Something was nagging in the back of Daisy’s mind as she prepared for bed that night. Tish had been chatty all the way back to Dupont Circle, talking about working for Grover and some of the parties she had helped him cater. Daisy was listening, but she was also thinking. Thinking about the woman Walt had kissed at the wine bar.
There was something about her…
The next day at work everyone seemed to be in a foul mood. The reason was simple: a deadline. An issue of the journal had to be completed by midnight and Mark John was projecting his stress onto everyone in the office. Daisy had finished her contributions to the issue ages ago, but Mark John was a firm believer that misery loves company. Before lunchtime, she, too, was in a bitter mood that only an escape from the office would cure.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, there was nothing more she could do to help Mark John and Jude, both of whom were buried in last-minute details. Daisy packed her tote bag, slung it over her shoulder, and left without saying a word to anyone. She picked up a sandwich on the way home, figuring the last thing she wanted to do was make dinner and wash dishes that evening. She ate the sandwich on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine and watching old movies, her coping mechanism of choice.
When she had enjoyed her fill of “Laura” and “To Catch a Thief,” two of her favorite old films, Daisy felt her eyelids getting droopy. She washed out the wine glass and threw away the sandwich wrapper, all the while trying to figure out why her brain wouldn’t shut itself down.
She took two melatonin, hoping they would help put her mind at rest so she could go to sleep, and crawled into bed.
As she was drifting off, she suddenly realized what her mind wouldn’t let go.
She had recognized the woman Walt kissed--it was Fiona.
Mark John’s wife.