Page 52 of A Very Happy Easter

Camilla had been his last victim, the one who’d finally sent him to prison.

“I tried calling her a few weeks ago, but she didn’t answer.”

“Did you text?”

“Yes, but I think she’s taking a digital detox. Her BuzzHub account has been dead for months. Last I heard, she was teaching English in Thailand, so I think she’s out of reach anyway.”

So it was just us. Okay. Okay, I could do this. The next time I saw Heath, I’d talk to him about upgrading my security—a new alarm, more cameras, motion sensors—and look at hiring a bodyguard. And Neil’s release licence would come with conditions, I knew that much.

The entry phone buzzed again, and I gave Vic a quick hug. “We can do this. We’ve both survived so much worse.”

Unlike me, most of the women in the book group loved Valentine’s Day, so there were only half a dozen of us at my place for wine and nibbles. And book discussion, of course. And chocolates. First, we ate the box Vic had brought, and then Annabel arrived. Her boyfriend had to work late unexpectedly, so she showed up with truffles, a bottle of tequila, and a “fuck him” attitude I admired.

Now she was drunk.

“How many cocktails did she have?” I whispered to Vic as we listened to Annabel sobbing on the other side of the bathroom door.

Vic counted on her fingers. “Three cosmos, two margaritas, and I lost count of the G&Ts.”

Salma came back with…holy shit, was that a crowbar? A tyre iron?

“Where did you get that?”

“From the garage. I think Eisen left it there.” She hefted the tyre iron in both hands and wound it back like a baseball bat. “So, should we…?”

I tried knocking again. “Annabel, it’s okay. We can help you. Just unlock the door.”

“It’s not okay. Crawford bought a Valentine’s gift for another woman.”

The evening had been going well until Kirsten began rummaging through Annabel’s box of artisan chocolates in search of the menu card and found a love note instead. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t been addressed to “Dearest Rebecca.”

My thoughts on As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow had been forgotten as Annabel went through shock, horror, disbelief, and anger, then finally broke down in tears. Kirsten and Polly were upstairs sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while the rest of us tried to talk Annabel out of the bathroom.

“I know how much you must be hurting. Crawford is a real arse, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh!” Kirsten ran down the stairs, waving her phone with Polly hot on her heels. “Guess who got the ‘Dearest Annabel’ card?”

Salma practically snatched the phone out of Kirsten’s hand. “Who? How did you find her?”

“We trawled through Crawford’s friend list on BuzzHub and checked out anyone named Becky or Rebecca. She’s a masseuse at the gym he goes to, and she dumped his cheating ass.”

The lock on the bathroom door clicked open, thank goodness. The last thing I needed this week was a team of builders clattering around, repairing the mess Salma was about to make.

Annabel’s eyes were puffy and red. “Who is she? Show me.”

Kirsten handed over her phone, and we all crowded around to see. Rebecca was an athletic brunette who described herself as sporty, outgoing, and always up for a laugh.

Dearest Crawford,

Hope you have fun at the hospital. Once you finish bleeding, don’t forget to pick up what’s left of your stuff, you cheating bastard. Happy Valentine’s Day.

P.S. Who the fuck is Annabel?

“A masseuse? He cheated on me with a masseuse?”

“I could make a joke about a happy ending,” Salma said, then glanced at Annabel. “But I’m not going to do that, obvs.”

“You think we should message her?” Kirsten asked.

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