Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I entered a moment later. “Your waiter’s here!”
The rest of the conversation was light and carefree, but Diya told me about the cards after Violet left. “Do you think she’s right? That it was just some disgruntled competitor?”
“Yeah,” I said, because I could tell she needed reassurance. “Especially given the timing, with the two of you in partnership negotiations.”
Nodding slowly, Diya leaned back against her pillow. “Tavi?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking…we have to take Mum and Dad and Bobby home. To Ani. She’s been waiting such a long time.”
Chapter 70
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Nov 19
Time: 15:17
I thought Perez was punking me when he showed me the marriage certificates. No one could be that stupid. But then again, he did get away with it for years. But, yeah, this is it, the last nail in the coffin.
We’ll be putting handcuffs on the bastard in a matter of days.
Chapter 71
Six weeks after Diya walked out of the hospital, and I continued to dream of the horror of that day, continued to grapple with the idea of Bobby being so consumed with his own image that he’d destroyed his entire family.
I’d probably never understand.
Diya, still mentally dazed and in psychic shock over the events that had forever altered the course of her life, sat quietly beside me on the sofa with its view of Lake Taupo. I’d rented the house with its sweeping views of a lake far bigger than Tarawera, then driven all three of us here through the night hours.
The renewed media storm that came with the revelations about Bobby had passed while the women were in the hospital, Ackerson turning up for most of the questions. The media must’ve known it’d be a bad look to hound a grieving family member, so they hadn’t attempted to beard me, and the only articles about my past had been in the gossip rags.
When contacted by one of those rags during the tail end of November, Detective Baxter had, surprisingly, come through for me with a blunt “No, Tavish Advani isn’t a person of interest in the Musgrave case.”
Five days later, he’d called me and said the last words I’d ever expected to hear. “I owe you an apology. I did get tunnel vision with you when it came to Virna, and didn’t look hard enough at Jason.”
A pause before he’d added, “I still don’t believe you about Jocelyn Wai, but as far as the department is concerned, you’re no longer under investigation in any capacity.”
It was my father who’d filled in the gaps about Jason’s headline-making arrest for the murder of his mother, having weaseled the information out of his contacts. “Some witness saw him tinkering with Virna’s car the day before the accident.
“Virna was right there with him, offering him a glass of iced tea. Pretending to fix Mom’s car while setting her up to die.” Pure disgust in my father’s voice. “Word is the man has two wives, two sets of kids, a champagne lifestyle with both families—and, despite appearances, his finances are in the toilet due to a string of bad investments.”
I’d told Diya about Jocelyn that night she’d asked about my nightmare, but we’d never talked about Virna. I knew she had to know, however. We lived in a world of search engines and information at our fingertips—if she hadn’t done the search herself, her family or friends would have.
That she’d never once brought it up with me told me all I needed to know: Diya trusted me.
It hurts when you fall that far, that fast. I felt my bones break when I hit the pavement.
Jocelyn’s vengeful ghost ran her long red nails over my spine, but I shook off the sensation, shoving her into the past where she belonged. Behind a locked black door where I couldn’t hear her scream as she fell.
My phone flashed.
When I glanced at it, I saw a new alert on the name Andrea Smithy-Carr. She was finally having her moment in the sun—and in doing so, fueling the interest in the Prasad family all over again. Her constant appearances and accusations had led to the reporters becoming emboldened in their attempts to reach Diya and Shumi. Two had tracked us down to the short-term rental I’d found for us in a quiet suburb of Rotorua, going so far as to knock on the door.
So I’d spirited them away in the night.
I’d hesitated on choosing a property with a lake view, but both women had mentioned how much they missed the peace of the lake, so I’d taken the risk—the city of Taupo itself was only a short distance away, so I’d figured I could always switch over to a place without this view if they didn’t like it.
As it was, they’d both spent the sunny hours after our arrival sitting out on the deck chairs, watching the sun glitter on the water. Neither had wanted to talk much, and I hadn’t forced it—though there were a number of important things about which we had to talk.