I hesitate before I shut the back door behind me. I want to cocoon myself away, snuggle up with Jack. I could tell Stuart the truth and get him involved. But Nina trusted me with her dying wishes. She wouldn’t have wanted Stuart to find out about her fling with Greg either; she trusted me to hide her secrets. Just like she trusted me to protect her family. Me, not him.

Camilla opens the guesthouse door with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Want one?”

“Go on, then.”

As I watch her brew it, I already know what she’s going to say.

“I’m sorry, it was impossible to get into his office, let alone sniff around and hunt down potential blackmail information undisturbed.”

“So, we are left with no choice but to visit him at the fishing lodge and appeal to his better nature or make him see sense.”

“I’m going to reason with him,” says Camilla, as if my disappointment has spurred her on. “Let’s go. Two against one.”

I mull it over. “No, I think it’s best if I go alone. I haven’t done anything wrong. He thinks you deserve to pay for what you did, along with Nina’s family, too. I’ll be firm, emotionally blackmail him. I’ll tell him about Felix and Emily’s nightmares and force him to understand.”

“I can’t let you go and see him alone.”

“Why not? He’s hardly likely to turn violent when he’s utterly convinced by the notion that he’s way up on the moral high ground. Plus, he won’t be expecting me there, he’ll be caught off guard.”

“I’ll babysit, get Stuart to go with you.” “No, don’t. He doesn’t need to hear about the affair. I can handle this, really.”

“He can’t stake a claim too high up the morality mountain if he terrorized you with the notes and creepy flowers.”

“It was Tamsin, not Greg.”

I update her on my discoveries. Afterward, still seemingly fearfully reluctant, she gives me directions to the lodge and watches through the upstairs window as I walk in the direction of the river. It starts to drizzle.

It takes a good forty minutes because I’m mindful not to push myself too hard. I have to rely solely on Camilla’s description; there’s no hope of using any phone maps in the woods. As I approach what must be the correct property—because it’s the only one in the right spot—I notice the rain has stopped. It was impossible to tell beneath the dense trees. I spot a rainbow. Such an auspicious sign buoys me up.

The lodge is more of a large wooden shed with a raised outside porch. There’s a sign near the open gate stating that it’s private, but the flimsy fence around the perimeter of the grounds is in bad need of repairs and not conducive to blocking out unauthorized access.

I hang back by the trees. The place is deserted. No way is Greg here. His car is not in the drive and the desolation is freaking me out. Perhaps I’m not quite right, as Deborah is fond of suggesting lately.