Perfect Life

Prologue

The Morning After the Hurricane

The thud of my heartbeat roars in the space between my temples. It’s so loud the soles of my feet throb. So loud, I can barely hear the ringtone of the outgoing call.

I fight to steady my breath, knowing every word will be recorded and dissected as evidence later.

My name is Este Walker. I live on Isle of Sicily Road…

I blink, struggling to speak the words I’ve rehearsed—words I need to say. But my mouth won’t work.

I take in the scene—the debris littering the lawn, the pool water thick with branches and leaves—and the sinister figure outlined in front of me.

The wind and rain of last night’s hurricane did what late-summer hurricanes do, snapping branches and tossing furniture, churning dirt and water into a thick film that covers everything in view.

There’s a casual cruelty to the wildness of Florida. No matter how pretty the facade, this place has a way of cutting you back down to size. You think you’re in paradise until it shows its teeth.

People have come to expect the volatility.

Residents take storm damage on the chin, tidying the detritus and getting on with their lives.

It’s the price we all pay for an endless summer—knowing the wild undercurrent of Florida can unmake you on a whim with all of its heat and its hurricanes and alligators.

My neighbors have probably already begun the work of restoring order to their homes, gathering broken branches into neat little piles, rinsing their pool decks clean. Reestablishing the polished facade of Winter Park.

But there’s no putting things right for me. Not now. Maybe not ever again. The thought presses down on my shoulders, heavy and unrelenting until I almost can’t breathe.

I catch the sickening glint of a Buffalo Nickel coin on a broken chain near the deep end of the pool. And then the operator sighs.

“What’s your emergency?” she repeats impatiently.

“My name is Este Walker. I live on Isle of Sicily Road.” I take a breath and squeeze my eyes closed, thinking of the fog of war—how people make reckless mistakes in the heat of battle.

There’s no time for confusion. You can’t afford to make a mistake right now.

“Ma’am?” the operator says. “Do you need help?”

I clear my throat and force myself to focus.

“Send the police. I…” My voice sounds hoarse and foreign. “There’s a body in my swimming pool.”