“Who has privacy screens all around a deck?” I asked, frustrated. “Isn’t the point to see nature and the great outdoors?” In my experience, most people had screens on the sides to shield them from their neighbors but kept an unimpeded view of the backyard.
Lulu agreed. “Having a locked wooden gate to access the deck is also weird.”
Trotting down the stairs, I circled the house, but the curtains were closed on every window on the ground level. I started back to the front porch. “I saw one of those small mailboxes by the front door.”
“You’re going to go through a stranger’s mail?” Lulu looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Isn’t that a federal offense?”
“My husband owns this house, and he’s dead, so I guess that makes it mine now,” I said harshly, tugging on the top of the black aluminum box. “Damn it!”
“What?” Lulu strained to see.
“This stupid thing has a lock on it. Who even knew you could lock a mailbox?” Although it made perfect sense. Especially when strangers on your front porch tried to snoop. Frustrated tears stung my eyes.
“Hello!” someone called out in a friendly Southern accent. “Are you looking for Mizz Darius?” A plump woman in her sixties stood by the gate with her leashed little black dog.
Miss Darius.Confirmation that a woman lived in Ali’s house.Oh my God.The muscles in my stomach cramped. But Lulu didn’t miss a beat. She spun around and delivered her most brilliant smile.
“Good afternoon!” she said to the woman. “Yes, we were hoping to catch her.”
“Do you know when she’ll be home?” I asked.
“Carol? She’s such a nice young woman. I live just down the street. I’m afraid I haven’t seen Carol for at least a week.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lulu said. “We hate to miss her.”
Carol Darius.A nice young woman. I searched my memory. The name wasn’t familiar.
“Are you leaving her a note?” the neighbor asked, holding tight to the leash as her dog tried to pull away.
“No, I don’t think so,” Lulu said. “We’ll try to catch her another day.”
Suspicion glinted on the woman’s formerly friendly face. “Then why are you going through her mailbox?”
“Oh, we weren’t—” Lulu began.
“She’s an old friend of my husband’s.” I spoke over Lulu. They say the best lies are rooted in some truth. “We wanted to tell her in person that he passed away recently.” My voice caught. I couldn’t help it.
Surprise flashed on Lulu’s face before she masked it. “Sad news like that should be delivered in person, don’t you think?” she said to the woman.
Our inquisitor’s expression softened. Whatever she saw on my face convinced her that my grief was real, even if the rest of it was a lie. Being a widow had few upsides. I wasn’t above using my miserable new status to get some answers.
“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “I am so very sorry for your loss.”
The tears I blinked back were real. “Thank you,” I croaked, hating how thready my voice sounded.
“You’re so young. Much too young to be a widow,” the woman added with an expectant expression, as if waiting to be filled in onthe rest of the story. But I was there to satisfy my curiosity, not some stranger’s.
“Let’s go,” I said to Lulu.
“Have a good day,” my sister chirped at the neighbor before following me to the van. The woman watched us before finally allowing her impatient dog to tug her on their way.
“Well,” Lulu said when we were back in the van driving. “I guess there’s a widow card.”
“No one is going to be mean to a widow.” I pulled out my phone. “Time to find out everything there is to know about Carol Darius.”
Chapter Seven
Before
