Nothing worse than bad shoes, to her mind.

Getting up, she shut her bedroom door before moving down the hallway as quietly as possible. But he heard. He always did. Wandering into the doorway of the living room, he scratched at the flaccid white of his belly and leered. “Going for a run?”

“Tell Auntie I’ll be back in about an hour.” She’d become expert at slipping past his grabbing hands and was at the front door before he could move his unwashed body anywhere near her. She couldn’t understand how her aunt allowed him to touch her, but then, Auntie had always had ­hang-­ups about her weight.

Men like him took advantage of that. And of Auntie’s kindness.

She didn’t stretch by the house as she’d done before he moved in. She walked a little ways to a patch of green in front of an abandoned property that was falling down around itself. As she did her stretches, she let her mind roam. Which way should she run today? Through the lush green of the old trees and native ferns? Along the main road out of town? It tended to be pretty quiet at this time of the year. The worst she’d get was a toot or two from locals who recognized her.

Or should she run along the cliffs above the beach? Maybe the beach itself?

It was the light that decided her, such a glorious clarity to it, the fog and mist having burned off during the day. She’d have it for at least two more hours and Auntie wouldn’t worry if she was a little late getting home.

Route decided, she took off on a slow jog that built until she was flying over the landscape, her legs formed for this. Sometimes she thought about what it would be like to do this for a job, to become an athlete. However, then it wouldn’t be pure joy anymore. And she loved this too much to diminish the experience.

She ran.

Seeing a standing form in the distance long after she’d hit her stride, she almost stumbled. Not many people in Golden Cove ran regularly and the ones that did tended to favor other routes. And this person was standing motionless, wasn’t even in running or walking clothes. Her feet took her closer and closer, until she recognized that profile, those eyes, that mouth.

“Oh,” she said, coming to a stop, startled and wondering if this was a sign. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

9

Will was sitting at his kitchen table, staring at the letter he’d just received from the police commissioner, when his phone rang. He didn’t hesitate to pick it up, the number one he recognized. “Matilda,” he said, “do you need help?”

On meeting Matilda Tutaia, you’d never think she’d put up with a man raising his hands to her, but Will had been called to the house twice already, both times to kick out her unemployed boyfriend until he calmed the fuck down.

Too bad she always took the asshole back.

“It’s Miriama.” Matilda’s voice was pitched noticeably higher than normal. “She went out for a run before dinner and she hasn’t come back home even though she knew I was cooking her favorite tonight. She told Steve she’d only be gone an hour. It’s been four.”

Will was already on his feet. The most likely explanation was that Miriama had hooked up with friends and forgotten to call ­Matilda… but that didn’t fit with the relationship he’d seen between the two women. Miriama was respectful toward her aunt. “Do you know which way she ran?” The young woman could’ve had an accident, might be lying on an isolated track waiting for someone to find her.

“I’m going to ask Steve.”

“Wait, I’ll do it when I get there.” The asshole was scared of Will, wouldn’t lie. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up before Matilda could reply, he grabbed his keys.

He reached their house in under seven minutes. Matilda hovered on the front lawn, a woman with short dark hair and weight that had crept on over the years. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a large pink T-­shirt printed with ­fund-­raising information for a ­long-­ago charity gala, she was scanning the street with desperate eyes. “I know Steve’s got his problems,” she said when Will reached her, “but he wouldn’t hurt my Miri.”

Will thought of how he’d caught Steve looking at Miriama more than once, a look that said he was weighing up his chances. But Matilda had blinders on when it came to her boyfriend. “I just want to make sure I get all the information I need,” he said. “Have you called around to her friends?”

“First thing I did after trying her phone and getting that automatic ‘out of range or turned off’ message. I thought she must’ve gone in for a cuppa after her run and got carried away with the talking. She does that, you know. And people like her being around, so she’s always being invited to visit.”

“Who saw her last?”

“Tania, out toward the coastal road. Says Miriama waved to her as she ran by around a quarter to six. No one else saw her after that.”

Will touched one hand to Matilda’s shoulder. “Let’s go talk to Steve.”

Inside, Steve was where Will had expected him to ­be—­on the dark brown armchair that was sagging in the middle and boasted cigarette burns on the arms; the man’s eyes were on the television screen and he had a beer in his hand. He laughed at something onscreen, only to say, “Fuck off, you old bitch!” when Matilda moved to block his view.

“I’d rather you turn off the television,” Will said.

Freezing at his voice, Steve looked up. “Hey, I never done nothing.”

Since Steve appeared to have lost control of his limbs, Will reached over, picked up the remote, and switched off the television himself. “Now,” he said to the other man, “tell me what happened.”

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nothing happened! The girl went out for a run like she does all the time, and she was wearing her black running tights with the pink sides and that tight orange top, and those shoes she can’t ­afford—­when you find her, you should ask her how she bought those.”

“Steve!” Matilda’s voice was harder than Will had ever heard it. “I swear to God, if anything’s happened to Miri and you know it, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together, the shadows under his eyes ­bruise-­colored splotches against his pallid skin. “I was watching my shows until you got home at ten past six. It’s not like I can run after her.”

“What did she tell you before she left?” Will asked, because if Steve had been here at 6:10 and Tania Meikle had seen Miriama at 5:45, it was highly unlikely he was lying about not having done anything to Miriama. The man didn’t drive and was about as fast as a snail with a limp. No way could he have made it to anywhere near the Meikle house.

“Just that she’d be back in an hour and that I was to tell Matilda.” A sulky look at the woman he was supposed to love. “I did, didn’t I? Just like your precious Miri ordered.”

“Aside from the shoes and clothes you’ve described, was she wearing anything else? Jewelry?”

Steve scratched at his belly. “Nah, don’t think so. Had her iPod that she wears strapped to her arm and her phone in that pocket thing built into the back of her tights.”