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DAY ONE
CHAPTERONE
Sandra Ashville yawned as she pulled the door closed behind her and peered out toward the slowly illuminating sky over Lake Pocomtuk. She sipped her steaming Lady Grey tea and smiled—gone were the pink-and-blue cotton-candy stripes of the summer sunrises; now the sun reflected a rich saffron yellow from the changing fall foliage, a stunning contrast with the gentle lavender of the lake. Her sister wheedled her on a weekly basis to move to Arizona now that she was retiring, and there’d be moments during the New England winter when she’d be sorely tempted. But this—she’d never be able to leave this behind. The way the seasons shifted, the world always new, with fresh sights and smells to soak in.
Fortified by another warming sip of tea, she trotted down the wooden stairs and out across to the dock. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she unfurled her yoga mat out over the planks, then lowered herself down. She placed the tea far enough away that she wouldn’t knock it over, then put in her earbuds and pulled up her playlist on her phone. The right music enhanced the beauty of the lake while smoothing over the disruptive aspects.
As if on cue, a red fox screamed in the distance, startling her with his last bit of business before bedtime. She shook her head and smiled.
How could she move away now, just when she finally had the time to slow down and appreciate it all? For years she had been out of the house before the sun rose and not back until well after it set, including the longer summer days. Even her weekends at home were filled with court prep.
She sighed as she moved through her initial stretches. Everything had turned out so differently than she’d envisioned as an idealistic law-school graduate who’d truly thought she was on the path to make the world a better place. But then, that was the beauty of youth, wasn’t it? If you had any clue how things really worked, you’d never have the courage, let alone the energy, to try to make a difference. And unlike some of the young ones who came through, she’d never deluded herself that being a district attorney was going to be easy. But the things she’d dealt with—it caved in your soul. Especially when it came from all sides, from the criminalsandfrom aboveandfrom those you were trying to protect. Yes, a part of her rebelled against early retirement, screamed that it was somehow a failure, but if she didn’t—well, if she didn’t, a breakdown was inevitable. Or something very bad would happen. The yoga was helping, but it wasn’t enough.
As she shifted into downward-facing dog, a bird flew by, dropping and skimming just above the surface of the lake. She craned her neck to follow it, wondering what kind of bird it was. She’d buy a book about them—she’d have time now every day to watch birds and do sunrise yoga and read books, far away from the ugliness that forced her to make impossible choices and hamstrung her from making things right.
She smiled peacefully as she eased into her next position.
* * *
Hunkered down amid the elm trees, I checked my watch.
Just a few more minutes.
A creak pulled my attention back to the house. She appeared through the door, sipping from her steaming mug, then crossed to the dock. She went through the newly formed ritual—mat, earbuds, phone. It was a good omen—some days she didn’t listen to anything, preferring the serenity of the lake, but today her music would be my cover.
As she navigated her app, a red fox cried out in the distance. Sandra jumped—but then laughed and eased into her first downward-facing dog.
Her face in these moments was my focus—so different from who she was the rest of the day. Unguarded, vulnerable, her deeper layers washing over her face. Struggle. Self-doubt.
It proved she knew better.
The relaxed contentment settled over her face far too easily; at the sight of it my hands reflexively clenched into fists, causing the bark of the tree I’d been leaning against to bite into my skin. I flinched, then took a hurried step to keep from falling. Startled by my quick movement, a bird burst from the tree—I ducked out of sight, adrenaline bursting through me. But she hadn’t heard, and she didn’t see the bird until it dropped and flew past her.
I chastised myself. I couldn’t afford another mistake.
Breathing deeply to restore my focus, I calculated the timing of her positions. She eased herself into warrior two. For the next three minutes she’d be facing the lake, her back fully toward me.
I slipped out from between the shrubbery as she slid one arm down her front leg into triangle pose. I couldn’t see it any longer, but I continued to picture the expression on her face—the lines on her forehead smoothed, the tension gone from her jaw—and let the anger wash over me.
Reverse warrior. I shifted closer.
Part of me hoped she’d lean far enough back to glimpse me. It was too late for her to get away now, and the fear as she struggled from her pretzeled posture would be gratifying. But no, this way was better.
As she eased back into warrior two, I crept up behind her and raised the gun.
“Hello, Sandra,” I said, loudly enough to be heard over her app.
She jerked around, dropping to one knee as she awkwardly flailed to see who was behind her.
“Stay down.” Gun mere inches from her forehead, I drank in the confusion and fear as she tried to figure out what was going on.
“I don’t understand—” she started.
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” I cut her off.
Then I explained, watching as realization and horror bloomed across her face. She opened her mouth to respond, to beg for her life and make meaningless promises she was obtuse enough to think I’d actually believe. I drank in her fear, let it wash over me like a soothing salve, cherishing the tremor in her voice and the desperation on her face.
She stopped when I didn’t respond, recalculated, and opened her mouth to try another tack.
