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. “Whoarethese 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?”
“Do you?” Mal asks.
Her face turns red.
“Look, Mrs.Rittenberg, you’re not in trouble. We’re simply trying to gather information at this point. We do know that you purchased a blueberry-blackberry pie from the Pi Bistro in Point Grey yesterday afternoon. You also purchased a bouquet of”—she glances at her notebook, flips to the page—“dendrobium orchids, baby’s breath, Japanese anemones, spider mums, and white calla lilies from a florist called Bea’s Blooms.” She meets Daisy’s gaze. “Both the pie and the flowers were left at the Northview property sometime after six fourteen p.m. yesterday. Tucked into the bouquet was a card that came from you.” Mal gets up, goes over to Daisy, and shows her a photo of the card on her phone.
Good luck before autonomy dies, friend. It’s been a ride.
Thanks for the support.
Daisy
X
“Who is this note intended for, Mrs.Rittenberg?”
The woman doesn’t blink. Or speak.
Mal reseats herself. “What happened at Northview? Why were you and your husband there? Why did you drop the pie and flowers outside the front door?”
