Page 7 of Her Last Vow

“Looks like Mayberry,” Novak said, though the smile on his face suggested this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Novak had called Diane Mott from the hotel lobby at seven that morning before he and Rachel had breakfast. He’d kept the conversation vague, the way he'd promised. He’d reported that she was very open to a visit, and invited them to come as soon as they could.

A little over an hour later, they pulled up outside the Mott house at 8:40. It was a small blue Cape Cod with a wraparound porch and a wind chime that clattered softly in the chill morning breeze.

Diane Mott answered the door before they'd finished walking up the path, as though she'd been watching for them through the front window. She was a tall woman in her early fifties with graying hair pulled back in a loose bun. She wore a cute cardigan over a nightgown despite having clearly been awake for a few hours. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, making it looked like she hadn't slept properly in days. Rachel assumed her being awake at this hour spoke to sleeplessness rather than a refined routine.

"Agents," she said. "Come on in. I made coffee."

The house was small but well-kept, the kind of place that had clearly been furnished with care over decades rather than all at once. Rachel noticed the details as they followed Diane through the front hall: a wall of family photos in mismatched frames, a needlepoint pillow that read Home Is Where The Heart Is propped in an armchair, a shelf of ceramic birds that looked handmade. It was warm and inviting in a way that made the grief that was also evident in the place sort of pop out and seem sharper. It was like walking through a beautiful house but also expecting a ghost to jump out at you from every corner.

One such ghost jumped out slightly when she noticed a man's jacket still hung on a hook by the door.

Diane led them into the kitchen, where she sat at the table, a scarred wooden thing with mismatched chairs. Diane poured coffee into mugs that were just as mismatched as the chairs. Her hands shook slightly as she set the pot back on its warmer.

"I know why you're really here," Diane said, sitting down across from them. "You can drop the act about a broader review…or whatever you called it."

Rachel exchanged a glance with Novak. "What makes you say that?"

"Because nobody from the FBI drives out here to talk about a heart attack unless they don't believe it was a heart attack." Diane wrapped both hands around her mug without drinking from it. "I've been telling people for two weeks…but nobody wanted to listen. The sheriff's department closed the file before I even had the funeral arranged."

"We're looking into some irregularities that might connect Gerald's death to another case," Rachel said carefully. "We'd like to ask you some questions, if you're willing."

"I'm more than willing." Diane's voice cracked slightly on the word. "I've been waiting for somebody to ask."

Novak took out his phone and set it on the table between them. "Do you mind if I record this? Just so we don't miss anything."

"Record whatever you want," she said with a flippant wave of her hand. Diane looked at Rachel instead of Novak, as though she'd already decided which of them she trusted. "That app killed my husband. I don't care how that sounds. I know it sounds goofy and batshit crazy, but it’s the truth.”

"Tell us what you mean by that," Rachel said.

"The Apogee. That stupid watch." Diane's jaw tightened as she shook her head. She spoke the word as if it were a very bad curse. "It told him when he'd die, and then he died. Exactly when it said he would."

"His peak day," Rachel said.

"Peak day," Diane repeated the phrase like it tasted bad in her mouth. "That's what they call it like it's a good thing. Like it's a milestone you're supposed to celebrate. Gerald posted about it that morning. He was so proud of himself, working out five days a week for damn near a year to get his numbers up. He put a picture on Facebook of himself at the gym, flexing like a teenager." Her eyes filled, but she didn't cry. "He looked very good in it, too. But…by that night, he was dead in our living room floor."

"The medical examiner's report listed cardiac arrest," Rachel said. "Given his cholesterol history and the family history of heart disease, it wasn't flagged as suspicious at the time."

"I know what the report said." Diane's tone sharpened and grew a bit pointed. "I also know he'd never had a single symptom. No chest pain, no shortness of breath, nothing. He went to his cardiologist every year and always came back clean. And then the one day that app told him he'd hit his peak, he just dropped dead."

“In the living room, right?” Novak asked.

“Yes.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“Upstairs, getting ready for bed.” She grinned and a bit of red went into her cheeks. “If you want the full truth, I had planned to call him up and be waiting in my birthday suit. The way he looked in that picture, his body all toned…it was quite nice.” The smile faltered and she added: “But then I heard him cry out, and then there was a thud. I ran downstairs and…there he was. Dead in the floor.”

“No signs of a break-in?” Rachel asked.

“No. The cops never even looked. I asked them about it and they seemed surprised. I think one officer did look just because I mentioned, but…I doubt he gave it any real attention.”

"When did you start looking into the app itself?" Rachel asked, trying to keep the conversation moving before Diane lost herself to grief.

Something shifted in Diane's expression, a mix of embarrassment and defiance. "About three days after the funeral. I couldn't sleep, so I started reading about it. Forums, mostly. Reddit threads. There's a whole community of people who think something's wrong with that company."

"What kind of something?" Novak asked.