𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

     “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say as Jeff lets me into his lake house.

     En route to his house, I wondered what the lakehouse would look like when he told me about it, and it matched perfectly with what I had imagined. I’ve always thought about a little retreat with Dan and the kids in a remote cabin shrouded in the woods. And with a lake too. It’s a perfect place to contemplate after a hectic life in the city.

     I envy Jeff. He’s enjoying the serenity all by himself. At the same time, I like his taste of residence. I could live here and wouldn’t dream in a million years of going back to the city. I noticed a similar lakehouse sitting on a vast land as I drove here. At least, there are people close by to run to in times of emergencies.

     I follow Jeff into the living room, studying the beauty of the place. The floor is mostly hardwood. My footsteps echo as my shoes tap on the wood. There’s a long staircase that leads to several rooms upstairs. From where I stand, I discern the interior of the kitchen. It’s large and well-equipped. I expected to see pictures on the walls, maybe of Adrienne, but there are none. It’s then I understand he’s trying to get over the past.

     We’re in the living room by the time I’m done surveying the place. We walk to the fireplace and sit by a cheery fire. The warmth permeates my skin and dispels the coldness. Sighing, I slip off my jacket and place it next to me.

     Jeff looks at me with a smile. “Can I get you anything?”

     I smile back. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.”

     I take a minute to think about what I’m doing. Something tells me I should end this investigation of mine and get out of the cabin, telling Jeff that I just wanted to thank him for selling the house to us at an affordable price. But then the inquisitive part of me objects. I can’t drive from my place down here just to say thank you when I could have done that on the phone. I’m here because of Adrienne, and I’ll get answers before I leave this cabin.

     My lips quiver as I begin to talk. I snap out of it and look at Jeff in the eyes. If I want true answers, I’ll only get them by looking at Jeff in the eyes. I’ll know if he’s lying or not.

     I notice the color of his eyes. They’re hazel. Just then my mind is drawn to his looks. I must admit he’s got the looks. No wonder Adrienne Styles was crazy about him.

     Shifting my mind from his beautiful looks, I focus on his eyes. I’m sure he’s noticed I’m overwatching, but he doesn’t cower. He stares back at me, and that’s when I know he has a good conversation composure. This is a man who can look into my eyes and lie blatantly, and I’ll believe him. But I won’t let him throw me off. I need answers.

     “I want us to talk about your wife.”

     “My wife? What about her?”

     “So much,” I say, “and I don’t mean to intrude. I just want to know the truth. After all, I’m living in her house, and it’s only fair I know the previous owners.”

     He’s not smiling anymore, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Perhaps coming here is a bad idea. He looks solemn now.

     “I get that.”

     “I’m glad you do. Did you know your wife kept a diary?”

     “Adrienne didn’t do diaries,” he says with a note of finality in his voice. It dawns on me he’s got no idea about the diary in the basement.

     “I’m sorry to contradict, but your wife kept a diary. I found it in the basement when we moved in...” I trail off, wondering if I should add that I’ve read it, and I think someone murdered her. That would be a bold move and could provoke him. He might end up refunding our money and taking back his house. But I’m not so sure he’ll do that.

     I continue, lowering my voice, “I read it, and I think your wife didn’t kill herself.” I stop and wait for a reaction. When I get none, I add, “I think someone killed your wife.”

     Jeff stares at me. His face is devoid of any emotion. I can’t tell whether he’s processing what I said, or he’s dumbfounded.

     “What are you talking about?”

     Okay. I’ll assume he didn’t hear me, or he didn’t understand what I said earlier. I lean forward, increasing my voice, “Your wife... I think she didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”

     His brows pucker. “And you know that how?”

     I place it that he didn’t hear me when I said I found her diary. “I’ve read her diary.”

     He leans back on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. I think he’s absorbing everything I’ve told him. Three or four seconds elapse before he looks at me, his eyes filling with tears. “My wife killed herself because of me. She couldn’t cope with the trauma after she lost her memory. No one killed her.”

     That’s what everyone believes apparently. But everyone hasn’t read her diary. I have. I’m the only person who knows Adrienne wouldn’t have killed herself because she couldn’t cope.

     I say, “Her diary said she was being spied on. She didn’t want to tell you because she thought you’d say she’s imagining things.” I finally lean back, not breaking eye contact with Jeff. “What if this man killed your wife?”

     He gulps and stares at me, but then I realize he’s not just staring at me. He’s staring daggers at me. Jeff is angry. I’ve provoked him. I should probably be rounding up and be on my way out.

     “I respect you a lot, but I’m going to ask you to leave.”

     He’s misconstrued me, and this is the last thing I wanted. I don’t want Jeff to see me as an enemy. I’m only trying to unravel the mystery behind the death of his wife. I had in mind that perhaps knowing his wife didn’t kill herself would bring some solace to him, but now I know I’m wrong. This is a dead end. I don’t know why I’m still pursuing it.

     “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mr. Styles. I thought—”

     He springs from the couch and shouts, “I said leave!”

     I tremble, unable to understand his sudden rage. Surely, I’ve struck a nerve. Taking my jacket, I rise and backstep a distance from him. I feel a compulsion to apologize. Partly because I’m afraid he’s going to call Dan and tell him about my visit.

     “I’m sorry, Mr. Styles. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

     He screams, “Leave my house! Just leave!”

     His scream is so earsplitting that it resonates in the room. A woman in a kimonolike dress bounces from upstairs. She joins us and rushes over to Jeff, touching and caressing his face.

     “What’s the matter, Jeff?” she asks anxiously as she wipes sweat forming on his face.

     I don’t understand why Jeff went wild suddenly. I’m not so sure it’s because of what I said. Something else triggered this unruly behavior. I want to find out what.

     Jeff doesn’t answer the woman. I watch as she calms him down and whispers something into his ears. Then she ruffles his hair like a little boy. Finally, the woman looks at me with a rueful face. “I think you should leave.”

     Holy cow! I recognize the voice. Is this Ella? What am I witnessing? What kind of elaborate prank is this? I can’t believe Ella is heavily pregnant. I don’t want to accept what my mind is formulating. Perhaps I’m overreacting, but the evidence is right in front of me. Ella is Adrienne’s friend, and she’s living with her husband. She’s pregnant too. Is Jeff the father? What kind of mystery is this? This is more than any thriller I’ve seen on TV.

     Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I glance up at the woman and say, “I’m sorry. Let him know that when he’s simmered down.”

     “I will.”

     I show myself out of the house and close the door gently behind me. A gust of wind moves across the porch, blowing my hair violently. I slip into the jacket, zip it, and tuck my hair behind my ears as I walk briskly to my car parked in front of the house. I step inside and roll up the windows, unzipping my coat once the surrounding heat permeates my skin.

     I sit in the driver’s seat and look at my reflection in the rearview mirror, trying to understand what I just witnessed. Jeff’s behavior strikes me as odd. Even if he got upset I mentioned his late wife, he shouldn’t have gone wild like a madman. Something is amiss. I can feel it.

     Jeff is hiding something, but what can he possibly be harboring? I don’t want to think that Jeff murdered his wife. If he did, what’s his motive? Then Ella comes into the picture. From the looks of things, I can guess correctly she’s either eight or seven months pregnant. Adrienne died six months ago.

     I gasp as I begin to connect the complicated jigsaw. I can’t believe the picture I’ve come up with. If Ella and Jeff are living together, then it’s only logical that he’s the father of her child. And the way she touched him back in the room just confirms they’re lovers, if not a married couple. I don’t think Jeff remarried again. I didn’t see Ella wearing a wedding ring also.

     What I’ve come up with is too true to believe. Ella and Jeff have been lovers since Adrienne was alive. Then I begin to wonder; did Adrienne know about their affair? And that’s when I start to suspect Jeff.

What if Jeff killed his wife because she discovered he was cheating on her with her best friend?