ house recently?”
Daisy looks trapped. She glances at the doors, and her hand protectively covers her baby tummy. “Do I need a lawyer?”