“Just for elimination purposes.”
“I . . . I guess.”
When Boon exits the vehicle and walks through the rain back to his front door, Mal says, “He’s hiding something.”
“For sure he is,” Benoit says.
They watch in silence as Boon opens his front door. Yellow light slices into the darkness. Boon steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and the light is extinguished.
DAISY
October 28, 2019. Monday.
Three days before the murder.
Only five more weeks, Daisy thinks as she presses her hands firmly into her lower back. She’s upstairs in the baby’s room, where she can watch the driveway for the arrival of the maid. She paces in front of the window as she tries to ease the pinched nerve in her hip.
She checks her watch. Jon left very early again this morning. And he’ll be home late. He told her not to wait up—he’s going out with those prospective investors again. TerraWest is apparently throwing out all the stops to wine, dine, and entertain them. Jon said after dinner tonight they might all go to a club. The clients are from China and want to sample the local nightlife, he told her. Daisy feels edgy about this. She’s not sure she can trust Jon. Her interaction with Vanessa has unsettled her deeply.
It was at an “adult entertainment club” that Jon and his clients encountered exotic dancer Charley Waters. And look what happened.
What if he ever does something like this again? . . . I mean, guys like him—they don’t change, Daisy, do they? They just learn. They evolve. Adapt. They figure out how to be more careful, how not to get caught next time around.
She inhales a shaky breath.
I will cut him loose. I’ll sue him to high heaven. I’ll deny him access to our son. And I will win any suit because I—I have insurance.
Daisy winces and stops pacing as her back spasms again. Her mind spirals to the documents and flash drive she keeps in her safe. If Jon ever repeats what happened in Silver Aspens, he’s so done.
If Jon hadn’t made trouble with a stripper, Daisy would not be vulnerable to the kinds of threats and paranoia and harassment she is experiencing now. She would not be frightened of damn Chucky dolls and trolls on her Instagram account. She would not see shadows dressed in black behind trees or think someone is following her.
Another little voice deep inside Daisy rises to the surface.
It was you who chose to protect him. You who cleaned up behind him. You who learned from your mother that in order to keep your own reputation and family intact, sometimes a woman needs to take radical action and look the other way. It’s you who chose to believe boys will be boys, especially in groups, and you who put your head in the sand. You who still choose to believe there are slutty females out to lure and entice men expressly to gain favors, and that the men are powerless in the face of free sex and those women are to blame.
Daisy hears a car in the driveway. She hurries back to the window and peers down into her front yard. A Holly’s Help car pulls up outside her front door. Daisy steps back slightly behind the drape. She watches discreetly as the maid gets out and starts unpacking a vacuum cleaner and cleaning supplies. From a distance she looks attractive. Blonde with a trim figure. She moves with energy. Daisy feels a stab of resentment. The maid starts lugging her vacuum toward the entrance.
Daisy hastens downstairs. Her coat and purse are already waiting near the front door. She will leave as soon as she has spoken to this maid. She has no intention of remaining home to watch this person cleaning her house.
Through the frosted glass panel that runs the length of the door, Daisy sees the shadow of the maid approaching. She opens the door.
The woman jumps back and gasps in surprise. She was busy at the lockbox.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the maid says. “I thought—” She points to the lockbox that Daisy and Jon installed specifically for the cleaning service. “I was told there was usually no one home and that I should use the key. My apologies. I should have knocked to be sure.”
“No worries. I’m about to leave. I just wanted to meet you.” She smiles. “My name is Daisy.”
The woman looks tense, leery.
Aha! The maid is up to something. Daisy can see it, feel it. Her pulse quickens.
The maid’s gaze drops to Daisy’s belly. Daisy defensively puts her hands over her baby tummy.
“Congratulations,” the maid says.
Daisy nods. “And your name is?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Sofia. Sofia Ramos. Nice to meet you.” The maid offers her hand.
Disappointment stabs through Daisy. Her name is not Kit.
As Daisy leans forward to shake her cleaner’s hand, she says, “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen my necklace. It’s a diamond pendant. The diamond is set in a gold teardrop shape. I usually leave it on—”
“Oh, I’m not your usual maid. I’m the replacement—the new one.”
“What?”
“Your usual maid, Kit, has a conflict in her schedule. Holly assigned me. I’ll be servicing Rose Cottage going forward.”
Daisy’s heart skips a beat. “Kit?”
“Yes.”
“Kit who?”
“I’m not sure what Kit’s surname is. I’m pretty new with Holly’s Help. I haven’t met all the employees yet.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No—no, I . . . Kit has done such a great job here at Rose Cottage, I—I might like to send her some flowers. With a personalized note. Do you perhaps have an address or phone number for her?”
Sofia frowns. “I don’t. I’m sorry. You could try calling the Holly’s Help office?”
“Yes, yes, I will definitely do that.”
DAISY
October 28, 2019. Monday.
Three days before the murder.
After being foiled in her attempt to corner the maid named Kit, Daisy repairs to a café downtown. She orders a chai latte and sits at a table near the window. She watches pedestrians huddling in their jackets as they lean into a blustery fall wind, dead leaves being trampled under boots.
She decides to bite the bullet. She reaches for her phone, looks up the Holly’s Help website, and calls the office.
“Holly’s Help, Sabrina speaking. How may I direct your call?” The voice is high pitched and annoyingly sunny.
“Can I speak to Holly McGuire, please?” Daisy says.
She is put on hold for a few moments.
“Holly here.”
Daisy sits upright. “Hi, Holly, I’m Daisy Rittenberg, one of your clients. One of your employees, Kit, has been cleaning our home—Rose Cottage—and I understand she’s been replaced. I was wondering what happened?”
“With Kit? Oh, she had a scheduling conflict. We juggled the roster. Is everything okay with your new cleaner?”
“Great so far. I just met her this morning. I was wondering if you could tell me what Kit’s last name is?”
There is a moment of silence. Holly says, “Why? Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Kit has been doing an excellent job. We are sorry to lose her. We want to send her a bouquet of flowers with a personalized note as a thank-you, and I realized I never got her surname.”
“Thank you. Kit always has such great feedback. We get so many referrals through her. It’s Kit Darling.”