“Sorry, Soph.” Aria already felt silly for overreacting. “You hit a nerve, I guess.”

“I guess so.” Sophie’s forehead creased down the middle. “I should have thought before I spoke.”

“It’s not your fault.” Aria looked away and picked up the pool cue, ready to pretend that Elijah Lockwood had never entered the bar and this conversation had never happened. After a moment, her friends followed suit. The man they’d asked to join them was long gone. Aria didn’t blame him.

Each Saturday, Aria liked to spend a couple of hours coming up with ideas for articles she could write the following Sunday, to be published in Monday’s paper. This Saturday was no exception. The application Elijah Lockwood had submitted to the council for a permit to construct his shopping complex and motel made fascinating Saturday-night reading. On Sunday morning, she wrote an article outlining the main details of the project and created a side-by-side comparison of the current site and the concept plan drawn up by the architect.

It would be a beautiful building, made of creamy stone with big windows, but it wasn’t right for Itirangi. Too modern. Too big. Too sophisticated. Their town was a backwater, and that was part of its appeal. Time moved more slowly. People floated across the lake in kayaks and dinghies—no power boats allowed—or they read books on the lake shore during the summer.

In the winter, snow bleached the hills and mountains, and when the ski season began, everyone wrapped up in jackets and scarves. The snow on the lakeside sparkled, and sometimes, young brides posed for photos, certain that the pristine white backdrop contrasting with the deep blue lake would elevate their wedding day from special to magnificent.

Aria’s research revealed that Mr. Lockwood had somehow managed to acquire an old villa near the center of town, quite a feat in the midst of tourist season. No doubt one of the perks of being obscenely wealthy.

On Monday morning at 9 a.m., she visited the villa to interview him. From the outside, the place was run down, with paint peeling off the weather-boards and lichen growing on the roof. None of the windows had curtains, so the morning light silhouetted objects inside. The garden was growing wild, and ivy covered one outside wall. She wondered idly if the poor state of the house was the reason he’d been able to get access to it on such short notice. Usually, accommodation in Itirangi was booked months in advance, and each time a house came up for sale, a bidding war ensued.