The Disappearance of Stephanie Mailer: A gripping new thriller with a killer twist by Joël Dicker (ebook reader play store .txt) 📕

wasn’t answering her phone and had not left a message. He had finally informed hotel security. Camera footage showed Carolina leaving her room, wandering for a while in the corridor, then going down to reception, asking for his car and driving away. The head of security, unable to suggest a solution, suggested contacting the police. Then Eden’s cell phone rang.

“Carolina?”

“Mr Eden?” said a solemn voice. “Deputy Jasper Montagne of the Orphea police department.”

“Police? What’s going on?”

“Your daughter Carolina is currently being held at the station. She was arrested for possession of drugs and will appear before a judge tomorrow morning. She’ll be spending the night in a cell.”

JERRY EDEN

In the summer of 1994, I was the director of a radio station in New York City. I was earning a modest living and had just married Cynthia, my high school sweetheart, the only girl who had ever believed in me.

You should have seen us at the time. We were in love, we were just thirty, we were free as air. My most precious possession was a second-hand Corvette. We spent the weekends traveling around the country, driving from one town to another, staying in motels or boarding houses.

Cynthia was working for the administration of a small theater. She had all the best tips and we saw lots of plays on Broadway without spending a single dollar. We weren’t rich, but what we had was more than enough. We were happy.

1994 was the year we married. Our wedding was in January, and we decided to postpone our honeymoon till the weather improved. We had a limited budget, so could only choose destinations we could get to in the Corvette. It was Cynthia who heard about the new theater festival in Orphea. There was quite a buzz about it in artistic circles and famous journalists were expected to attend, which suggested the quality of it. I found us a delightful family-run boarding house, not far from the ocean, in a log house surrounded by hydrangeas. We were sure that the ten or so days we would spend there would be memorable. And they were, from every point of view. When we got back to New York, Cynthia discovered she was pregnant. In April 1995, our only child, our beloved daughter Carolina, was born.

*

I don’t want to take anything away from our happiness at the arrival of Carolina in our lives, but we hadn’t planned to have a child so soon. The months that followed were like those of all young parents whose life is turned upside down by the presence of a little creature. We had to sell the two-seater and buy a bigger car, change apartments to have an extra room, and carry the cost of diapers, baby clothes, a crib, a stroller, and so on. In short, we had to make do.

To make matters worse, Cynthia was fired by the theater when she got back from her maternity leave. As for me, the radio station was bought by a large group, and after hearing all kinds of rumors about restructuring and fearing for my position, I was obliged to accept less airtime and more administrative work and responsibilities for the same salary. Our weeks became a true race against the clock: work, family, Cynthia looking for a job and not knowing what to do with Carolina, me coming back in the evening exhausted. It was quite a trial for both of us. So when summer arrived, I suggested we spend a few days at the end of July in our little boarding house in Orphea, to recharge our batteries. And once again the Orphea miracle worked.

It was the same in the following years. Whatever happened in the bustle of the city, whatever daily life threw at us, Orphea made everything better.

Cynthia had found a job in New Jersey, an hour’s train ride away. She had three hours traveling to do each day, and had to juggle diaries and calendars, taking the little one to nursery, then to school, doing shopping, going to meetings, doing the best we could at work and at home, from morning to evening and all the days that God gave us. Our nerves were at full stretch, some days we barely saw each other. But once a year, all the stress and misunderstandings and rush were wiped out as soon as we arrived in Orphea. The town was cathartic for us. The air seemed purer, the sky more beautiful, life quieter. The owner of the boarding house, who had grown-up children, took wonderful care of Carolina and was happy to look after her whenever we decided we’d like to see a show at the festival. At the end of our stay, we would set off back to the city happy, rested, calmer. Ready to resume our lives.

*

I have never been especially ambitious. I don’t think I would have risen as far as I have in my career if it hadn’t been for Cynthia and Carolina. Because, as the years went by, having gone back to Orphea so often and feeling so good there, I wanted to give them more. I started wanting more than the little family boarding house, wanting to spend more than a week a year in the Hamptons. I wanted Cynthia not to have to do three hours’ traveling a day and barely be able to make ends meet, I wanted Carolina to go to a private school and benefit from the best possible education. It was for their sakes that I began to work even harder, aiming for promotion, demanding better pay. It was for them that I agreed to give up my airtime and take on more responsibilities, in positions that interested me less but were better paid. I began climbing the ladder, seizing all the opportunities that presented themselves, being first in the office and last to leave. In three years, I went from being the director of a radio station to the head of T.V. series development for