Dean whistles off-key from the kitchen as he whisks together Joanna’s favorite breakfast, distracting me. I’ve come downstairs early, before my coffee’s ready, and it’s irked him. He hasn’t said as much, but I can tell by the tightness of his whistle. I know the less Dean sees of me the better, but this morning Michael’s home, and going into work late, and I wanted the two of us to eat together. He said he would meet me downstairs in a few minutes. That he had to take care of something first.
From my position in the living room, I can clearly see Dean leaning against the kitchen island as he cuts through a handful of greens. He’s efficient with that knife, isn’t he? And he was close to Joanna.
Suddenly, as if the clouds part in my brain, I’m noticing suspects and motives everywhere. Dean and Joanna. Were they having an affair? Clearly they were close. It’s possible. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from reading Sherlock Holmes, it’s that anyone could be the culprit.
Michael leans over and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I have a surprise for you.”
I spin around, curling my legs beneath me. “Surprise?”
“I know you never needed a car in the city, but I was thinking it’d be a good idea to get you one,” he says, rifling through his briefcase. “Especially since you’re alone here most days.”
“Wow,” I say. A car wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It could be nice. On days I feel trapped among Joanna’s things, I could take a drive and escape for a while. “What’s the surprise? Are we going car shopping after my doctor’s appointment?”
“That’d be an awful waste of time.” He pulls a single key out of his bag and hands it over. “Considering I already have the perfect car for you.”
All goes quiet in the kitchen.
Confused, I turn the key over in my palm. “You bought me a car?”
“Not exactly. You still have your driver’s license, don’t you?”
“Of course, but—”
“Come on then, follow me.” He opens the back door and spreads his arm toward the private, circular drive. “She’s yours if you want her.”
I follow him onto the limestone steps and stop short, staring at the midnight-blue Lexus coupe parked in the center of the drive. If it’s not brand-new, it must’ve been kept in the garage, because the paint is immaculate. Shiny and perfect. Not a dent on it. Two doors. Sloping hood. It looks exactly like the kind of car all of the women in this neighborhood would drive. It’s luxurious and sporty, and probably cost more than I would have made in two years at his company.
“You’re not serious,” I say, gulping air as my heart races. “Michael…is it a—”
“Convertible,” he finishes for me. “Thought you might like that feature.”
“But I don’t understand. You said you didn’t buy me a car.”
“I didn’t. I bought it years ago, for me, but never drove it much. It sat covered in the far garage stall until I hired someone to come out yesterday and tune it up. They detailed it and filled up the tank, too. It’s ready to go.”
I can hear reporters prattling in the distance, beyond the curving drive and security gate. I’m thankful for the privacy back here; yet something is wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Colleen?” He caresses my arm. “You don’t like it.”
That’s the last thing I want him to think. I plaster on a smile. “Of course I do, sweetheart. How could I not? Thank you so much.”
“Good. It’s yours then.” He stoops to kiss my lips. “Don’t forget to ask the doctor about the fatigue and mood swings you’ve been having. We need to make sure everything’s on track with you and that baby.”
That baby.
“I’m sure everything’s fine, but I’ll ask anyway so you