“Amanda bought the house before me, didn’t she?” I ask softly.
Silence again. Then finally, a tiny nod.
“Do you remember her last name?” I wish I could wrench the door open and force her to talk to me.
She shakes her head and takes a step back. “I never asked.”
I reach for her dog again and scratch it under the chin so she can’t close the door on me. “What can you tell me about Amanda?”
She must realize I’m not going anywhere, because she leans against the doorframe, sighing. “She was lovely.”
My hand drops to my side. “Was?”
“Is, I mean,” she says quickly. “I haven’t heard from her for months, though. She just kind of disappeared.”
“And nobody else in the neighborhood has heard from her?”
“She kept to herself. I don’t think she talked to the other neighbors much.” She chews her cheek as if there’s more she wants to say but can’t.
“Because they didn’t want her here, did they?” I ask gently.
Her eyes are wet with tears. “No. Nobody wanted her to buy Black Wood,” she says sadly. “The neighbors want it bulldozed. They bring it up every town meeting.”
It’s getting colder and colder outside. I wrap my arms around my middle, shivering. I’m surprised she hasn’t let me in. “Doyouwant it gone?”
Her eyes drift over my shoulder, and she stares vacantly at the road. “Yes, I do,” she breathes. “It makes me weep to see it.”
She murmurs something under her breath. “Susan,” I think she says. “Poor Susan.”
The sky’s growing darker and darker, and a distant rumble of thunder makes me pause. I stuff my hands in my pockets as a thought strikes me. I don’t want to ask it, but I have to.
“Did Amanda encounter any resistance? After she bought Black Wood, I mean?”
She narrows her eyes in confusion.
“Did anybody threaten her?” I say unwillingly. “The neighbors, maybe?”
She straightens up, looks away. “I don’t know anything about that.”
I think you do.
I’m worried she’s about to close the door, so I step forward. “Maybeshe changed her mind about owning Black Wood House?” I suggest. “It’s not for everybody.”
She shuts her mouth tightly.
The thunder’s closer now, and droplets of rain fall from the brooding sky. My Friendly Neighbor act is long forgotten. The hairs on my arms stand up, and my knees and ankles are freezing under my ridiculous cream slacks. I have this urge to mess my perfect curls up. To smear mud all over my blouse and quit with the bullshit.
“Kay…” I plunge my hands deeper into my pockets, feeling like a small child. “You think something bad happened to her, don’t you?”
She won’t meet my eyes. She’s not going to say any more. I sigh and tell myself I’ll try again another day. I’ll keep coming back until she finally tells me everything she knows. I nod a reluctant goodbye and begin to walk away.
“She was hearing noises in the house.”
I freeze before slowly turning around. God, Mr. Whitman said the same thing about Bill Campbell, the original owner, the murderer. Kay taps her foot, and her dog licks her face as if it can feel her anxiety. I wait for her to speak, pulse throbbing in my wrists. Lightning sears the sky in a quick, hot flash.
He heard noises coming from the attic. Especially at night.
I swallow. “When did she hear these noises?”
