The screen seemed to mock me in the quiet kitchen.

I looked out the window.

Rain lashed against the glass in heavy, erratic sheets.

I remembered the photo I had uploaded with the recipe an hour ago.

It was a high-resolution shot of the polished copper stockpot sitting on the range.

I had taken it yesterday afternoon while Julian was out at a meeting.

I had wanted to capture the warm, golden gleam of the metal under the skylight.

But copper was highly reflective.

It acted like a curved mirror.

In the background of that reflection, deep in the dark corner of the pantry…

I hadn’t noticed it when I cropped and edited the image on my phone.

But someone else had.

Someone like Detective Marcus, who had been searching for any trace of the missing woman.

I closed the laptop lid quickly as I heard a floorboard creak directly above me.

I pushed the computer under a stack of oversized cooking magazines.

My hands were shaking so violently I dropped a wooden spoon onto the floor.

It clattered against the tile, the sound echoing loudly in the high-ceilinged room.