It's 8 p.m. Wednesday, December 13, 2017.

Honey Sherman parts her gold Lexus SUV at the side of her house, her normal spot.

There's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate that honey has less than one hour to live.

She'd had, by all accounts, a great day, a workout and long massage at home in the morning,

shopping for Hanukkah gifts for the grandchildren in the afternoon,

and a meeting with Barry and three contractors,

to discuss plans for a mansion she had convinced him to build.

Five weeks before, things hadn't been so good.

In a bitter email exchange, Barry had accused her of abusing him and their children for decades.

But today, according to a good friend who saw Barry and Honey

earlier in the day, all was well.

Listen, you can always sense when there's tension between two people.

And that day, they were clear.

They were definitely free and clear that day.

Another friend who talked on the phone with Honey 90 minutes before she arrived home,

told me the same thing.

She sounded normal. Is he normal?

It was the kind of thing Honey did a lot from the car.

Call to check in on someone she cared about. Just a quick chat. She was on her way home.

At 8pm in December in Toronto, it's dark.

The Sherman property, it's not well lit.

It's a cold night, well below freezing.

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