The Maid's Diary(87)

Daisy leans her head back and closes her eyes. A hardness coalesces around her heart. “Might be better that way.”

“What are you saying?”

“You don’t even have a job. You’ve lost it all. Everything. Everything we tried to build all these years—”

“You’re not hearing me. She’s going to come back at us, Daisy. That woman is going to come asking for more. She has this power over us now, and she’s not done. She’s taken her pound of flesh, but she can still turn me in. As long as she exists, she has power over us. You heard her—there’s no statute of limitations for sexual assault in this province. We need to fix it. Fucking bitch. I swear I will—I’ll kill her. She has power over us as long as she is out there.”

“Jon.”

He goes quiet at her tone. He turns the Audi down their street. Such a pretty street, thinks Daisy. Such an attractive house they live in. But now it looms like a prison as they pull into the driveway.

“What?” Jon asks.

“Are there others?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will others come out of the woodwork if this gets out? Have you crossed lines with other women? On work trips, with employees, with other exotic dancers, sex workers? If Katarina goes public, will they suddenly all have courage to come after you, too?”

He stops the car in the driveway and turns to face out the side window.

His silence is her answer.

Daisy opens the passenger door and pushes up out of the seat. She holds her coat over her head against the rain as she makes for the door of Rose Cottage. There is only one mission on Daisy’s mind. Pack a bag, get her car keys. Leave this house. Leave him.

Daisy goes straight upstairs, finds a suitcase, throws in some cosmetics, underwear, pajamas, a change of clothing. She fishes her document safe out of her underwear drawer and places it in her suitcase on top of her clothing.

Jon appears in the bedroom doorway. “Daisy, listen to me—I mean it. She has power over us.”

“No. Not us. She has power over you, Jon.”

“We’re a team. This is our reputation. We—”

“We were never a team. I see that now.” She shuts her suitcase and hefts it to the floor. She drags it to the bedroom door.

“Your parents will be raked through the mud with this.”

“I’m done. We’re done. Step aside, please.”

He reaches for her. “Daisy—”

“Stay away from me.” She points her finger at his face. “I swear, if you come near me, I’ll take this stuff to the police myself.”

“Why were you so fucking stupid to keep that footage in the first place? This is your fault. If this footage did not exist, none of this would’ve happened.”

Daisy pushes past her husband. She drags her case, which thumps down the stairs behind her. He comes after her, follows her past the kitchen island, and cuts her off on her way to the front door.

“And if your mother hadn’t gone and paid her parents—”

“Then they would have had a paternity test done, Jon. Maybe it was your baby. Maybe it was one of the other guys’ baby. But whoever made that baby might have turned on you and the other guys involved in order to share the blame. Same with Charley—she would’ve been tied to you forever. These girls didn’t just go away. I cleaned up after you, and the NDAs are so they couldn’t come back without paying huge fines they can’t afford. I kept the documents for that reason. I kept the footage in case you turned out to be the total asshole you are.” Daisy is so angry that she’s shaking. Which makes her worried for the baby. She needs to get out of here, calm down.

He points his finger into her face, almost touching her nose, and says with a sneer, “You know I’m right. As long as she’s alive, that woman is a danger. A monster.”

“A monster of your making. Please get out of my way.”

He refuses to move. Daisy doesn’t like the thunder on his face. He’s frightening her. She glowers at him, trying to show power. And she attempts to push past him.

His hand clamps onto her arm, hard, his fingers digging into her. She grabs the carving knife on the island, points it at him.

“Get the hell back. Get out of my way.”

He lets go in shock and steps aside. Clutching the knife in a death grip in one hand, facing her husband, Daisy backs slowly away from him toward the front door, pushing her suitcase with her other hand.

“Where are you going?” he yells as she steps out the door.

She slams the door shut and hurries through the rain to her BMW with her case bumping behind her. She opens the passenger’s-side door, throws the knife onto the floor, and hefts her bag onto the seat. She goes round to the driver’s side, climbs in. She starts the engine. Shaking, she backs out of the driveway as Jon comes barreling out of the front door and starts running toward the car.

Daisy clips the mailbox with her bumper as she wheels out of the drive. She leans on the gas and overcorrects, taking out the neighbor’s recycling bins with a crash. Trembling like a leaf, panting, Daisy rights her car and drives back toward the North Shore.





JON


October 31, 2019. Thursday.

Three hours and eleven minutes before the murder.

Jon watches Daisy’s car reverse at speed out of their driveway. She smashes the mailbox and then rams the trash cans on the neighbor’s verge in her haste to flee from him. He curses and storms back into Rose Cottage. He paces up and down the living room. He grabs a bottle of tequila and slams back several shots in a row. He has a few more shots. He’s desperate. Getting more and more angry. More irrational. He still doesn’t know if Katarina had him sexually assaulted. Raped, even. He never asked Katarina about the needle mark in his arm because he was too scared to let Daisy know about that. What did she inject into him? Will he need blood tests? Should he be tested for sexually transmitted diseases?