—KATE MILLER HAS BEEN MURDERED!!!
The message pops up on the Highgate Ladies’ Book Club WhatsApp group at ten eighteen.
The initial response is a shocked quietness. The phones that have been buzzing nonstop since the police cars were first spotted outside the Miller house go quiet, as if a minute’s silence is being observed.
Then the reactions come . . .
—OMG. That’s awful!
—I can’t believe it.
—I only saw her yesterday.
—Who would do such a thing?
—Do the police know who did it?
—What about Mike, is he OK?
—Yes, what about Mike? Poor Mike.
The questions are aimed at Heather Robinson, author of the shocking five-word message. As the Millers’ nearest neighbor her door was knocked on first, which means she now possesses the information they’ve been collectively hunting down all morning.
But as the questions continue to buzz, Heather Robinson remains frustratingly silent, as if hoarding the valuable thing that has fallen in her lap. And through this silence a cold wind blows through the comfortable streets of Highgate, penetrating the double-glazed sash windows and banishing the comforting glow of the under-floor heating. And the name of this chill wind is “fear,” because if the Millers aren’t safe then who is? If violence and tragedy can reach out and touch the richest, most glamorous, youngest, and—on the surface at least—happiest of them all, where does that leave the rest of them?
Then Heather Robinson finally replies and the cold breeze becomes a hurricane.
—Mike Miller is missing.
—The police asked lots of questions about him.
—I’m pretty sure they think he killed Kate!!