“Daisy!” Her father storms in through the french doors. “There are police cars coming up our drive.”
As he speaks, red and blue lights pulse into the living room. Daisy pushes herself clumsily up from the chair and hurries to the window.
Three black-and-white West Vancouver PD vehicles with flashing bar lights come up the curved Wentworth driveway. Two pull in beside her BMW. One parks at a sharp angle behind Daisy’s car, blocking her exit.
Her mind shoots back to that night at the Glass House.
“I need a lawyer,” she says quietly to her mom. “I need a really good lawyer. Will you find me one?”
DAISY
October 31, 2019. Thursday.
Six hours and six minutes before the murder.
Daisy is dressed and made up for dinner when Jon carries his briefcase in through the door.
Waddling up to him, she smiles, goes up on her toes, and kisses him. “I put some clothes out on the bed for you.” She wants him to look his best. Daisy has pride—she needs to impress Vanessa and Haruto.
“I don’t know that I’m up for this, Daize.”
She takes a good look at her husband and realizes he looks terrible. “Oh, Jon, you look ill. What happened? Do you want me to take you back to the hospital?”
“No, I’m fine. Just beat.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. It sticks up, wet from the rain.
She becomes aware that his shirt is damp, too, and he smells of alcohol. Worry worms into Daisy. “What’s going on?”
“Just a...rough day. Those investors pulled out.”
“Was that what your big meeting was about this morning?”
“Yeah.” He turns away from her, opens the hall closet. He shrugs out of his damp jacket, drapes it over a coat hanger.
“You get caught in the rain?”
“Obviously.”
“Jon?”
He faces her.
She regards him. “Did you hear something bad about the new job? Is this to do with that Ahmed Waheed guy?”
“No, Daisy. I said it was just a rough day.”
She stares at her husband’s back as he turns away from her. Something awful has happened. He’s lying to her.
“Are you sure going out to dinner is—”
“It’s fine,” he snaps. “I said I’ll be fine.”
He goes up the stairs to change. And Daisy knows—she just knows. Nothing is fine.
When Jon comes back downstairs, he’s showered and dressed, and looks presentable. She forces a smile, kisses him on the cheek, and tells him he looks handsome.
“I called ahead to order a pie and flowers to take to the Norths,” she says. “We can pick them up along the way. Is that okay?”
He nods and finds his car keys.
