“That was so much fun!” she’d said at the bottom, the required helmet on her head and her face clear of makeup. “Let’s do it again.”

We’d done it five times before heading off for ice cream.

I ran my finger down the far-too-expensive photo she’d bought at the booth run by the luge operator. I’d rolled my eyes at the time and told her she was getting ripped off, but that photo of us coming down the hill, my mother behind me, both of us grinning with glee, was one of my favorites.

But that wasn’t what I was looking for, so I forced myself to carry on.

Where the hell was it? I knew I hadn’t imagined it. Then again, maybe everyone who hallucinated thought that way. Should’ve asked Dr. Jitrnicka. Hey, Doc, if I don’t know I’m crazy, does that make me crazy?

There.

My eye fell on the image taken at a company picnic. I wasn’t in the photo because I’d been the one taking it. My father, my mother, three of his employees. Including his secretary. A cliché buxom blonde so dewy with youth she might as well have been plucked fresh from the tree.

Ignoring the people in the shot, I took in the scenery around them: it consisted of cars.

For some reason, we’d stopped in the car park and I’d taken a snap. Judging from the smiles on everyone’s faces, it had been a good day, and everyone had wanted one more memento. Even my mother looked content, her hand on my father’s chest as she hugged him from the side with her other arm.

The secretary, short and curvy, was at the opposite end of the group.

Behind her sat her car.

That was what I’d remembered. A car with a pastel-mauve paint job.

“Can you believe she spent good money recoating her car, and that’s the color she chose?” my mother had said with a laugh. “It’ll age faster than she will.”

It had been a bitchy comment, so perhaps my mother had known my father was screwing his secretary all the way back at the start of their affair. Or it might be that she’d honestly been horrified by the color. I couldn’t blame her. It was pretty hideous. Like a bruise that had begun to fade away.

Its number plate was clearly visible.

Writing it down, I closed the photo albums, then made myself put them back in the safe. With my head so screwy, I didn’t want to lose things that were important to me. After that, I pulled up the private investigator’s report. He’d made no note of the mauve monstrosity being in the vicinity of the Cul-de-Sac that night—not exactly a revelation, as, if that had been the case, I’d have already checked the secretary out.

Then why the fuck had I written that note?

Had I seen something that night that I could no longer remember?

Shoving my hands through my hair, I let out a scream.

48

The scream just made me feel more unhinged, even though my mind felt crystal clear in that moment. Telling myself to get a grip, I grabbed an ice-cold bottle of Coke from the fridge, drank it down to the last drop, then began to hunt for the secretary online.

My brain liked to collect names for possible use in future books, and funnily enough, that part of it was functioning just fine. My father’s secretary’s name was one I’d never forgotten: Aurelie Nissum.

It wasn’t exactly a common name, and it turned out Aurelie liked social media.

Not only that, but she didn’t seem to realize her privacy settings were wide-open. It didn’t even matter that she’d changed last names. Within ten minutes, I knew that she lived in the suburb of Mt. Eden, and had two children with her “gorgeous” husband, Vikram.

“Vikram, huh? I guess you have a type.” It wasn’t an accusation; I had a type, too—mine was just less physical and more psychological. Damaged women who were a little lost. Not only Paige, but all the girls and women who’d come before her, right back to my first girlfriend. Sapna’d had neglectful parents, had looked to me to save her while refusing to admit to any problems in her family life. Yeah, me and Dr. Jitrnicka had a great time talking through my self-destructive life choices.

Gorgeous Vikram proved to be Dr. Vikram Reddy, Ophthalmologist.

No doubt his parents found a way to work the fact their son was a doctor into all possible conversations. “Oh, you like that biryani recipe? It’s our Vikram’s favorite, isn’t it, ji? I used to make it and send it to him every week while he was at medical school. Even now that he’s a successful doctor with his own family, he still loves my cooking.”

It took zero skill to track down Dr. Reddy’s practice, but I knew I’d have to wait till after his workday to follow him to the family residence. Wait, what day was it? Saturday. I checked his practice’s website again—no clinic hours listed for the weekend, but I remembered seeing his name pop up in another link when I first did the search. There it was: Dr. Reddy was speaking at a local medical conference today. His sessions wouldn’t wrap up till 6 p.m.

Easy enough to wait outside the venue, see if I could pinpoint him.

Noting that as one option, I switched back to Aurelie’s photo gallery. She was a prolific poster, and many of her photos featured her children—several times in their school uniforms. I smiled, recognizing the green tartan pattern of an exclusive private school. Even better, she’d posted a picture of them today—out of uniform—with the following caption: Looking fancy! My babies get to go on a special field trip today to Hamilton Gardens to see a show!

Seriously, Pari and Mia needed to give Aurelie Reddy a lesson in online safety. The woman put everything out there. But thanks to Aurelie’s lax security, including the fact she’d linked to the show the kids were going to see—a matinee session—I knew I had a good chance of spotting her when she picked them up.

I glanced at my watch to see it was already four.

The city of Hamilton was less than a couple of hours away—maybe longer if you were driving a slow school bus and wrangling a whole group of children. I thought of Pari’s excursion to Rangitoto and figured it was possible the kids might not be back yet. I might as well see if I could catch Aurelie there before I tried stalking her husband.