About The Book
One unsolved murder. A best friend determined to right the wrongs of the past.
On the 21st August Tabitha Rice disappeared without a trace. All the signs point to murder, but no signs point to a murderer. The easiest answer is her husband, Rick. But he protests his innocence and there is little proof he is the murderer.
Annabella knows there is more to the story than what the police are telling. Tabitha was her best friend and she vows to uncover the truth.
As Annabella delves further into the past, she uncovers sides to Tabitha that she never saw coming, and she finds herself asking the question… Was this murder? Or is there more to Tabitha Rice’s story than meets the eye?
I spot Chad towards the back. He’s wearing a pale-yellow polo tucked into dark jeans and a black mac hangs like a shadow on the back of his chair. His brown belt is pulled a rung too tight over his thicker-than-he-thinks waistline and a pair of clunky white trainers glow from his feet, his cell-phone holstered to his hip as if it’s a pistol. I will myself to be positive: Chad Cummings is going to find out what happened to my friend and, even though he looks like he wouldn’t be able to solve the mystery of a missing cat, it’s not only my money motivating him to do the best job he can. If he can find out what happened to the MISSING WOMAN WHO WANTED TO HAVE A BABY, the BATTERSEA BEAUTY WHO MARRIED HER UNIVERSITY SWEETHEART
he’ll be a hero. I raise my hand as I approach.
‘Hi Chad,’ I say, noting his leather briefcase-suitcase wheeled into position behind him, handle still high.
‘Hi!’ he booms. Then, ‘Is everything all right?’ His expression changes; he’s not used to seeing me without make-up.
‘Fine,’ I reply, curtly, though I spot my deflated reflection in a teak-framed mirror opposite and wonder if it’s the truth. From a distance, the healthy plump of my face belies me – the result of a few surgical enhancements that make me look better than I feel – but, look closer, and you’ll see my hair is brittle from over – washing, my eyes underlined with grey buckets, my lips chapped and bitten. I pull my stare from the mirror, grab the seat opposite Chad, and fall in.
He looks down, realising his faux pas, clearly weighing up whether to backtrack and compliment me on something else instead. Thankfully, he decides not to.
‘Wanna get to it?’ he asks.
Chad whacks a photograph on the tabletop and spins it round. I look at a grainy CCTV image of a woman getting into a car and, though it doesn’t show her face, you can see one of her hands on the door, one of her legs stretching into the interior. If I saw the next frame she’d be sitting pretty in the passenger seat. Though the inhabitants are blurred, the number plate of the vehicle shines luminous yellow, an EU flag at the side, ‘PL’ underneath.
‘Check the date stamp,’ Chad says, leaning back.
‘The night she went missing,’ I mutter, frowning, but my forehead barely moves.
‘And you’re sure it’s her? Do you know who she’s with?’ I ask.
‘Could be her.’
‘I spoke to a former officer on the case, managed to get this. This CCTV image was their first real lead, but the line of inquiry went cold. Darn shame. They gave up on it, in the end. Do you recognise the vehicle?’
About The Author
Naomi Joy is a pen name of a young PR professional who was formerly an account director at a prestigious PR firm in London. Writing from experience, she draws the reader in to the darker side of the uptown and glamorous, presenting realism that is life or death, unreliable and thrilling to page-turn.