“Of course not.” Freya gave a derisive snort. “If we had known she was there, she wouldn’t have been able to creep around outside watching us like a stalker.”

I was not close to Low, not like Freya had been, but the girl seemed harmless. She was unusual, awkward, even aloof. But she was just a kid. It couldn’t have been easy growing up feeling different, being ostracized by her peers.

“Could there be another explanation?” I asked. “Maybe something’s going on at home?”

“An explanation for squatting on my property? For staring into my windows in the middle of the fucking night?”

Freya was angry. She felt violated, and I would have, too. Of course, if Low had been staring into my windows in the wee hours, she’d have nodded off from boredom. Brian and I went to bed religiously at eleven. We made love on Sunday mornings. The most exciting thing a Peeping Tom would see at our house would be a late-night trip to the toilet.

“And I have no idea how long she’s been spying on us.” Freya paused then, just for a breath. “Who knows what she’s seen. . . .”

It twigged on me then. Low could have been there the night we took the magic mushrooms. She could have seen Max and me having sex in the guest room with its massive, uncovered windows. I glanced at Freya, but her eyes remained on the trail ahead of us. I’d tried to let that night go, convinced myself that it couldn’t hurt me. But my heart palpitated with dread.

“I’m not telling you to fire her,” Freya continued. “I’m just saying be careful. Don’t trust her.”

“I can’t fire her without cause,” I replied. “Besides, she’s only working weekends right now.”

“It’s your call,” Freya said, feigning indifference, but she was clearly annoyed.

We’d reached the parking lot by this time, Freya’s gleaming white SUV waiting with my shabby Mazda. There were two cars parked between us, their passengers nowhere in sight. Freya escorted me to my vehicle.

“Low might tell you things,” she said. “About me. About Max. Don’t believe her. She’s obsessed with us. She’ll say anything to hurt us.”

“Do you really think she’s that sick?” My voice was tight with concern—for Freya, for myself, even for Low. She might need psychological help, which would be hard to find in our small community.

“She’s fucking crazy.” Freya was adamant. “I just hope she doesn’t hurt anyone.”

With those ominous words, she kissed my cheek and moved to her car.

Chapter 25

25

low