An excerpt from The Young Widows
Desperate, I call Isabel, hoping she’s still awake.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey.”
“Oh, you’re up.” I let out a relieved sigh.
“I’m making a cup of herbal tea before I crawl into bed. Everything okay?”
“I just got home and the front door is unlocked.” I peer inside again. The house appears still and I can’t see any signs of a disturbance. The furniture in the foyer is in all the right spots and nothing seems to be missing or out of place. “The alarm is off and Grant’s out. I’m a bit unnerved. Would you stay on the phone with me while I check it out?”
“Should you be going in alone?” Isabel asks. There’s a maternal worry in her voice. “Maybe we should call the police.”
I can only imagine how they would react. One look at me and I’d be pegged as a dumb would-be trophy wife with nothing better to do with her time than let her imagination run wild. No thank you.
“I’m sure Grant just forgot to lock up,” I lie. He would never forget something like that.
“Okay,” she replies, but I sense her unease. “I’ll stay on the line.”
“Thanks.”
I step into the house and close the door quietly behind me. The foyer has two archways on opposite sides—one leading to the living room and one leading to a library area, where Grant keeps art, books and items collected from his travels. Beyond that is the kitchen and his office. There’s also a big sweeping staircase up to the second floor.
I walk hesitantly into the living room—everything looks as it did when I left, right down to the cup of coffee sitting on a coaster with cold dregs in the bottom. My heels click as I cross the tiled foyer into the library. Same story there. Everything is in its place.
And there would be plenty to steal in this room. There’s an antique clock worth a small fortune on one shelf and I notice one of Grant’s Patek Philippe watches sitting on a side table, along with a pair of cufflinks set with small precious stones and his reading glasses. The watch alone is worth close to thirty grand. It would all have been an easy snatch and grab, if someone had broken into the house to rob it.
The fact that it’s sitting there makes my heart thump. If someone broke in and didn’t steal it, then what were they after?
“Anything?” Isabel asks anxiously.
“Not so far.”
Next I head to my bedroom, pushing down on the gold handle and easing the door open. The large king bed sits in the middle of the room, perfectly made without a single wrinkle or a pillow out of place. But there’s something on the bed.
Holding my breath, I approach to see what it is. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I lean forward, frowning. What on earth…
It’s a small shoe. A baby girl’s shoe to be exact. Inside the single shoe is a piece of paper, folded up and tucked away for safekeeping. With a trembling hand, I reach for it.
“Adriana?” Isabel sounds worried.
But I’m too focused on the note. I put my phone down and unfold the piece of paper—it’s lined and ragged at the edge, like it’s been torn from a spiral-bound notebook. Black pen is scratched across the page.
Get out while you still can.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat is dry. Parched.
“Adriana?” Isabel’s voice is an octave higher now, though it sounds far away since I didn’t put the phone on speaker. I pick it up. “Talk to me.”
“There’s no one here,” I say into the phone, my eyes laser-locked onto the baby shoe and the note now sitting next to it.
“That’s a relief.” She lets out a long sigh. “My gosh, how scary! You’ll need to have a word with Grant when he gets home. He can’t be forgetting to lock the front door like that. Anyone could get in. I mean, I know you live in a safe suburb and all… but still.”
“You’re right.” My tongue feels leaden in my mouth and the words have a numb quality to them. I hold my breath and hope Isabel doesn’t notice it and push for more information. I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams. “Thanks for staying on the line.”
“No worries.” Her reply is relaxed. She has no idea that I’m trembling. My shoulders drop in a brief moment of relief. “I know you’d do the same for me. Sleep tight, okay?”
“You too.”
I end the call and press my phone to my chest. Someone has been in here—someone who knows I’m pregnant.
When I turn the shoe over, I'm surprised to find that the sole has some dirt smudges on the bottom as if it has been worn. And why is there only one shoe? As I look the shoe over, I notice something else. Right near where the side of the bow attaches to the shoe, there’s a spot of red. It’s seeped into the satin and spread, leaving a soft ring of discolouration. Is that… blood?
I don’t know what to do.
Should I try calling Grant again? Or wait until morning? Then if I tell him about the shoe, I’ll probably also need to tell him about the email.
And our baby.
Something in my gut warns this is a bad idea. We’re keeping things from each other and we’re not even married yet.
I scoop up the shoe again and take it, along with the note, into my office. I walk over to my desk and pull out the top drawer. Then I stick my free hand inside and feel for the latch that’s hidden on the underside of the desk. When my fingers find the metal, I press and there’s a soft snick sound. The false bottom in the top drawer has been released and I can lift it up to expose the small hiding space underneath.