PRAISE FOR CAROLINE MITCHELL

‘For me, this book had everything – an excellent police procedural with tension, pace and a compelling storyline. With the added psychological element, there was nothing more I could have asked for.’

—Angela Marsons

‘Fast-paced, twisty, and chilled me to the bone . . . I loved every minute of it!’

—Robert Bryndza

‘The writer’s conflicted heroine and twisted villain are superb characters.’

—Sunday Express magazine

‘Heart-thumping moments that left me desperate to read more.’

—The Book Review Café

‘The very definition of a page-turner.’

—John Marrs

‘The tension built up and up . . . I devoured every page.’

—Mel Sherratt

‘With her police officer experience, Caroline Mitchell is a thriller writer who knows how to deliver on plot, character, and most importantly, emotion in any book she writes. I can’t wait to read more.’

—My Weekly magazine

ALSO BY CAROLINE MITCHELL

The DI Amy Winter Series

Truth and Lies

The Secret Child

Left for Dead

Flesh and Blood

Individual Works

Paranormal Intruder

Witness

Silent Victim

The Perfect Mother

The DC Jennifer Knight Series

Don’t Turn Around

Time to Die

The Silent Twin

The Ruby Preston Series

Death Note

Sleep Tight

Murder Game

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT PAGE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2022 by Caroline Mitchell

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542022224

ISBN-10: 1542022223

Cover design by Tom Sanderson

DEDICATION

To my agent extraordinaire Madeleine Milburn.

Heartfelt thanks for your unfailing patience, enthusiasm and drive.

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

START READING

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

START READING

A village is a hive of glass where nothing unobserved can pass

—Charles Spurgeon

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

TRUE CRIME DETECTIVE

by Marsha Bowers

A carton of eggs sat next to a bowl of sifted flour and caster sugar in the country home of the Harper family. The oven was warming, ready for a batch of cookies. The kitchen tap was running, a floury handprint on the nozzle. On the television, endless streams of cartoons played. Bonnie, the family dog, scratched at the back door to get in.

But there was no trace of Martin or Susan Harper, or their wheelchair-bound eight-year-old daughter Grace. A friend raised the alarm when Susan failed to answer the door. Mail sat in their letterbox outside. Their friends and family had not heard from them in days. To the outside world, it was as if the family had disappeared into thin air.

The quaint New Forest village of Nighbrook was in the grip of winter when the Harper family disappeared in January 2011. Martin Harper, a sales director for an international firm, had returned from a work trip abroad. His wife Susan was heading a fundraising campaign to help Grace, who was terminally ill. The couple were financially secure, with over fifty thousand pounds in the bank. The family were fondly thought of in their local village, and Grace’s sunny disposition was admired by all. Police found her empty wheelchair parked in the corner of the kitchen the day they disappeared. Martin Harper’s suitcase was half-unpacked on the bed of their family home. It was the mystery that puzzled the nation. There was no sign of forced entry or any evidence of a struggle. No unusual tyre tracks in the yard leading up to their home. No motivation of any kind for anyone to want to hurt the family who had lived at the address. Police interrogated phone records; the family computer was searched, but it showed nothing untoward. Speculation in the press revealed wild theories ranging from alien abduction to satanic cults to joint suicides. But anyone who knew them quickly dismissed these. ‘Martin had recently been promoted and was excited about the future,’ a family friend said. ‘Susan lived in hope of finding a cure for her daughter. She wanted more than anything for her to live a normal life. They would never have committed suicide, they were committed Catholics.’

Ten years on, where is the Harper family? Despite in-depth investigations by local law enforcement officers, there are no answers to be found.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Sitting at her apartment window, Naomi’s eyes danced over the city’s twinkling lights. The streets were thick with traffic, with the backdrop of pedestrians’ footsteps below. A swell of sadness grew heavy in her chest. She had outgrown her snug London apartment, but it was hitting home how much she’d miss her little flat. It was virtually the size of a shoe box, but the best she’d been able to hope for on her previous income. Crime reporting was not a lucrative career, but at least she never ran out of material. She glanced at the skyline that still had the power to mesmerise. Only in London could buildings of steel and glass tower over fourteenth-century churches and ancient Roman walls. It housed an abundance of diversity, where the filthy rich and despairingly poor coexisted. These were the people embedded in the crimes she had written so passionately about. The question was, could her alter ego, Marsha Bowers, acclimatise to a new life in the countryside and become a stay-at-home wife? She curled her fingers around the snow globe as she picked it up from the window sill, balancing its steady weight in her hand. She would hide it in her handbag during the move. Her favourite things had a habit of breaking when Morgan was around. Holding the globe upwards, she watched it catch the light. It contained an idyllic scene: a tiny cottage with a white picket fence bordered by woodland. A snowman was in the garden, with a miniature carrot for a nose. The globe had been gifted by her father, and now her dream home was waiting for her. She gave it a quick shake, watching the snow settle. She had fantasised about living in such a place, where birdsong replaced the backdrop of sirens and the scent of pine cones lingered instead of diesel fumes. But her new stepdaughter Morgan brought with her a sense of foreboding. It alarmed Naomi to be the focus of so much hatred: a quiet, simmering anger bubbling beneath the surface, which Morgan kept cleverly hidden when her father was around.

Naomi pulled her cardigan together as goosebumps rose on her skin. There was no turning back now. Tomorrow, a woman named Felicity Marshall would own the leasehold on her beloved flat. Naomi had left handwritten notes and Post-its explaining the apartment’s little quirks: how she’d have to lift the bathroom door to slide the stiff lock in the bolt. How old Mrs Gooch across the way had been getting tipsy every night since her husband died, and it would be good if Felicity would keep an eye out for her. She wrote of how the nearby city train had a regular rhythmic rumble, which was nice once you got accustomed to it. Then there was the list of recommendations of the best restaurants, coffee shops and bars. A lump rose to her throat as she recalled all her old haunts. She had been so impatient to leave this place – so why did she feel like she was rehoming her favourite pet?

She felt a dim sense of amazement as she came to terms with how much her life had changed over the last twelve months. But it came with some trepidation, and she flinched as Ed’s firm hands clamped down on her shoulders.

‘You’re all knots,’ he said, kneading her flesh. ‘I can book Sam to come around tonight, get a massage in before you leave.’

‘Thanks, hun, but I’m going to have an early night.’ Naomi winced as he hit a tender spot. ‘Big day tomorrow.’ Ed’s lifestyle was taking some getting used to, along with the privilege of having professionals on tap. She never asked her new husband how much money he earned; she didn’t need to when all the details were online.

You only had to type Ed’s name into Google to come up with his worth. A forty-eight-year-old Scottish film producer and director, his net worth hit thirty million dollars just last year. Yet he showed little outward signs of wealth. His favourite dinner party story was of when he attended the homeless shelter to organise a donation and they thought he was there for the free food. He had proudly recalled the incident ever since, enjoying the reaction of his socialite friends as they gasped in horror at the thought. Unlike them, Ed wasn’t born into money. It certainly wasn’t his looks or his wealth that had swept her away. Her husband was sunshine in a bottle, and you couldn’t put a price on that. When Ed focused on you, the rest of the world faded away. And it wasn’t just her who felt it. Everybody wanted a little piece of him. How must it feel for his first wife now, being left out in the cold? The embers of guilt flickered as one morose thought replaced another. The coronavirus had changed everything, and working away from the office had forced her to take stock. She just hoped the move wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction she would come to regret. It was she who had insisted on their pre-nup. It was bad enough she’d been called a home-wrecker. She valued her independence; she would not be branded a gold-digger too.

She turned in her chair, grateful for the break from Ed’s well-meaning but torturous efforts at massage.

‘We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?’

It was too late to back out, but she needed reassurance just the same.

Ed’s face crinkled as his smile broadened. She could get lost in his green eyes and his soft Scottish accent turned her to mush.

‘Come here, Sassenach,’ he joked, knowing her weakness for the Outlander series. Her crush on actor Sam Heughan was something he teased her mercilessly about when she got to meet him later on. Most men bought flowers to impress; Ed had made dreams come true. But that was typical of him. A big burly man who injected wonder into people’s lives. Opening his arms, he embraced her in a hug as she stood.

‘Enjoy the adventure,’ he murmured, the sweet smell of his evening single malt lingering on his breath. He smoothed back a strand of her unruly brunette hair. For Ed, adventures were around every corner.

A smile came to rest on Naomi’s lips as she absorbed her husband’s calm demeanour. She was safe in his arms. It didn’t matter where they moved: this was her home.

The sudden ring of Ed’s phone parted them, and he turned to take the call. Naomi guessed it was Morgan, asking where he was. She had an uncanny knack for interrupting their little intimacies. His daughter had received the news of their new living situation with all the disgust you would expect of a teenage girl. Naomi’s stomach churned at the thought of them living with Morgan. Could she parent a sixteen-year-old girl when she was just twelve years her senior?

Ed was chuckling now, oblivious to Naomi’s concerns. ‘She’s excited about tomorrow,’ he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

‘That’s nice,’ Naomi replied, with more enthusiasm than she felt.

As a siren blared in the busy London streets, Naomi cast an eye over the boxes stacked next to the wall. The next time she opened them, she would be in their woodland cottage. There would be no fear of terrorist attacks there, no congestion charges, no smog. Everything had changed in the last twelve months: her job, her family and now her home. Ivy Cottage was like something out of a Disney movie and it was time for her to live the fairy tale. If only people knew this hardened crime reporter came with a soft heart.

An unwelcome thought occurred. If Ivy Cottage was part of a fairy tale, did that make her a wicked stepmother? But there was a village nearby, with things for Morgan to do, and there was always the get-out clause. If things didn’t work out in the New Forest within twelve months, they could move back to London. It would be a shock to the system for Morgan to unplug herself from Wi-Fi to experience the joys of the outdoors.

‘Hey, don’t look so worried.’ Ed interrupted the flow of her thoughts. ‘We can always bribe her with a dog to ease the blow.’

‘Mmm,’ Naomi murmured, warmed by the idea of a pet. But bribery was not recommended in the parenting books that she’d read. They filled up half her Kindle, but so far they had not made things an ounce better than before.

‘Are you sure you won’t come back to the hotel?’ Ed said, hopefully. There was room on the sofa, but Morgan refused to sleep in Naomi’s flat.

‘You go,’ Naomi replied. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Ed nodded, knowing better than to try to change her mind. She needed one more night here on her own. Returning to the window, she waved to her husband as he walked down the street to his hotel. Twelve months. They had twelve months to make this work. She knew it would not be easy. Also, she hadn’t stacked the odds in their favour. Ivy Cottage held a dark history. One she had been perfectly aware of when she put in the offer. Ed would have stalled the purchase if he had known. Of course, he’d find out eventually. This was too big to keep under wraps. But the tug in her gut had been too strong to ignore. She could never pass up the chance of living in the Harper family home. The case had haunted her for years.

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The flashing cursor reflected in Morgan’s glasses as she stared unblinking at her computer screen. Like some lovesick puppy, her dad was with that woman, rather than in their hotel suite where he belonged. Taz was the only person who understood what she was going through as her life fell apart. She pushed down her feather duvet as the fan on her laptop whirred and snuggled back into the pillows propped up against the headboard of her hotel bed.

I hate her, Morgan typed, pressing extra hard on the keys.

Ha! Taz replied. We’ve already established that.

No, seriously, I hate her. I wish she never met my dad. I wish . . . Morgan’s fingers paused over her keyboard. I wish she was dead.

You don’t mean that . . . Taz replied. Do you??

I guess not . . . Morgan sighed. I’m partly to blame too. It pained her to write the words. Over the last few weeks, she had opened up to Taz about her mum’s problems, and her fears that she had driven her away. If I hadn’t been such a pain, she wouldn’t have needed to go abroad. It’s my fault she fell off that balcony.

Taz assured her it wasn’t. That plenty of parents went on holiday without their kids. But her mum hadn’t been alone. She’d taken her scummy boyfriend, Joel. Not that she wanted to talk about him with Taz. The very thought of him made Morgan’s skin crawl. Joel was Harmony’s drug dealer, a beefy lump of a man who carried the battle scars of his profession. But Harmony saw past his broken nose and shady acquaintances. She was no stranger to cannabis and was happy to accept his freebies. But Morgan was cynical enough to know that nothing in life came for free. What bothered her the most was the way he looked at her when she walked into the room. A gaze that penetrated through to her skin. It made Morgan want to wear double layers whenever Joel was around. True to nature, he left the relationship after her mother got injured. But it didn’t stop the swell of guilt rising inside her. Joel said her mum had been high when she fell. This would never have happened if Morgan had been there to look after her. But she’d refused their invitation because she could not stand to be in Joel’s company.

Morgan’s jaw tightened as she thought things through. None of this could have happened if Little Miss Perfect hadn’t been waiting in the wings. She was the one who made her parents’ temporary separation a permanent thing. Morgan could forgive her dad for having his head turned. He was a walking cliché, a weak man unable to resist a pretty journalist who was years younger than him. But he’d been crazy to remarry so soon after his divorce. Morgan’s lips pressed together in a thin white line. No wonder they did it in secret. That’s what gold-diggers did. Got the ring on their finger before their partners’ families could make them see sense. Naomi had pushed him into it. He was her gravy train, her ticket out of her job. But Morgan could push right back. Her mum needed someone on the inside. Someone who could make things right. Her mother had two faces, each the total opposite of the other. No in between, no shades of grey. She was sweet and kind or she was selfish and thoughtless. She was nurturing and gentle or she was a lone wolf. She was a singer whose voice moved her audience to tears and when she was happy every day was an adventure. Like Ed, she lived every day with a flourish. But when she was down, it was a living hell. Since Naomi had come along, her mother had veered towards self-destruct mode. But there was still time to make things right.

Want to know something funny? Morgan typed, a twisted smile on her face.

Sure, Taz replied.

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