It was fully dark by then, but there was his Corvette, along with two other cars. Light blazed from an upstairs window. Someone was at home. There was also a cluster of people camped near the front door, armed with cameras. Were they journalists? I leapt out of the car and the strangers all turned to look at me. Clare scrambled out too. “I’ll come with you, while Mark waits here. In case you need to go somewhere else.” It made sense. “Come this way.” I ran to the back door, and rapped on it with my knuckles. The kitchen blinds were closed, but a soft glow leaked out. I heard movement inside, but nobody answered, so I shouted through the wooden door. “Mrs. Pearce, it’s me, Anita. Can I please come in?” I waited in an agony of uncertainty. Clare draped a comforting arm across my shoulder, but I still shivered. I needed to know what had happened to Jon. I turned to look at Clare. Tears threatened again, and she squeezed me against her.
