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AT THE FRONT of the house, at the base of the driveway, Masha stood next to her car, looking up. The garage door was open and Dr. Parks’s Audi convertible sat inside—and that meant the doctor was still at home.
She usually left at five o’clock and stayed out at least until seven or later, to go and sweat at her Bar Method class, or SoulCycle. Or Pilates.
She would leave in sneakers, half-dirty T-shirts and pilled leggings, her greasy blond hair pulled into a messy bun, or worse, in a ponytail under a hat. A baseball cap. Like a boy.
Masha hated this look.
The real LA housewives were grubby, she thought. Not like the ones on the TV shows. Dr. Parks looked way too natural, too boyish, and too skinny. She never dressed up. No makeup. Not even a stroke of mascara in the morning. No lip gloss. And she had plenty of bling to wear. Tons of it. But she never wore it. Like Ellen Sumner, Dr. Parks’s jewelry sat in a box in her bedroom closet, next to the drawer with the linty gray sports bras. These wives, she thought, took too much for granted. No wonder their husbands eventually left.
Dr. Parks was not at Pilates. It was eight o’clock, night had fallen, and she was still in the pool house out back.
“The one night. The one night she’s not going out,” she whisper-yelled into the trunk. “She’s usually gone by five or six.”
“We’re okay,” Sophie called.
“Fuck it,” said Masha. She scanned the windows, but didn’t see a single shadow. No movement. So she popped the trunk to give them some air.
Sophie and Nikolai opened their eyes and sat up straight.
“What is it?” said Sophie.
“She’s home, but I can’t tell where she is. Stay until I come get you, okay?”
“Okay,” Sophie said, as Masha gently closed the trunk, but not all the way. She left it open an inch.
The driveway was dark as she took off up the hill toward the house. She circled the garage to the herb garden and went down the path toward the pool.
The light from Masha’s bedroom was on, but the rest of the pool house was dark. The front door was closed. She had definitely locked it when she left. But she could see that the screen door was open. It rested on its hinge, open an inch.
Someone was there. Or had been there.
Masha ran up the steps, opened the screen door, pushed through the main door, and stepped inside. There in the dark, Dr. Parks dropped her phone and screamed. Masha screamed.
“Masha!” The doctor put her hand on her heart. “I thought you were out!”
“I was,” Masha said carefully, calm. “Now I am back.”
CHAPTER 10
“I SEE THAT you’re back,” the doctor said. “I’m so sorry.”
Embarrassed, she scrambled to find a light. But Masha found a lamp first and turned it on. Of course. Why not? This was her home. She flipped the kitchen switch near the door, and the overhead pendant lit up the rooms.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for something,” the doctor said.
“In the dark?”
“Yes.”
“Looking around?” Masha raised her brows. “You should’ve turned on a light to see. To see better.”
“Yes, I could have. But I was snooping,” the doctor admitted. “And I’m so sorry, but those men today, they were from the police department.”
“Really?” said Masha, and moved from the door and put down her purse.
“Something happened. It’s kind of a mess. Can we sit for a second and talk? Please? I was robbed.”
Masha nodded, moved to the kitchen, and put down a takeout bag from Chipotle. They sat at the table.
